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[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.
|
He thought he was done. After thirty years of madness fighting crime on the streets, he was finally able to lay down his badge, and looked forward to a quiet retirement. He thought he was finally out for good. But they wouldn't let him rest. They went after his family, and now he's going to make them pay.
"If you're looking for ransom, I can tell you that I don't have any money. What I do have is a particular set of gadgets. Gadgets implanted in my body over a long career. Gadgets that make me a nightmare for people like you. Return my niece now, and that will be the end of it. I won't come looking for you. If you don't, I will look for you. I will find you, and I will go-go kill you."
This summer, one retired cop returns for one last caper, and this time, it's personal.
"Where's Penny?"
"You think you can make me talk? You're a joke, a washed-up publicity stunt."
"That was a long time ago. Things have changed. Go-go gadget blow torch."
Come see your favorite detective like you've never seen him before. This summer, Jeff Goldblum is....
Inspector Gadget.
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It's been years since he lost the one thing he'd cared about.
After weeks of searching, he just couldn't go on any more. His young, frail body couldn't hold up under the stress of life on the road. He'd lied to others, he even lied to himself, but he was not a loner, he was not a rebel, he was just a boy.
His friends abandon him. It's hard to love and care for someone who doesn't want your love or care. The loneliness gets to him, just like it would get to anyone over time.
He talks to himself at first, mostly admonishing himself, guilt stricken over his carelessness that got him into this mess. He quickly realizes that he hates himself, he'd rather not talk to anyone than have to talk to himself. That's when the voices started.
The voices were nice. They didn't know how badly he'd messed up. They were just happy to have someone to play with. Too bad it's tough to play when you're just a voice. The voices needed something, something to cling to, to interact with on that physical level the boy yearned for. Anything. A chair, a floor, a window, anything so he wouldn't be alone.
And that's when things got wacky.... at Pee-Wee's Playhouse.
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[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.
|
Fade in on a boy, beat to hell and bleeding from a head wound, stumbling up a hill. He can’t be older than 10. He’s gripping a tattered baseball cap in one hand and clutches his side with the other. He trips, cries out in pain and drops the hat.
The wind catches the red hat and it gets carried off into the smoke and dust. He bites his hand to keep from crying out. He draws blood. He reaches out toward the vanishing hat, tears streaming down his face.
Suddenly the red hat, after vanishing completely, seem to circle back. The boy pauses. Then jumps in alarm and scrambles for something on his belt. A bird with a ten foot wing span and claws like meat hooks swoops down at the boy- the boy ducks. The bird racks its talons along his back, eliciting a scream from the boy.
Overhead, the demonic bird circles around for another attack.
Close up on the boy, climbing forward, snatching the red hat off the ground.
Close up on the hat being jammed onto the boys hat, brim facing forward.
He pulls the brim around to face his back.
Pan out to show his eyes, gleaming with a new ferocity.
In his hand half cocked hand rests a half red, half white sphere.
The bird, a fearow, screeches above.
The boy’s shout sounds of primal rage.
He throws the pokeball, it blossoms with a crack of blue light.
Fade to black.
White text fades in.
“Gotta catch ‘em all…”
|
"Please," he whispered, every breath feeling like it engulfed his lungs in flame. "I can't take anymore."
The smile from the shadows grew wider, no longer amused but threatening. In his hands he held another syringe, though it was empty for the moment.
"Oh, I'm sorry Carl. But you keep skewing the results of the experiments. You know I can't have that. Fortunately this next solution should permanently fry the nerve endings on your skin. So you better hold still if you know what's good for you. After all, I don't want to give Sheen another companion to play with."
Carl looked over at the cage on the other side of the room, shivering once his eyes connected with the inhuman gaze coming from the animal that was one his friend. Though he knew he could say the same thing as he looked back over at the man in the lab coat.
He now held the syringe filled to the brim with a strange liquid.
"Oh, my scapula..." he whispered, shutting his eyes as tightly as he could to await the pain from Jimmy Neutron's needle.
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[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.
|
Fade in on a boy, beat to hell and bleeding from a head wound, stumbling up a hill. He can’t be older than 10. He’s gripping a tattered baseball cap in one hand and clutches his side with the other. He trips, cries out in pain and drops the hat.
The wind catches the red hat and it gets carried off into the smoke and dust. He bites his hand to keep from crying out. He draws blood. He reaches out toward the vanishing hat, tears streaming down his face.
Suddenly the red hat, after vanishing completely, seem to circle back. The boy pauses. Then jumps in alarm and scrambles for something on his belt. A bird with a ten foot wing span and claws like meat hooks swoops down at the boy- the boy ducks. The bird racks its talons along his back, eliciting a scream from the boy.
Overhead, the demonic bird circles around for another attack.
Close up on the boy, climbing forward, snatching the red hat off the ground.
Close up on the hat being jammed onto the boys hat, brim facing forward.
He pulls the brim around to face his back.
Pan out to show his eyes, gleaming with a new ferocity.
In his hand half cocked hand rests a half red, half white sphere.
The bird, a fearow, screeches above.
The boy’s shout sounds of primal rage.
He throws the pokeball, it blossoms with a crack of blue light.
Fade to black.
White text fades in.
“Gotta catch ‘em all…”
|
She was running down the halls. "Ha Ha" a voice laughed down the hall. "There's the exit, if I could just get there" Suddenly the floor gave out underneath her, and she broke her legs when she hit the ground. "Ha Ha" The voiced cackled again A large, bloody mouse emerged from the shadows, knife in hand "Ha Ha"
Mickey, in theaters this summer
Rated R
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[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.
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“Oh Jesus…” Henry uttered before vomiting into a nearby bush.
“You’re still green, rook. Trust me, you get used to it”
The two men stared down at the shredded remains of what Chuck believed to be a fallen Clefairy.
With a pair of forceps he kept in his front pocket, Chuck reached down and grasped a chunk of charred pink flesh still smoking to inspect it.
“This was definitely an electric attack. Judging from the radius and intensity of the blast, I’d say this was the product of a Thunderbolt.”
Henry’s eyes grew wide, “You don’t think…”
“I do think, asshole! I think all the time!”
Henry looked puzzled. "Uh.. no, I mean-"
“In fact, right now I’m thinking we’re hot on the trail of El Asesino himself. Ash fucking "don't mind if I do" Ketchum.”
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She was running down the halls. "Ha Ha" a voice laughed down the hall. "There's the exit, if I could just get there" Suddenly the floor gave out underneath her, and she broke her legs when she hit the ground. "Ha Ha" The voiced cackled again A large, bloody mouse emerged from the shadows, knife in hand "Ha Ha"
Mickey, in theaters this summer
Rated R
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[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.
|
He thought he was done. After thirty years of madness fighting crime on the streets, he was finally able to lay down his badge, and looked forward to a quiet retirement. He thought he was finally out for good. But they wouldn't let him rest. They went after his family, and now he's going to make them pay.
"If you're looking for ransom, I can tell you that I don't have any money. What I do have is a particular set of gadgets. Gadgets implanted in my body over a long career. Gadgets that make me a nightmare for people like you. Return my niece now, and that will be the end of it. I won't come looking for you. If you don't, I will look for you. I will find you, and I will go-go kill you."
This summer, one retired cop returns for one last caper, and this time, it's personal.
"Where's Penny?"
"You think you can make me talk? You're a joke, a washed-up publicity stunt."
"That was a long time ago. Things have changed. Go-go gadget blow torch."
Come see your favorite detective like you've never seen him before. This summer, Jeff Goldblum is....
Inspector Gadget.
|
She was running down the halls. "Ha Ha" a voice laughed down the hall. "There's the exit, if I could just get there" Suddenly the floor gave out underneath her, and she broke her legs when she hit the ground. "Ha Ha" The voiced cackled again A large, bloody mouse emerged from the shadows, knife in hand "Ha Ha"
Mickey, in theaters this summer
Rated R
|
|
[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.
|
He thought he was done. After thirty years of madness fighting crime on the streets, he was finally able to lay down his badge, and looked forward to a quiet retirement. He thought he was finally out for good. But they wouldn't let him rest. They went after his family, and now he's going to make them pay.
"If you're looking for ransom, I can tell you that I don't have any money. What I do have is a particular set of gadgets. Gadgets implanted in my body over a long career. Gadgets that make me a nightmare for people like you. Return my niece now, and that will be the end of it. I won't come looking for you. If you don't, I will look for you. I will find you, and I will go-go kill you."
This summer, one retired cop returns for one last caper, and this time, it's personal.
"Where's Penny?"
"You think you can make me talk? You're a joke, a washed-up publicity stunt."
"That was a long time ago. Things have changed. Go-go gadget blow torch."
Come see your favorite detective like you've never seen him before. This summer, Jeff Goldblum is....
Inspector Gadget.
|
20 years ago, 4 kids were kidnapped and confined by an unknown entity. After cruel experimentation, isolation, brain-washing under a new personality and desfiguration, they've become free... to look for a vengeance. This summer, Miramax brings you the deadly conclussion to this story - Teletubbies: Spelling Murder. (R-Rated for extreme violence, sex scenes and gore)
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[WP] You have been hired on a large renovation project which is taking place in a cave beneath a mansion. Some of the specifications, however, leave you with some questions for Mr. Wayne.
|
"Sir, I'm not sure we can do *everything* you requested." I said to Mr. Wayne. Along with being one of the richest men in Gotham, he also had a particularly strange sense of style. "I understand the need to maintain the local habitat, but that's the twelfth bat attack this week."
He waved his hand in front of his face as he walked through the renovations, "Don't be alarmed. They're simply protecting their home."
"Again," I was hesitant to bring up the matter to Wayne in the first place, but my workers safety was paramount, "I understand. But we need to at least knock them out."
He shook his head as he leaned against one of the railings we had recently installed. "No, leave them be. And they will leave you be."
"I--" I shook my head, "Yes, sir." When I turned to walk away, he grabbed my shoulder.
"How goes the renovations by the way?"
I turned back to face him, glancing down at my clipboard, "We're making progress." I was about to lie straight to his face before I realized *who* he was again. I couldn't lie to the richest man in Gotham, let alone Bruce Wayne. "Although, we've had some setbacks. The blueprints you gave us for the rotating underwater platforms?"
"Ah yes, I bought them for a heavy price." He smirked slightly.
"Yeah, well you might want to get your money back. The blueprints are crap. The wiring needs to be completely redone and the specifications are off by a few *meters*."
"That can't be right," his smirk turned into a frown and he stood straight. "Are you sure you're reading them right?"
"Mr. Wayne, with all due respect, I've been a contractor for thirty-five years. I *know* what I'm doing."
"Well, like I always say, you learn and you fix!"
I nodded, unsure if Mr. Wayne was actually serious or if he was just joking around. Whoever he did buy the blueprints from was obviously not a certified architect, or engineer, or anything close to a person who can build. They were shit. Each and every one of them. But I wasn't about to tell him all of that.
"Along with that, the laboratory equipment you requested is backlogged. And some of those things you ordered, don't actually *exist*."
He tilted his head, "Explain."
"Well, I'm not sure what a bat-heater is, but we don't have it."
"You've never heard of it?" He laughed and gripped my shoulder. I winced. "It's a small pad, in the shape of a bat, that heats or melts ice."
"Uh, sir, that's we call a torch. Just not bat-shaped."
"Oh. Well, that will do as well. Anything else?"
I glanced down at the board and nodded as I read off the list. "I do not have a Batsaw, or a Batrope, or a Master Batkey. I'm not even sure what a Batcall is, but if it's what it sounds like, I don't want it near this place. And a Bat-Camera, which if I were to guess, is a bat-shaped camera?"
"Oh no, just any camera will do."
I looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. It wasn't my position to question the, uhm, obsessiveness of Mr. Wayne with bats, but I was also a little scared at the whole list. Along with that, we had signed NDA's when we signed up for the job, which I meant I couldn't tell anyone about the Bachelor's obsession.
"Well, don't worry about any of that for now. How about the security features?"
I smiled, it was actually one of the only things we weren't encountering problems with. "That's going extremely well. We've set up motion sensors on the lawns as requested, steel and lead mechanical doors to each part of the Workshop, as well as entering the workshop. We even got the mechanical lift in the Southwest corridor to work, so now you can enter from your home."
He smiled, "Perfect! I have one last addition for you to add to everything."
"Oh, of course. I'll add it to the list." Mr. Wayne handed me a small PDA and nodded. "The installation process should be quite simple. It should do most of it itself. I just need the items on the list."
"Mr. Wayne," Alfred said from the other side of the Cave and the two of us looked up, "You have a call waiting."
He smiled and nodded, "I leave you to it!" He walked away, "Remember, three more weeks!"
I took a deep breath. We'd be lucky if we could finish in three weeks. And then just as he left I looked down at the PDA and began to read. "The Agamemno Contingency?" I took a look at the first item, then swung my head up to see if Mr. Wayne was still around. I took a deep breath, "Where the hell am I going to get Kryptonite?"
______________
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work!*
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I clicked off the bandsaw and the noise was replaced by a high pitched squealing as the Butler dragged the kid in and shoved him towards me. Mikey was my sister's kid and kind of a shit to be honest, but I'd promised that I would give him a go with my crew on this Wayne job. He was already proving more trouble than he was worth.
The snooty Butler crossed his arms and fixed me with a look that reminded me of Sister Mary Magdalene from my school days at Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow Roman Catholic school in Brooklyn, where I had spent many unhappy days as a kid getting into trouble. "Your *boy* was skulking around the manor again." He shook his head. "We have a works agreement for a *reason* you know?"
His clipped British accent only helped enforce the inferiority complex that I was trying to hide. I cuffed the kid around the head. "What you doing in there Mikey? You freakin' stupid or something, what did I tell you about sticking with Paulie on the blasting job?"
He shrugged. "I dunno, I got bored."
"Bored?" I slapped his head again. "You were helping him rig up dynamite, how bored can a kid get?" I turned back to the butler. "Tell Mr Wayne I'm sorry about this, it wont happen again."
The Butler looked at Mikey and rolled his eyes. "See that it does not. If Master Wayne were to find 'Mikey' where he should not be, then you might not get him back again. Or at least not the way you last saw him."
There was something weird in the way that he said it, but I just nodded and he turned on his heel and was gone. As soon as the door clicked shut I turned on the kid. "You little numbnuts, I told your Ma I would give you a job and you mess me about like *this*? I should send you back to work with Cousin Danny on the shrimp boat."
Suddenly Mikey came alive, his eyes gleaming with fight. "I didn't want to come here anyway, I gotta career Uncle Louis, Ma just doesn't take it serious or nothing."
"Career?" I laughed. "Your little music tunes you play in your room? C'mon kid, you need to get real."
"I *am* and I don't need to be here working on your creepy old houses." He folded his arms and met my stare.
"Creepy? Then why are you wandering around it kid? Why not just do your damn job?" There as just a moment where he broke and something showed through, something odd, almost like fear. He opened his mouth and then shut it again. "C'mon kid, spit it out."
The passion returned. "I saw something, okay, I just wanted to try to figure it out by myself."
I cocked an eyebrow. "Wha'da'ya mean you saw something?"
He shrugged. "Like a guy, all dressed up funny, in a costume, like one of those superhero guys."
"Like a damn... like a damn Superhero guy?" I held my breath and counted to ten but it didn't stop me exploding in anger. "You're chasing around after damn superhero ghosts while you're on the job?" I clipped him around the ear again and he shied away from me. "This is your last chance Mikey, or it's back to 3am wake ups and smelling of shrimp, you got me?"
He nodded sadly. "Just looked like a guy in a cape is all."
He looked so sad I couldn't help but laugh. "Look, help me with this framework, we gotta install a road through a waterfall tomorrow and I gotta lotta work to get it just right."
He held the other end and I began cutting, trying not to let my anger get in the way. Honestly, guy in a costume, this kid had some imagination.
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[WP] You have been hired on a large renovation project which is taking place in a cave beneath a mansion. Some of the specifications, however, leave you with some questions for Mr. Wayne.
|
"Sir, I'm not sure we can do *everything* you requested." I said to Mr. Wayne. Along with being one of the richest men in Gotham, he also had a particularly strange sense of style. "I understand the need to maintain the local habitat, but that's the twelfth bat attack this week."
He waved his hand in front of his face as he walked through the renovations, "Don't be alarmed. They're simply protecting their home."
"Again," I was hesitant to bring up the matter to Wayne in the first place, but my workers safety was paramount, "I understand. But we need to at least knock them out."
He shook his head as he leaned against one of the railings we had recently installed. "No, leave them be. And they will leave you be."
"I--" I shook my head, "Yes, sir." When I turned to walk away, he grabbed my shoulder.
"How goes the renovations by the way?"
I turned back to face him, glancing down at my clipboard, "We're making progress." I was about to lie straight to his face before I realized *who* he was again. I couldn't lie to the richest man in Gotham, let alone Bruce Wayne. "Although, we've had some setbacks. The blueprints you gave us for the rotating underwater platforms?"
"Ah yes, I bought them for a heavy price." He smirked slightly.
"Yeah, well you might want to get your money back. The blueprints are crap. The wiring needs to be completely redone and the specifications are off by a few *meters*."
"That can't be right," his smirk turned into a frown and he stood straight. "Are you sure you're reading them right?"
"Mr. Wayne, with all due respect, I've been a contractor for thirty-five years. I *know* what I'm doing."
"Well, like I always say, you learn and you fix!"
I nodded, unsure if Mr. Wayne was actually serious or if he was just joking around. Whoever he did buy the blueprints from was obviously not a certified architect, or engineer, or anything close to a person who can build. They were shit. Each and every one of them. But I wasn't about to tell him all of that.
"Along with that, the laboratory equipment you requested is backlogged. And some of those things you ordered, don't actually *exist*."
He tilted his head, "Explain."
"Well, I'm not sure what a bat-heater is, but we don't have it."
"You've never heard of it?" He laughed and gripped my shoulder. I winced. "It's a small pad, in the shape of a bat, that heats or melts ice."
"Uh, sir, that's we call a torch. Just not bat-shaped."
"Oh. Well, that will do as well. Anything else?"
I glanced down at the board and nodded as I read off the list. "I do not have a Batsaw, or a Batrope, or a Master Batkey. I'm not even sure what a Batcall is, but if it's what it sounds like, I don't want it near this place. And a Bat-Camera, which if I were to guess, is a bat-shaped camera?"
"Oh no, just any camera will do."
I looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. It wasn't my position to question the, uhm, obsessiveness of Mr. Wayne with bats, but I was also a little scared at the whole list. Along with that, we had signed NDA's when we signed up for the job, which I meant I couldn't tell anyone about the Bachelor's obsession.
"Well, don't worry about any of that for now. How about the security features?"
I smiled, it was actually one of the only things we weren't encountering problems with. "That's going extremely well. We've set up motion sensors on the lawns as requested, steel and lead mechanical doors to each part of the Workshop, as well as entering the workshop. We even got the mechanical lift in the Southwest corridor to work, so now you can enter from your home."
He smiled, "Perfect! I have one last addition for you to add to everything."
"Oh, of course. I'll add it to the list." Mr. Wayne handed me a small PDA and nodded. "The installation process should be quite simple. It should do most of it itself. I just need the items on the list."
"Mr. Wayne," Alfred said from the other side of the Cave and the two of us looked up, "You have a call waiting."
He smiled and nodded, "I leave you to it!" He walked away, "Remember, three more weeks!"
I took a deep breath. We'd be lucky if we could finish in three weeks. And then just as he left I looked down at the PDA and began to read. "The Agamemno Contingency?" I took a look at the first item, then swung my head up to see if Mr. Wayne was still around. I took a deep breath, "Where the hell am I going to get Kryptonite?"
______________
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work!*
|
"Ok Mr Wayne it says here you need a large garage and a drive way that goes UNDERWATER, opens up when u get near a proximity of 50m and has a giant super computer"
The architect looking at Mr Wayne.
"Yes that's correct"
"Okay and it says here you need a giant cage made out of kryptonite, may I ask what is kryptonite?"
"Well Gerry, kryptonite is a green rock found in the outer reaches of space, I have a lot stored"
"Sorry Mr Wayne I'm not sure any of my engineers have experience working with this type of material"
"Gerry, I can be a project manager as well but this cave needs to be built 100% to specification. I need something that will hold doomsday as well, and some disability stairs that Alfred can go up and down in easily"
Gerry noting all this down
"That's great Mr Wayne we'll take all the kryptonite training we can get. Sorry another question. These pods you ask for, they need to be vacuum sealed for suit protection... What kind of suits?"
"Well Gerry I have a range of high quality tuxedos that I need stored. That's very easy to make I just need them inserted, Alfred and I can do the rest"
Mr Wayne Glances at Alfred
"Oh yes of course Master Bruce"
Gerry continues jotting down the notes
"Now it also says here you may or MAY NOT fight super villains and need this to withstand time itself"
"Correct"
Gerry looking concerned
"Any heads up on anything Mr Wayne, ya know my family needs to be kept safe and all"
"No Gerry nothing at this time, oh I'll also need a giant four story hole dug out for my tower which I'll also keep my batmarine, I mean submarine"
"Oh submarine very good, water too"
"Mm what else do I need in the bat cave, I mean cave. Oh I almost forgot I'll need a Lazarus pit, a large swarm of bats in one area of the cave and a place I can store a t-Rex"
Gerry confused at what he just heard
"I'm sorry Mr Wayne did you say t-Rex?"
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[WP] You have been hired on a large renovation project which is taking place in a cave beneath a mansion. Some of the specifications, however, leave you with some questions for Mr. Wayne.
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A thousand glistening eyes watched from the ceiling as I led Mr. Wayne through the construction site; the bats above didn't seem to be bothered by the constant noise of jackhammers and heavy machinery. I showed him the massive garage that we'd carved through solid rock, even though he had a perfectly good one full of Italian sports cars up above. I brought him by the helicopter landing pad, again carved through solid rock for no particular stated reason. What was he planning to do, fly it through the waterfall? But, he's the client, and he could afford it. At each site, he insisted on measuring the new caverns and spent a good amount of time fretting over each.
We entered the main chamber, where some tech guys from a different contractor were wiring up some sort of huge screen. The electrical cables being used were thicker than my arm, so whatever they were putting in would be using more juice than about a quarter of Gotham City. We proceeded further down the cave, past the twelve impenetrable "panic rooms" that Mr. Wayne had requested we build with the locks on the outside of the doors. Mr. Wayne had a few pointed questions about certain factors, particularly the EMP hardening that he'd managed to procure from a military contractor. I'd never done that sort of work, and he was concerned that it wasn't being done to specifications.
"I don't know," he finally said, looking around, "I'm just concerned that this won't be sufficient for my needs." That was always the phrase he used; he never wanted to elaborate on what those needs were. The guys here on the crew had all put in money for a pool, trying to guess what those 'needs' were. Given Wayne's reputation in the tabloids as reclusive and crazy, most of the guys were guessing that this was some sort of extravagent doomsday shelter. The runner-up idea was that he was moving R&D divisions of Wayne Tech into his own basement. "I might need to revise some of the plans," he finally said.
"Look, Mr. Wayne," I finally said as we reached the back of the cave, where an elevator was being installed going up to the manor library, "I'm not one to pry or anything. I know that the contract came with a pretty strict confidentiality provision, including no-questions-asked."
"Yes," Wayne interrupted me. "It did. And if you find yourself unable to comply with that, then..."
"Just hear me out," I said, speaking over him. He clearly wasn't used to being interrupted, much less by an employee. "Have I ever mentioned my daughter to you?"
He shook his head. "I don't believe so."
I wouldn't expect him to remember even if I had. He was certainly a busy guy, and I was just one of thousands of people working for him. "Sarah." From my wallet, I retrieved the picture of her from her fourth-grade picture day and showed it to Mr. Wayne. "Super smart kid, let me tell you. And so curious about everything." My voice cracked; I didn't talk about her very often. "She was on a school field trip last year, and, uhhh..." A knot formed in my throat. "And she was killed. Her bus was on the West Gotham Bridge when the Joker blew it up."
He nodded. If I was in his shoes, I wouldn't really know what to say either.
"Well, Joker was locked up a few days later. By the Batman." I thought I saw just the slightest twitch in his face, but the light down here can play tricks on you like that. Maybe it was just what I *wanted* to see; some confirmation of what I'd suspected since I first looked at the blueprints. "Some other kid somewhere in Gotham is still alive because he put Joker in Arkham. If there was *anything* I could do to help him catch even more of these psychos, I'd do it in a heartbeat."
There was a terse silence between the two of us, though the cave was still filled with the bustling sounds of construction. Mr. Wayne crossed his arms and looked at me, almost daring me to continue.
"Well, anyway. Sorry for that *unrelated* tangent, Mr. Wayne. All I'm trying to say is that if there is *anything* in this job that is not 100% up to your standards, you just let me know, and I'll *personally* take care of it. And if that requires a little more elaboration on what you need, then I want you to know that you can 100% trust me. Just say the word."
For the first time since I was hired me for this job, he smiled. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."
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"Ok Mr Wayne it says here you need a large garage and a drive way that goes UNDERWATER, opens up when u get near a proximity of 50m and has a giant super computer"
The architect looking at Mr Wayne.
"Yes that's correct"
"Okay and it says here you need a giant cage made out of kryptonite, may I ask what is kryptonite?"
"Well Gerry, kryptonite is a green rock found in the outer reaches of space, I have a lot stored"
"Sorry Mr Wayne I'm not sure any of my engineers have experience working with this type of material"
"Gerry, I can be a project manager as well but this cave needs to be built 100% to specification. I need something that will hold doomsday as well, and some disability stairs that Alfred can go up and down in easily"
Gerry noting all this down
"That's great Mr Wayne we'll take all the kryptonite training we can get. Sorry another question. These pods you ask for, they need to be vacuum sealed for suit protection... What kind of suits?"
"Well Gerry I have a range of high quality tuxedos that I need stored. That's very easy to make I just need them inserted, Alfred and I can do the rest"
Mr Wayne Glances at Alfred
"Oh yes of course Master Bruce"
Gerry continues jotting down the notes
"Now it also says here you may or MAY NOT fight super villains and need this to withstand time itself"
"Correct"
Gerry looking concerned
"Any heads up on anything Mr Wayne, ya know my family needs to be kept safe and all"
"No Gerry nothing at this time, oh I'll also need a giant four story hole dug out for my tower which I'll also keep my batmarine, I mean submarine"
"Oh submarine very good, water too"
"Mm what else do I need in the bat cave, I mean cave. Oh I almost forgot I'll need a Lazarus pit, a large swarm of bats in one area of the cave and a place I can store a t-Rex"
Gerry confused at what he just heard
"I'm sorry Mr Wayne did you say t-Rex?"
|
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[WP] Everything you draw comes to life, the problem is you suck at drawing.
|
“Does it hurt?” I ask him. I'm genuinely curious. Looking over his mangled form I have thoughts of the horribly deformed people that I've seen in the movies. I don't think anybody ever bothered to ask them if it hurt, they were always too busy trying to take advantage of them or kill them and rescue the girl. I promised I would be different.
His crooked mouth opens and in a surprisingly deep voice he utters “No”.
I let out a sigh of relief. I felt bad enough that I couldn't make him look the way I wanted, I couldn't imagine how much it would've stung to know that he was in pain too. I asked him his name. He wipes his nose with the back of his enormous blue hand. I wish I had used black ink, but it's too late for that now.
“Lenny”, he rumbles.
Of course it is. That's not what I would have named him, but it was no longer up to me, he was his own man now. That's the way of it, all I can do is just bring these things to life and then let them decide how to live.
Some of them have stuck around like Jacqueline the butterfly woman and Heinrich, who I can't even properly put into words. Imagine a doodle of spirals, but now give it lanky arms that have two too many elbows. I was just daydreaming when I created Heinrich, but he didn't hold it against me that he wasn't my best effort. He's so kind and loyal that he's likely my best friend out of all of my creations.
Some have left and gone on to do other things with their lives. Trash collector, hair stylist, circus performer, construction worker. I have creations working in a wide variety of occupations. I'm not trying to take credit for any of their accomplishments. If anything I wonder how much more they could do if I was any good at drawing. I'm proud of them though.
Lenny grunted and scratched his protruding stomach.
“What do I do now?” he asked.
“Well Lenny, what do you want to do? What is it that you feel like you were made to do?”
“Drawing.”
He clearly misunderstood the question.
“No Lenny, you're made FROM a drawing, but what is it you WANT to do?” I hoped I emphasized the question correctly.
Lenny furrows his brow in a huff.
“No. Drawing.”
He hobbles his way on two different sized legs over to where I am sitting at my desk. He picks up the very pen that I just used to sketch him and it is dwarfed in his gargantuan hand. He shoos me with his other hand and sits in my seat. I smile at his enthusiasm and think about how art, even my bad attempt at it, really isn't a pet to be tamed and controlled. I get lost in the philosophical daydream and when I come back around Lenny is pointing at the picture that he just drew. I know the limits of my talent so I'm sure to be encouraging regardless of how it looks. Jacqueline flutters in through the open window and lands on my shoulder.
“Oh wow”, she gasps right in my ear, “did YOU do that? You've gotten really good.”
I'm just as gobsmacked as she is. On the paper is a portrait of me. A proper portrait. My nose isn't crooked and my eyes are aligned. It is so good it is nearly photorealistic. The only way I know it's not a photograph is because I was standing right there as Lenny drew it. He smiles, satisfied with the reception of his drawing.
“See? Drawing.”
I can't believe how good he is given that he comes from such poor stock. I beam with pride. My drawings may not be the best, but they are all wonderful.
|
Tiny puddles of tears dotted the paper. Tiny screams from his brother’s crooked mouth tore at his ears.
Tim watched in horror as his brother dragged himself across the desk on disfigured arms that popped and wrenched unnaturally. Matty’s little legs left undrawn had formed as flailing stubs that hindered his brother’s movement more than they helped.
Tim had been too slow. He’d focused too much on the details of the face, which even now sloughed slightly from the skull. The angle of the cheek was off, the nose a gaping wound that dribbled snot over Matty’s almost perfect lips. The lips had given Tim hope, their creation let his brother make sound. Now he understood that was a mistake. The screams trailed off into manic gibbering punctuated by the thump of tiny stump legs. The lips should have come last, after he perfected everything else. There was never enough time.
Dozens of framed pictures sat around the desk; the wall was riddled through with pins holding the more candid images. The largest was Matty’s last head shot, still sitting on the easel they’d used at the funeral. Four years he’d been gone but waking or sleeping Tim ached with unanswered questions. Tiny hounds that sunk their teeth into his brain and refused release. Four years and the best he could do was a broken caricature with his brother’s eyes.
Matty’s thrashing struggles had carried him to the desk's edge. In triumph he glared up at Tim. Then just as he had that first and final time, he hurled himself over the edge. Matty’s broken body breaking once more against the ground. Joining the detritus of the day’s other drawings. Tim picked up his pencil and turned one of his brother’s photos to better catch the light as fresh tears dotted the paper with puddles.
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Your choice whether you are limited or omniscient.
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[WP] Write a story where you, the third-person narrator, are involved in the plot.
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Sarah woke up on a beautiful Sunday morning, the sun shining through the curtains that bordered her window. The alarm wasn't set to go off for another 3 hours, but on a day like this sarah liked to wake up early and go for a walk with the family dog.
Sarah groaned, "Let me sleep! I don't want to walk the damn dog!"
Regardless of her personal wishes, the dog still needed walking and on a sunny day like this, Sarah really couldn't waste time by sleeping in past noon. She walked to the door that lead to the bathroom, to take a quick shower and get ready for the sunny sunday outside.
Sarah groaned again, standing by the door to the bathroom "Do we really have to do this? Can't you go narrate someone else?"
But Sarah knew that yes, we really had to do this, since it's such a beautiful day out, and staying in bed all day was such a terrible idea. Without another complaint she undressed and stepped into the shower, getting her hair wet so it would be easier to brush and washing away the thin layer of sweat that had no doubt built up on her skin while sleeping.
When that was done, and she was dressed and ready to walk the dog, she moved downstairs to get breakfast. She could smell that someone had been making crisp bacon on the stove.
"WHOA, what just happened. Where did the shower go? Are we skipping parts now? What are these clothes?! I'm dressed as some kind of 18th century governess"
It was her mother that had been making bacon. But now her mother just stared in confusion. "What are you wearing dear?" her mother said, "Is there a play you're in at school?" But Sarah had no time to react, she was late for her job.
"Job?! What happened to walking the dog? I don't have a shift today!"
Some time later, Sarah arrived. She hoped the children had been good while she was away at her parent's house.
"What?! Where am I? Is this lakeview manor?"
Sarah stepped in the house, and children rushed her from the adjacent rooms. They weren't hers, of course. But she'd been more a mother then their birth parents had ever been. Happy to see them after being away for so long she said, in a hoarse voice:
"Oh there you are, have you been good?"
Somewhere in the background, a whisper added,
*^help ^me.*
---
Well there's my first ever post here that wasn't a comment! haha. I'm always making up stories in my head, but i never really write them down, half because i think they'll probably make a lot less sense outside the chaos of my own head, and half because i don't think i can get the syntax of a story right... which is a weird reason, i know.
i hoped anyone who read this liked it. When i started it was a vague idea, but i started typing and just let it go organically.
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Jake had been born with a distinct lack of agency. Now, most people had a vague feeling like they didn't control their lives, whether it be because of God, or they're in a simulation, or maybe that the mechanical ticking of the physical universe doesn't leave much room for personal choice, but Jake knew for sure. He didn't get to control his actions, but he did know who did.
This bothered Jake quite a bit for a while, but just as all the other people grew tired of questioning their gods, or pleading with the simulation masters, or trying to nudge the mechanical ticking, so did Jake grow tired of being bothered. He supposed it was all very well the same if he was making choices because of chemicals sloshing around in his brain, or because someone else did so for him.
He just hoped that someone else was benevolent.
Jake grew up following the letters of the script. He lived a quite unremarkable life, had a short string of girlfriends he regretted until he found one he cherished. H didn't have kids, but got to travel instead, and made many reliable friends all across the world. Jake's life was pleasant, for sure, but he often wondered why it was only that. Surely, Jake could have had a brilliant life, one full of adventure and daring, constant bliss and constant action, but he didn't. He wondered why, because he understood that he had no choice, but whoever did had not chosen to torture or toy with him.
What Jake did not understand, though, was suspension of disbelief. At least, he did not understand it until now. Jake and his choicemaker were both being judged, and they had to please the judge to continue. If Jake had lived a life too full, well...who would have believed that? It wouldn't even have been worth judging, and there's not much difference between a script unread and a script that doesn't exist at all.
But even so, Jake also understood that eventually every story, and every life, must come to an end. He was thankful, with what little choice he had to be so, that he had lived well, and thankful that his choicemaker had been a friend. The choicemaker, too, was thankful to Jake that he had helped them both exist, even if for a short while.
Jake closed his eyes, and breathed his last sigh in a room filled with friends, content that he nothing left he needed to do, and the choicemaker, too, made their last choice.
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[WP] Two hijackers have boarded a plane. Midflight they attempt to take over the plane only to find that all the other 'passengers' are hijackers too with differing opinions.
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"Everyone stay the fuck down!"
Jared screamed as he held the gun up, towards the crowd.
"Air Marshall, Freeze!"
The Marshall announced loudly, aiming his own gun at Jared... He then snickered and turned it towards the crowd as well.
"Now listen, this plane isn't landing anywhere, until we have a-"
"Wait!" A man stood up, and began yelling at the hijackers.
"We were doing this too, what the hell? Who the hell are you people?"
Jared looked around nervously.
"Uh.. Communist Party of the USA... Who the fuck are you?" He asked, waving his gun at him.
"IRA, we were gonna kick things up again this month." The old man pulled out a small revolver, and shrugged.
"Hey, hey, hey. What's all this then?" A third party stood up, and pulled a sawed off shotgun from his coat. "My wife and I are members of the Ukrainian-"
"Ok, ok WAIT!" Jared held up his arms, and took a deep breath.
"How many people are trying to hijack this fucking plane?"
Every hand in the plane went up. Some laughs were heard in the back.
"Oh for fucks sake, are we even going to have enough time and gas to figure out everyone's demands to call in?" A South african voice was heard saying.
"How the hell did everyone in this plane get onboard with guns, we took off out of LAX!" David, the Air Marshall asked, scratching his head.
"We paid off the TSA guys!"
"So did we!"
"Paid them off!"
Almost everyone in the plane was nodding in agreement.
"Christ, those guys made a lot of money this afternoon..." Jared whispered to himself.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a hostess busted out of the bathroom, brandishing an AK-47. "Freeze fuckers! I represent the Air Hostess Union, and we-"
"Oh shut the fuck up!" The IRA fighter yelled, inciting everyone to laugh.
"What the hell?" The hostess exclaimed.
"It's a long story, sit down." Jared sighed, as he set a piece of paper on the ground.
"Alright, I want everyone to set their demands in this pile. Then someone is gonna shuffle them, and we'll call down to the ground, and start listing demands until we hit the bottom of our lists, ok?"
The passengers nodded in agreement, some had already begun walking around considering the situation.
"Um, just one problem!" A voice with a thick middle eastern accent declared from the back.
"What the hell is it?" Jared yelled towards the voice.
"My partner is the mastermind behind this! And we had no idea this was going to happen so..."
Jared shrugged. "So get him to give you the list? What's the big deal?"
"Well that's the thing, I can't tell him, and we don't have a list.. He's the *pilot*.."
The plane began descending sharply, and everyone let out a loud, consecutive "Fuck!".
|
Lars looked out of the window, a nervous flier in a stormy sky. This wasn't doing him any good, he thought. Canadians needed him, and they needed more recognition in the US, just not at the jokes.
It was almost midway into the journey. The aircraft would have left ATC coverage by now. He edged his way towards the washroom to take the weapon he smuggled through. Pushing a flight attendant away, he announces: "Good morning sweeties. Today, I have a dream"
Mohamed, a Pakistani came from the back of the aircraft, dragging a flight attendant by her hair. "What are you guys doing?". Before Lars could answer, he recognised a familiar face - "Pranav, you too? I thought you wanted Sikh rights". In a short while, all the countries in the world were represented - by hijackers!
The only ones left were the flight attendant and the two pilots. So they explained the situation to them. The pilots and the attendants belonged to 'neutral organisations'. With the aircraft on autopilot, they could not decide where to go.
In the end, the attendant suggested. We all want something different. We're out of coverage already. What if we pick a new island and start our own country? A model nation for the world. Between us, we have the skills we need.
After minutes of intense discussion, they finally agreed. The pilots took measures to avoid suspicion, ditched MH370 and settled on an island in the South sea.
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|
Inspired by these comments from /u/thepeoplesbard
>Irrational hatreds are sort of beautiful to me. Your every day, vanilla hatreds are boring. Oh, you're a racist? I've seen that before. You hate baby penguins? Now that's *fucked up*. Please tell me more.
and /u/stock_is_locked
>You know theres a story behind them, bigots, racists, etc are usually just propagating what they were taught or observed as children. The outlandish unique hatreds usually have juicy backstories.
https://www.reddit.com/r/movies/comments/4mpoot/im_in_a_cinema_fraternity_and_we_host_weekly/d3xcv58
|
[WP] You have an irrational hatred of something mundane like the movie Ratatouille, ketchup, or baby penguins. What's the backstory?
|
"Do you have a pen?" I ask the bank teller. "The ones out here don't work."
She smiles and reaches into a drawer. "Here you go," she says, handing me a black pen.
I let out a high-pitched shriek and hit the pen out of the woman's hand. It rolls onto the floor toward a man talking to the next teller over and they both pause their transaction to stare at me. The woman who handed me the pen withdraws her hand and gapes at me and I feel my face growing hot.
Bile is creeping up my throat. I turn around and I run outside and I throw up in the nearest trash can. When I look up, I see that everyone in the bank is staring at me through the glass doors, their faces frozen in shock. Great. Here I am, a grown-ass man trying to run a grown-ass errand, throwing up in public because a kind old woman tried to hand me a pen.
All I can think to do next is run. I run as fast as my stubby little legs will take me. My car is still parked in front of the bank, and my check hasn't been cashed, but I'm not thinking. I'm just running. All I know is that I need to get as far away as I can.
I have no idea how long I've been running or how far I've come. I don't know where I am. I do know that I passed civilization ages ago, after I veered into the trees along the road. I'm in the thick of it now, dodging branches and jumping over rocks and kicking up dirt. My chest is throbbing and every breath is a struggle. My legs are growing weaker with every stride. But I will not stop because I won't let them get me again.
The black pen is how they got me last time.
When I sat in that big comfy chair, and that man asked me what I was thinking and I told him, he took out his black pen and it made that awful click-click sound and he wrote down everything I said. And then the men in white came and carried me away.
They told me I was going to live in a new place for a while. And when I got to the new place there was more click-clicking and they put the pen in my hand and they made me sign my name on a piece of paper. And then I sat in the room. At first I screamed and kicked and cried and punched, but they wouldn't let me out. So I gave up. I just sat and waited and sat and waited in that tiny white room.
And then seventeen years later the same man from before came in, only this time he was holding a blue pen. He asked me what I was thinking again and I told him and he wrote down what I said. And then the men in white said I could leave, and they gave me another blue pen and another piece of paper and they made me sign my name. And then I walked out the door.
I can't let the men in white come back for me again. The black pen brings them. So I'm still running and I will never stop.
Those people at the bank probably think I'm crazy.
|
INT. Bedroom - Morning
TED (42) is sleeping in his bed in a t-shirt and pj pants. He's covered up with the blanket and a little of the cool morning light peeks around the edges of the blinds.
KIM (41) walks in the room with a robe and kisses his forehead.
KIM
Merry Christmas.
TED stretches and groans. He sits up and smiles at KIM
TED
Merry Christmas. You wanna come back to bed and lay here with me for a while.
KIM
No. I have a surprise for you. Put your robe on and follow me.
EXT. Front Yard - Continuous
KIM is standing in the open doorway of the house waiting for TED. He walks out the door and KIM's smile grows as she waits for his reaction.
TED walks past the shiny Acura with the bow on it and gets in his ten year old Chevy and drives away.
KIM pulls out her phone and calls TED's cell. It rings twice and goes to voicemail.
KIM
What is the matter with you? I thought you'd be happy I got you a new car!
INT. Bar - Night
A dimly lit hole in the wall filled with the kind of people you'd expect in a bar on Christmas Day, including TED in his pajamas and robe.
The door swings open and lets the cold air in. CHRIS (18) walks in and sits next to TED.
CHRIS
You know Kim's looking for you? She doesn't know why you took off. Said she bought you a new car for Christmas.
TED
Yeah, a fucking Acura.
CHRIS
Jesus. She didn't know man.
TED
Yeah, how's she supposed to know. Never really got around to that conversation.
TED chuckles and looks down at his drink.
We got in a fender bender with one at a mall parking lot one time. I started kicking the guy's grille in and threatening to kill him and his family.
CHRIS
You should talk to her about this man.
TED
Yeah. I probably should.
INT. Kim's house - Day
Kim's phone rings. An unkown number. She answers it.
TED
Hi Kim
KIM
You've got a lot of nerve calling me! You don't come home, you don't call for two weeks! I should hang up on you right now.
TED
Please don't hang up Kim. I've only got one call and I just wanted to explain to you why I left on Christmas. After I drove off I went to a bar and I got drunk. I stayed in a cheap hotel near the bar for a bit. One day I was getting ready to go to the bar again but the snow was coming down so hard the cabs weren't running. I decided to walk instead. On the way there I came across an Acura dealer. Now I'm in jail for smashing thirteen headlights and seven windshields.
I'm not calling you to bail me out. I just wanted to tell you it's not your fault and you couldn't have known.
KIM
What is the matter? Why do you hate these cars so much?
TED
You never met my brother, Chris. He was the smart one, really going places. He graduated highschool valedictorian, had a full ride to Harvard. My parents were so proud they got him an Acura for his graduation gift.
He went to a graduation party later that week. He got in a fender bender on the way home, nothing serious. His airbag went off though. It was defective and instead of a cushion of air to minimize some minor whiplash he got a face full of shrapnel. He was lifeflighted to the hospital where he stayed on a ventilator for 18 hours. He died from a fucking airbag.
My parents took Acura to court for it. They weren't looking for a huge payout. Just wanted to have them pay the medical bills and to protect other families from the same thing. Didn't matter though. They said since Chris had a couple beers even though he was under the legal limit that the accident was his fault.
Like I said, it's not your fault. I thought I could finally move on. Looks like I was wrong. You should move on and find someone who treats you as good as you deserve. Don't wait for me.
KIM
Ted, we could go to counseling. We could work this out.
INT. Jail - Continuous
TED hangs up the payphone and walks back to the guard.
|
Inspired by these comments from /u/thepeoplesbard
>Irrational hatreds are sort of beautiful to me. Your every day, vanilla hatreds are boring. Oh, you're a racist? I've seen that before. You hate baby penguins? Now that's *fucked up*. Please tell me more.
and /u/stock_is_locked
>You know theres a story behind them, bigots, racists, etc are usually just propagating what they were taught or observed as children. The outlandish unique hatreds usually have juicy backstories.
https://www.reddit.com/r/movies/comments/4mpoot/im_in_a_cinema_fraternity_and_we_host_weekly/d3xcv58
|
[WP] You have an irrational hatred of something mundane like the movie Ratatouille, ketchup, or baby penguins. What's the backstory?
|
Marcus was surprised how far this argument had gotten. All he had stated was that he didnt like *The Hunger Games*. He'd underestimated how much of a fan his date was. And, for that matter, how strong of an opinion he had about storytelling.
"I just can't stand present tense narration. It's a shitty way to tell a story," he opined.
Tilda can't believe this. When she first brought up literature they had so much in common. And now this comes up. Not liking romance or something like that she can understand. How can this be the literary dealbreaker for him?
"But present tense narration gives a sense of immediacy. Like you're right there in the action with the characters. Besides, its not like everyone's doing it. It's just nice to have a change of pace once in a while."
Marcus wasn't sold on this idea, and at this point he wasn't going to back down. "But you're *not* in there with the characters," he replied. "It's all written down in the book. The story is already told and you're just reading it. It breaks suspension of disbelief. You can't just have the book pretend like the events are currently happening."
This is the first time Tilda has heard of a writing style breaking suspension of disbelief. And certainly the first time anyone's been so opinionated about it. And she realizes it doesn't fit with something he said before.
"Wait, wait, wait," she says, "you told me earlier you really liked those SCP stories. You're saying that you're on board with a narrative being told through an image-based chat between sentient AI, but narration in the present tense is a bridge too far?"
"Well those are different," he countered. "The weird narration is the point there. With the present tense it's sort of like normal, but not quite, and it feels really off-putting."
Tilda scoffs at that. "So, what, there's an uncanny valley of narration?" she says.
"Exactly," Marcus agreed. He was glad she finally understood the problem. "I can't believe anyone with a brain would like that."
Tilda rolls her eyes. Does he already not remember that *she* likes that? She starts wondering when the food will arrive. This isn't the worst blind date she's been on, but the night is still young. "And here I thought my hangup about said bookisms was irrational," she says.
"...what are 'said booksisms'?" Marcus inquired.
"It's that thing where authors use a whole bunch of awkward words instead of just 'said' in their dialog tags," she says. "You know, like when all those characters start ejaculating in *Harry Potter*." Marcus gave her a funny look. "Oh you know what I mean."
"I don't know," Marcus replied. "I mean, there's a limit, but real speech has aspects that can't be captured with just text."
"Nonsense. A good writer can convey the tone through text alone. It's just another way to show, not tell. Especially because sometimes you need to drop the dialog tags to improve flow."
"Oh God, I hate it when authors do that. You ever read *A Farewell to Arms*? Hemingway was terrible about it. Makes conversations way too hard to follow."
"No, I never read that book. Was it that bad?"
"Yeah, and he'd even leave in the meaningless crap people say to fill the void in conversations."
"Really?"
"Yep."
"Huh."
"Makes the conversation even harder to follow."
"So why'd you read the book then?"
"It wasn't by choice," Marcus hissed. "My dickbag English teacher assigned it. He loved all that modernist crap. He spent the entire year on it. Hated every minute of it. Ended up giving me a D after I wrote my final essay on how much I hated it. Asshole." He realized he'd said that last bit louder than he'd intended. A few people at the restaurant had turned their heads.
At least he's consistent, Tilda thinks. "So is that why you're so...intense about these things," she says, "or is there more to this story?"
"Well, sort of. I had him again the next year and he spent the whole time on postmodern literature. Like that was any better," Marcus growled. "Bunch of douchebags trying too hard to be clever and meta and shit."
Tilda smiles. She and Marcus have finally found something they can agree on again. "Yeah," she says, "I don't think anyone likes that."
|
INT. Bedroom - Morning
TED (42) is sleeping in his bed in a t-shirt and pj pants. He's covered up with the blanket and a little of the cool morning light peeks around the edges of the blinds.
KIM (41) walks in the room with a robe and kisses his forehead.
KIM
Merry Christmas.
TED stretches and groans. He sits up and smiles at KIM
TED
Merry Christmas. You wanna come back to bed and lay here with me for a while.
KIM
No. I have a surprise for you. Put your robe on and follow me.
EXT. Front Yard - Continuous
KIM is standing in the open doorway of the house waiting for TED. He walks out the door and KIM's smile grows as she waits for his reaction.
TED walks past the shiny Acura with the bow on it and gets in his ten year old Chevy and drives away.
KIM pulls out her phone and calls TED's cell. It rings twice and goes to voicemail.
KIM
What is the matter with you? I thought you'd be happy I got you a new car!
INT. Bar - Night
A dimly lit hole in the wall filled with the kind of people you'd expect in a bar on Christmas Day, including TED in his pajamas and robe.
The door swings open and lets the cold air in. CHRIS (18) walks in and sits next to TED.
CHRIS
You know Kim's looking for you? She doesn't know why you took off. Said she bought you a new car for Christmas.
TED
Yeah, a fucking Acura.
CHRIS
Jesus. She didn't know man.
TED
Yeah, how's she supposed to know. Never really got around to that conversation.
TED chuckles and looks down at his drink.
We got in a fender bender with one at a mall parking lot one time. I started kicking the guy's grille in and threatening to kill him and his family.
CHRIS
You should talk to her about this man.
TED
Yeah. I probably should.
INT. Kim's house - Day
Kim's phone rings. An unkown number. She answers it.
TED
Hi Kim
KIM
You've got a lot of nerve calling me! You don't come home, you don't call for two weeks! I should hang up on you right now.
TED
Please don't hang up Kim. I've only got one call and I just wanted to explain to you why I left on Christmas. After I drove off I went to a bar and I got drunk. I stayed in a cheap hotel near the bar for a bit. One day I was getting ready to go to the bar again but the snow was coming down so hard the cabs weren't running. I decided to walk instead. On the way there I came across an Acura dealer. Now I'm in jail for smashing thirteen headlights and seven windshields.
I'm not calling you to bail me out. I just wanted to tell you it's not your fault and you couldn't have known.
KIM
What is the matter? Why do you hate these cars so much?
TED
You never met my brother, Chris. He was the smart one, really going places. He graduated highschool valedictorian, had a full ride to Harvard. My parents were so proud they got him an Acura for his graduation gift.
He went to a graduation party later that week. He got in a fender bender on the way home, nothing serious. His airbag went off though. It was defective and instead of a cushion of air to minimize some minor whiplash he got a face full of shrapnel. He was lifeflighted to the hospital where he stayed on a ventilator for 18 hours. He died from a fucking airbag.
My parents took Acura to court for it. They weren't looking for a huge payout. Just wanted to have them pay the medical bills and to protect other families from the same thing. Didn't matter though. They said since Chris had a couple beers even though he was under the legal limit that the accident was his fault.
Like I said, it's not your fault. I thought I could finally move on. Looks like I was wrong. You should move on and find someone who treats you as good as you deserve. Don't wait for me.
KIM
Ted, we could go to counseling. We could work this out.
INT. Jail - Continuous
TED hangs up the payphone and walks back to the guard.
|
Inspired by these comments from /u/thepeoplesbard
>Irrational hatreds are sort of beautiful to me. Your every day, vanilla hatreds are boring. Oh, you're a racist? I've seen that before. You hate baby penguins? Now that's *fucked up*. Please tell me more.
and /u/stock_is_locked
>You know theres a story behind them, bigots, racists, etc are usually just propagating what they were taught or observed as children. The outlandish unique hatreds usually have juicy backstories.
https://www.reddit.com/r/movies/comments/4mpoot/im_in_a_cinema_fraternity_and_we_host_weekly/d3xcv58
|
[WP] You have an irrational hatred of something mundane like the movie Ratatouille, ketchup, or baby penguins. What's the backstory?
|
"Do you have a pen?" I ask the bank teller. "The ones out here don't work."
She smiles and reaches into a drawer. "Here you go," she says, handing me a black pen.
I let out a high-pitched shriek and hit the pen out of the woman's hand. It rolls onto the floor toward a man talking to the next teller over and they both pause their transaction to stare at me. The woman who handed me the pen withdraws her hand and gapes at me and I feel my face growing hot.
Bile is creeping up my throat. I turn around and I run outside and I throw up in the nearest trash can. When I look up, I see that everyone in the bank is staring at me through the glass doors, their faces frozen in shock. Great. Here I am, a grown-ass man trying to run a grown-ass errand, throwing up in public because a kind old woman tried to hand me a pen.
All I can think to do next is run. I run as fast as my stubby little legs will take me. My car is still parked in front of the bank, and my check hasn't been cashed, but I'm not thinking. I'm just running. All I know is that I need to get as far away as I can.
I have no idea how long I've been running or how far I've come. I don't know where I am. I do know that I passed civilization ages ago, after I veered into the trees along the road. I'm in the thick of it now, dodging branches and jumping over rocks and kicking up dirt. My chest is throbbing and every breath is a struggle. My legs are growing weaker with every stride. But I will not stop because I won't let them get me again.
The black pen is how they got me last time.
When I sat in that big comfy chair, and that man asked me what I was thinking and I told him, he took out his black pen and it made that awful click-click sound and he wrote down everything I said. And then the men in white came and carried me away.
They told me I was going to live in a new place for a while. And when I got to the new place there was more click-clicking and they put the pen in my hand and they made me sign my name on a piece of paper. And then I sat in the room. At first I screamed and kicked and cried and punched, but they wouldn't let me out. So I gave up. I just sat and waited and sat and waited in that tiny white room.
And then seventeen years later the same man from before came in, only this time he was holding a blue pen. He asked me what I was thinking again and I told him and he wrote down what I said. And then the men in white said I could leave, and they gave me another blue pen and another piece of paper and they made me sign my name. And then I walked out the door.
I can't let the men in white come back for me again. The black pen brings them. So I'm still running and I will never stop.
Those people at the bank probably think I'm crazy.
|
In retrospect, after midnight on a Friday evening in college is not the best time to make a deep, mind-shattering discovery about your best friend.
"Are you serious?" I howled across the table at Barry, pelting him with Hershey Kisses. "You don't like chocolate? Man, what's wrong with you!"
Barry did his best to block the shower of small projectiles, but he didn't want to let go of his beer bottle, so several of the little foil-wrapped chocolates pinked off the glass container. "Nothing's wrong!" he insisted. "I just don't like the stuff, okay?"
"Nuh uh, not okay," I said, shaking my head vehemently back and forth. With all the booze sitting in my stomach and pestering my liver, the head-shaking gesture made the room spin unsteadily, but I clamped both of my hands over my ears until the wooziness passed. "Who doesn't like chocolate?"
"It's really nothing," Barry protested.
I looked around at the girls in the room with us. We'd found these two in the little corner store when we stumbled in, searching for munchies. The blonde one smiled at me with that sexy smirk that promises so much to a drunken college kid, I spotted the family size bag of chocolates, and very smoothly invited them back to our apartment to "hang" and help us eat through the bag. The blonde now leaned against my arm in a very soft and inviting way, and her brunette friend was curled up against Barry. Total win for the night.
At least, up until Barry decided to make his stance against chocolate.
"What do you think, Ellie?" I asked the blonde leaning against me, letting my hand boldly drop another couple inches down her back towards that pert little ass of hers.
She just grinned as my hand curled around her. Goddamn, yoga pants are awesome. "I think it's weird," she agreed. "Tell us why not!"
"Yeah, tell us!" piped up Ellie's brunette friend. I still hadn't caught her friend's name, but she was short and had a very generous amount of bouncy cleavage on display, which totally made her Barry's type. "Tell us and I'll flash you!"
"Can't resist that," I pointed out, as Ellie's warmth pressed against me, counterpoint to the warm fuzziness in my head.
Barry rolled his eyes. "Oh, fine. Look, it's a stupid kid thing. Dylan, you know how my parents are divorced, right?"
I nodded. I'd met both of them, of course, during our years of living together. Nice folks, but I'd learned not to let both of them into the same room together. Acid and water - a violent explosion.
"Well, the final straw for their marriage was at Disneyland," Barry continued. "See, we were staying at this all-inclusive hotel, and I guess they just couldn't take each other any longer. They started screaming after dinner, throwing things across the room, and I went running away."
I frowned. "And this has to do with chocolate?"
"Yeah, it does. See, I went running away, but I couldn't leave the hotel, because I was only about six years old. So I ended up down in the cafeteria area, but since it was after dinner, they'd packed away everything except the dessert table."
Barry sighed. "And there, in the middle of the table, the only thing still running, was a massive fountain of chocolate, for fondue."
"I like fondue - it's a funny word," giggled big-boobs brunette, who didn't appear to be listening to the story too much.
I flapped a hand at her. "So what, you ate a bunch of the fondue?"
"Not a bunch," Barry corrected me. "Seriously, most of it. I stuck a glass into there and just started drinking. By the time that my mom came down and found me, the fountain was making grinding noises because there wasn't enough liquid in it any longer. Probably at least two or three pounds' worth."
I winced at the thought. "That probably didn't settle well."
"Nope. Up all night, brown - and I'm not talking just about chocolate - streaming out both ends of me." Barry grimaced. "Plus, you know, learning that my parents were getting divorced."
I looked down at the Hershey Kisses in my hand. "Okay. It kind of makes sense, now."
"Yeah."
"Too bad, since it tastes so good," Ellie piped up, popping one of the Kisses into her mouth. The chocolate still melting on her tongue, she leaned in and kissed my arm, leaving a brown smudge behind - and then slowly, sensually licked it off of my arm with her tongue. I didn't have to work hard to get her message.
"Hey, wait!" I protested. "Barry told the story, so now - er, your friend - has to flash us!"
Ellie stood up. "Tell you what. You can either sit here and let her flash you, or you can take me to your room, and see what I'll do to you." She winked at me, waggled her ass in my face, and then headed off towards the apartment's bedrooms.
The choice was a no-brainer. "See you tomorrow, Barry," I said, hopping up and charging after that sexy blonde. "Sorry about the chocolate thing!"
"Yeah, no worries," he called after me. The brunette on the couch next to him started squirming around, and even I had to pause for a moment at the sight of her movements. God, I loved college.
Just as I headed around the corner to find Ellie and see what sort of fun activities she had in mind, however, I heard the brunette speak up. "So, you wanna lick chocolate off of me?"
Hah. Let Barry deal with that one. My stomach filled with sweetness and my head slightly woozy with alcohol, I put thoughts of my best friend out of my head.
*****
*You're not subscribed to enough subs with stories. Here's one to fix that: /r/Romanticon*
|
Inspired by these comments from /u/thepeoplesbard
>Irrational hatreds are sort of beautiful to me. Your every day, vanilla hatreds are boring. Oh, you're a racist? I've seen that before. You hate baby penguins? Now that's *fucked up*. Please tell me more.
and /u/stock_is_locked
>You know theres a story behind them, bigots, racists, etc are usually just propagating what they were taught or observed as children. The outlandish unique hatreds usually have juicy backstories.
https://www.reddit.com/r/movies/comments/4mpoot/im_in_a_cinema_fraternity_and_we_host_weekly/d3xcv58
|
[WP] You have an irrational hatred of something mundane like the movie Ratatouille, ketchup, or baby penguins. What's the backstory?
|
Marcus was surprised how far this argument had gotten. All he had stated was that he didnt like *The Hunger Games*. He'd underestimated how much of a fan his date was. And, for that matter, how strong of an opinion he had about storytelling.
"I just can't stand present tense narration. It's a shitty way to tell a story," he opined.
Tilda can't believe this. When she first brought up literature they had so much in common. And now this comes up. Not liking romance or something like that she can understand. How can this be the literary dealbreaker for him?
"But present tense narration gives a sense of immediacy. Like you're right there in the action with the characters. Besides, its not like everyone's doing it. It's just nice to have a change of pace once in a while."
Marcus wasn't sold on this idea, and at this point he wasn't going to back down. "But you're *not* in there with the characters," he replied. "It's all written down in the book. The story is already told and you're just reading it. It breaks suspension of disbelief. You can't just have the book pretend like the events are currently happening."
This is the first time Tilda has heard of a writing style breaking suspension of disbelief. And certainly the first time anyone's been so opinionated about it. And she realizes it doesn't fit with something he said before.
"Wait, wait, wait," she says, "you told me earlier you really liked those SCP stories. You're saying that you're on board with a narrative being told through an image-based chat between sentient AI, but narration in the present tense is a bridge too far?"
"Well those are different," he countered. "The weird narration is the point there. With the present tense it's sort of like normal, but not quite, and it feels really off-putting."
Tilda scoffs at that. "So, what, there's an uncanny valley of narration?" she says.
"Exactly," Marcus agreed. He was glad she finally understood the problem. "I can't believe anyone with a brain would like that."
Tilda rolls her eyes. Does he already not remember that *she* likes that? She starts wondering when the food will arrive. This isn't the worst blind date she's been on, but the night is still young. "And here I thought my hangup about said bookisms was irrational," she says.
"...what are 'said booksisms'?" Marcus inquired.
"It's that thing where authors use a whole bunch of awkward words instead of just 'said' in their dialog tags," she says. "You know, like when all those characters start ejaculating in *Harry Potter*." Marcus gave her a funny look. "Oh you know what I mean."
"I don't know," Marcus replied. "I mean, there's a limit, but real speech has aspects that can't be captured with just text."
"Nonsense. A good writer can convey the tone through text alone. It's just another way to show, not tell. Especially because sometimes you need to drop the dialog tags to improve flow."
"Oh God, I hate it when authors do that. You ever read *A Farewell to Arms*? Hemingway was terrible about it. Makes conversations way too hard to follow."
"No, I never read that book. Was it that bad?"
"Yeah, and he'd even leave in the meaningless crap people say to fill the void in conversations."
"Really?"
"Yep."
"Huh."
"Makes the conversation even harder to follow."
"So why'd you read the book then?"
"It wasn't by choice," Marcus hissed. "My dickbag English teacher assigned it. He loved all that modernist crap. He spent the entire year on it. Hated every minute of it. Ended up giving me a D after I wrote my final essay on how much I hated it. Asshole." He realized he'd said that last bit louder than he'd intended. A few people at the restaurant had turned their heads.
At least he's consistent, Tilda thinks. "So is that why you're so...intense about these things," she says, "or is there more to this story?"
"Well, sort of. I had him again the next year and he spent the whole time on postmodern literature. Like that was any better," Marcus growled. "Bunch of douchebags trying too hard to be clever and meta and shit."
Tilda smiles. She and Marcus have finally found something they can agree on again. "Yeah," she says, "I don't think anyone likes that."
|
In retrospect, after midnight on a Friday evening in college is not the best time to make a deep, mind-shattering discovery about your best friend.
"Are you serious?" I howled across the table at Barry, pelting him with Hershey Kisses. "You don't like chocolate? Man, what's wrong with you!"
Barry did his best to block the shower of small projectiles, but he didn't want to let go of his beer bottle, so several of the little foil-wrapped chocolates pinked off the glass container. "Nothing's wrong!" he insisted. "I just don't like the stuff, okay?"
"Nuh uh, not okay," I said, shaking my head vehemently back and forth. With all the booze sitting in my stomach and pestering my liver, the head-shaking gesture made the room spin unsteadily, but I clamped both of my hands over my ears until the wooziness passed. "Who doesn't like chocolate?"
"It's really nothing," Barry protested.
I looked around at the girls in the room with us. We'd found these two in the little corner store when we stumbled in, searching for munchies. The blonde one smiled at me with that sexy smirk that promises so much to a drunken college kid, I spotted the family size bag of chocolates, and very smoothly invited them back to our apartment to "hang" and help us eat through the bag. The blonde now leaned against my arm in a very soft and inviting way, and her brunette friend was curled up against Barry. Total win for the night.
At least, up until Barry decided to make his stance against chocolate.
"What do you think, Ellie?" I asked the blonde leaning against me, letting my hand boldly drop another couple inches down her back towards that pert little ass of hers.
She just grinned as my hand curled around her. Goddamn, yoga pants are awesome. "I think it's weird," she agreed. "Tell us why not!"
"Yeah, tell us!" piped up Ellie's brunette friend. I still hadn't caught her friend's name, but she was short and had a very generous amount of bouncy cleavage on display, which totally made her Barry's type. "Tell us and I'll flash you!"
"Can't resist that," I pointed out, as Ellie's warmth pressed against me, counterpoint to the warm fuzziness in my head.
Barry rolled his eyes. "Oh, fine. Look, it's a stupid kid thing. Dylan, you know how my parents are divorced, right?"
I nodded. I'd met both of them, of course, during our years of living together. Nice folks, but I'd learned not to let both of them into the same room together. Acid and water - a violent explosion.
"Well, the final straw for their marriage was at Disneyland," Barry continued. "See, we were staying at this all-inclusive hotel, and I guess they just couldn't take each other any longer. They started screaming after dinner, throwing things across the room, and I went running away."
I frowned. "And this has to do with chocolate?"
"Yeah, it does. See, I went running away, but I couldn't leave the hotel, because I was only about six years old. So I ended up down in the cafeteria area, but since it was after dinner, they'd packed away everything except the dessert table."
Barry sighed. "And there, in the middle of the table, the only thing still running, was a massive fountain of chocolate, for fondue."
"I like fondue - it's a funny word," giggled big-boobs brunette, who didn't appear to be listening to the story too much.
I flapped a hand at her. "So what, you ate a bunch of the fondue?"
"Not a bunch," Barry corrected me. "Seriously, most of it. I stuck a glass into there and just started drinking. By the time that my mom came down and found me, the fountain was making grinding noises because there wasn't enough liquid in it any longer. Probably at least two or three pounds' worth."
I winced at the thought. "That probably didn't settle well."
"Nope. Up all night, brown - and I'm not talking just about chocolate - streaming out both ends of me." Barry grimaced. "Plus, you know, learning that my parents were getting divorced."
I looked down at the Hershey Kisses in my hand. "Okay. It kind of makes sense, now."
"Yeah."
"Too bad, since it tastes so good," Ellie piped up, popping one of the Kisses into her mouth. The chocolate still melting on her tongue, she leaned in and kissed my arm, leaving a brown smudge behind - and then slowly, sensually licked it off of my arm with her tongue. I didn't have to work hard to get her message.
"Hey, wait!" I protested. "Barry told the story, so now - er, your friend - has to flash us!"
Ellie stood up. "Tell you what. You can either sit here and let her flash you, or you can take me to your room, and see what I'll do to you." She winked at me, waggled her ass in my face, and then headed off towards the apartment's bedrooms.
The choice was a no-brainer. "See you tomorrow, Barry," I said, hopping up and charging after that sexy blonde. "Sorry about the chocolate thing!"
"Yeah, no worries," he called after me. The brunette on the couch next to him started squirming around, and even I had to pause for a moment at the sight of her movements. God, I loved college.
Just as I headed around the corner to find Ellie and see what sort of fun activities she had in mind, however, I heard the brunette speak up. "So, you wanna lick chocolate off of me?"
Hah. Let Barry deal with that one. My stomach filled with sweetness and my head slightly woozy with alcohol, I put thoughts of my best friend out of my head.
*****
*You're not subscribed to enough subs with stories. Here's one to fix that: /r/Romanticon*
|
Inspired by these comments from /u/thepeoplesbard
>Irrational hatreds are sort of beautiful to me. Your every day, vanilla hatreds are boring. Oh, you're a racist? I've seen that before. You hate baby penguins? Now that's *fucked up*. Please tell me more.
and /u/stock_is_locked
>You know theres a story behind them, bigots, racists, etc are usually just propagating what they were taught or observed as children. The outlandish unique hatreds usually have juicy backstories.
https://www.reddit.com/r/movies/comments/4mpoot/im_in_a_cinema_fraternity_and_we_host_weekly/d3xcv58
|
[WP] You have an irrational hatred of something mundane like the movie Ratatouille, ketchup, or baby penguins. What's the backstory?
|
Marcus was surprised how far this argument had gotten. All he had stated was that he didnt like *The Hunger Games*. He'd underestimated how much of a fan his date was. And, for that matter, how strong of an opinion he had about storytelling.
"I just can't stand present tense narration. It's a shitty way to tell a story," he opined.
Tilda can't believe this. When she first brought up literature they had so much in common. And now this comes up. Not liking romance or something like that she can understand. How can this be the literary dealbreaker for him?
"But present tense narration gives a sense of immediacy. Like you're right there in the action with the characters. Besides, its not like everyone's doing it. It's just nice to have a change of pace once in a while."
Marcus wasn't sold on this idea, and at this point he wasn't going to back down. "But you're *not* in there with the characters," he replied. "It's all written down in the book. The story is already told and you're just reading it. It breaks suspension of disbelief. You can't just have the book pretend like the events are currently happening."
This is the first time Tilda has heard of a writing style breaking suspension of disbelief. And certainly the first time anyone's been so opinionated about it. And she realizes it doesn't fit with something he said before.
"Wait, wait, wait," she says, "you told me earlier you really liked those SCP stories. You're saying that you're on board with a narrative being told through an image-based chat between sentient AI, but narration in the present tense is a bridge too far?"
"Well those are different," he countered. "The weird narration is the point there. With the present tense it's sort of like normal, but not quite, and it feels really off-putting."
Tilda scoffs at that. "So, what, there's an uncanny valley of narration?" she says.
"Exactly," Marcus agreed. He was glad she finally understood the problem. "I can't believe anyone with a brain would like that."
Tilda rolls her eyes. Does he already not remember that *she* likes that? She starts wondering when the food will arrive. This isn't the worst blind date she's been on, but the night is still young. "And here I thought my hangup about said bookisms was irrational," she says.
"...what are 'said booksisms'?" Marcus inquired.
"It's that thing where authors use a whole bunch of awkward words instead of just 'said' in their dialog tags," she says. "You know, like when all those characters start ejaculating in *Harry Potter*." Marcus gave her a funny look. "Oh you know what I mean."
"I don't know," Marcus replied. "I mean, there's a limit, but real speech has aspects that can't be captured with just text."
"Nonsense. A good writer can convey the tone through text alone. It's just another way to show, not tell. Especially because sometimes you need to drop the dialog tags to improve flow."
"Oh God, I hate it when authors do that. You ever read *A Farewell to Arms*? Hemingway was terrible about it. Makes conversations way too hard to follow."
"No, I never read that book. Was it that bad?"
"Yeah, and he'd even leave in the meaningless crap people say to fill the void in conversations."
"Really?"
"Yep."
"Huh."
"Makes the conversation even harder to follow."
"So why'd you read the book then?"
"It wasn't by choice," Marcus hissed. "My dickbag English teacher assigned it. He loved all that modernist crap. He spent the entire year on it. Hated every minute of it. Ended up giving me a D after I wrote my final essay on how much I hated it. Asshole." He realized he'd said that last bit louder than he'd intended. A few people at the restaurant had turned their heads.
At least he's consistent, Tilda thinks. "So is that why you're so...intense about these things," she says, "or is there more to this story?"
"Well, sort of. I had him again the next year and he spent the whole time on postmodern literature. Like that was any better," Marcus growled. "Bunch of douchebags trying too hard to be clever and meta and shit."
Tilda smiles. She and Marcus have finally found something they can agree on again. "Yeah," she says, "I don't think anyone likes that."
|
"Do you have a pen?" I ask the bank teller. "The ones out here don't work."
She smiles and reaches into a drawer. "Here you go," she says, handing me a black pen.
I let out a high-pitched shriek and hit the pen out of the woman's hand. It rolls onto the floor toward a man talking to the next teller over and they both pause their transaction to stare at me. The woman who handed me the pen withdraws her hand and gapes at me and I feel my face growing hot.
Bile is creeping up my throat. I turn around and I run outside and I throw up in the nearest trash can. When I look up, I see that everyone in the bank is staring at me through the glass doors, their faces frozen in shock. Great. Here I am, a grown-ass man trying to run a grown-ass errand, throwing up in public because a kind old woman tried to hand me a pen.
All I can think to do next is run. I run as fast as my stubby little legs will take me. My car is still parked in front of the bank, and my check hasn't been cashed, but I'm not thinking. I'm just running. All I know is that I need to get as far away as I can.
I have no idea how long I've been running or how far I've come. I don't know where I am. I do know that I passed civilization ages ago, after I veered into the trees along the road. I'm in the thick of it now, dodging branches and jumping over rocks and kicking up dirt. My chest is throbbing and every breath is a struggle. My legs are growing weaker with every stride. But I will not stop because I won't let them get me again.
The black pen is how they got me last time.
When I sat in that big comfy chair, and that man asked me what I was thinking and I told him, he took out his black pen and it made that awful click-click sound and he wrote down everything I said. And then the men in white came and carried me away.
They told me I was going to live in a new place for a while. And when I got to the new place there was more click-clicking and they put the pen in my hand and they made me sign my name on a piece of paper. And then I sat in the room. At first I screamed and kicked and cried and punched, but they wouldn't let me out. So I gave up. I just sat and waited and sat and waited in that tiny white room.
And then seventeen years later the same man from before came in, only this time he was holding a blue pen. He asked me what I was thinking again and I told him and he wrote down what I said. And then the men in white said I could leave, and they gave me another blue pen and another piece of paper and they made me sign my name. And then I walked out the door.
I can't let the men in white come back for me again. The black pen brings them. So I'm still running and I will never stop.
Those people at the bank probably think I'm crazy.
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
I pushed harder than I ever had before. The force of the wind on my face made me glad I was wearing a mask as I pumped my legs faster and faster. My arms sliced through the air as I gained speed, pushing the limits of how fast I had gone before.
"A hundred and ten miles, Lu! You beat your speed!" Van's voice echoed through my earpiece. "How do you feel?"
"Hot as hell." I huffed. We were in the southern US for this test to take advantage of the flat, open spaces. The plant life was sparse and scrubby. It looked pretty much the same as far as my eye could see, and it was a good hundred degrees fahrenheit out, and my sweat showed it.
Van chuckled, "Your speed, Lu. Stability. How are you holding up?"
"Fucking amazing. Van, has anyone ever told you you're a genius?"
"Every day." I could hear the smugness just dripping from his pores.
"Asshole." I laughed, "I'm speeding up."
"Be careful." I rolled my eyes at the warning in his voice and pressed my legs to move faster. I heard Van in my ear clocking my speed as it increased.
"One twelve. One sixteen. One eighteen. One twenty-one. One twenty-five. Hold it there, Lu. How do you feel?"
"Fast. Good. Solid. I can go faster."
"Yea, well, hold that for a moment and let my system get readings. Some of us aren't as fast as you."
I laughed but held my speed steady. The test was important to both of us. I wanted to push, but I didn't want to mess it up either, so I waited. The seconds dragged into minutes, the minutes into eternity.
"Alright Lu, I got it. You can start increasing your speed again."
That's all I needed to know. I pressed my legs to go faster again and my feet pounded against the solid earth. I couldn't feel it directly, but the tremors reverberated all the way up my back to my head.
Van recited my speed in my ear again, and I was somewhere over one hundred and forty miles when a wobble in my hips shook my balance.
"Shit!"
Van could hear me through the comms and was immediately on alert. "What is it, Lu?"
"Hip joint wobble." I could feel the tremble everytime my left foot hit earth. The thing about super speed is that my brakes don't work like a car. I only have the two legs-- not four wheels. My center of balance is different. I can't stop on a dime at this speed, I have to slow down in increments.
"Initiate deceleration now, Lu." Van's voice was all business now.
"Slowing down." I confirmed. Bit by bit I slowed my legs and pumped my arms a little less vigorously. The hip wobble remained, and after I got below a hundred I felt it worsen. I started to feel the loss of control in that leg more and more. I flung my arms out, waving them frantically as I hit eighty, then seventy. At forty I heard the creak of metal bending and a pop. I lost all control of my left leg at that point and the next thing I knew colours blurred together as I tumbled head over heels. I have no idea how fast I was still going when I finally fell, but the ground was not kind.
I came to at the sound of crunching tires and the sound of boots hitting the ground. My body felt like it had been dribbled across a basketball court. I groaned and tried to move my hands. They hurt, but I didn't think anything was broken.
Van's face swooped into my field of vision as he knelt beside me and tugged at my mask. "Lu, are you alright? Anything broken?"
I reached up and grabbed hit arm, my nails digging into his skin where his t-shirt sleeve ended. I widened my eyes as much as I could and felt them water with the effort. "Oh god, Van, I can't feel my legs! My legs, Van!"
He shoved at me, "Damn, Lu, will that joke never get old?"
I grinned and pulled myself into a sitting position. It took effort as even my hands felt bruised. Van had moved to sit by my legs. My left hip piece was missing parts and I could see a thin, slightly atrophied leg through the gap. Van sat back on his heels, cursing, as he studied the break in his design. "I'm never going to get this piece of junk strong enough to stay together but light enough for you to use." He complained.
I grinned, "Hey, is the super genius giving up? Can't keep up with me, huh? Don't blame you, turns out I'm pretty fast." I preened as he scowled at me. Two of Van's assistants had settled by me and were undoing the prototype's clasps from my legs. The third was pulling my wheelchair from the following vehicle. He took the broken piece his assistant handed him as the other helped me pull on real pants over my spandex, then shoes. I could tell he was stewing as he fucked with it and I winked at the two assistants as they helped me into my chair from the ground.
"I'm sorry." I screwed my face into the best self-pitying expression i could muster as his head swivelled towards me, his expression incredulous.
"What the hell for?"
"I didn't go fast enough for our test."
"You were so fucking fast! God dammit we've gone faster than we ever have before! There's nothing to be sorry for!"
I smiled then, "Exactly."
|
Danny was propped up his back to the wall. The grimacing faces of the firing squad in front of him waiting for the order. They stupidly though they had him beat, please.
"FIRE," yelled the most annoying man in his life.
The picosecond after the muzzle flashed Danny took his chance. Everyone always said the same thing a speedster with no legs is useless. Boy were they wrong. With the bullets essentially frozen in place right out of the muzzle Danny took inventory of the situation. They had hoped the drugs would keep him knocked during the execution, but legs or no legs he still had the metabolism of a speedster. He vibrated his body out the bonds, at least they sprang for the reinforced steel THIS time, welded to the chair instead of drilled.
Danny flipped out of the chair landing on his hands and got to the firing squad line. Propping himself up he flipped the bullets a 180 and lightly tapped them, at his speed they likely go through the guns. He was almost away from the immediate area when he decided to go back and wallop his former supervisor in his unmentionables. His brain would be registering that in a couple billion nanoseconds.
Now to find his exo-suit and get the hell out of here.
|
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
I pushed harder than I ever had before. The force of the wind on my face made me glad I was wearing a mask as I pumped my legs faster and faster. My arms sliced through the air as I gained speed, pushing the limits of how fast I had gone before.
"A hundred and ten miles, Lu! You beat your speed!" Van's voice echoed through my earpiece. "How do you feel?"
"Hot as hell." I huffed. We were in the southern US for this test to take advantage of the flat, open spaces. The plant life was sparse and scrubby. It looked pretty much the same as far as my eye could see, and it was a good hundred degrees fahrenheit out, and my sweat showed it.
Van chuckled, "Your speed, Lu. Stability. How are you holding up?"
"Fucking amazing. Van, has anyone ever told you you're a genius?"
"Every day." I could hear the smugness just dripping from his pores.
"Asshole." I laughed, "I'm speeding up."
"Be careful." I rolled my eyes at the warning in his voice and pressed my legs to move faster. I heard Van in my ear clocking my speed as it increased.
"One twelve. One sixteen. One eighteen. One twenty-one. One twenty-five. Hold it there, Lu. How do you feel?"
"Fast. Good. Solid. I can go faster."
"Yea, well, hold that for a moment and let my system get readings. Some of us aren't as fast as you."
I laughed but held my speed steady. The test was important to both of us. I wanted to push, but I didn't want to mess it up either, so I waited. The seconds dragged into minutes, the minutes into eternity.
"Alright Lu, I got it. You can start increasing your speed again."
That's all I needed to know. I pressed my legs to go faster again and my feet pounded against the solid earth. I couldn't feel it directly, but the tremors reverberated all the way up my back to my head.
Van recited my speed in my ear again, and I was somewhere over one hundred and forty miles when a wobble in my hips shook my balance.
"Shit!"
Van could hear me through the comms and was immediately on alert. "What is it, Lu?"
"Hip joint wobble." I could feel the tremble everytime my left foot hit earth. The thing about super speed is that my brakes don't work like a car. I only have the two legs-- not four wheels. My center of balance is different. I can't stop on a dime at this speed, I have to slow down in increments.
"Initiate deceleration now, Lu." Van's voice was all business now.
"Slowing down." I confirmed. Bit by bit I slowed my legs and pumped my arms a little less vigorously. The hip wobble remained, and after I got below a hundred I felt it worsen. I started to feel the loss of control in that leg more and more. I flung my arms out, waving them frantically as I hit eighty, then seventy. At forty I heard the creak of metal bending and a pop. I lost all control of my left leg at that point and the next thing I knew colours blurred together as I tumbled head over heels. I have no idea how fast I was still going when I finally fell, but the ground was not kind.
I came to at the sound of crunching tires and the sound of boots hitting the ground. My body felt like it had been dribbled across a basketball court. I groaned and tried to move my hands. They hurt, but I didn't think anything was broken.
Van's face swooped into my field of vision as he knelt beside me and tugged at my mask. "Lu, are you alright? Anything broken?"
I reached up and grabbed hit arm, my nails digging into his skin where his t-shirt sleeve ended. I widened my eyes as much as I could and felt them water with the effort. "Oh god, Van, I can't feel my legs! My legs, Van!"
He shoved at me, "Damn, Lu, will that joke never get old?"
I grinned and pulled myself into a sitting position. It took effort as even my hands felt bruised. Van had moved to sit by my legs. My left hip piece was missing parts and I could see a thin, slightly atrophied leg through the gap. Van sat back on his heels, cursing, as he studied the break in his design. "I'm never going to get this piece of junk strong enough to stay together but light enough for you to use." He complained.
I grinned, "Hey, is the super genius giving up? Can't keep up with me, huh? Don't blame you, turns out I'm pretty fast." I preened as he scowled at me. Two of Van's assistants had settled by me and were undoing the prototype's clasps from my legs. The third was pulling my wheelchair from the following vehicle. He took the broken piece his assistant handed him as the other helped me pull on real pants over my spandex, then shoes. I could tell he was stewing as he fucked with it and I winked at the two assistants as they helped me into my chair from the ground.
"I'm sorry." I screwed my face into the best self-pitying expression i could muster as his head swivelled towards me, his expression incredulous.
"What the hell for?"
"I didn't go fast enough for our test."
"You were so fucking fast! God dammit we've gone faster than we ever have before! There's nothing to be sorry for!"
I smiled then, "Exactly."
|
They told me, "He will never walk." Even before I was old enough to talk, my parents knew that I would never have use of my legs.
It was nothing for me, as a child, to take myself anywhere. I had the imagination of a thousand people. Fight a dragon from my chariot with my trusty steed at my side. Flying through the clouds, shooting down any pilot who tried to best me. I could do anything in my head.
One day that all faded to the past. I went to school like any other kid but I had to learn to slow down in my chair. The wheels had a tendency wear out if I pushed it too hard. I was somewhat of a recluse in my teens. Nobody wanted to be friends with a kid in a wheelchair.
Sure most people had a disability, but most of them were minor compared to mine. Fear of paperclips, no arm hair, one toe that was twisted sideways. No one was crippled like me.
By my senior year in high school, I had three jobs: paper delivery, pizza delivery, and a mail route. I knew the streets of my town like no one else and a wallet big enough to support my whole family. My arms had increased to the size of a body builder. I consumed enough food to need my own refrigerator in my room.
The day after graduation I decided to try something new. I wanted to climb. With my strength I could hold onto a light pole and pull myself right to the top. Soon I could climb the brick facade of my house using only my fingertips. Now I can scale the sheer side of a building with ease.
I left my wheelchair behind and soon learned how to the see the world from a different angle. I could walk on my hands better than anyone had ever dreamed. Take that! Not only can I walk on my hands, I can run on my hands faster than anyone can run.
I approached the best glovemakers to produce a special pair for my needs. A whole new line of gloves hit the market for rock climbers. New shoes were modeled after the composites that had been created. Runners could now run at steeper angles than ever.
Today, I am the first person to have successfully scaled the tallest place on Earth. Mount Everest is beautiful at the top. I'd like to see someone beat 1 minute 3 seconds on his hands, solo!
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[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
Since I was born I had barely no muscle in my calves, muscles were there of course but nothing enough to move my legs passed the knee. On the other hand I was diagnosed with super speed, yeah I know, kind of a bad joke from fate. In fact I could still move faster than many of my friends with my wheelchair, just I couldn't go in the stairs, if I was more talkative I could be compared as a human claptrap. I went to play a lot on online games, no one can test my 2500 apms on starcraft.
When I was twelve I had to move in a faraway boarding school since the nearest high school didn't had elevators. As I had to move my parents send me to a school where I could have a medical monitoring for my legs, my thighs still had muscles and I need to exercise it if I dont want a full atrophied legs.
The nurse showed me the school buildings and medical facilities, everybody here had some condition needing to be observed by a doctor regularly.
When he showed me the surrounding I saw that girl on the track field, she was running with blades instead of feets, she seemed wonderfull as she pierced through the air. At this moment, I started to consider an operation to replace my defectives calves.
That's how I started my scholarship at Yamaku's academy for gifted youngs.
|
"Look at the little baby *crawl*!"
I don't bother to look up. I know exactly who it is. It's the same voice, the same faceless bully thrashing out at someone weaker. All of these insights passed down from my mom and as useless as Algebra to my young ears.
They scurry off to go eat. Salad. Nuts. Fruits. Healthy stuff so they can grow up strong. I don't even have an appetite. I know growth for me just means I'll be even more pathetic. When you're young and disabled, people disguise their pity. When you're older, they don't have the time for disguise.
________
That was a long time ago, *weeks.*
"What the hell is that on your *back?*"
I ignore them as always. They run off in their happy little gang, laughing at life. On top of *it.*
*They just want to hurt others because they are hurting inside.*
*It's hard but you must find strength for forgiveness.*
*Once you quit caring about them, you will truly feel free.*
I rise above and circle above them with great ease. My mind releases from the kite strings of hate. Anger melts. I can see them below me. I can see their small reality construct. My mother's words finally make sense.
*...quit caring about them...*
They amble below me. So small. So weak. *Tiny.*
*... feel free!*
Gliding in my elevated head space, the world makes more sense. I have shed my inabilities and fears. I feel the nascent sensations of *appetite*. So I swoop down towards their deliciously bulbous green heads.
|
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
My arms burn. That's all I can think as I pump the hydraulics turning my wheels. I'm coated in sweat and I feel utterly beat, but I keep pumping. I need to win; to show them I have worth.
The man next to me is deaf. He is my competition and a speedster too. Our conversation is mainly through angry glares of determination. I'm glaring now, and pumping. My wheels are beginning to tremble. I was warned about this.
My chair is specially modified for my abilities. Instead of manually turning the wheels, I push and pull a hydraulic system that powers the gears and mechanisms to turn my wheels. My mechanic is blind, but he has a deep understanding of machines. My baby is one of a kind.
It's trembling.
I was warned. I don't seem to have an upper limit, but the chair damn sure does. My competition is still right beside me too damnit! I thought I could show the world I was the best speedster despite my broken legs. At the start I dashed past the others with no issue. I felt proud when I broke the sound barrier in 3.5 milliseconds. A personal best.
Then I saw him. He was directly next to me looking just as proud and smug as I likely looked. I hated him instantly. This is my moment goddamnit! He looked my way and I saw disgust cross his face. It made me glad to know the feeling was mutual.
We've been going for awhile now and my arms burn so badly. I don't know how fast we're going anymore, but everything is just an odd, hazy blur. I don't care, I must win. I must beat this man and show the world that there is no such thing as an invalid. For me, for my friend the blind machine god, for the others born mismatched and out of place. We are not bottom feeders. We have power too! I must show them all!
My chair trembles badly while I pump with more speed then I have ever mustered in my life. The world has turned into a foggy tunnel and something in the back of my mind says to stop, but I cant. He's still there, right beside me.
I see my left wheel buckle and suddenly vanish. My chair stays upright from sheer momentum, but it's over. I pull the stop bar and I am instantly surrounded in my break away pod. I suddenly hear sound again and am surprised to hear myself screaming. I hadn't realized we traveled beyond sound. I was so intent on winning.
The pod scrapes to a stop who knows where. I don't open it; I'm too angry and upset. I lay screaming and weeping as my arms cramp and ache like never before. They were all right. I am an invalid. I'm sorry Ted, I tried to push. Your chair and my abilities were not enough. I failed us. I weep.
The pod opens from the outside and the sun blasts my eyes for a moment. When I get my vision I see the deaf man. He looks beaten and hard worn. He's crying.
He reaches his hand down to help me sit up and when I do I hear for the first time a roar I've never heard before. It takes me a moment to realize it's a crowd. They're cheering. The deaf man hugs me weeping and I don't understand, but I weep too.
I was told about faster than light and omega class and speed force after the race. First of our kind they said. I didn't pay attention. I was stunned by it all and so was the deaf man. We sat together, sweaty and tired.
I thought of a word. Invalid. For the first time on my life I chuckled about the title.
Invalid...hah!
|
"Look at the little baby *crawl*!"
I don't bother to look up. I know exactly who it is. It's the same voice, the same faceless bully thrashing out at someone weaker. All of these insights passed down from my mom and as useless as Algebra to my young ears.
They scurry off to go eat. Salad. Nuts. Fruits. Healthy stuff so they can grow up strong. I don't even have an appetite. I know growth for me just means I'll be even more pathetic. When you're young and disabled, people disguise their pity. When you're older, they don't have the time for disguise.
________
That was a long time ago, *weeks.*
"What the hell is that on your *back?*"
I ignore them as always. They run off in their happy little gang, laughing at life. On top of *it.*
*They just want to hurt others because they are hurting inside.*
*It's hard but you must find strength for forgiveness.*
*Once you quit caring about them, you will truly feel free.*
I rise above and circle above them with great ease. My mind releases from the kite strings of hate. Anger melts. I can see them below me. I can see their small reality construct. My mother's words finally make sense.
*...quit caring about them...*
They amble below me. So small. So weak. *Tiny.*
*... feel free!*
Gliding in my elevated head space, the world makes more sense. I have shed my inabilities and fears. I feel the nascent sensations of *appetite*. So I swoop down towards their deliciously bulbous green heads.
|
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
"Before we begin, I'm required by law and policy to inform you that when speaking with me, you'll only be able to answer the truth. With that in mind, presuming you still wish to continue, how did an underdog and a no-name like yourself come out of the dark to become this year's champion?" A journalist asked the recent winner of the most prestigious world-wide combat tournament.
"I had grown up my whole life quiet. My parents were the only ones who really knew my powers, and they were too embarrassed by them to say anything to anyone. It was always 'Hun, you're special because you're the only one who isn't.' but what child wants to hear that?"
The interviewer looked back at the gold medalist, unsure how to respond, so he continued.
"I went to school, I kept my head down, got picked on frequently by those with the more fantastic powers, and kept myself in check. You see everyone has powers and disabilites to a certain degree. some more powerful than others. My speed was one of the highest on the spectrum, but when asked what my power was, I always kept to myself. I just said it was a 'personal' thing, and to leave me alone. The bullies were ruthless. Trying to tease, or trick, or even beat my secret out of me. Testing me until I broke, or exploded, or what have you. They didn't realize that I was already just as smart or smarter than those with super smarts, not simply because I could understand unfathomable depth of intellect, but because within an hour of studying, them understanding everything as they came across it, I had *learned* it. I gained information, then I dissected it. I processed it an infinite amount faster than the fastest computer. By the time I had finished the information, I didn't just understand it, I understood everything about it. Not just the material, but the why, the applicable tangents, counter arguments, everything. When I was picked on, it was like a bunch of ants on a dinner plate. I was never angry at such simple beasts, I simply brushed them off and continued my existence."
"I see." the journalist responded. "So how did you go from there to where you are?"
"Well I played out all of the scenarios with my 'tormentors', but none ended well."
"For you or them?"
The champion hesitated, and moved forward. "...Up until registration, I didn't think anything of signing on. But then I realized I would win, so I did. It was simple as that."
"Not many people would have favored a wheelchair-bound contestant in a fight to the death. What did you do to change their minds?"
"I didn't. I don't care for the public's opinion. I decided to win, so quite simply, it was going to happen. I presume most thought that someone wheeling into the battle arena on a chair would have flight, or laser vision, or could shoot fireballs, or one of the more offensive abilities. All I simply had to do was analyze the opponent, pinpoint their weak point, and exploit it until most of my opponents had destroyed themselves.
The arena's are nested with offensive and defensive weapons to increase the appeal of the battles, and I always chose the defensive weapons. I waited then struck. Same as always.
Those with super speed ended up relying on their physical prowess to much. They were overcome with a simple slip and a thrown disk or shield to the head. Pyro's burnt themselves out while I wheeled around their attacks with ease. Then they got infuriated and made the mistake of getting too close. All abilities have incorporated weaknesses aside from any given individual's disability whatever it may be."
"Well, there can't be a sure win-all for every type of ability though. Everyone is different even if the abilities are similar."
"No doubt everyone has a personality, and everyone is their own unique being. That being said, with similar abilities come similar disadvantages. I won because I'm patient, analytic, and I won't be overcome by those who think themselves better than I. The Revive Tech's would repair any of the damage done to the other contestants. I felt no guilt. The only thing that wouldn't be repaired was their pride. In destroying their ego, I found a way to beat them in which the outcome was only good. At least, good for me."
|
"Look at the little baby *crawl*!"
I don't bother to look up. I know exactly who it is. It's the same voice, the same faceless bully thrashing out at someone weaker. All of these insights passed down from my mom and as useless as Algebra to my young ears.
They scurry off to go eat. Salad. Nuts. Fruits. Healthy stuff so they can grow up strong. I don't even have an appetite. I know growth for me just means I'll be even more pathetic. When you're young and disabled, people disguise their pity. When you're older, they don't have the time for disguise.
________
That was a long time ago, *weeks.*
"What the hell is that on your *back?*"
I ignore them as always. They run off in their happy little gang, laughing at life. On top of *it.*
*They just want to hurt others because they are hurting inside.*
*It's hard but you must find strength for forgiveness.*
*Once you quit caring about them, you will truly feel free.*
I rise above and circle above them with great ease. My mind releases from the kite strings of hate. Anger melts. I can see them below me. I can see their small reality construct. My mother's words finally make sense.
*...quit caring about them...*
They amble below me. So small. So weak. *Tiny.*
*... feel free!*
Gliding in my elevated head space, the world makes more sense. I have shed my inabilities and fears. I feel the nascent sensations of *appetite*. So I swoop down towards their deliciously bulbous green heads.
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|
[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
Father always wanted me to look at the bright side of things.
Our family wasn't rich. Of course, if you weren't an active part of the economy, that meant you lived outside of Aegis City's glorious walls, in one of those poverty-stricken towns off the border of who-knows-where. Our family ended up working on a corn farm. "Look on the bright side," Father would say, "we're working out better than those rich guys lazing about in that metropolis, eh?"
I hated the rich.
They've got people over there like me--except they had it easy. Consider this: I'm over here sitting in a chair all day, husking corn in a manner way faster than ripping feathers off a wild goose, while there are people over there, maybe people like me, except they could *walk*, they could *run*, they could *get around*--because their rich parents paid an arm and a leg (and two more legs, for good measure) to amputate their child's lower limbs and slap on a pair of new ones from Biotech Labs that *smash through fricking concrete*. Or so I've been told.
The fire-powered family who owned the farm I worked at were nice people, though their tantrum-throwing, uncontrollable child often worried me. I worked in my room. It was more of a section of the farm's barn our family slept in since we couldn't afford a real home. It reeked of fertilizer and manure. Most days, when I wasn't husking corn, I would be climbing up and down the ladder using just my hands, going from the highest rung to the lowest rung and back up again, as fast as I could. Not only was it a workout, but it was also a way to pass the time, and sadly, my only source of entertainment. "Look on the bright side," Father would say, "If there's ever a ladder race in town, you'd probably be first."
Sometimes I wanted Father to shut up.
I hated the farm. I didn't *want* to sit in a barn husking corn from dawn 'til dusk. I wanted to leave. I wanted to get out and *explore*. When I was sixteen years old, I stayed up and waited one night. Father fell asleep. Followed by Mother, and my two sisters. Then I took the chance and crawled.
I sped through half of the barn in less than a second. Even though the shit started covering my sleeves, peppered with bits of hay, I felt a burden being lifted off of me--the realization I could probably speed-crawl to the other end of town before daybreak made me crawl even faster, and the instant I cracked the door open and rushed outside--
Something exploded. I was about fifty feet from the barn when an orange light brightened the sky. Then I looked back and saw the family household bursting like a firework, with pieces of it scattering in all directions. Including mine.
I didn't think, I just crawled. My arms moved rapidly, setting themselves one after the other while a chunk of flaming debris crashed on my right, its ashes sparkling inches from my eyes. More of it came, and my heart started racing faster than my arms. It only took a few seconds to get to the wooden fence, but when I was there, I looked back and gasped.
The barn was in flames. With my family inside. I shouted back at it, hoping that someone would hear, hoping that someone else also woke and ran out, too; but when no one else came, I crawled under the fence, and went on.
Maybe I could crawl to the fire department in time...
|
"Look at the little baby *crawl*!"
I don't bother to look up. I know exactly who it is. It's the same voice, the same faceless bully thrashing out at someone weaker. All of these insights passed down from my mom and as useless as Algebra to my young ears.
They scurry off to go eat. Salad. Nuts. Fruits. Healthy stuff so they can grow up strong. I don't even have an appetite. I know growth for me just means I'll be even more pathetic. When you're young and disabled, people disguise their pity. When you're older, they don't have the time for disguise.
________
That was a long time ago, *weeks.*
"What the hell is that on your *back?*"
I ignore them as always. They run off in their happy little gang, laughing at life. On top of *it.*
*They just want to hurt others because they are hurting inside.*
*It's hard but you must find strength for forgiveness.*
*Once you quit caring about them, you will truly feel free.*
I rise above and circle above them with great ease. My mind releases from the kite strings of hate. Anger melts. I can see them below me. I can see their small reality construct. My mother's words finally make sense.
*...quit caring about them...*
They amble below me. So small. So weak. *Tiny.*
*... feel free!*
Gliding in my elevated head space, the world makes more sense. I have shed my inabilities and fears. I feel the nascent sensations of *appetite*. So I swoop down towards their deliciously bulbous green heads.
|
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
*They're laughing. Good. All the more reason to win.*
He spread his arms, and his plastic "wings" showed themselves - they were no more than an extension, a little spoon-like glove - but I'm super fast. They're like a hummingbird's wings. And I can fly with them.
Being in a wheelchair makes no difference when you can fly. He usually felt like a bird, swift and graceful on air but awkward at the ground. When he signed up for the Bullet Race, they all laughed at him. Har! I'll show them now!
The Bullet Race was a test of skill and hability that depended on a bullet. If you're super-resistent, a bullet is shot at you, and the judges will rate your response to it. If you have superspeed, a bullet is shot forward, and you have to reach the target before it. If you're super intelligent, a bullet will be shot, but it is up to you to determine the right conditions, to manufacture the perfect bullet, to make it hit the target in the most efficient way.
I have superspeed. I also have legs that break at the smallest effort. I can fold them, and move them, but if I put weight on them they shatter. So I learned to fly. And now I'll race a bullet and two strong-legged boys who think they already have me beat.
Mr. Allen and Mr. West will find that I'm the best here. They won't see me (Mr. Allen is blind, after all, and Mr. West is just stupid), but they'll hear. *Zoom.*
________________
This WP was fun! Good stuff OP!
|
"Look at the little baby *crawl*!"
I don't bother to look up. I know exactly who it is. It's the same voice, the same faceless bully thrashing out at someone weaker. All of these insights passed down from my mom and as useless as Algebra to my young ears.
They scurry off to go eat. Salad. Nuts. Fruits. Healthy stuff so they can grow up strong. I don't even have an appetite. I know growth for me just means I'll be even more pathetic. When you're young and disabled, people disguise their pity. When you're older, they don't have the time for disguise.
________
That was a long time ago, *weeks.*
"What the hell is that on your *back?*"
I ignore them as always. They run off in their happy little gang, laughing at life. On top of *it.*
*They just want to hurt others because they are hurting inside.*
*It's hard but you must find strength for forgiveness.*
*Once you quit caring about them, you will truly feel free.*
I rise above and circle above them with great ease. My mind releases from the kite strings of hate. Anger melts. I can see them below me. I can see their small reality construct. My mother's words finally make sense.
*...quit caring about them...*
They amble below me. So small. So weak. *Tiny.*
*... feel free!*
Gliding in my elevated head space, the world makes more sense. I have shed my inabilities and fears. I feel the nascent sensations of *appetite*. So I swoop down towards their deliciously bulbous green heads.
|
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
Most people think I am in the chair because of the scars, more think the hunched over man pushing it. That he's my care taker. They are only half right...well, maybe two-thirds. The scars are most definitely from burns, and he does take care of me to the best of his abilities. A thousand bucks says you never, ever guess what caused them. You might not believe me, but then again, the stories on the news and all over the internet are getting stranger and stranger by the week. The little kid who can float off the ground, but only when he meditates. The old guy who caught the car that fell on him. Those sound like the origins of super heroes, comic book characters. In those worlds you don't hear about those with mundane beginnings or worse the ones who don't quite have all pieces of the super puzzle.
Take him for example. 6'2" 225, and he's silently grunting while pushing my lightweight chair and 110lb frame up a slight incline. You would never know when he's had his pills and maybe a beer or two he can bench just under 600lbs(although he swears it's 650). Of course he won't be able to walk for the next week and spend the next 48 hours living in a hot tub and munching Tylenol like pez. See he could easily have broken records in power lifting or strongman contests. Scientist are calling it nega-Hydroxypropanoic producers or Lack-Lacs for a short joke. It means these people do not produce lactic acids when their muscles do work, and in some cases it allows for some very strange effects. Like "super strength", endless stamina, and incredible speed.
What it does not equal is invulnerability, well not in us at the very least. While muscles are effected by this, your spine is not. As a kid he was average but quickly learned his strength didn't have a ceiling. At 13 he could military press almost 400lbs. Yet in his 30's threw his back out awkwardly twisting to grab some keys off a counter top. Herniated a couple of disks needed surgery and here he is. At least he got some use out of his before getting hurt.
Me on the other hand, I had issues or "powers" from birth. Inside the womb, I apparently turned so quickly and with such force I snapped my own spine. This was initially a blessing for my mom as she said I moved around so much and so fast from month 1 of her pregnancy, that she was practically living in hospitals. They had no idea what was going on. As I grew inside her I would move my arms so fast her stomach would vibrate, I've seen the home movies. Humor as you can tell is my defense mechanism. We used to say I probably wouldn't have made it to this age if I had my legs as a child. Can you imagine a toddler just learning to walk but with super speed? You have to smile or you end up crying. People always wonder the what if...but next to none have the actual answer. Me and him do.
The scars, I almost forgot...I had a seizure once. I shit you not, I was wearing corduroy pants, yes you may laugh. I was twitching so goddamn fast I started a fire. Honestly though, the EMT's said I was creating an audible hum so it probably wasn't the pants...but you get the idea. On the bright side that was me in that YouTube video melting that keyboard typing at "super" speed. No special effects, but if it makes you feel better I couldn't type for about 3 weeks after that and I think it gave me the beginnings of carpal tunnel...
So here we are Superman with a bad back. The Flash in a wheelchair. Perfectly imperfect, the definition of a cosmic joke. People wonder what they could have accomplished if their lives didn't take a turn, some waste their entirity of it wondering, dreaming, fantasizing.
Trust me it's far worse when you know and when you do, how can you not laugh?
|
"Look at the little baby *crawl*!"
I don't bother to look up. I know exactly who it is. It's the same voice, the same faceless bully thrashing out at someone weaker. All of these insights passed down from my mom and as useless as Algebra to my young ears.
They scurry off to go eat. Salad. Nuts. Fruits. Healthy stuff so they can grow up strong. I don't even have an appetite. I know growth for me just means I'll be even more pathetic. When you're young and disabled, people disguise their pity. When you're older, they don't have the time for disguise.
________
That was a long time ago, *weeks.*
"What the hell is that on your *back?*"
I ignore them as always. They run off in their happy little gang, laughing at life. On top of *it.*
*They just want to hurt others because they are hurting inside.*
*It's hard but you must find strength for forgiveness.*
*Once you quit caring about them, you will truly feel free.*
I rise above and circle above them with great ease. My mind releases from the kite strings of hate. Anger melts. I can see them below me. I can see their small reality construct. My mother's words finally make sense.
*...quit caring about them...*
They amble below me. So small. So weak. *Tiny.*
*... feel free!*
Gliding in my elevated head space, the world makes more sense. I have shed my inabilities and fears. I feel the nascent sensations of *appetite*. So I swoop down towards their deliciously bulbous green heads.
|
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[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
Despite my disability, my parents always pushed me. In their eyes, they were trying to get me to see past my limp, useless legs, and understand that I could still do what I wanted in life. Nothing would hold me back from my dreams.
When I was 6, I mentioned in passing that I might like to try gymnastics. My parents gave each other a slight look, thinking I might have found something I actually couldn't do. After enrolling in a school and attending for a short while, it became apparent that gymnastics was not for me. I could balance well on my hands, but use of one's legs was fairly important in gymnastics.
For a time, I was devastated. I had finally come to the realization that there were things I couldn't do.
I made it through until high school before I had a real dream again.
"Mom, dad, I want to try track."
That same look from when I was a child crossed their faces. They were unsure of encouraging me only to have it end in another failure.
They reluctantly agreed, but I knew I was going to perform. And God dammit, I was going to be the best.
At tryouts, the runners all stood tall at the line, and I wheeled myself up to it. I was met with a few chuckles as I began to climb out of my wheelchair and crawl up to the line. Even more when I got on my hands, limp legs in the air, in a handstand I had perfected since my developmental years, thanks to my brief stint as a wannabe gymnast. The coach walked over, clearly confused at my stature and my condition.
"Kid, are you serious?" He asked me.
"Of course I am. I'm here, aren't i?"
"You know, these kids have been running their entire lives," he said, sympathetic to my disability. "I don't want you to feel bad if you can't keep up."
"Don't worry about me, coach."
He shrugged and stepped back. When he blew the whistle, we were off. The other kids used their finely tuned leg muscles and pushed themselves as hard as they could. I did the same, however I was running on my hands. What I knew that the coach and other runners did not was my ability.
Super speed would have disqualified me from track and field were I running on my legs. But the combination of super speed and the disability of being forced to run on my hands balanced out to a just above average speed.
I didn't finish first that day, but I made the team. With training and practice, I became one of the fastest runners in my school. I abandoned my wheelchair, and began traveling exclusively on my hands. I gained a new confidence I never had before, and I showed the world something important.
I could do whatever the hell I wanted.
|
"Look at the little baby *crawl*!"
I don't bother to look up. I know exactly who it is. It's the same voice, the same faceless bully thrashing out at someone weaker. All of these insights passed down from my mom and as useless as Algebra to my young ears.
They scurry off to go eat. Salad. Nuts. Fruits. Healthy stuff so they can grow up strong. I don't even have an appetite. I know growth for me just means I'll be even more pathetic. When you're young and disabled, people disguise their pity. When you're older, they don't have the time for disguise.
________
That was a long time ago, *weeks.*
"What the hell is that on your *back?*"
I ignore them as always. They run off in their happy little gang, laughing at life. On top of *it.*
*They just want to hurt others because they are hurting inside.*
*It's hard but you must find strength for forgiveness.*
*Once you quit caring about them, you will truly feel free.*
I rise above and circle above them with great ease. My mind releases from the kite strings of hate. Anger melts. I can see them below me. I can see their small reality construct. My mother's words finally make sense.
*...quit caring about them...*
They amble below me. So small. So weak. *Tiny.*
*... feel free!*
Gliding in my elevated head space, the world makes more sense. I have shed my inabilities and fears. I feel the nascent sensations of *appetite*. So I swoop down towards their deliciously bulbous green heads.
|
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
“Next”.
If you think lines at tech support move slow, you better complain to someone else. I work faster than anyone else in the entire industry, but in the time, it takes you to come up to the counter I already start contemplating suicide. I can take your laptop from your hands, disassemble it and identify the problem before you even think of voicing your concern that something is wrong with it. I can build it anew from spare parts at the warehouse next door so fast that your confusion of what’s going won’t even kick in.
Of course, I could do it even faster, but the damn friction would shake my wheelchair apart. Spare details aren’t the most aerodynamic things either.
Doing my job takes on average 4,4% of overall interaction with the client. I counted. The rest is just you, people.
As usual, I do the miracle of fixing and lay the fruits of my labor in front of you. Then I just sit and wait for you to react.
It’s always the same. You start blinking fast, trying to perceive what just happened. You tell me what’s wrong with your computer. You always wonder if I really work as fast as the sign says. An eternity later, after I hand you over the check, you finally reach for your wallet with that stupid grin on your face: the most mundane thing for me is some sort of attraction for you. You behave as if you’re a caveman who was shown the secret of fire, while all I did was fix your damn gadget.
Working with client bases is a pain, too. I’ve been asking my boss for years to upgrade my computer so that it could keep up with me, but as much as he values me he says he just can’t allow it yet: if he adds any more hardware then he’ll also have to buy the state-of-the-art cooling system to prevent the machine from overheating.
For this reason, I try to keep all of the data necessary on paper, so that I could quickly go through it, but there are still limitations: if I turn the page too quickly, I risk tearing it apart with the wave of air it creates. Fires are also not uncommon, though they never last long enough for anyone to notice.
Of course, I don’t have it all that bad: I actually chose this line of work because I like it and because I need experience in mechanical engineering. Although I work alone, I’m everything my shop needs, and the line of clients who want a quick fix never fades, so I get paid more than decently. It still sucks that my legs are paralyzed, but on the other hands my hands are super jacked from pushing the wheels a hundred times a second.
Wheels usually don’t last more than a week, after that I have to replace them. My family asks why won’t I just get one of those electric wheelchairs since I could afford the best there is, but I would never settle for the speed it moves at. I suffer enough already, thank you very much.
If I ever feel depressed, I just remember that I could have it worse, like that guy who was born super-fast, but at the same time completely blind. He actually adapted pretty well, and the sound of his steps as he ran was a sort of echo locator for him, but, unfortunately, no one ever told him not to break the sound barrier. The guy ran into an incoming truck never even knowing that it was there. They say his teeth were found two miles to the west from the place of the accident.
I clock out at 18:00, and at 18:04, after a dash full of turns, I’m already at home, with the wheels of my chariot smoking from all the friction. I was born not just paralyzed, but also too fast for my own good. The world around me constantly tried to settle me down, to tell me that there are limitations I’m not supposed to exceed. That I’m too good to have been born into it, and that I would burn myself up if I try to resist.
But that’s up to me to decide.
As I said, even the most advanced, the most expensive model of the wheelchair was not good enough for me, but that’s because I haven’t built it yet. “Everything comes with the price” – was the lesson my life taught me, but it also taught me that there’s always a retribution. I may hate my work, but with the knowhow and money it provides me I will finally forge the throne that I deserve.
The friction, if it’s not clear yet, is the main problem in my life. No matter what material I tried to use, it just couldn’t handle the speed of rotation. So in order to eliminate the problem, I had to eliminate the friction. It took me 12 years and hundreds of thousands of dollars to build the wheelchair with wheels kept in place by magnetic forces, but today I will finally roll my beauty out for a ride. The fastest vehicle in the world, driven into motion only with my hands. With the amount of energy it requires to keep the wheels in place it may last only 7 minutes before the battery runs dry, but to me, those 7 minutes will feel like a whole vacation.
______________
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|
"Look at the little baby *crawl*!"
I don't bother to look up. I know exactly who it is. It's the same voice, the same faceless bully thrashing out at someone weaker. All of these insights passed down from my mom and as useless as Algebra to my young ears.
They scurry off to go eat. Salad. Nuts. Fruits. Healthy stuff so they can grow up strong. I don't even have an appetite. I know growth for me just means I'll be even more pathetic. When you're young and disabled, people disguise their pity. When you're older, they don't have the time for disguise.
________
That was a long time ago, *weeks.*
"What the hell is that on your *back?*"
I ignore them as always. They run off in their happy little gang, laughing at life. On top of *it.*
*They just want to hurt others because they are hurting inside.*
*It's hard but you must find strength for forgiveness.*
*Once you quit caring about them, you will truly feel free.*
I rise above and circle above them with great ease. My mind releases from the kite strings of hate. Anger melts. I can see them below me. I can see their small reality construct. My mother's words finally make sense.
*...quit caring about them...*
They amble below me. So small. So weak. *Tiny.*
*... feel free!*
Gliding in my elevated head space, the world makes more sense. I have shed my inabilities and fears. I feel the nascent sensations of *appetite*. So I swoop down towards their deliciously bulbous green heads.
|
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[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
My arms burn. That's all I can think as I pump the hydraulics turning my wheels. I'm coated in sweat and I feel utterly beat, but I keep pumping. I need to win; to show them I have worth.
The man next to me is deaf. He is my competition and a speedster too. Our conversation is mainly through angry glares of determination. I'm glaring now, and pumping. My wheels are beginning to tremble. I was warned about this.
My chair is specially modified for my abilities. Instead of manually turning the wheels, I push and pull a hydraulic system that powers the gears and mechanisms to turn my wheels. My mechanic is blind, but he has a deep understanding of machines. My baby is one of a kind.
It's trembling.
I was warned. I don't seem to have an upper limit, but the chair damn sure does. My competition is still right beside me too damnit! I thought I could show the world I was the best speedster despite my broken legs. At the start I dashed past the others with no issue. I felt proud when I broke the sound barrier in 3.5 milliseconds. A personal best.
Then I saw him. He was directly next to me looking just as proud and smug as I likely looked. I hated him instantly. This is my moment goddamnit! He looked my way and I saw disgust cross his face. It made me glad to know the feeling was mutual.
We've been going for awhile now and my arms burn so badly. I don't know how fast we're going anymore, but everything is just an odd, hazy blur. I don't care, I must win. I must beat this man and show the world that there is no such thing as an invalid. For me, for my friend the blind machine god, for the others born mismatched and out of place. We are not bottom feeders. We have power too! I must show them all!
My chair trembles badly while I pump with more speed then I have ever mustered in my life. The world has turned into a foggy tunnel and something in the back of my mind says to stop, but I cant. He's still there, right beside me.
I see my left wheel buckle and suddenly vanish. My chair stays upright from sheer momentum, but it's over. I pull the stop bar and I am instantly surrounded in my break away pod. I suddenly hear sound again and am surprised to hear myself screaming. I hadn't realized we traveled beyond sound. I was so intent on winning.
The pod scrapes to a stop who knows where. I don't open it; I'm too angry and upset. I lay screaming and weeping as my arms cramp and ache like never before. They were all right. I am an invalid. I'm sorry Ted, I tried to push. Your chair and my abilities were not enough. I failed us. I weep.
The pod opens from the outside and the sun blasts my eyes for a moment. When I get my vision I see the deaf man. He looks beaten and hard worn. He's crying.
He reaches his hand down to help me sit up and when I do I hear for the first time a roar I've never heard before. It takes me a moment to realize it's a crowd. They're cheering. The deaf man hugs me weeping and I don't understand, but I weep too.
I was told about faster than light and omega class and speed force after the race. First of our kind they said. I didn't pay attention. I was stunned by it all and so was the deaf man. We sat together, sweaty and tired.
I thought of a word. Invalid. For the first time on my life I chuckled about the title.
Invalid...hah!
|
Since I was born I had barely no muscle in my calves, muscles were there of course but nothing enough to move my legs passed the knee. On the other hand I was diagnosed with super speed, yeah I know, kind of a bad joke from fate. In fact I could still move faster than many of my friends with my wheelchair, just I couldn't go in the stairs, if I was more talkative I could be compared as a human claptrap. I went to play a lot on online games, no one can test my 2500 apms on starcraft.
When I was twelve I had to move in a faraway boarding school since the nearest high school didn't had elevators. As I had to move my parents send me to a school where I could have a medical monitoring for my legs, my thighs still had muscles and I need to exercise it if I dont want a full atrophied legs.
The nurse showed me the school buildings and medical facilities, everybody here had some condition needing to be observed by a doctor regularly.
When he showed me the surrounding I saw that girl on the track field, she was running with blades instead of feets, she seemed wonderfull as she pierced through the air. At this moment, I started to consider an operation to replace my defectives calves.
That's how I started my scholarship at Yamaku's academy for gifted youngs.
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[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
Most people think I am in the chair because of the scars, more think the hunched over man pushing it. That he's my care taker. They are only half right...well, maybe two-thirds. The scars are most definitely from burns, and he does take care of me to the best of his abilities. A thousand bucks says you never, ever guess what caused them. You might not believe me, but then again, the stories on the news and all over the internet are getting stranger and stranger by the week. The little kid who can float off the ground, but only when he meditates. The old guy who caught the car that fell on him. Those sound like the origins of super heroes, comic book characters. In those worlds you don't hear about those with mundane beginnings or worse the ones who don't quite have all pieces of the super puzzle.
Take him for example. 6'2" 225, and he's silently grunting while pushing my lightweight chair and 110lb frame up a slight incline. You would never know when he's had his pills and maybe a beer or two he can bench just under 600lbs(although he swears it's 650). Of course he won't be able to walk for the next week and spend the next 48 hours living in a hot tub and munching Tylenol like pez. See he could easily have broken records in power lifting or strongman contests. Scientist are calling it nega-Hydroxypropanoic producers or Lack-Lacs for a short joke. It means these people do not produce lactic acids when their muscles do work, and in some cases it allows for some very strange effects. Like "super strength", endless stamina, and incredible speed.
What it does not equal is invulnerability, well not in us at the very least. While muscles are effected by this, your spine is not. As a kid he was average but quickly learned his strength didn't have a ceiling. At 13 he could military press almost 400lbs. Yet in his 30's threw his back out awkwardly twisting to grab some keys off a counter top. Herniated a couple of disks needed surgery and here he is. At least he got some use out of his before getting hurt.
Me on the other hand, I had issues or "powers" from birth. Inside the womb, I apparently turned so quickly and with such force I snapped my own spine. This was initially a blessing for my mom as she said I moved around so much and so fast from month 1 of her pregnancy, that she was practically living in hospitals. They had no idea what was going on. As I grew inside her I would move my arms so fast her stomach would vibrate, I've seen the home movies. Humor as you can tell is my defense mechanism. We used to say I probably wouldn't have made it to this age if I had my legs as a child. Can you imagine a toddler just learning to walk but with super speed? You have to smile or you end up crying. People always wonder the what if...but next to none have the actual answer. Me and him do.
The scars, I almost forgot...I had a seizure once. I shit you not, I was wearing corduroy pants, yes you may laugh. I was twitching so goddamn fast I started a fire. Honestly though, the EMT's said I was creating an audible hum so it probably wasn't the pants...but you get the idea. On the bright side that was me in that YouTube video melting that keyboard typing at "super" speed. No special effects, but if it makes you feel better I couldn't type for about 3 weeks after that and I think it gave me the beginnings of carpal tunnel...
So here we are Superman with a bad back. The Flash in a wheelchair. Perfectly imperfect, the definition of a cosmic joke. People wonder what they could have accomplished if their lives didn't take a turn, some waste their entirity of it wondering, dreaming, fantasizing.
Trust me it's far worse when you know and when you do, how can you not laugh?
|
*They're laughing. Good. All the more reason to win.*
He spread his arms, and his plastic "wings" showed themselves - they were no more than an extension, a little spoon-like glove - but I'm super fast. They're like a hummingbird's wings. And I can fly with them.
Being in a wheelchair makes no difference when you can fly. He usually felt like a bird, swift and graceful on air but awkward at the ground. When he signed up for the Bullet Race, they all laughed at him. Har! I'll show them now!
The Bullet Race was a test of skill and hability that depended on a bullet. If you're super-resistent, a bullet is shot at you, and the judges will rate your response to it. If you have superspeed, a bullet is shot forward, and you have to reach the target before it. If you're super intelligent, a bullet will be shot, but it is up to you to determine the right conditions, to manufacture the perfect bullet, to make it hit the target in the most efficient way.
I have superspeed. I also have legs that break at the smallest effort. I can fold them, and move them, but if I put weight on them they shatter. So I learned to fly. And now I'll race a bullet and two strong-legged boys who think they already have me beat.
Mr. Allen and Mr. West will find that I'm the best here. They won't see me (Mr. Allen is blind, after all, and Mr. West is just stupid), but they'll hear. *Zoom.*
________________
This WP was fun! Good stuff OP!
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[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
Despite my disability, my parents always pushed me. In their eyes, they were trying to get me to see past my limp, useless legs, and understand that I could still do what I wanted in life. Nothing would hold me back from my dreams.
When I was 6, I mentioned in passing that I might like to try gymnastics. My parents gave each other a slight look, thinking I might have found something I actually couldn't do. After enrolling in a school and attending for a short while, it became apparent that gymnastics was not for me. I could balance well on my hands, but use of one's legs was fairly important in gymnastics.
For a time, I was devastated. I had finally come to the realization that there were things I couldn't do.
I made it through until high school before I had a real dream again.
"Mom, dad, I want to try track."
That same look from when I was a child crossed their faces. They were unsure of encouraging me only to have it end in another failure.
They reluctantly agreed, but I knew I was going to perform. And God dammit, I was going to be the best.
At tryouts, the runners all stood tall at the line, and I wheeled myself up to it. I was met with a few chuckles as I began to climb out of my wheelchair and crawl up to the line. Even more when I got on my hands, limp legs in the air, in a handstand I had perfected since my developmental years, thanks to my brief stint as a wannabe gymnast. The coach walked over, clearly confused at my stature and my condition.
"Kid, are you serious?" He asked me.
"Of course I am. I'm here, aren't i?"
"You know, these kids have been running their entire lives," he said, sympathetic to my disability. "I don't want you to feel bad if you can't keep up."
"Don't worry about me, coach."
He shrugged and stepped back. When he blew the whistle, we were off. The other kids used their finely tuned leg muscles and pushed themselves as hard as they could. I did the same, however I was running on my hands. What I knew that the coach and other runners did not was my ability.
Super speed would have disqualified me from track and field were I running on my legs. But the combination of super speed and the disability of being forced to run on my hands balanced out to a just above average speed.
I didn't finish first that day, but I made the team. With training and practice, I became one of the fastest runners in my school. I abandoned my wheelchair, and began traveling exclusively on my hands. I gained a new confidence I never had before, and I showed the world something important.
I could do whatever the hell I wanted.
|
Running, it was something I had seen almost everybody do. Yet somehow nobody could ever keep up with me. The speed that I was moving with was insane. Although my legs have been crippled for a long time, my arms now had the power to move as fast as possible.
We've all seen it in those YouTube videos. It was even a bit downgrading. I looked like a legless dog, with an aluminum wagon behind me. But I was fast. Faster than anyone else I knew. And I wasn't going to let my disability stand in the way of my potential.
"Ready, set, go!", this was it. My second Paralympic tournament. It was only 4 years ago that I won the biggest race in the entire world. I was the fastest. Nobody could beat me. And I was going to win again. I started moving. The crowd was cheering me on. After all these years I sort of got used to it. I start moving and leave everybody behind me.
It wasn't even an actual race. Everybody knew who was going to win. And it would be me, again. I moved around the track, even moving past runners that were already a lap behind me.
I had to keep moving. I was nearly there. I moved faster and faster. The finish line was so close now. My speed made the crowd go insane. Their screams felt like a wind that was boosting me to go faster and faster. I had to break my own record. I had to set the permanent record, a record that nobody could ever beat.
As I neared the finish line I was greeted with an immense amount of cheering. This is what they all came for. I made it, I was first in line.
I was proud, yet tired. I wanted to go home. I didn't care about the ceremony, or the prices. I already knew I was going to win. The ceremony went by quickly. I don't even remember much. When you move at my speed, even the anthem just takes too long.
It was done, the ceremony was over. I went home, greeted my girlfriend and just went to bed. It was already late, and I just wanted to rest. I laid down on my bed and slowly fell asleep...
"What the fuck?", I said as I woke up. I heard noises. My girlfriend wasn't next to me anymore. What the hell was going on? I heard noises coming from down the hall. "Damnit!" I reached for my nightstand and opened the drawer. I felt safer lately, having my gun beside me while I rested.
I took of the safety and started moving around, following the noises. I came closer to the end of the hall. I heard the noises coming from the bathroom. Though I was fast, I never really got over my fears. I was just scared at this point. I took the safety of my gun and listened to what was happening in my bathroom.
I heard moving, I heard voices. There was water running, and I heard someone cry. "Fucking intruders", I whispered as I slowly took a step back. "Who is there?", I yelled. I heard some shoveling in the bathroom, but there came no answer.
I was done with this shit. This is the third time people broke into my house. If the security cameras didn't work, there was only one way to really scare them. I raised my gun, pointing at the bathroom door.
"Who is there", I repeated. Still no answer, still just the water running and someone moving. "I will shoot!" No reply. I had enough of this. As I heard moving from behind the bathroom door, I put my finger on the trigger. I was ready.
1-2-3, I took three shots at the door. I heard some squirming coming from behind the door. It sounded like every bullet hit the intruder. My hand went towards the door knob, and I turned the knob. It was locked. I moved a few feet back and ran towards the door.
As I jumped up I pushed through the door. The lock broke. The door opened and I landed in a small puddle of blood.
I got up and looked down. There she was, my girlfriend, laying face down on the floor.
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[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
“Next”.
If you think lines at tech support move slow, you better complain to someone else. I work faster than anyone else in the entire industry, but in the time, it takes you to come up to the counter I already start contemplating suicide. I can take your laptop from your hands, disassemble it and identify the problem before you even think of voicing your concern that something is wrong with it. I can build it anew from spare parts at the warehouse next door so fast that your confusion of what’s going won’t even kick in.
Of course, I could do it even faster, but the damn friction would shake my wheelchair apart. Spare details aren’t the most aerodynamic things either.
Doing my job takes on average 4,4% of overall interaction with the client. I counted. The rest is just you, people.
As usual, I do the miracle of fixing and lay the fruits of my labor in front of you. Then I just sit and wait for you to react.
It’s always the same. You start blinking fast, trying to perceive what just happened. You tell me what’s wrong with your computer. You always wonder if I really work as fast as the sign says. An eternity later, after I hand you over the check, you finally reach for your wallet with that stupid grin on your face: the most mundane thing for me is some sort of attraction for you. You behave as if you’re a caveman who was shown the secret of fire, while all I did was fix your damn gadget.
Working with client bases is a pain, too. I’ve been asking my boss for years to upgrade my computer so that it could keep up with me, but as much as he values me he says he just can’t allow it yet: if he adds any more hardware then he’ll also have to buy the state-of-the-art cooling system to prevent the machine from overheating.
For this reason, I try to keep all of the data necessary on paper, so that I could quickly go through it, but there are still limitations: if I turn the page too quickly, I risk tearing it apart with the wave of air it creates. Fires are also not uncommon, though they never last long enough for anyone to notice.
Of course, I don’t have it all that bad: I actually chose this line of work because I like it and because I need experience in mechanical engineering. Although I work alone, I’m everything my shop needs, and the line of clients who want a quick fix never fades, so I get paid more than decently. It still sucks that my legs are paralyzed, but on the other hands my hands are super jacked from pushing the wheels a hundred times a second.
Wheels usually don’t last more than a week, after that I have to replace them. My family asks why won’t I just get one of those electric wheelchairs since I could afford the best there is, but I would never settle for the speed it moves at. I suffer enough already, thank you very much.
If I ever feel depressed, I just remember that I could have it worse, like that guy who was born super-fast, but at the same time completely blind. He actually adapted pretty well, and the sound of his steps as he ran was a sort of echo locator for him, but, unfortunately, no one ever told him not to break the sound barrier. The guy ran into an incoming truck never even knowing that it was there. They say his teeth were found two miles to the west from the place of the accident.
I clock out at 18:00, and at 18:04, after a dash full of turns, I’m already at home, with the wheels of my chariot smoking from all the friction. I was born not just paralyzed, but also too fast for my own good. The world around me constantly tried to settle me down, to tell me that there are limitations I’m not supposed to exceed. That I’m too good to have been born into it, and that I would burn myself up if I try to resist.
But that’s up to me to decide.
As I said, even the most advanced, the most expensive model of the wheelchair was not good enough for me, but that’s because I haven’t built it yet. “Everything comes with the price” – was the lesson my life taught me, but it also taught me that there’s always a retribution. I may hate my work, but with the knowhow and money it provides me I will finally forge the throne that I deserve.
The friction, if it’s not clear yet, is the main problem in my life. No matter what material I tried to use, it just couldn’t handle the speed of rotation. So in order to eliminate the problem, I had to eliminate the friction. It took me 12 years and hundreds of thousands of dollars to build the wheelchair with wheels kept in place by magnetic forces, but today I will finally roll my beauty out for a ride. The fastest vehicle in the world, driven into motion only with my hands. With the amount of energy it requires to keep the wheels in place it may last only 7 minutes before the battery runs dry, but to me, those 7 minutes will feel like a whole vacation.
______________
To get my releases ahead of everybody else and get your hands on Advance Reading Copies of my books, subscribe to [r/Scandalist](https://www.reddit.com/r/Scandalist/)!
|
Running, it was something I had seen almost everybody do. Yet somehow nobody could ever keep up with me. The speed that I was moving with was insane. Although my legs have been crippled for a long time, my arms now had the power to move as fast as possible.
We've all seen it in those YouTube videos. It was even a bit downgrading. I looked like a legless dog, with an aluminum wagon behind me. But I was fast. Faster than anyone else I knew. And I wasn't going to let my disability stand in the way of my potential.
"Ready, set, go!", this was it. My second Paralympic tournament. It was only 4 years ago that I won the biggest race in the entire world. I was the fastest. Nobody could beat me. And I was going to win again. I started moving. The crowd was cheering me on. After all these years I sort of got used to it. I start moving and leave everybody behind me.
It wasn't even an actual race. Everybody knew who was going to win. And it would be me, again. I moved around the track, even moving past runners that were already a lap behind me.
I had to keep moving. I was nearly there. I moved faster and faster. The finish line was so close now. My speed made the crowd go insane. Their screams felt like a wind that was boosting me to go faster and faster. I had to break my own record. I had to set the permanent record, a record that nobody could ever beat.
As I neared the finish line I was greeted with an immense amount of cheering. This is what they all came for. I made it, I was first in line.
I was proud, yet tired. I wanted to go home. I didn't care about the ceremony, or the prices. I already knew I was going to win. The ceremony went by quickly. I don't even remember much. When you move at my speed, even the anthem just takes too long.
It was done, the ceremony was over. I went home, greeted my girlfriend and just went to bed. It was already late, and I just wanted to rest. I laid down on my bed and slowly fell asleep...
"What the fuck?", I said as I woke up. I heard noises. My girlfriend wasn't next to me anymore. What the hell was going on? I heard noises coming from down the hall. "Damnit!" I reached for my nightstand and opened the drawer. I felt safer lately, having my gun beside me while I rested.
I took of the safety and started moving around, following the noises. I came closer to the end of the hall. I heard the noises coming from the bathroom. Though I was fast, I never really got over my fears. I was just scared at this point. I took the safety of my gun and listened to what was happening in my bathroom.
I heard moving, I heard voices. There was water running, and I heard someone cry. "Fucking intruders", I whispered as I slowly took a step back. "Who is there?", I yelled. I heard some shoveling in the bathroom, but there came no answer.
I was done with this shit. This is the third time people broke into my house. If the security cameras didn't work, there was only one way to really scare them. I raised my gun, pointing at the bathroom door.
"Who is there", I repeated. Still no answer, still just the water running and someone moving. "I will shoot!" No reply. I had enough of this. As I heard moving from behind the bathroom door, I put my finger on the trigger. I was ready.
1-2-3, I took three shots at the door. I heard some squirming coming from behind the door. It sounded like every bullet hit the intruder. My hand went towards the door knob, and I turned the knob. It was locked. I moved a few feet back and ran towards the door.
As I jumped up I pushed through the door. The lock broke. The door opened and I landed in a small puddle of blood.
I got up and looked down. There she was, my girlfriend, laying face down on the floor.
|
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
“Next”.
If you think lines at tech support move slow, you better complain to someone else. I work faster than anyone else in the entire industry, but in the time, it takes you to come up to the counter I already start contemplating suicide. I can take your laptop from your hands, disassemble it and identify the problem before you even think of voicing your concern that something is wrong with it. I can build it anew from spare parts at the warehouse next door so fast that your confusion of what’s going won’t even kick in.
Of course, I could do it even faster, but the damn friction would shake my wheelchair apart. Spare details aren’t the most aerodynamic things either.
Doing my job takes on average 4,4% of overall interaction with the client. I counted. The rest is just you, people.
As usual, I do the miracle of fixing and lay the fruits of my labor in front of you. Then I just sit and wait for you to react.
It’s always the same. You start blinking fast, trying to perceive what just happened. You tell me what’s wrong with your computer. You always wonder if I really work as fast as the sign says. An eternity later, after I hand you over the check, you finally reach for your wallet with that stupid grin on your face: the most mundane thing for me is some sort of attraction for you. You behave as if you’re a caveman who was shown the secret of fire, while all I did was fix your damn gadget.
Working with client bases is a pain, too. I’ve been asking my boss for years to upgrade my computer so that it could keep up with me, but as much as he values me he says he just can’t allow it yet: if he adds any more hardware then he’ll also have to buy the state-of-the-art cooling system to prevent the machine from overheating.
For this reason, I try to keep all of the data necessary on paper, so that I could quickly go through it, but there are still limitations: if I turn the page too quickly, I risk tearing it apart with the wave of air it creates. Fires are also not uncommon, though they never last long enough for anyone to notice.
Of course, I don’t have it all that bad: I actually chose this line of work because I like it and because I need experience in mechanical engineering. Although I work alone, I’m everything my shop needs, and the line of clients who want a quick fix never fades, so I get paid more than decently. It still sucks that my legs are paralyzed, but on the other hands my hands are super jacked from pushing the wheels a hundred times a second.
Wheels usually don’t last more than a week, after that I have to replace them. My family asks why won’t I just get one of those electric wheelchairs since I could afford the best there is, but I would never settle for the speed it moves at. I suffer enough already, thank you very much.
If I ever feel depressed, I just remember that I could have it worse, like that guy who was born super-fast, but at the same time completely blind. He actually adapted pretty well, and the sound of his steps as he ran was a sort of echo locator for him, but, unfortunately, no one ever told him not to break the sound barrier. The guy ran into an incoming truck never even knowing that it was there. They say his teeth were found two miles to the west from the place of the accident.
I clock out at 18:00, and at 18:04, after a dash full of turns, I’m already at home, with the wheels of my chariot smoking from all the friction. I was born not just paralyzed, but also too fast for my own good. The world around me constantly tried to settle me down, to tell me that there are limitations I’m not supposed to exceed. That I’m too good to have been born into it, and that I would burn myself up if I try to resist.
But that’s up to me to decide.
As I said, even the most advanced, the most expensive model of the wheelchair was not good enough for me, but that’s because I haven’t built it yet. “Everything comes with the price” – was the lesson my life taught me, but it also taught me that there’s always a retribution. I may hate my work, but with the knowhow and money it provides me I will finally forge the throne that I deserve.
The friction, if it’s not clear yet, is the main problem in my life. No matter what material I tried to use, it just couldn’t handle the speed of rotation. So in order to eliminate the problem, I had to eliminate the friction. It took me 12 years and hundreds of thousands of dollars to build the wheelchair with wheels kept in place by magnetic forces, but today I will finally roll my beauty out for a ride. The fastest vehicle in the world, driven into motion only with my hands. With the amount of energy it requires to keep the wheels in place it may last only 7 minutes before the battery runs dry, but to me, those 7 minutes will feel like a whole vacation.
______________
To get my releases ahead of everybody else and get your hands on Advance Reading Copies of my books, subscribe to [r/Scandalist](https://www.reddit.com/r/Scandalist/)!
|
"Not sure what happened when I was made. It seems like a cruel joke but it is my life and I have to deal with it. I can't use my legs, at all. They are so badly crippled that I am confined to a wheel chair. The problem is that the chair can't keep up with me. For some reason I am crazy fast, everything I do, I can do at almost the speed of sound. I've been trying to find a way to break the sound barrier by using my arms to propel my chair as fast as I can but my chair cant take it and always breaks. I spend so much time day dreaming about how fast I could go if only me legs worked. That's why I'm here, really. I want to become a prosthetics engineer so I can help, not only myself, but anyone else whose disability interferes with their life and their ability. I want to make prosthetics that can handle the strength or speed or heat of anyone's ability."
"That seems like a well thought out plan, but the question was 'what are your housing plans' we are working on financial aid, not advising."
"Oh, sorry. Off campus, though I live pretty far away I still travel really fast"
"Just be safe Mr. Miles. Okay let's talk tuition."
This was meant to be light hearted. It's been a while since I've written anything and wanted to try something kinda fun and geared towards a younger audience.
|
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
Aidan was twirling his fingers, talking only slightly louder than the cartoons playing across the room. “Mo-momma says I am a superhero b‘cause she saw my daddy and I going real fast.” He was fidgeting in his wheelchair.
Emma was skeptical and intrigued. “Can I be a superhero too?”
“Y-yeah! You can think and make things move!”
“Cool!” Emma was bouncing. She fumbled around in the dark, looking for the toy train. She found it and placed it ceremoniously in front of her. “Watch this!” Emma strained, focusing on the train she felt but could not see. “Did it move?”
“I saw you move it with your mind!” Tania giggled from the bed across the room. Aidan concurred. “I wanna be super strong” said Tania, flexing her emaciated arms. The children roared in laughter. Tubing wove through her, providing the necessary super serum to keep her fighting another day.
Aidan’s mother listened from outside the room as the league of heroes was born. When the laughter settled, she walked in and informed Aidan it was time to go for today and that he’d see his friends tomorrow. She rolled him out of the room and down the decorated, hospital hall.
“Momma?”
“Yes, dear?”
“If I am a superhero, then who is the supervillain?” His mother stopped, walked around to face him, knelt, and kissed his bald head.
“Honey, sometimes there are no villains, but we still need heroes.”
Aidan wasn’t sure, but he felt himself picking up the pace. Before he knew it, he was flying down the hall. He felt the wind rush past his face and he bellowed a triumphant battle cry.
|
"Not sure what happened when I was made. It seems like a cruel joke but it is my life and I have to deal with it. I can't use my legs, at all. They are so badly crippled that I am confined to a wheel chair. The problem is that the chair can't keep up with me. For some reason I am crazy fast, everything I do, I can do at almost the speed of sound. I've been trying to find a way to break the sound barrier by using my arms to propel my chair as fast as I can but my chair cant take it and always breaks. I spend so much time day dreaming about how fast I could go if only me legs worked. That's why I'm here, really. I want to become a prosthetics engineer so I can help, not only myself, but anyone else whose disability interferes with their life and their ability. I want to make prosthetics that can handle the strength or speed or heat of anyone's ability."
"That seems like a well thought out plan, but the question was 'what are your housing plans' we are working on financial aid, not advising."
"Oh, sorry. Off campus, though I live pretty far away I still travel really fast"
"Just be safe Mr. Miles. Okay let's talk tuition."
This was meant to be light hearted. It's been a while since I've written anything and wanted to try something kinda fun and geared towards a younger audience.
|
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
Andrew's back was to the wall. His whole team was dead except for him, and they had him surrounded. He pulled out his last remaining full magazine and replaced the half spent one still in his rifle, and waited. It wouldn't be long now.
The sound of footsteps in his right ear alerted him to the first threat. He swung his weapon around and crouched. A few moments later, a masked gunman slowly began to move around the corner. While their movement would have seemed to others like moving through molasses it was just his perception of it.
He had enough time to aim his weapon exactly were the terrorists head would be the moment it cleared the edge of the wall, and he pulled his trigger before his opponents frontal lobe had time to finish processing that it was even seeing him. He didn't stand a chance.
Moments later, or what would seem like an eternity to anyone else, the second enemy came up behind the first. The result was no different than the previous foe. It never was. Where most anyone else would have been at the least a little excited, to him it was almost boring at this point.
He stood up and began to run in the direction the two laying on the floor had come from. Immediately as he rounded the corner, two other terrorists were standing back at the end of the hall having a debate about how to proceed tactically.
By the time his foot landed in his next step, he had aimed and fired a single round at each. He picked up speed as he ran down the hall, mainly because he didn't want this to take forever. As he approached an open doorway ahead of him, he allowed his feet to slide out in front of him, landing into a power slide.
As he slid past the door he saw the last remaining terrorist. Again, he got the first shot off, aimed flawless at the head like everyone else. As his opponent landed on the ground he knew that victory was his, though it was hallow as always. His team erupted in cheers and his opponents threw the expected accusations.
He took a deep breath, knowing it would only take a moment to come... "YOU HAVE BEEN PERMANENTLY BANNED - CHEATING". Well, time to buy another copy of the game I guess. He backed away from his computer in the wheelchair, and then rolled out of the room.
|
"Not sure what happened when I was made. It seems like a cruel joke but it is my life and I have to deal with it. I can't use my legs, at all. They are so badly crippled that I am confined to a wheel chair. The problem is that the chair can't keep up with me. For some reason I am crazy fast, everything I do, I can do at almost the speed of sound. I've been trying to find a way to break the sound barrier by using my arms to propel my chair as fast as I can but my chair cant take it and always breaks. I spend so much time day dreaming about how fast I could go if only me legs worked. That's why I'm here, really. I want to become a prosthetics engineer so I can help, not only myself, but anyone else whose disability interferes with their life and their ability. I want to make prosthetics that can handle the strength or speed or heat of anyone's ability."
"That seems like a well thought out plan, but the question was 'what are your housing plans' we are working on financial aid, not advising."
"Oh, sorry. Off campus, though I live pretty far away I still travel really fast"
"Just be safe Mr. Miles. Okay let's talk tuition."
This was meant to be light hearted. It's been a while since I've written anything and wanted to try something kinda fun and geared towards a younger audience.
|
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
I loved the fresh spray of ocean against my face. This would be my tenth circumnavigation of the globe; I could never get sick of it. Who could tire of dropping by beautiful beaches of Fiji? The stark Sahara felt refreshing after half a day at sea. Others settled for the salty mist coming off the bow of their ship; I felt the droplets rolling off my fingertips as I rounded Tierra del Fuego.
When I was a kid, everyone laughed at me. "The Feeble Flash," they teased. The power of super speed, but crippled legs. Until the day my father decided to teach me how to swim. That was the day I realized I could still use my super power, just not in the way I'd imagined.
Now I'm a superhero despite my disability. When an oil tanker crashed off the coast of Nigeria, I sped out to help contain the spill. When a deadly outbreak of the flu hit the Philippines, I brought vaccines from the US in the blink of an eye. I've dragged in stalled fishing boats stuck in the Bering Sea.
Sometimes people ask: don't you worry about spending so much time in the ocean? What if you were bit by a shark?
Well, he can't do much more damage to my legs. And my arms? He'll never catch them.
|
"Not sure what happened when I was made. It seems like a cruel joke but it is my life and I have to deal with it. I can't use my legs, at all. They are so badly crippled that I am confined to a wheel chair. The problem is that the chair can't keep up with me. For some reason I am crazy fast, everything I do, I can do at almost the speed of sound. I've been trying to find a way to break the sound barrier by using my arms to propel my chair as fast as I can but my chair cant take it and always breaks. I spend so much time day dreaming about how fast I could go if only me legs worked. That's why I'm here, really. I want to become a prosthetics engineer so I can help, not only myself, but anyone else whose disability interferes with their life and their ability. I want to make prosthetics that can handle the strength or speed or heat of anyone's ability."
"That seems like a well thought out plan, but the question was 'what are your housing plans' we are working on financial aid, not advising."
"Oh, sorry. Off campus, though I live pretty far away I still travel really fast"
"Just be safe Mr. Miles. Okay let's talk tuition."
This was meant to be light hearted. It's been a while since I've written anything and wanted to try something kinda fun and geared towards a younger audience.
|
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
"A cripple with superspeed!" Benny Madsen laughed, and looked around like he expected everyone to laugh along with him. Benny had superstrength, and looked it. He was a roided-out fucker at least a head taller than almost everyone else in school, and that included more than a few teachers. He was also profoundly tone-deaf, which if you ask me shouldn't count as a disability, but when have I ever been in charge of anything? And I admit, it was pretty funny watching his face go red when he tried to croak out the national anthem like a good patriotic American.
I refrained from rolling my eyes and shifted uncomfortably on my crutches. My leg brace clacked against the ground, calling attention to itself. I'd managed to stay out of Benny's way so far, but I suppose I couldn't have kept it up forever. "Good one," I said. "I haven't heard that a hundred times already."
Benny strutted up to me, lowering his head below his shoulders and making like the Hulk. "Must be pretty sad," he sneered, "being one of God's mistakes."
"We can't all be perfect," I said, and hummed the first few bars of the Star-Spangled Banner.
Benny scowled, and flicked a single finger. My right crutch was wrenched out of my grip, clattering twenty feet away. The force of the blow sent me toppling to the ground. I managed to catch myself on my hands, but the impact rattled through my legs anyway. "Fuck!" I lay there on the grass, wincing, as Benny loomed over me.
"Not nice to make fun of people's disabilities," he said.
"Yeah," I said, and was gone.
His eyes were barely tracking me as I crawled the twenty feet to my crutch, dragging the other behind me. Then I was on my feet, hobbling, and Benny was lost. I slipped behind him, unbuckled his belt, and pulled his pants down to his ankles. Then, while he was turning around, I did the old trick of tying his shoelaces together. That one was kind of a close call, but I managed it.
I made my way back in front of him. My legs were throbbing and I was going to have a hell of a time explaining this to my parents, but it was worth it. Benny spun, his pants slipped down, and he collapsed right on his ass showing his tighty-whiteys. I made my painful way over to him, and he looked up at me, almost innocent, with this utterly baffled look on his face.
"I can still hobble faster than you can run, motherfucker."
|
"Not sure what happened when I was made. It seems like a cruel joke but it is my life and I have to deal with it. I can't use my legs, at all. They are so badly crippled that I am confined to a wheel chair. The problem is that the chair can't keep up with me. For some reason I am crazy fast, everything I do, I can do at almost the speed of sound. I've been trying to find a way to break the sound barrier by using my arms to propel my chair as fast as I can but my chair cant take it and always breaks. I spend so much time day dreaming about how fast I could go if only me legs worked. That's why I'm here, really. I want to become a prosthetics engineer so I can help, not only myself, but anyone else whose disability interferes with their life and their ability. I want to make prosthetics that can handle the strength or speed or heat of anyone's ability."
"That seems like a well thought out plan, but the question was 'what are your housing plans' we are working on financial aid, not advising."
"Oh, sorry. Off campus, though I live pretty far away I still travel really fast"
"Just be safe Mr. Miles. Okay let's talk tuition."
This was meant to be light hearted. It's been a while since I've written anything and wanted to try something kinda fun and geared towards a younger audience.
|
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
"A cripple with superspeed!" Benny Madsen laughed, and looked around like he expected everyone to laugh along with him. Benny had superstrength, and looked it. He was a roided-out fucker at least a head taller than almost everyone else in school, and that included more than a few teachers. He was also profoundly tone-deaf, which if you ask me shouldn't count as a disability, but when have I ever been in charge of anything? And I admit, it was pretty funny watching his face go red when he tried to croak out the national anthem like a good patriotic American.
I refrained from rolling my eyes and shifted uncomfortably on my crutches. My leg brace clacked against the ground, calling attention to itself. I'd managed to stay out of Benny's way so far, but I suppose I couldn't have kept it up forever. "Good one," I said. "I haven't heard that a hundred times already."
Benny strutted up to me, lowering his head below his shoulders and making like the Hulk. "Must be pretty sad," he sneered, "being one of God's mistakes."
"We can't all be perfect," I said, and hummed the first few bars of the Star-Spangled Banner.
Benny scowled, and flicked a single finger. My right crutch was wrenched out of my grip, clattering twenty feet away. The force of the blow sent me toppling to the ground. I managed to catch myself on my hands, but the impact rattled through my legs anyway. "Fuck!" I lay there on the grass, wincing, as Benny loomed over me.
"Not nice to make fun of people's disabilities," he said.
"Yeah," I said, and was gone.
His eyes were barely tracking me as I crawled the twenty feet to my crutch, dragging the other behind me. Then I was on my feet, hobbling, and Benny was lost. I slipped behind him, unbuckled his belt, and pulled his pants down to his ankles. Then, while he was turning around, I did the old trick of tying his shoelaces together. That one was kind of a close call, but I managed it.
I made my way back in front of him. My legs were throbbing and I was going to have a hell of a time explaining this to my parents, but it was worth it. Benny spun, his pants slipped down, and he collapsed right on his ass showing his tighty-whiteys. I made my painful way over to him, and he looked up at me, almost innocent, with this utterly baffled look on his face.
"I can still hobble faster than you can run, motherfucker."
|
This is bullshit.
What the fuck kind of God thinks this is a funny thing to do to someone? All I do all day is lie in bed and wish I was dead.
Super speed. I know what God's ability is. Super dick...hole...ness.
"I brought you some milk, sweetheart," my kind, generous, loving mother said as she set the glass down on my bedside table.
"Fuck milk, Mom! I wanna' go outside and do things!"
"Well, I can get the wheelchair and bring you outside," she swooned.
"No! Not the wheelchair mom! I want to go outside without a wheelchair!"
I could see how much this was hurting her. I mean, we both knew that wasn't an option, but shit, I can't keep all this frustration bottled up inside, not even for the woman that gave me life.
But what kind of life is this to have? What kind of gift is it if all I get to do is look at my ceiling and pretend like I know what if feels like to jerk off? It's her fault I'm in this mess, for Christ's sake.
She looked at her feet and said, "Well, is there anything I can bring you? Anything you'd like to do? You want a coloring book, or a movie?" I sighed, not to keen on berating my mother anymore, even though she's a bitch for giving birth to me.
"It's fine, Mom. I think I just wanna' sleep."
"Alright, well if you need anything, just call." Then she spun around and shut the door with the gentleness of an angel's whisper.
Fuck milk. Seriously. I want a Coke, but doctor's say I can't have any sugary drinks because they fear my super speed my give me super fast diabetes, so for this broken, young, degenerate it's milk, water and at Christmas, sugarless eggnog.
Instead, I just did what I normally do. Grow my fingernails out with super speed, then chew on 'em.
Except today was different. For some reason, as I clenched my teeth down on a freshly generated bit of nail material, the satisfaction of that snap didn't rush down my spine like it normally does. Instead it just tasted weird, like dirt.
Great, now everything sucks.
But then I had an idea. It was a weird idea, a far-fetched idea, but if I could get it to work, it just might be worth it.
I clenched my bed sheets in my hands and gritted my teeth, focusing all my energy inside my soul, deep down into the cavernous recesses of my brain. I started to shake, my face turned red, and veins on my forehead gained noticeable three-dimensionality.
I looked down. The hair on my arms was beginning to grow in full. My stomach started arching over my waistline. The skin on my limbs was growing increasingly white and washed out. What hair I had on my stomach grew out and began turning gray. I was doing it! It was working! Super speed my aging process!
All I could hope for is that I could age myself right into the grave, but as the energy was flowing through me, something else was going on in my head. I felt my entire life flashing before my eyes. People I'd never met, yet loved more than anyone on the planet. People I'd lost. Children I'd fostered. Pets I'd owned, jobs I'd worked, I saw it all. I saw myself stuck out of time in every situation I'd ever experience, all within the span of a few minutes.
Then it began. A creeping, ominous feeling, like the lights were going out.
So I stopped. Look at me. A few moments before I was a shiny, young teenager. Now I laid in the same bed as a decrepit old man, scared and confused. After meeting all those faces, watching my kids grow up, seeing what my life had become, suddenly, I didn't want to die. Even if it was all from the perspective of a wheelchair, it was beautiful, visceral, it all made sense. This gift, it really was a gift. God had so much planned for me, an entire, beautiful life totally worth living. My mother going through so much pain just to bring me into this world of experience and beauty. I wanted so much to live it.
But I already had. Time only goes in one direction. So before I age myself to death, let me tell you something.
Never try to rush things. Life will come to you. Don't try to meet it halfway.
Also, our God is a rampant asshole for toying with us like this. Just like our mothers, who have the audacity to believe that any child they bring into this world will appreciate it.
Adios.
|
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a disability and an ability. A test is done at birth to determine these, if they aren't already apparent. You, well, you were born with crippled legs and have the power of super speed.
|
See, what most people don't realise about super speed is that it doesn't just affect your legs. Your entire body moves fast. People never tend to get that because you see guys like Ravel Alton sprinting at three hundred kilometres an hour down the speedway. I mean, it's more impressive *visually* than what I can do... but I like to think that my abilities are still pretty good.
"Checkmate," I smile, knocking over the white king with my own rook. Valentin, my opponent, stares at me in shock. By the look on his face, my guess is that his ability was mind-reading. It's a good way to become a chess champion, I'll give him that.
But he can't keep up with me.
See, from the femtosecond his finger touched the first piece, I started running through the possible moves in my head. All of them.
Do you know how many possible positions there are after each player moves three times? More than 9 million. That goes up to 288 billion after four moves each. But when you can't move without a wheelchair, and when you have a brain that can scan and memorise information faster than anything else on the planet... and when you also have a lot of time on your hands... you can memorise everything. Every perfect game.
Not to mention, of course... Valentin might be able to read minds. But he can't process information as fast as I can. Which leaves him unable to comprehend the million, million, million thoughts I have every nanosecond.
I can't run. But that doesn't mean I'm not *fast*.
|
This is bullshit.
What the fuck kind of God thinks this is a funny thing to do to someone? All I do all day is lie in bed and wish I was dead.
Super speed. I know what God's ability is. Super dick...hole...ness.
"I brought you some milk, sweetheart," my kind, generous, loving mother said as she set the glass down on my bedside table.
"Fuck milk, Mom! I wanna' go outside and do things!"
"Well, I can get the wheelchair and bring you outside," she swooned.
"No! Not the wheelchair mom! I want to go outside without a wheelchair!"
I could see how much this was hurting her. I mean, we both knew that wasn't an option, but shit, I can't keep all this frustration bottled up inside, not even for the woman that gave me life.
But what kind of life is this to have? What kind of gift is it if all I get to do is look at my ceiling and pretend like I know what if feels like to jerk off? It's her fault I'm in this mess, for Christ's sake.
She looked at her feet and said, "Well, is there anything I can bring you? Anything you'd like to do? You want a coloring book, or a movie?" I sighed, not to keen on berating my mother anymore, even though she's a bitch for giving birth to me.
"It's fine, Mom. I think I just wanna' sleep."
"Alright, well if you need anything, just call." Then she spun around and shut the door with the gentleness of an angel's whisper.
Fuck milk. Seriously. I want a Coke, but doctor's say I can't have any sugary drinks because they fear my super speed my give me super fast diabetes, so for this broken, young, degenerate it's milk, water and at Christmas, sugarless eggnog.
Instead, I just did what I normally do. Grow my fingernails out with super speed, then chew on 'em.
Except today was different. For some reason, as I clenched my teeth down on a freshly generated bit of nail material, the satisfaction of that snap didn't rush down my spine like it normally does. Instead it just tasted weird, like dirt.
Great, now everything sucks.
But then I had an idea. It was a weird idea, a far-fetched idea, but if I could get it to work, it just might be worth it.
I clenched my bed sheets in my hands and gritted my teeth, focusing all my energy inside my soul, deep down into the cavernous recesses of my brain. I started to shake, my face turned red, and veins on my forehead gained noticeable three-dimensionality.
I looked down. The hair on my arms was beginning to grow in full. My stomach started arching over my waistline. The skin on my limbs was growing increasingly white and washed out. What hair I had on my stomach grew out and began turning gray. I was doing it! It was working! Super speed my aging process!
All I could hope for is that I could age myself right into the grave, but as the energy was flowing through me, something else was going on in my head. I felt my entire life flashing before my eyes. People I'd never met, yet loved more than anyone on the planet. People I'd lost. Children I'd fostered. Pets I'd owned, jobs I'd worked, I saw it all. I saw myself stuck out of time in every situation I'd ever experience, all within the span of a few minutes.
Then it began. A creeping, ominous feeling, like the lights were going out.
So I stopped. Look at me. A few moments before I was a shiny, young teenager. Now I laid in the same bed as a decrepit old man, scared and confused. After meeting all those faces, watching my kids grow up, seeing what my life had become, suddenly, I didn't want to die. Even if it was all from the perspective of a wheelchair, it was beautiful, visceral, it all made sense. This gift, it really was a gift. God had so much planned for me, an entire, beautiful life totally worth living. My mother going through so much pain just to bring me into this world of experience and beauty. I wanted so much to live it.
But I already had. Time only goes in one direction. So before I age myself to death, let me tell you something.
Never try to rush things. Life will come to you. Don't try to meet it halfway.
Also, our God is a rampant asshole for toying with us like this. Just like our mothers, who have the audacity to believe that any child they bring into this world will appreciate it.
Adios.
|
|
You can tell that something weighs 155 mg just by holding it, or that a noise is 74 dB just by listening to it. You can immediately know it's 84.1 °F outside without a thermometer, or that someone is 70¾" tall without a tape measure.
|
[WP] Your superpower is precisely and accurately measuring things without equipment. How do you use it to fight crime/take over the world?
|
You know, I was always the oddball in school. No super strength, no flight, no heat vision; in fact they just thought I was a normal who was a know-it-all. I thought so too, until I started knowing things that I had no possible way to. I could tell you the distance from Washington DC to Calcutta to the inch; the number of jelly beans in a jar, bag, factory; the amount of sand tracked home from a beach.
All things considered, the ability felt kind of... *lame.* Sure, it was quite a party trick but how do you stop crime with the ability to measure things? With a little imagination, that's how.
-=-=-=
As the latest mob boss was dragged into the back of the police van, I gave them a smirk. He snarled in response. "How did you know where our hideout was?"
"Simple! I was able to measure the amount of burner phones that you own, then the amount of burner phones you own with cell numbers that start with 8, then the amount of burner phones you own with cell numbers starting in 8-4, then 8-4-7, and so on. Then we just had to track them."
"But how'd you know about all the traps we put in? The armed guards? The attack dogs? *The bear?!"*
"I. Measured." Turning to face the other officers, I nodded back at the criminal. "I'd say it's time to get him fitted for prison uniforms but uh. I already know his measurements."
|
"I want that jar NOW!"
Babysitting the 23kg brat was hard work. She wanted more and more and more. But hey, the $50.27 an hour was grea-
"u/PM_NIGERIAN_PRINCES, guess the number and I'll get you that file you wanted off Daddy's computer..."
Ugh. After telling Emily I'd do it, I went and looked at the jar. 2,413 jelly beans. Too easy. But those plans would truly make my fiefdom into an international superpower...
|
You can tell that something weighs 155 mg just by holding it, or that a noise is 74 dB just by listening to it. You can immediately know it's 84.1 °F outside without a thermometer, or that someone is 70¾" tall without a tape measure.
|
[WP] Your superpower is precisely and accurately measuring things without equipment. How do you use it to fight crime/take over the world?
|
Ray Gardiner fumbled in his pocket for the key to his apartment, his mind a million miles away. In the last month, three members of the Pantheon had been killed in their civilian identities. All investigations had failed, all leads turned up worthless. Either there was a traitor on the team, or Psilence's psychic shields had somehow been compromised, or someone had gotten through Professor Eldritch's wards against scrying, or -
There were a hundred possible points of failure, but no signs of stress. All they had to go on was Blue Bolt's last desperate transmission - the phrase 'She calls herself Meanie-'
The name quite possibly gnawed away at his mind more than anything else about the situation. The idea that someone was picking them off, one by one, and had chosen such an immature title. As if this was a child's game to them. As if it wasn't life or death.
Lost in thought, he finally unlocked the door, and as he entered a pair of strong hands grabbed him by the right arm, preventing him from going for the Liberty Torch that he had taken to carrying around everywhere. *They know!* was his final thought before a taser jabbed into his neck, sending his body rigid and toppling him to the floor. As he lay there convulsing, his assailants looming over him, one of them spoke into a radio. "We got him, boss." Then the taser came down again and this time he briefly lost consciousness.
When he came to, his hands were restrained behind his back with a set of plastic zip-ties, a woman seated in front of him, her eyes obscured by the gleam of her glasses, turning the Torch of Liberty over in her hands. "Lovely thing," she said. "A mere 655.53 grams, yet capable of emitting up to 3.5681 megajoules of energy. We're going to put this to good use." She looked at him and smiled. "Forgive me. This part is so completely unnecessary. But what's the point of being a supervillain if you can't take the time to gloat?"
"How'd you do it," he mumbled. Keep her talking. Keep her gloating. Buy time. There had to be a way out of this.
"The same way that I knew that your right pocket was distended by the exact dimensions of this little rod." She stood up, spreading her arms over him. "I looked. I saw. Just like I know the space between the pupils of your eyes is 61.535 millimeters, or that your inseam is 89.562 centimeters. Getting into your apartment was equally simple. All I had to do was peek into your lock, and I knew the exact specifications to make a key!" Her grin gleamed like her glasses. "That's my superpower. You're nothing but a set of measurements to me, Mister Gardiner. The length of each segment of your fingers. The circumference of your skull. The mask might foil facial recognition technology, but it can't fool me! All I had to do was see Torchlight in action just once, and then you might as well have been going around your day-to-day routine in full costume! Certainly, it took a bit of surveillance around Torchlight's usual rescue spots, but all I needed to do was lay my eyes on you once.
"And don't think you can break free without me noticing," she added. "The minuscule adjustments of your arms as you try to break free?" She stabbed the taser into the side of his neck, sending him tumbling to the floor. "Incredibly obvious."
"Wauarggh," he gurgled, twitching on the ground, trying to make his tongue work. "Why -" he mumbled, his vision blurred. It was hard to think. "Why do this? Just to be a meanie?"
"Be a meanie?" Her face screwed up into confusion for a moment. "Oh! Oh no, no. It's *Mene*, as in '*Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin.*' As in, you have been numbered, you have been weighed -" she crouched down, her lips next to his ear, as he felt the cold barrel pressed to the back of his head. "And you have been found wanting."
|
"I want that jar NOW!"
Babysitting the 23kg brat was hard work. She wanted more and more and more. But hey, the $50.27 an hour was grea-
"u/PM_NIGERIAN_PRINCES, guess the number and I'll get you that file you wanted off Daddy's computer..."
Ugh. After telling Emily I'd do it, I went and looked at the jar. 2,413 jelly beans. Too easy. But those plans would truly make my fiefdom into an international superpower...
|
You can tell that something weighs 155 mg just by holding it, or that a noise is 74 dB just by listening to it. You can immediately know it's 84.1 °F outside without a thermometer, or that someone is 70¾" tall without a tape measure.
|
[WP] Your superpower is precisely and accurately measuring things without equipment. How do you use it to fight crime/take over the world?
|
Ray Gardiner fumbled in his pocket for the key to his apartment, his mind a million miles away. In the last month, three members of the Pantheon had been killed in their civilian identities. All investigations had failed, all leads turned up worthless. Either there was a traitor on the team, or Psilence's psychic shields had somehow been compromised, or someone had gotten through Professor Eldritch's wards against scrying, or -
There were a hundred possible points of failure, but no signs of stress. All they had to go on was Blue Bolt's last desperate transmission - the phrase 'She calls herself Meanie-'
The name quite possibly gnawed away at his mind more than anything else about the situation. The idea that someone was picking them off, one by one, and had chosen such an immature title. As if this was a child's game to them. As if it wasn't life or death.
Lost in thought, he finally unlocked the door, and as he entered a pair of strong hands grabbed him by the right arm, preventing him from going for the Liberty Torch that he had taken to carrying around everywhere. *They know!* was his final thought before a taser jabbed into his neck, sending his body rigid and toppling him to the floor. As he lay there convulsing, his assailants looming over him, one of them spoke into a radio. "We got him, boss." Then the taser came down again and this time he briefly lost consciousness.
When he came to, his hands were restrained behind his back with a set of plastic zip-ties, a woman seated in front of him, her eyes obscured by the gleam of her glasses, turning the Torch of Liberty over in her hands. "Lovely thing," she said. "A mere 655.53 grams, yet capable of emitting up to 3.5681 megajoules of energy. We're going to put this to good use." She looked at him and smiled. "Forgive me. This part is so completely unnecessary. But what's the point of being a supervillain if you can't take the time to gloat?"
"How'd you do it," he mumbled. Keep her talking. Keep her gloating. Buy time. There had to be a way out of this.
"The same way that I knew that your right pocket was distended by the exact dimensions of this little rod." She stood up, spreading her arms over him. "I looked. I saw. Just like I know the space between the pupils of your eyes is 61.535 millimeters, or that your inseam is 89.562 centimeters. Getting into your apartment was equally simple. All I had to do was peek into your lock, and I knew the exact specifications to make a key!" Her grin gleamed like her glasses. "That's my superpower. You're nothing but a set of measurements to me, Mister Gardiner. The length of each segment of your fingers. The circumference of your skull. The mask might foil facial recognition technology, but it can't fool me! All I had to do was see Torchlight in action just once, and then you might as well have been going around your day-to-day routine in full costume! Certainly, it took a bit of surveillance around Torchlight's usual rescue spots, but all I needed to do was lay my eyes on you once.
"And don't think you can break free without me noticing," she added. "The minuscule adjustments of your arms as you try to break free?" She stabbed the taser into the side of his neck, sending him tumbling to the floor. "Incredibly obvious."
"Wauarggh," he gurgled, twitching on the ground, trying to make his tongue work. "Why -" he mumbled, his vision blurred. It was hard to think. "Why do this? Just to be a meanie?"
"Be a meanie?" Her face screwed up into confusion for a moment. "Oh! Oh no, no. It's *Mene*, as in '*Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin.*' As in, you have been numbered, you have been weighed -" she crouched down, her lips next to his ear, as he felt the cold barrel pressed to the back of his head. "And you have been found wanting."
|
"You're sure about this," the technician asks.
"The entire reason I was brought onto this team. You can do the math if you like, but it will take you a lot longer"
"Well you have a knack for this sort of thing, here it goes"
Yes, I can measure things perfectly making me a perfect rocket scientist, also the ultimate intruder. I am a double agent for both sides, Russia, and America and I just tilted the ship too much so that it will look like sabotage by the Russians. Tensions are already running high and I plan to keep it that way. When everyone trusts one person, he can rule the world.
"You're sure about this,"
"The entire reason I was brought onto this team. You can do the math if you like, but it will take you a lot longer"
"Well you have a knack for this sort of thing, here it goes"
Now I stand watching a Russian soldier input codes to deploy nukes into america, instead of the test site. Why have a team of scientist when one man who can measure the coordinates perfectly does all the work? Because a team of scientist would have noticed that the coordinates were located in Los Angeles on the other side of the world.
|
You can tell that something weighs 155 mg just by holding it, or that a noise is 74 dB just by listening to it. You can immediately know it's 84.1 °F outside without a thermometer, or that someone is 70¾" tall without a tape measure.
|
[WP] Your superpower is precisely and accurately measuring things without equipment. How do you use it to fight crime/take over the world?
|
"Firefighters are on scene, but have yet to move in to douse the flames. Authorities are holding them back until they can determine whether or not there are more explosives in the facility. We've received word that all employees are accounted for. Miraculously, despite some serious injuries, no one was killed in the blast. The only question that remains is why. Why did this apparent terrorist target a tape measure manufacturing plant? Hopefully, we'll soon have answers. From Pennsburg, Pennsylvania, this is PNN News. Back to the studio."
"Thank you, Mallory. She will certainly keep us updated on the situation as more is revealed-"
I pointed the three-and-a-half ounce TV remote at the screen and hit the power button, leaving only a 200-lumen light illuminating my throne at the center of the Sanctum of Scale.
"Excellent..." I muttered.
"Double-D?"
"Yes, Gauge?" I rotated the throne 93 degrees and 11 seconds to see my faithful sidekick standing before my map of conquests. Across all 50 states, there were pins, marking every tape measure, ruler, scale, caliper, thermometer, range finder, graduated cylinder, and carnival strength tester factory in the nation. All but one. Gauge had crossed out Pennsburg with a massive, red x. It was 14 degrees from perpendicular, but I chose to forgive him on such an auspicious occasion.
"Where's our next target?"
"We go to Waukesha, Wisconsin. We start with the tape manufacturers first. Soon, every contractor, carpenter, and construction company will have to come to *us* to measure their two-by-fours! Only we will hold the power to provide homes and buildings for the entire country! And they will pay dearly for it..."
"What about all the tape measures in circulation?"
I sighed and rubbed my brow. The boy can be so foolish, but he means well. "In due time, Gauge. We must have patience. Soon, with no supply, the hardware stores will fall, too. And then, the contractors."
"Okay, but how long do you think it'll be before someone needs a new tape measure and-"
"*Silence!* Would you rather go back to the streets, charging tourists to have their weight guessed?"
"Yeah, actually."
"You lack aspiration, my apprentice. We continue with the plan. Eventually, anyone in the nation who needs weight, length, area, volume, angle, mass, or temperature will have to come to me! And after we conquer this nation, we move on to the rest. And when the last tools of measurement are destroyed, the world will know the name..." I rose from the throne, shaking my fist to the sky. "*...DOCTOR DEMARCATOR!*"
|
"You're sure about this," the technician asks.
"The entire reason I was brought onto this team. You can do the math if you like, but it will take you a lot longer"
"Well you have a knack for this sort of thing, here it goes"
Yes, I can measure things perfectly making me a perfect rocket scientist, also the ultimate intruder. I am a double agent for both sides, Russia, and America and I just tilted the ship too much so that it will look like sabotage by the Russians. Tensions are already running high and I plan to keep it that way. When everyone trusts one person, he can rule the world.
"You're sure about this,"
"The entire reason I was brought onto this team. You can do the math if you like, but it will take you a lot longer"
"Well you have a knack for this sort of thing, here it goes"
Now I stand watching a Russian soldier input codes to deploy nukes into america, instead of the test site. Why have a team of scientist when one man who can measure the coordinates perfectly does all the work? Because a team of scientist would have noticed that the coordinates were located in Los Angeles on the other side of the world.
|
You can tell that something weighs 155 mg just by holding it, or that a noise is 74 dB just by listening to it. You can immediately know it's 84.1 °F outside without a thermometer, or that someone is 70¾" tall without a tape measure.
|
[WP] Your superpower is precisely and accurately measuring things without equipment. How do you use it to fight crime/take over the world?
|
(Kind of a cheat, but here we go!)
"How the hell did you get in here?" Dr. Hatred asked the man dressed in a 'Cool Runnings' t-shirt and jeans. The man was smiling, a sort of odd smile like he knew something that the other didn't.
"How did you get past my security?" The Doctor asked
"You mean your 143 guards? Or your 642 cameras? Or the 213 laser tripwires? Or the 67 armed drones patrolling the grounds of island here? Its a lovely place, isn't it? Stays around 78.3 with decent humidity year round, correct? I would kill for a place like this!"
"You'd have to if you wanted to take it from me..." the Doctor said, pressing a button to summon a henchman to his inner sanctum. "Speaking of killing someone, please try not to get blood everywhere when my men take care of you, I try to keep the place clean."
"I wouldn't worry about that. No one is coming. You have 0 henchmen now."
"Oh? Is that right?" He raised an eyebrow, his men would've been here by now so he was probably telling the truth... "Wait a second... you're that... fellow they call 'The Measure-er '
"Indeed I am."
"And how does someone who precisely and accurately measures things without equipment manage to do all this? Get past the best security systems that money can buy?"
"That's easy." He said with another big smile on his face, "The secret is: I've been guessing this whole time. I just happen to always be right."
"...what?"
"There are 0 desks in this room." And with that, the desk that the Doctor sat behind vanished without a trace with a small clap of air rushing to fill in the space where it was as well as the clamor of general desk accessories that fell to the floor.
"...huh...well..." The Doctor said, both amazed and terrified at the sudden disappearance of his desk.
"Next up I was thinking about accurately measuring how many broken bones Dr. Hatred has in his body."
"That won't be necessary, the Island is yours!" The Doctor got up from his chair and made his way out of the room,"I'll just grab my things and be out of your way!" He left without saying another word and ran as far away as he could.
"You do that." The Measure-er smiled and took the seat that the Doctor had vacated. He spun around a bit before saying, "There is 1 desk in this room."
A desk appeared before him. It wasn't the desk that Dr. Hatred had, it was a very plain and boring desk.
The Measure-er grumbled, "There is a better desk in this room." The man said, and another desk appeared, this time in the corner of the room. It was better, but not by much.
He sighed, "This might take awhile..."
|
"You're sure about this," the technician asks.
"The entire reason I was brought onto this team. You can do the math if you like, but it will take you a lot longer"
"Well you have a knack for this sort of thing, here it goes"
Yes, I can measure things perfectly making me a perfect rocket scientist, also the ultimate intruder. I am a double agent for both sides, Russia, and America and I just tilted the ship too much so that it will look like sabotage by the Russians. Tensions are already running high and I plan to keep it that way. When everyone trusts one person, he can rule the world.
"You're sure about this,"
"The entire reason I was brought onto this team. You can do the math if you like, but it will take you a lot longer"
"Well you have a knack for this sort of thing, here it goes"
Now I stand watching a Russian soldier input codes to deploy nukes into america, instead of the test site. Why have a team of scientist when one man who can measure the coordinates perfectly does all the work? Because a team of scientist would have noticed that the coordinates were located in Los Angeles on the other side of the world.
|
You can tell that something weighs 155 mg just by holding it, or that a noise is 74 dB just by listening to it. You can immediately know it's 84.1 °F outside without a thermometer, or that someone is 70¾" tall without a tape measure.
|
[WP] Your superpower is precisely and accurately measuring things without equipment. How do you use it to fight crime/take over the world?
|
(Kind of a cheat, but here we go!)
"How the hell did you get in here?" Dr. Hatred asked the man dressed in a 'Cool Runnings' t-shirt and jeans. The man was smiling, a sort of odd smile like he knew something that the other didn't.
"How did you get past my security?" The Doctor asked
"You mean your 143 guards? Or your 642 cameras? Or the 213 laser tripwires? Or the 67 armed drones patrolling the grounds of island here? Its a lovely place, isn't it? Stays around 78.3 with decent humidity year round, correct? I would kill for a place like this!"
"You'd have to if you wanted to take it from me..." the Doctor said, pressing a button to summon a henchman to his inner sanctum. "Speaking of killing someone, please try not to get blood everywhere when my men take care of you, I try to keep the place clean."
"I wouldn't worry about that. No one is coming. You have 0 henchmen now."
"Oh? Is that right?" He raised an eyebrow, his men would've been here by now so he was probably telling the truth... "Wait a second... you're that... fellow they call 'The Measure-er '
"Indeed I am."
"And how does someone who precisely and accurately measures things without equipment manage to do all this? Get past the best security systems that money can buy?"
"That's easy." He said with another big smile on his face, "The secret is: I've been guessing this whole time. I just happen to always be right."
"...what?"
"There are 0 desks in this room." And with that, the desk that the Doctor sat behind vanished without a trace with a small clap of air rushing to fill in the space where it was as well as the clamor of general desk accessories that fell to the floor.
"...huh...well..." The Doctor said, both amazed and terrified at the sudden disappearance of his desk.
"Next up I was thinking about accurately measuring how many broken bones Dr. Hatred has in his body."
"That won't be necessary, the Island is yours!" The Doctor got up from his chair and made his way out of the room,"I'll just grab my things and be out of your way!" He left without saying another word and ran as far away as he could.
"You do that." The Measure-er smiled and took the seat that the Doctor had vacated. He spun around a bit before saying, "There is 1 desk in this room."
A desk appeared before him. It wasn't the desk that Dr. Hatred had, it was a very plain and boring desk.
The Measure-er grumbled, "There is a better desk in this room." The man said, and another desk appeared, this time in the corner of the room. It was better, but not by much.
He sighed, "This might take awhile..."
|
"Firefighters are on scene, but have yet to move in to douse the flames. Authorities are holding them back until they can determine whether or not there are more explosives in the facility. We've received word that all employees are accounted for. Miraculously, despite some serious injuries, no one was killed in the blast. The only question that remains is why. Why did this apparent terrorist target a tape measure manufacturing plant? Hopefully, we'll soon have answers. From Pennsburg, Pennsylvania, this is PNN News. Back to the studio."
"Thank you, Mallory. She will certainly keep us updated on the situation as more is revealed-"
I pointed the three-and-a-half ounce TV remote at the screen and hit the power button, leaving only a 200-lumen light illuminating my throne at the center of the Sanctum of Scale.
"Excellent..." I muttered.
"Double-D?"
"Yes, Gauge?" I rotated the throne 93 degrees and 11 seconds to see my faithful sidekick standing before my map of conquests. Across all 50 states, there were pins, marking every tape measure, ruler, scale, caliper, thermometer, range finder, graduated cylinder, and carnival strength tester factory in the nation. All but one. Gauge had crossed out Pennsburg with a massive, red x. It was 14 degrees from perpendicular, but I chose to forgive him on such an auspicious occasion.
"Where's our next target?"
"We go to Waukesha, Wisconsin. We start with the tape manufacturers first. Soon, every contractor, carpenter, and construction company will have to come to *us* to measure their two-by-fours! Only we will hold the power to provide homes and buildings for the entire country! And they will pay dearly for it..."
"What about all the tape measures in circulation?"
I sighed and rubbed my brow. The boy can be so foolish, but he means well. "In due time, Gauge. We must have patience. Soon, with no supply, the hardware stores will fall, too. And then, the contractors."
"Okay, but how long do you think it'll be before someone needs a new tape measure and-"
"*Silence!* Would you rather go back to the streets, charging tourists to have their weight guessed?"
"Yeah, actually."
"You lack aspiration, my apprentice. We continue with the plan. Eventually, anyone in the nation who needs weight, length, area, volume, angle, mass, or temperature will have to come to me! And after we conquer this nation, we move on to the rest. And when the last tools of measurement are destroyed, the world will know the name..." I rose from the throne, shaking my fist to the sky. "*...DOCTOR DEMARCATOR!*"
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[WP] New Year's Eve. December 31st, 2099.
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My wife and I nervously watched the holo-broadcast that would traditionally ring in the new year. Unfortunately the millennium bug had put a slight downer on this years festivities. The presenter in front of us was trying to put on a brave face.
"Here in London we are doing our best to ignore— oh Christ, oh shit, I'm vanishing, I think I have been gott—"
As the presenter spoke, her body gradually faded out of existence. Light easily passed through her transparent body, until **poof**, she was gone. The millennium bug had gotten her.
During the cyborg revolution on 2066, computerised implants has become common place. Brain chips helped us think. Nano steel arms and legs gave us strength and speed previously unimaginable. New appendages created a more exciting sexual dynamic.
By 2088 all babies were chipped as soon as they were born. By the start of this year, 2099, *everyone* had some form of cybernetic enhancement.
So three months ago, when the millennium bug started, it was able to spread like wild fire. It began with a hacker in Taiwan who uploaded the virus to a user Tennessee who was upgrading his cerebral software. As soon as the virus upload was complete it began to transform him. His organic substance was converted to 0's and 1's. He quickly vanished into the ether, forever to be trapped as a ghost in the machine. This was captured on a PS3Box webcam and transmitted to a terrified populace.
The virus greedily spread, helped by the prominence of mobile network satellites and free wi-fi zone hotspots. No one was safe.
The holographic was still broadcasting in front of us. The crowd in London was literally dispersing as we watched. Big Ben began to ring — **dong**, **dong** — and then another ten times.
"We made it!" I said, turning to my wife. Something wasn't right. She looked less opaque than usual. "Oh God sweetheart, no!"
I leaned in to kiss her goodbye, but my lips went straight through her and onto the cold wall. I began to cry.
I tried to brush my tears away from my eyes with the back of my hand, but when I raised my arm up I saw but a faint outline of my forelimb.
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Lyla is six. It's the first time her parents have ever let her stay up past 9 o'clock and she's sitting buzzed on soda pop and watching news reports that she doesn't really understand. She's asking her parents to change the channel so that she can watch a TV show that *she* likes, but her dad shoos her away and tells her to color or something, and Lyla wanders over to the big windows that look over the city and stares out at all the lights. She feels kind of itchy from being awake and reaches up to scratch her face, closing her eyes and scratching over and then scratching along her arms. Her mom comes up and offers her another soda pop and she takes it and starts to drink it, and the bubbles feel weird in her mouth and she's not even sure why she's awake.
Her parents are talking in low voices while they watch the news but Lyla doesn't try to listen to them because she's too busy staring at the lights. Her mom comes over and tells her there's half an hour left before midnight, and then it will be a new century! Lyla says, "What's a century?" and her mom says, "It's a hundred years." Lyla's not sure she really understands but she says, "Oh, I know that," and goes back to staring out the window.
She gets bored at one point and wanders over to the couch to look for their kitten. Lyla's mom is trying to get her to come over, waving a party hat and asking Lyla, "Don't you want to wear it?" Lyla doesn't really want to wear the hat, she's too busy looking for Luke the cat and she's still feeling kind of itchy, but her mother calls her over and she goes. Lyla's mother puts the hat on her head and hands her a horn to blow into, and she says that it's time to count down from ten and then it will be a new year. Lyla counts with her parents, and then at one blows into the horn while her parents both shout, "Happy New Year!"
The lights in her house go out. Her parents are speaking more quickly now but Lyla wanders back over to the window and watches all the lights go dark in the city. There are a few fireworks that explode in the sky - they backlight the tall buildings that are black now. Lyla's parents are reaching for her in the darkness and tugging on her, but Lyla doesn't want to go. She wants to stay.
There's a siren sounding somewhere far off. Lyla's mother is picking her up and carrying her away now.
Lyla wonders if it's time to go to sleep.
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Thanks for reading :). For more stories check out /r/Celsius232
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[WP] #64 on the Evil Overlord list is: "I will see a competent psychiatrist and get cured of all extremely unusual phobias and bizarre compulsive habits which could prove to be a disadvantage." You are the psychiatrist.
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“The death ray will then be leveled at the planet,” said Baron Darkfist, leaning forward. “Gathering energy from sunlight, it will send a scorching line of fire through America and teach the world the true meaning of fear.”
Ed Goldstein tapped his pen against his notepad, a small frown pursing his lips. Mr. Darkfist had been a client for a number of years, now. His dedication to evil was admittedly admirable. Every other monster, king, and tyrant who had sat upon Ed’s couch had failed to get this far in their treatment while still retaining their sense of glee for wanton destruction. Most had a good cry, hugged Ed for an uncomfortable amount of time, and then went home. Lord Slaughterfingers had actually sent Ed a Christmas card just two months ago. His new wife looked lovely.
“Mr. Darkfist,” said Ed, patiently.
“Baron,” snapped the man. “You will address my by my title, cur.”
Ed inwardly sighed. The “Baron” was no such thing. He was a Minnesota farm boy who had read too many fantasy books.
“Baron Darkfist, then,” said Ed. “You are at serious risk of undoing our work. You remember what we said about monologuing.”
The Baron’s eyes fell.
“That’s when the hero shoots you,” he muttered.
“Yes, but why else?”
He drew in a deep breath, then rattled off a string of well-rehearsed words.
“I am a strong villain,” he said, “needing no validation from any hero as to the unspeakable evil that I am to commit. Any actions I unleash upon the world are for my own sake, and nobody else’s, and I don’t need anybody to understand or validate my plans.”
Ed beamed. “Very good, M… er, Baron Darkfist.”
He flipped to the next page on his notepad, and smiled.
“Just one last item then, before I can discharge you as a villain, in full command of his senses and ready to rule the world.”
Baron Darkfist leaned forward eagerly, his eyes gleaming.
“Number sixty-four,” said Ed. “Unusual phobias and bizarre compulsive habits.”
Baron Darkfist leaned back. He was a tall man, with a shock of black hair and hands like cleavers. His eyes were so dark a blue that they looked like shards of onyx. He looked outside at where cars buzzed by on the street below.
“That’s an easy one,” he said, dismissively. “I have no such phobias.”
Ed restrained the roll of his eyes, and leaned forward. He gestured to where a picture which had once hung upon his wall lay against the wall, image concealed.
“Baron, let’s talk about… horses.”
The man went stiff as a lead pipe. His eyes darted about the room. Sweat began to bead upon his brow. He wiped it away, affecting a laugh. “Don’t be crazy, doc,” he said. “I ain’t got nothing against—“
“You accent is slipping,” Ed noted.
The Baron scowled, then coughed. “I am the Baron Darkfist,” he proclaimed in a strong voice. “I am not afraid of horses.”
Ed rose, smiling, walking over to where the painting lay.
“Oh, good,” he said. “Then you won’t mind if I…?”
The Baron paled, a hand darting up. “Wait!” he cried. “No! That… I just…” He smiled. “I am a man of class. I find that picture… rural, and distasteful.”
Ed flipped the frame around to reveal a landscape portrait of a great sweep of grass, awash with a herd of horses leaping through the green. His client, the Baron Darkfist, shrieked, scrambling to the opposite side of the couch from the picture and clutching a pillow to his chest.
“What is it about horses that scares you?” asked Ed, looking down at the picture. “I find them quite lovely.”
“I’m not—“
“You will not make progress until you are willing to admit your fears,” Ed snapped. The Baron looked down at this pillow in his hands, where the words ‘Everything will be okay’ had been embroidered in pink silk.
“It was my father,” he muttered. “He was a breeder. He always wanted me to be a jockey, to ride his finest beasts, but they scared me! They would kick me, throw me to the ground. I broke limbs, but he didn’t care. As soon as I was well, he’d have me back on the saddle.”
Ed nodded, gesturing, and the Baron continued.
“I guess I just… well, I wanted to prove to him that I could be something. Become something. But he only ever wanted the horses. He loved them more than me. One day, I went out to the barn. I had this old zippo lighter, see, and I…” The Baron gulped. “The screams. I didn’t know horses could scream, doc. My father, he came out of the house with his gun. I don’t think he knew it was me. I hope he didn’t. He aimed, and he fired. Tore a hole right in my shoulder. Doctors said I was lucky to be alive.”
Ed nodded again, then drew in a deep breath.
“So you blame the horses for your father,” he said.
“If they hadn’t existed…!” the Baron cried, leaning forward, his features desperate. “If they hadn’t been there, then maybe…!”
Ed sighed, this time letting the noise fill the room like the gentle swell of a wave breaking upon sand. Baron Darkfist leaned back, still clutching the pillow.
“You don’t think it would have been something else?” Ed asked. “If not horses, perhaps another thing?”
The Baron’s eyes were filling with tears.
“I just wanted him to love me,” he whispered. “To notice me. To care.”
Ed stood up, walking over to sit beside the Baron on the couch.
“I know,” he said. “But we all need to learn how to let go.”
The Baron let out a monumental sob, and leaned over, clutching at Ed’s sleeve. The psychiatrist tapped his pen once against his notepad, then patted the man’s shaking head awkwardly. Looked like this one wasn’t cut out for the job either.
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"Well...?" I prompted the Dread Being on the couch. He coughed nervously.
"*Well, you see, I have a nervous habit of... maniacal cackling*" I smiled faintly; another one, eh?
"Really? Sometimes it's just a hearty laugh. Could you give me an example?"
"*Oh, alright. Mwahahaha***AHAHAHAHAHAHAHSHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!**... *Well*?" I readjusted my glasses and smoothed my hair; this one was much more forceful than the others. No matter.
"Believe me, this is a common problem. The trick is to *limit* it to a certain time of day. Put aside ten minutes and really laugh it out."
"*And that'll work*?" The Lord of Darkness asked doubtfully.
"Oh yes; I haven't heard a complaint from any other client."
"*Well thank you doctor. I feel much better.*" Standing up, he drew his sword and ran me through the heart. As I slumped backwards, he apologised:
"*I am sorry Doctor; but you knew too many of my weaknesses. Goodbye.*"
When the door clicked shut, I sat up and dusted myself down. Changing from my bloodstained rag into one of the spare shirts in my desk drawer, I sighed, and was glad that I always insisted on upfront payment. Pressing the intercom, I rang my assistant to send in the next one.
"Ah, Sir Whiteblade. What can I help you with today?"
"Well you see, Doctor, every time I hear the Dread Lord laugh, I get self conscious and left him escape." I smiled; as an Immortal, I've always noted that Karma really does come around quick.
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As you live the life of an "ordinary" tree, you endure the struggles and triumphs the park life brings.
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[WP] You are a tree in a central park, and unknowingly to the people, you can feel and think.
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I felt the girl's deep, slow sigh across my cracked skin.
"I just wish things could be easier. Simpler." *Tell me about it,* I thought, then cringed as she did just that.
"Oh, Pine Tree," she crooned, stroking me gently. *Stop that.* "I hate running the rat race of life. I'm so tired of just working, day after day. And I STILL don't have enough money to move out of my parents' house. When will things get better?"
*No way!* I was asked that EXACT same question at 2AM by a homeless man. I was happy to see that her hand rested in the patch of grass where he'd puked.
"I'm not crazy--" *just talking to a pine tree*, "but sometimes I feel like the whole world's watching me with high hopes and expectations. People trust me, and I let them down." I actually sympathized with her on that one. I remembered the fat child who had tried to climb me last week and the way he'd screamed as my branch snapped. Could I have been stronger for him?
"You know what? I'm gonna start living for myself. I'll be like you, Pine Tree -- I can grow on my own, with or without other people.
"I just wish I had some kind of sign that the universe could hear me..."
So I dropped a pinecone on her fucking head.
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Oh for God's sake, not again. The fucker just pissed all over me. Right smug little grin on his face as well. Fucking New Years eve I tell you; the worst night of my year, and this asshat is the 7th one already. Wanna piss? Go do it on Gavin over there, he ain't half as pretty as me. Guess that's the price you pay for such a prime location.
I tell you, the shit you see in central park would shock even the bravest oak up at Winona State. But I bet they get some peace and quiet, though. ‘The city that never sleeps’ yeah, tell me about it. I'd probably get more peace in a bloody Lumber Yard. It used to be great before all these sodding people decided to start chopping down my mates and building these ugly shiny glass people-holding things.
Oh, hold up, here comes another drinker. I'd bet my best branch that he comes to piss on me, they always do. Come on asshole, you know you want to, ruin my night just a little bit more. Okay, there we go. I hope you find yourself reborn in some weedy little cedar tree. Jesus this guy is drunk. I could get up and wander around and he wouldn't even notice, but I can't. You know; because I'm a tree.
Oh no, he's got a knife. Here we go again. Captain asshole down there wants to forever be a part of Central Park itself. What a cock. Ow. Ow. Ow. Jesus this fucker has shaky hands. At least make an attempt to be neat! Come on, hurry up then. ‘T’ hm, Tom? Tim? Tard more likely. ‘R’ ‘E’ ‘E’. Wait. He just wrote tree. This asshole couldn't even manage his own initials, so he had to deface me with “TREE” in some scrawly script. Just another day in paradise.
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As you live the life of an "ordinary" tree, you endure the struggles and triumphs the park life brings.
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[WP] You are a tree in a central park, and unknowingly to the people, you can feel and think.
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I have been here for dozens of New Greens. Every year I grow a little bigger, a little more majestic, and I can see the earth from a little bit higher. I grow very proud of the life I harbor within my branches and on my bark. So many creatures come and go, some even stay and make young, and then disappear until the next New Green.
There is another kind of tree, it has roots that can move it from place to place and branches that can pick up and carry stuff. And these trees look so different! Odd stringy leaves seem to only exist near the top of their trunks. Where do they get their energy from? Some even enjoy sitting under me where they choose to not receive anything from the WarmBall. Such odd trees, but I have grown to love them.
The last few New Greens have been bothersome though. I have learned to tell these odd trees apart. Some are young, some are old, some are happy, some are hurt, and some are sad. There is one I have seen, a tree with no leaves, hurting other trees of its kind. It used a flat stone, must have found it between his roots when it just a sapling, and brought out the sap of another tree that had dirty looking leaves. and then took a hanging nest and moved so very quickly away. The poor dirty leaves tree toppled and laid there until other trees came to help. They were all very sad and returned their water to the earth.
I've seen this no leaves tree hurt more since then and I decided that just cannot be allowed. No tree should hurt others! I spent a ColdBall preparing one of my largest branches, cutting it off from the sap from within. Before I was growing new leaves for the creatures to come the branch was ready and leafless, never to grow again. I kept vigilance for that tree to come near me again.
A New Green was here, WarmBall right above me, and I saw the no leaves tree coming.
As its roots passed it under my shade I let the last of the life out of the branch I was preparing. I had never done anything so quickly before but my efforts paid off. The no leaves tree sat under my branch, broken, and returning its own sap to the earth. It would never hurt another tree again.
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Oh for God's sake, not again. The fucker just pissed all over me. Right smug little grin on his face as well. Fucking New Years eve I tell you; the worst night of my year, and this asshat is the 7th one already. Wanna piss? Go do it on Gavin over there, he ain't half as pretty as me. Guess that's the price you pay for such a prime location.
I tell you, the shit you see in central park would shock even the bravest oak up at Winona State. But I bet they get some peace and quiet, though. ‘The city that never sleeps’ yeah, tell me about it. I'd probably get more peace in a bloody Lumber Yard. It used to be great before all these sodding people decided to start chopping down my mates and building these ugly shiny glass people-holding things.
Oh, hold up, here comes another drinker. I'd bet my best branch that he comes to piss on me, they always do. Come on asshole, you know you want to, ruin my night just a little bit more. Okay, there we go. I hope you find yourself reborn in some weedy little cedar tree. Jesus this guy is drunk. I could get up and wander around and he wouldn't even notice, but I can't. You know; because I'm a tree.
Oh no, he's got a knife. Here we go again. Captain asshole down there wants to forever be a part of Central Park itself. What a cock. Ow. Ow. Ow. Jesus this fucker has shaky hands. At least make an attempt to be neat! Come on, hurry up then. ‘T’ hm, Tom? Tim? Tard more likely. ‘R’ ‘E’ ‘E’. Wait. He just wrote tree. This asshole couldn't even manage his own initials, so he had to deface me with “TREE” in some scrawly script. Just another day in paradise.
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As you live the life of an "ordinary" tree, you endure the struggles and triumphs the park life brings.
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[WP] You are a tree in a central park, and unknowingly to the people, you can feel and think.
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I felt the girl's deep, slow sigh across my cracked skin.
"I just wish things could be easier. Simpler." *Tell me about it,* I thought, then cringed as she did just that.
"Oh, Pine Tree," she crooned, stroking me gently. *Stop that.* "I hate running the rat race of life. I'm so tired of just working, day after day. And I STILL don't have enough money to move out of my parents' house. When will things get better?"
*No way!* I was asked that EXACT same question at 2AM by a homeless man. I was happy to see that her hand rested in the patch of grass where he'd puked.
"I'm not crazy--" *just talking to a pine tree*, "but sometimes I feel like the whole world's watching me with high hopes and expectations. People trust me, and I let them down." I actually sympathized with her on that one. I remembered the fat child who had tried to climb me last week and the way he'd screamed as my branch snapped. Could I have been stronger for him?
"You know what? I'm gonna start living for myself. I'll be like you, Pine Tree -- I can grow on my own, with or without other people.
"I just wish I had some kind of sign that the universe could hear me..."
So I dropped a pinecone on her fucking head.
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I remember a time before,
when few seldom roamed the land.
The forest stretched beyond my sight,
before the time of man.
The stars shown bright upon the sky,
freedom without a thought.
And all that lived, harmonious,
a timeless place that nature wrought.
They came to us, at first so slow,
like my sap within the ice.
My friends and family turned to ash,
our sacrifice would not suffice.
I learned to hate, with hate so strong,
for those to took my kin from me.
But what did man have to fear,
for I was not but a mindless tree.
Spires of grey grew with unnatural speed,
when my bark and flesh did not suffice.
surrounding those that remained,
a prison between those who took our life.
I grow with shades of vibrant green,
a beauty for those who come and see.
What's hidden is that I'm dead inside,
a life of joy can never be.
I let them walk among my shade,
Bah! Like they care for more than wealth in hand.
I will never forget how life used to be,
before the day I encountered man.
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As you live the life of an "ordinary" tree, you endure the struggles and triumphs the park life brings.
|
[WP] You are a tree in a central park, and unknowingly to the people, you can feel and think.
|
I have been here for dozens of New Greens. Every year I grow a little bigger, a little more majestic, and I can see the earth from a little bit higher. I grow very proud of the life I harbor within my branches and on my bark. So many creatures come and go, some even stay and make young, and then disappear until the next New Green.
There is another kind of tree, it has roots that can move it from place to place and branches that can pick up and carry stuff. And these trees look so different! Odd stringy leaves seem to only exist near the top of their trunks. Where do they get their energy from? Some even enjoy sitting under me where they choose to not receive anything from the WarmBall. Such odd trees, but I have grown to love them.
The last few New Greens have been bothersome though. I have learned to tell these odd trees apart. Some are young, some are old, some are happy, some are hurt, and some are sad. There is one I have seen, a tree with no leaves, hurting other trees of its kind. It used a flat stone, must have found it between his roots when it just a sapling, and brought out the sap of another tree that had dirty looking leaves. and then took a hanging nest and moved so very quickly away. The poor dirty leaves tree toppled and laid there until other trees came to help. They were all very sad and returned their water to the earth.
I've seen this no leaves tree hurt more since then and I decided that just cannot be allowed. No tree should hurt others! I spent a ColdBall preparing one of my largest branches, cutting it off from the sap from within. Before I was growing new leaves for the creatures to come the branch was ready and leafless, never to grow again. I kept vigilance for that tree to come near me again.
A New Green was here, WarmBall right above me, and I saw the no leaves tree coming.
As its roots passed it under my shade I let the last of the life out of the branch I was preparing. I had never done anything so quickly before but my efforts paid off. The no leaves tree sat under my branch, broken, and returning its own sap to the earth. It would never hurt another tree again.
|
I remember a time before,
when few seldom roamed the land.
The forest stretched beyond my sight,
before the time of man.
The stars shown bright upon the sky,
freedom without a thought.
And all that lived, harmonious,
a timeless place that nature wrought.
They came to us, at first so slow,
like my sap within the ice.
My friends and family turned to ash,
our sacrifice would not suffice.
I learned to hate, with hate so strong,
for those to took my kin from me.
But what did man have to fear,
for I was not but a mindless tree.
Spires of grey grew with unnatural speed,
when my bark and flesh did not suffice.
surrounding those that remained,
a prison between those who took our life.
I grow with shades of vibrant green,
a beauty for those who come and see.
What's hidden is that I'm dead inside,
a life of joy can never be.
I let them walk among my shade,
Bah! Like they care for more than wealth in hand.
I will never forget how life used to be,
before the day I encountered man.
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
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"Well you see Sarah we simply cannot just accept your proposal, there are procedures to follow, it is out of my hands." Harvey flipped back the note chart and casually flicked it across the boardroom table, with one of his insincere smiles plastered across his face. Over an hour of negotiation were about to go down the toilet, he had the power to say yes and save the company but instead wanted to watch Sarah squirm.
"What are you talking about? You're a CEO, of course you can do it" she said on the verge of frustration. She had worked too hard to see it be lost in the backlog all because Harvey enjoyed being a prick, but there was nothing she could do.
"You're right. Maybe there is some way we can help each other out." Harvey leaned back in the leather chair with a greedy smile that made Sarah sick to the stomach. She was about to tell him where he could stick that counter-proposal and go do with himself, when the boardroom door swung open nearly shattering on its hinges and an immense stack of paper was dropped in front of Harvey.
"What the hell are you doing this is a private meeting. Get out you...." Angry at being denied a chance to bag Sarah, Harvey turned to face the intruder and his hot fury suddenly died in his throat. The room inexplicably seemed to become much colder and smaller.
Standing beside Harvey was more a mountain of muscle than a woman, someone or something that would look more at home in a Televised Wrestling match or a bodybuilding competition than in an office. A tie was wrapped around one bulging bicep already fraying and losing the fight to contain the power beneath despite looking brand new, complete with price tag. A pair of oversized glasses that usually made the wearer look meek and nerdy like much of the office workers in the city, only served to enhance the threatening nature of the towering figure before him. Across their back was a well used axe that any role player would empty their bank account for. Curiously it too had a pair of glasses perched on its head and a tie wrapped around its handle.
"Can I help you?" Harvey asked timidly as he nearly forgot how to speak and breathe. "....miss" his brain told him to add out of politeness and as a way to maybe live beyond the next few seconds.
The figure merely stood still for a second, her arms folded over her chest rising and falling slowly as she breathed. She continued to glower at Harvey and at the world in general before a rumble echoed forth.
"Accounts" she said as no one had ever said them before: it was a promise of death and destruction that would lead to much wailing and sorrow of the defeated foe. That one word was a declaration of war, primal scream and battlecry rolled into one that alone could have broken the Roman Empire and sent men fleeing for the hills. In response Harvey tried immensely to sink so far into the leather chair that he would disappear or wake from this nightmare. While he sweated, stuttered and wet himself exactly as he had done when he was five, Sarah fared a little better.
"Accounts? What do you mean accounts? Is there something wrong with the accounts?" The titan nodded back, as she turned to walk around the table to Sarah, Harvey let out a whimper cravenly raising his quivering fingers in mercy. "Thank you." Sarah coolly took hold of the clipboard maintaining her professionalism while a voice in the back of her head gibbered like Harvey as it tried to rationalise the thing before her.
"Huh, looks like there are numerous errors with the payroll and the company property" Sarah commented as she leafed through the papers. "Meaning the company should have... how much? No wonder we're near bankruptcy. Hang on this is your signature Harvey and so is this. You... you..." She moved to throw the clipboard but a hand shot out and firmly restrained her in mid-throw.
"There is no work without tools" the conquerors voiced rumbled in counsel. No one was meant to look at the accounts let alone notice the mismanagement and siphoning of funds, not until the company had gone bust and he was far away enjoying the spoils of war.
Harvey burbled and gurgled until finally his brain formed a sentence that marked him as part of the human race. Maybe not part of the good or moral part, but still part of it. "The accounts stretch back decades, no one could go through all that and still be sane. No one can do that but a machine!"
"I am Accountant, I account. I bring you to account." The warrior goddess unslung the axe from behind her back and grasped it in both hands and strode towards Harvey. Harvey fainted. She manoeuvred the handle over the top piece of paper and carefully signed and dated the form with a pen nib attached to the handle. She then resheathed her weapon with one hand, slung Harvey over the other shoulder, meticulously placed the signed form on the desk, and then carefully carried the accounts under the other arm. Something that had been nagging at the back of Sarah's mind ever since the colossus had entered the room finally made its way to the front.
"Sorry, who are you?" she asked.
"I am Helga, and this is Jafnir" she shook one shoulder in emphasis to the axe's name "I am Accountant. And this is good day." With that Helga left. Sarah still struggled to recount those few minutes to the authorities and the company board in answer to how the company had been miraculously saved and Harvey's embezzlement uncovered perfectly at the right time.
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"Oh Steve's just left. You just missed him. He's on a work team building excercise"
He hefted his axe which was dripping fresh blood from the reception desk. The "blood" was actually a mixture of red food colouring and a sugar paste, but actual blood was such a pain in the arse.
"Just know I will be sure to drop by to gargle on the blood of Steve and his kin another day."
He moved his 6ft 10 frame of hulking solid muscle away from the desk and motioned for his camera man to follow. The attempts at a vaguely scandinavian accent were unecessary really although he found many of his admirers appreciated him all the more for it.
"Let them think Gallbarog the Relentless has fled their miserable premises in defeat. We shall see whether they think again about refunding Mrs Townes, daughter of Mr Townes for that washing machine she bought that never worked despite having a full years warranty. We will have an accounting!"
He paused for dramatic effect.
"And cut! Gary fo-"
"Don't call me that in front of the fans" he hissed between his teeth
He smiled and waved his battle axe at a little boy who was pointing at him to his mother, then gave a massive roar. The little boy immediately waved his arms and roared back at him
"We'll get the next shock shot round the back"
He smiled back at them as he walked away. The kids had loved him from the start though he now had almost as many adult followers. Something about an oversized giant of a man assaulting bankers and accountants with a "battleaxe" dressed as a raging norseman just seemed to amuse them. The battle axe itself although entirely blunt and much much lighter than it looked did have a stun capacity which was fully authorised for use in the event he needed to use force to make an arrest or "take the heathens prisoner".
How what started out as a gimicky advertising campaign for a debt colletion company had turned into a booming tv series with merchandise was beyond him. Yet he was loving every minute of it. As he turned the corner he leapt back into character.
"We know they are in there and I shall not hesitate to send all my valkyries into glorious battle the moment they leave the building.
***
6 hours later a shifty looking bespectacled man emerged from the back entrance and crept around the side of the building. It had only been a small con. How the hell did he endup with that bunch of nutters after him. His car was so close he just had to-
"Charge my friends. Ragnarok awaits! Surrender or face the wrath of Gallbarog the Relentless, Steve."
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
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Thag the Smasher of Numbers sat at his desk, his muscles pouring out of his ill-fitting business casual shirt. His desk sat askew from his billowing body frame that threatened to burst his cubicle like a gazelle from a tuft of long bladed grass. He grunted in frustration, as his computer clearly labelled an email request to create new W2 forms for his coworkers. "Filthy weaklings...," grumbled Thag under his breath. Thag rose in his seat, realizing he had enough of these games of this job. This was personal. He grabbed his battle axe from under his already wrecked desk and began his way down the aisle. "Always nagging always complaining, Thag like axe too much to leave home." He grumbled continuously down the hall til he found his first target. "How can I help you with you job?" The target asked. But there was no words, no gestures, and no mercy.
This was a life Thag was determined to end right now with his actions, not silly papers. "Are you experiencing a problem?" The target asked Thag quickly. It was time Thag realized, and let out a bloodthirsty roar as he lifted his weapon of earthly destruction above his head. "*NO!*" rang out before the axe crashed upon his target, spilling liquids and innards upon the floor that would take weeks to clean out. The smell alone may Thag himself wince. The target laid sprawled out upon the floor, broken. "ANY LAST WORDS!?" Thag screamed to his target. His target only replied, "PC Load Letter." And with a broken hum, Thag had won.
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"Oh Steve's just left. You just missed him. He's on a work team building excercise"
He hefted his axe which was dripping fresh blood from the reception desk. The "blood" was actually a mixture of red food colouring and a sugar paste, but actual blood was such a pain in the arse.
"Just know I will be sure to drop by to gargle on the blood of Steve and his kin another day."
He moved his 6ft 10 frame of hulking solid muscle away from the desk and motioned for his camera man to follow. The attempts at a vaguely scandinavian accent were unecessary really although he found many of his admirers appreciated him all the more for it.
"Let them think Gallbarog the Relentless has fled their miserable premises in defeat. We shall see whether they think again about refunding Mrs Townes, daughter of Mr Townes for that washing machine she bought that never worked despite having a full years warranty. We will have an accounting!"
He paused for dramatic effect.
"And cut! Gary fo-"
"Don't call me that in front of the fans" he hissed between his teeth
He smiled and waved his battle axe at a little boy who was pointing at him to his mother, then gave a massive roar. The little boy immediately waved his arms and roared back at him
"We'll get the next shock shot round the back"
He smiled back at them as he walked away. The kids had loved him from the start though he now had almost as many adult followers. Something about an oversized giant of a man assaulting bankers and accountants with a "battleaxe" dressed as a raging norseman just seemed to amuse them. The battle axe itself although entirely blunt and much much lighter than it looked did have a stun capacity which was fully authorised for use in the event he needed to use force to make an arrest or "take the heathens prisoner".
How what started out as a gimicky advertising campaign for a debt colletion company had turned into a booming tv series with merchandise was beyond him. Yet he was loving every minute of it. As he turned the corner he leapt back into character.
"We know they are in there and I shall not hesitate to send all my valkyries into glorious battle the moment they leave the building.
***
6 hours later a shifty looking bespectacled man emerged from the back entrance and crept around the side of the building. It had only been a small con. How the hell did he endup with that bunch of nutters after him. His car was so close he just had to-
"Charge my friends. Ragnarok awaits! Surrender or face the wrath of Gallbarog the Relentless, Steve."
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
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The sun, a skybound golden coin
Rising twixt the earth and sky.
Red numbers on my clock, bedside,
Bid me from my slumber rise.
Shirt, white creased, with buttoned cuff
Fixed round my neck with silken tie
And belted trousers, woven there
From cotton, khaki, as the dust.
The bus, great beast with clear glass armored
Guides me on the day’s commute.
With seats, hard plastic, often filled
With dregs and other retches there.
Arrive. Arise, oh reception maid,
And warn of coming meetings,
Calls oft missed and memos posted,
Before I land in cub-ed berth.
Ted, a warrior, noble blood,
Accounting warlock, partner, friend,
Serves the high department Lord,
With numbers boldly slaughtered.
No salad, kale, or whelping meal,
Doth I and noble Ted devour,
But Earth’s pure mead and bloody meat
To strengthen will and hands.
My right hand bears the mighty lead
From Ticonderogas steely forge
To shape and wrought as Odin did
To balance our accounts most dear
My left, the tele-horn doth wield
To carry loft o’er countless miles
The calls of allies, and even foes
In mortal fiscal battle.
Five o’clock, the sun does warn
And frees me from my daily bond,
To rest my weary frame against
The worthy foe of currency.
edit: I cant figure out how this formatting works....
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"Oh Steve's just left. You just missed him. He's on a work team building excercise"
He hefted his axe which was dripping fresh blood from the reception desk. The "blood" was actually a mixture of red food colouring and a sugar paste, but actual blood was such a pain in the arse.
"Just know I will be sure to drop by to gargle on the blood of Steve and his kin another day."
He moved his 6ft 10 frame of hulking solid muscle away from the desk and motioned for his camera man to follow. The attempts at a vaguely scandinavian accent were unecessary really although he found many of his admirers appreciated him all the more for it.
"Let them think Gallbarog the Relentless has fled their miserable premises in defeat. We shall see whether they think again about refunding Mrs Townes, daughter of Mr Townes for that washing machine she bought that never worked despite having a full years warranty. We will have an accounting!"
He paused for dramatic effect.
"And cut! Gary fo-"
"Don't call me that in front of the fans" he hissed between his teeth
He smiled and waved his battle axe at a little boy who was pointing at him to his mother, then gave a massive roar. The little boy immediately waved his arms and roared back at him
"We'll get the next shock shot round the back"
He smiled back at them as he walked away. The kids had loved him from the start though he now had almost as many adult followers. Something about an oversized giant of a man assaulting bankers and accountants with a "battleaxe" dressed as a raging norseman just seemed to amuse them. The battle axe itself although entirely blunt and much much lighter than it looked did have a stun capacity which was fully authorised for use in the event he needed to use force to make an arrest or "take the heathens prisoner".
How what started out as a gimicky advertising campaign for a debt colletion company had turned into a booming tv series with merchandise was beyond him. Yet he was loving every minute of it. As he turned the corner he leapt back into character.
"We know they are in there and I shall not hesitate to send all my valkyries into glorious battle the moment they leave the building.
***
6 hours later a shifty looking bespectacled man emerged from the back entrance and crept around the side of the building. It had only been a small con. How the hell did he endup with that bunch of nutters after him. His car was so close he just had to-
"Charge my friends. Ragnarok awaits! Surrender or face the wrath of Gallbarog the Relentless, Steve."
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
It was a fine door, made of solid oak, lovingly crafted by a master artisan in her prime. Standing roughly eight feet tall at the end of the conference room, this particular door flooded the adjoining hallway with a sense of strength, stoicism, and imposing clout. The people meeting behind that door determined the fates of thousands of people; billions of dollars; entire companies; maybe even entire industries.
It was a fine door until it buckled inward and split in half. The four dark suits looked up at him, horrified.
"Which one of you is Phil from the Risk department?"
Albert had never known a job that really spoke to him. He'd danced around teaching, he'd dabbled in science, he'd once done a stint in a circus, and he'd decided that nothing worked. The last few years had been a series of odd jobs from electrician to oil well engineer and finally to office manager. In a major meeting with a client, his temper had gotten the better of him when the client demanded something his company simply couldn't provide. The negotiations broke down when Albert lifted the client by the back of his belt and prepared to throw him out of the twelfth story window. Fortunately, four people tackling him simultaneously was *just* enough to stay his hand.
Albert was, of course, fired. The client, however, was an employee with Stellus, a radical, multinational insurance firm that was rumored to engage in "unorthodox" practices to get their jobs done. After coming down from the adrenaline and fear, the former client introduced Albert to the HR department at Stellus and the rest, of course, is history.
He enjoyed his new job, though he was admittedly skeptical when the representative had told him he would be working in accounting.
"I'm not very good at math," he had offered at the beginning of the interview.
The three dark suits interviewing him had laughed. Perhaps a bit too long for comfort. Twenty minutes later, Albert was sitting at his new desk. A reflective name tag was pinned to the wall of his cubicle.
"Senior Corruption Detection and Prevention Manager," it read. The first two weeks were training- they always are. The first month after that was rocky. His superiors didn't love Albert's performance and had told him so on more than one occasion. "Lackluster" was a word that had come up. "Uninspired" usually followed. He had been advised to "really get into it," and to "show some passion," in his work; "Try being a little more *barbaric*, you know? These are criminals, Albert!"
Another week of re-education on corporate policies and a few months of practice, and Albert felt much more secure in his understanding of how Stellus operated.
One of the four dark suits feebly raised his hand. The other three rolled their executive chairs in separate directions away from the outstretched and wavering hand.
"Embezzlement is a serious crime, Phil," Albert growled. Phil's hand slowly fell back down and he shrank in his chair.
A tense few seconds later, Phil's quivering lips parted. "Sorry..?" It was uttered quietly and as one offers a goat to an angry god. The kind of offering someone does when they're just going through the ritual that they know is expected, but they know won't actually increase their odds of survival. A plea that one might make when they know there's nothing else left to lose.
"I'm not," Albert grinned. The axe made a sickeningly slick sound as it parted Phil, and his chair, in half before landing halfway in the floor with a resounding and satisfying "*thunk*."
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"Oh Steve's just left. You just missed him. He's on a work team building excercise"
He hefted his axe which was dripping fresh blood from the reception desk. The "blood" was actually a mixture of red food colouring and a sugar paste, but actual blood was such a pain in the arse.
"Just know I will be sure to drop by to gargle on the blood of Steve and his kin another day."
He moved his 6ft 10 frame of hulking solid muscle away from the desk and motioned for his camera man to follow. The attempts at a vaguely scandinavian accent were unecessary really although he found many of his admirers appreciated him all the more for it.
"Let them think Gallbarog the Relentless has fled their miserable premises in defeat. We shall see whether they think again about refunding Mrs Townes, daughter of Mr Townes for that washing machine she bought that never worked despite having a full years warranty. We will have an accounting!"
He paused for dramatic effect.
"And cut! Gary fo-"
"Don't call me that in front of the fans" he hissed between his teeth
He smiled and waved his battle axe at a little boy who was pointing at him to his mother, then gave a massive roar. The little boy immediately waved his arms and roared back at him
"We'll get the next shock shot round the back"
He smiled back at them as he walked away. The kids had loved him from the start though he now had almost as many adult followers. Something about an oversized giant of a man assaulting bankers and accountants with a "battleaxe" dressed as a raging norseman just seemed to amuse them. The battle axe itself although entirely blunt and much much lighter than it looked did have a stun capacity which was fully authorised for use in the event he needed to use force to make an arrest or "take the heathens prisoner".
How what started out as a gimicky advertising campaign for a debt colletion company had turned into a booming tv series with merchandise was beyond him. Yet he was loving every minute of it. As he turned the corner he leapt back into character.
"We know they are in there and I shall not hesitate to send all my valkyries into glorious battle the moment they leave the building.
***
6 hours later a shifty looking bespectacled man emerged from the back entrance and crept around the side of the building. It had only been a small con. How the hell did he endup with that bunch of nutters after him. His car was so close he just had to-
"Charge my friends. Ragnarok awaits! Surrender or face the wrath of Gallbarog the Relentless, Steve."
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
*Scene: a bloodthirsty barbarian running around a modern office swinging his axe all over the place. A male office worker approaches a woman in a cubicle.*
Man: What's going on?
Woman: Oh, it's the new guy from accounting. They say he's serious about cutting costs.
*The barbarian's axe cleaves into a desk and breaks something on it.*
Man: Maybe we should go to Staples. They have great office supplies at low prices.
Woman: And then we wouldn't have a bloodthirsty barbarian running around the office.
*The barbarian lets out a mighty scream and barely misses another worker.*
Man: Oof. Steve caught a lucky break.
Narrator: Great office supplies at low prices. Staples: That was easy(tm).
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"Oh Steve's just left. You just missed him. He's on a work team building excercise"
He hefted his axe which was dripping fresh blood from the reception desk. The "blood" was actually a mixture of red food colouring and a sugar paste, but actual blood was such a pain in the arse.
"Just know I will be sure to drop by to gargle on the blood of Steve and his kin another day."
He moved his 6ft 10 frame of hulking solid muscle away from the desk and motioned for his camera man to follow. The attempts at a vaguely scandinavian accent were unecessary really although he found many of his admirers appreciated him all the more for it.
"Let them think Gallbarog the Relentless has fled their miserable premises in defeat. We shall see whether they think again about refunding Mrs Townes, daughter of Mr Townes for that washing machine she bought that never worked despite having a full years warranty. We will have an accounting!"
He paused for dramatic effect.
"And cut! Gary fo-"
"Don't call me that in front of the fans" he hissed between his teeth
He smiled and waved his battle axe at a little boy who was pointing at him to his mother, then gave a massive roar. The little boy immediately waved his arms and roared back at him
"We'll get the next shock shot round the back"
He smiled back at them as he walked away. The kids had loved him from the start though he now had almost as many adult followers. Something about an oversized giant of a man assaulting bankers and accountants with a "battleaxe" dressed as a raging norseman just seemed to amuse them. The battle axe itself although entirely blunt and much much lighter than it looked did have a stun capacity which was fully authorised for use in the event he needed to use force to make an arrest or "take the heathens prisoner".
How what started out as a gimicky advertising campaign for a debt colletion company had turned into a booming tv series with merchandise was beyond him. Yet he was loving every minute of it. As he turned the corner he leapt back into character.
"We know they are in there and I shall not hesitate to send all my valkyries into glorious battle the moment they leave the building.
***
6 hours later a shifty looking bespectacled man emerged from the back entrance and crept around the side of the building. It had only been a small con. How the hell did he endup with that bunch of nutters after him. His car was so close he just had to-
"Charge my friends. Ragnarok awaits! Surrender or face the wrath of Gallbarog the Relentless, Steve."
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
"Well, hello, Mary. This is Grabthar, our new accounts receivable clerk. He is being brought in to help with our more delinquent accounts."
I looked up from my computer screen, not that I was anxious to meet our new clerk. They were a dime a dozen here. You gotta have a thick skin in receivables, most people I met here didn't. I'd long lost bothering to remember their names. I was quite surprised when I saw Grabthar. He was close to seven feet tall, heavily muscled, wearing animal furs for clothes, his red hair was ragged and long, reaching well past his shoulders. He had an immensely thick beard that almost looked fake. He was a few feet away but he smelled of raw meat.
Grabthar nodded to me, his blue eyes shining in the way guys do when they meet a pretty woman for the first time. "Me Grabthar happy to meet you, young maiden."
"Nice to meet you, too." I said and pretended to scratch my cheek, exposing my engagement ring to his gaze. His look didn't change. I sighed and got back to work. My boss, Nathan Douglas, guided Grabthar to his desk.
"Now, I'll leave you to your work. The spreadsheet has already been filtered so the most delinquent accounts are at the top. I look forward to hearing your progress." Nathan glided out of the office.
It wasn't long before I heard the phone being picked up.
"Yes, I am Grabthar the Great of WP's accounts receivable department. I need to speak to your payable department. Thank you." His manner was surprisingly polite, even eager. They all started that way, of course.
"Yes, I am calling from WP. Your account is on credit hold as you have a balance of $5,123,098.01. It has been 6 months since we have last received payment from you, despite your repeated assurances that you will wire us the money. This deceit ends now. You will wire us a minimum payment of 25% of the outstanding balance today!"
His voice started to rise at the end, in excitement almost, like he was gearing up for a fight.
"By Odin, I care not for your silly excuses. You have promised us money for which you have not delivered in exchange for goods and services which we have delivered. This insulting behaviour ends now!"
There was a brief pause, his voice was louder now, not quite yelling, but anyone in the neighbouring offices could probably hear him through the drywall.
"By Thor's testicles I am tired of your lying!" He was in a full yell now, his feet were stomping on the floor. "IF YOU DO NOT SEND A WIRE TRANSFER BEFORE END OF BUSINESS, I SHALL VISIT YOUR OFFICES AND LAY WASTE TO EVERY DISHONEST HEATHEN INHABITING YOUR FOUL COMPANY. I WILL SLAY EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU AND RAPE AND PILLAGE YOUR ACCOUNTS PAYABLE DEPARTMENT, I WILL LAY WASTE TO YOUR BANK ACCOUNT, BUT ONLY TAKE THE AMOUNT OWED AND NOT ONE PENNY MORE BECAUSE I AM VIOLENT BUT I AM HONEST! THERE WILL BE WAR! DEATH! BLOOD! TRIUMPH! AND RUMPY PUMPY!"
He slammed his fists on the desk. By now, more than a few people were peering through the door into the office. I was staring at him too. There was silence of a few seconds. His eyes were wide open, his impressive biceps were pulsing heavily.
"Yes, thank you." He said calmly, suddenly. The volume and violence was gone. He fiddled with the mouse and was looking on his screen. We continued to stare at him in suspense. What was happening?
"Excellent, I have just received confirmation of your wire transfer. Yes, the full amount of $5,123,098.01. Yes, this will take your account off hold. Have a wonderful day and may you crush your enemies, see them driven before you and hear the lamentations of their women."
End
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"Oh Steve's just left. You just missed him. He's on a work team building excercise"
He hefted his axe which was dripping fresh blood from the reception desk. The "blood" was actually a mixture of red food colouring and a sugar paste, but actual blood was such a pain in the arse.
"Just know I will be sure to drop by to gargle on the blood of Steve and his kin another day."
He moved his 6ft 10 frame of hulking solid muscle away from the desk and motioned for his camera man to follow. The attempts at a vaguely scandinavian accent were unecessary really although he found many of his admirers appreciated him all the more for it.
"Let them think Gallbarog the Relentless has fled their miserable premises in defeat. We shall see whether they think again about refunding Mrs Townes, daughter of Mr Townes for that washing machine she bought that never worked despite having a full years warranty. We will have an accounting!"
He paused for dramatic effect.
"And cut! Gary fo-"
"Don't call me that in front of the fans" he hissed between his teeth
He smiled and waved his battle axe at a little boy who was pointing at him to his mother, then gave a massive roar. The little boy immediately waved his arms and roared back at him
"We'll get the next shock shot round the back"
He smiled back at them as he walked away. The kids had loved him from the start though he now had almost as many adult followers. Something about an oversized giant of a man assaulting bankers and accountants with a "battleaxe" dressed as a raging norseman just seemed to amuse them. The battle axe itself although entirely blunt and much much lighter than it looked did have a stun capacity which was fully authorised for use in the event he needed to use force to make an arrest or "take the heathens prisoner".
How what started out as a gimicky advertising campaign for a debt colletion company had turned into a booming tv series with merchandise was beyond him. Yet he was loving every minute of it. As he turned the corner he leapt back into character.
"We know they are in there and I shall not hesitate to send all my valkyries into glorious battle the moment they leave the building.
***
6 hours later a shifty looking bespectacled man emerged from the back entrance and crept around the side of the building. It had only been a small con. How the hell did he endup with that bunch of nutters after him. His car was so close he just had to-
"Charge my friends. Ragnarok awaits! Surrender or face the wrath of Gallbarog the Relentless, Steve."
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
"Well you see Sarah we simply cannot just accept your proposal, there are procedures to follow, it is out of my hands." Harvey flipped back the note chart and casually flicked it across the boardroom table, with one of his insincere smiles plastered across his face. Over an hour of negotiation were about to go down the toilet, he had the power to say yes and save the company but instead wanted to watch Sarah squirm.
"What are you talking about? You're a CEO, of course you can do it" she said on the verge of frustration. She had worked too hard to see it be lost in the backlog all because Harvey enjoyed being a prick, but there was nothing she could do.
"You're right. Maybe there is some way we can help each other out." Harvey leaned back in the leather chair with a greedy smile that made Sarah sick to the stomach. She was about to tell him where he could stick that counter-proposal and go do with himself, when the boardroom door swung open nearly shattering on its hinges and an immense stack of paper was dropped in front of Harvey.
"What the hell are you doing this is a private meeting. Get out you...." Angry at being denied a chance to bag Sarah, Harvey turned to face the intruder and his hot fury suddenly died in his throat. The room inexplicably seemed to become much colder and smaller.
Standing beside Harvey was more a mountain of muscle than a woman, someone or something that would look more at home in a Televised Wrestling match or a bodybuilding competition than in an office. A tie was wrapped around one bulging bicep already fraying and losing the fight to contain the power beneath despite looking brand new, complete with price tag. A pair of oversized glasses that usually made the wearer look meek and nerdy like much of the office workers in the city, only served to enhance the threatening nature of the towering figure before him. Across their back was a well used axe that any role player would empty their bank account for. Curiously it too had a pair of glasses perched on its head and a tie wrapped around its handle.
"Can I help you?" Harvey asked timidly as he nearly forgot how to speak and breathe. "....miss" his brain told him to add out of politeness and as a way to maybe live beyond the next few seconds.
The figure merely stood still for a second, her arms folded over her chest rising and falling slowly as she breathed. She continued to glower at Harvey and at the world in general before a rumble echoed forth.
"Accounts" she said as no one had ever said them before: it was a promise of death and destruction that would lead to much wailing and sorrow of the defeated foe. That one word was a declaration of war, primal scream and battlecry rolled into one that alone could have broken the Roman Empire and sent men fleeing for the hills. In response Harvey tried immensely to sink so far into the leather chair that he would disappear or wake from this nightmare. While he sweated, stuttered and wet himself exactly as he had done when he was five, Sarah fared a little better.
"Accounts? What do you mean accounts? Is there something wrong with the accounts?" The titan nodded back, as she turned to walk around the table to Sarah, Harvey let out a whimper cravenly raising his quivering fingers in mercy. "Thank you." Sarah coolly took hold of the clipboard maintaining her professionalism while a voice in the back of her head gibbered like Harvey as it tried to rationalise the thing before her.
"Huh, looks like there are numerous errors with the payroll and the company property" Sarah commented as she leafed through the papers. "Meaning the company should have... how much? No wonder we're near bankruptcy. Hang on this is your signature Harvey and so is this. You... you..." She moved to throw the clipboard but a hand shot out and firmly restrained her in mid-throw.
"There is no work without tools" the conquerors voiced rumbled in counsel. No one was meant to look at the accounts let alone notice the mismanagement and siphoning of funds, not until the company had gone bust and he was far away enjoying the spoils of war.
Harvey burbled and gurgled until finally his brain formed a sentence that marked him as part of the human race. Maybe not part of the good or moral part, but still part of it. "The accounts stretch back decades, no one could go through all that and still be sane. No one can do that but a machine!"
"I am Accountant, I account. I bring you to account." The warrior goddess unslung the axe from behind her back and grasped it in both hands and strode towards Harvey. Harvey fainted. She manoeuvred the handle over the top piece of paper and carefully signed and dated the form with a pen nib attached to the handle. She then resheathed her weapon with one hand, slung Harvey over the other shoulder, meticulously placed the signed form on the desk, and then carefully carried the accounts under the other arm. Something that had been nagging at the back of Sarah's mind ever since the colossus had entered the room finally made its way to the front.
"Sorry, who are you?" she asked.
"I am Helga, and this is Jafnir" she shook one shoulder in emphasis to the axe's name "I am Accountant. And this is good day." With that Helga left. Sarah still struggled to recount those few minutes to the authorities and the company board in answer to how the company had been miraculously saved and Harvey's embezzlement uncovered perfectly at the right time.
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Three. This was his third time. The back of my neck started tingling almost before I had finished reading the subjectline of the email. I knew any email involving Barry's name could only mean one thing: yet another breach of expense reporting protocol. The new accounting software upgrade 5 months ago, with its paperless receipt uploading and remote entry capability, had led to a drastic reduction of late reimbursable submittals. Which meant that my trusty axe, Winterbane, had slept on my cubicle wall for the past 10 fortnights. My knuckles instinctively clenched, and a wave of excitement washed through me. "Awaken, Winterbane! You must be thirsty after your long hibernation!" Evidently word of Barry's final error must have spread through the rest of the accounting department already. How many other accountants had received the Blind Carbon's copy? I could hear the soft chant from down the aisle start growing louder, as more accountants started chanting my name. "Lotrak! Lotrak! LOTHRAK! LOTHRAK!" The joy of my first kill, countless moons ago when I was just an intern, suddenly came back to me anew, reminding me why I had originally been drawn to comptrolling as a young man. As i stepped back from my standing desk, my knees felt momentarily weakened, as if I might collapse under the sheer ecstasy of the imminent kill. But my fortitude had not retreated, rather it had been momentarily distracted, as it coursed from the back of my skull down my spine. Barry would serve as a reminder too the rest of the office that reimbursable expenditures are no trifle. For far too many first-monday-of-the-months had the employee cafeteria been devoid of songs extolling the wrath of Lothrak the Comptroller. Winterbane and I would see that silence end tonight.
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
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Thag the Smasher of Numbers sat at his desk, his muscles pouring out of his ill-fitting business casual shirt. His desk sat askew from his billowing body frame that threatened to burst his cubicle like a gazelle from a tuft of long bladed grass. He grunted in frustration, as his computer clearly labelled an email request to create new W2 forms for his coworkers. "Filthy weaklings...," grumbled Thag under his breath. Thag rose in his seat, realizing he had enough of these games of this job. This was personal. He grabbed his battle axe from under his already wrecked desk and began his way down the aisle. "Always nagging always complaining, Thag like axe too much to leave home." He grumbled continuously down the hall til he found his first target. "How can I help you with you job?" The target asked. But there was no words, no gestures, and no mercy.
This was a life Thag was determined to end right now with his actions, not silly papers. "Are you experiencing a problem?" The target asked Thag quickly. It was time Thag realized, and let out a bloodthirsty roar as he lifted his weapon of earthly destruction above his head. "*NO!*" rang out before the axe crashed upon his target, spilling liquids and innards upon the floor that would take weeks to clean out. The smell alone may Thag himself wince. The target laid sprawled out upon the floor, broken. "ANY LAST WORDS!?" Thag screamed to his target. His target only replied, "PC Load Letter." And with a broken hum, Thag had won.
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Three. This was his third time. The back of my neck started tingling almost before I had finished reading the subjectline of the email. I knew any email involving Barry's name could only mean one thing: yet another breach of expense reporting protocol. The new accounting software upgrade 5 months ago, with its paperless receipt uploading and remote entry capability, had led to a drastic reduction of late reimbursable submittals. Which meant that my trusty axe, Winterbane, had slept on my cubicle wall for the past 10 fortnights. My knuckles instinctively clenched, and a wave of excitement washed through me. "Awaken, Winterbane! You must be thirsty after your long hibernation!" Evidently word of Barry's final error must have spread through the rest of the accounting department already. How many other accountants had received the Blind Carbon's copy? I could hear the soft chant from down the aisle start growing louder, as more accountants started chanting my name. "Lotrak! Lotrak! LOTHRAK! LOTHRAK!" The joy of my first kill, countless moons ago when I was just an intern, suddenly came back to me anew, reminding me why I had originally been drawn to comptrolling as a young man. As i stepped back from my standing desk, my knees felt momentarily weakened, as if I might collapse under the sheer ecstasy of the imminent kill. But my fortitude had not retreated, rather it had been momentarily distracted, as it coursed from the back of my skull down my spine. Barry would serve as a reminder too the rest of the office that reimbursable expenditures are no trifle. For far too many first-monday-of-the-months had the employee cafeteria been devoid of songs extolling the wrath of Lothrak the Comptroller. Winterbane and I would see that silence end tonight.
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
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*Scene: a bloodthirsty barbarian running around a modern office swinging his axe all over the place. A male office worker approaches a woman in a cubicle.*
Man: What's going on?
Woman: Oh, it's the new guy from accounting. They say he's serious about cutting costs.
*The barbarian's axe cleaves into a desk and breaks something on it.*
Man: Maybe we should go to Staples. They have great office supplies at low prices.
Woman: And then we wouldn't have a bloodthirsty barbarian running around the office.
*The barbarian lets out a mighty scream and barely misses another worker.*
Man: Oof. Steve caught a lucky break.
Narrator: Great office supplies at low prices. Staples: That was easy(tm).
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Three. This was his third time. The back of my neck started tingling almost before I had finished reading the subjectline of the email. I knew any email involving Barry's name could only mean one thing: yet another breach of expense reporting protocol. The new accounting software upgrade 5 months ago, with its paperless receipt uploading and remote entry capability, had led to a drastic reduction of late reimbursable submittals. Which meant that my trusty axe, Winterbane, had slept on my cubicle wall for the past 10 fortnights. My knuckles instinctively clenched, and a wave of excitement washed through me. "Awaken, Winterbane! You must be thirsty after your long hibernation!" Evidently word of Barry's final error must have spread through the rest of the accounting department already. How many other accountants had received the Blind Carbon's copy? I could hear the soft chant from down the aisle start growing louder, as more accountants started chanting my name. "Lotrak! Lotrak! LOTHRAK! LOTHRAK!" The joy of my first kill, countless moons ago when I was just an intern, suddenly came back to me anew, reminding me why I had originally been drawn to comptrolling as a young man. As i stepped back from my standing desk, my knees felt momentarily weakened, as if I might collapse under the sheer ecstasy of the imminent kill. But my fortitude had not retreated, rather it had been momentarily distracted, as it coursed from the back of my skull down my spine. Barry would serve as a reminder too the rest of the office that reimbursable expenditures are no trifle. For far too many first-monday-of-the-months had the employee cafeteria been devoid of songs extolling the wrath of Lothrak the Comptroller. Winterbane and I would see that silence end tonight.
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
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"Well, hello, Mary. This is Grabthar, our new accounts receivable clerk. He is being brought in to help with our more delinquent accounts."
I looked up from my computer screen, not that I was anxious to meet our new clerk. They were a dime a dozen here. You gotta have a thick skin in receivables, most people I met here didn't. I'd long lost bothering to remember their names. I was quite surprised when I saw Grabthar. He was close to seven feet tall, heavily muscled, wearing animal furs for clothes, his red hair was ragged and long, reaching well past his shoulders. He had an immensely thick beard that almost looked fake. He was a few feet away but he smelled of raw meat.
Grabthar nodded to me, his blue eyes shining in the way guys do when they meet a pretty woman for the first time. "Me Grabthar happy to meet you, young maiden."
"Nice to meet you, too." I said and pretended to scratch my cheek, exposing my engagement ring to his gaze. His look didn't change. I sighed and got back to work. My boss, Nathan Douglas, guided Grabthar to his desk.
"Now, I'll leave you to your work. The spreadsheet has already been filtered so the most delinquent accounts are at the top. I look forward to hearing your progress." Nathan glided out of the office.
It wasn't long before I heard the phone being picked up.
"Yes, I am Grabthar the Great of WP's accounts receivable department. I need to speak to your payable department. Thank you." His manner was surprisingly polite, even eager. They all started that way, of course.
"Yes, I am calling from WP. Your account is on credit hold as you have a balance of $5,123,098.01. It has been 6 months since we have last received payment from you, despite your repeated assurances that you will wire us the money. This deceit ends now. You will wire us a minimum payment of 25% of the outstanding balance today!"
His voice started to rise at the end, in excitement almost, like he was gearing up for a fight.
"By Odin, I care not for your silly excuses. You have promised us money for which you have not delivered in exchange for goods and services which we have delivered. This insulting behaviour ends now!"
There was a brief pause, his voice was louder now, not quite yelling, but anyone in the neighbouring offices could probably hear him through the drywall.
"By Thor's testicles I am tired of your lying!" He was in a full yell now, his feet were stomping on the floor. "IF YOU DO NOT SEND A WIRE TRANSFER BEFORE END OF BUSINESS, I SHALL VISIT YOUR OFFICES AND LAY WASTE TO EVERY DISHONEST HEATHEN INHABITING YOUR FOUL COMPANY. I WILL SLAY EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU AND RAPE AND PILLAGE YOUR ACCOUNTS PAYABLE DEPARTMENT, I WILL LAY WASTE TO YOUR BANK ACCOUNT, BUT ONLY TAKE THE AMOUNT OWED AND NOT ONE PENNY MORE BECAUSE I AM VIOLENT BUT I AM HONEST! THERE WILL BE WAR! DEATH! BLOOD! TRIUMPH! AND RUMPY PUMPY!"
He slammed his fists on the desk. By now, more than a few people were peering through the door into the office. I was staring at him too. There was silence of a few seconds. His eyes were wide open, his impressive biceps were pulsing heavily.
"Yes, thank you." He said calmly, suddenly. The volume and violence was gone. He fiddled with the mouse and was looking on his screen. We continued to stare at him in suspense. What was happening?
"Excellent, I have just received confirmation of your wire transfer. Yes, the full amount of $5,123,098.01. Yes, this will take your account off hold. Have a wonderful day and may you crush your enemies, see them driven before you and hear the lamentations of their women."
End
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Three. This was his third time. The back of my neck started tingling almost before I had finished reading the subjectline of the email. I knew any email involving Barry's name could only mean one thing: yet another breach of expense reporting protocol. The new accounting software upgrade 5 months ago, with its paperless receipt uploading and remote entry capability, had led to a drastic reduction of late reimbursable submittals. Which meant that my trusty axe, Winterbane, had slept on my cubicle wall for the past 10 fortnights. My knuckles instinctively clenched, and a wave of excitement washed through me. "Awaken, Winterbane! You must be thirsty after your long hibernation!" Evidently word of Barry's final error must have spread through the rest of the accounting department already. How many other accountants had received the Blind Carbon's copy? I could hear the soft chant from down the aisle start growing louder, as more accountants started chanting my name. "Lotrak! Lotrak! LOTHRAK! LOTHRAK!" The joy of my first kill, countless moons ago when I was just an intern, suddenly came back to me anew, reminding me why I had originally been drawn to comptrolling as a young man. As i stepped back from my standing desk, my knees felt momentarily weakened, as if I might collapse under the sheer ecstasy of the imminent kill. But my fortitude had not retreated, rather it had been momentarily distracted, as it coursed from the back of my skull down my spine. Barry would serve as a reminder too the rest of the office that reimbursable expenditures are no trifle. For far too many first-monday-of-the-months had the employee cafeteria been devoid of songs extolling the wrath of Lothrak the Comptroller. Winterbane and I would see that silence end tonight.
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
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"Well you see Sarah we simply cannot just accept your proposal, there are procedures to follow, it is out of my hands." Harvey flipped back the note chart and casually flicked it across the boardroom table, with one of his insincere smiles plastered across his face. Over an hour of negotiation were about to go down the toilet, he had the power to say yes and save the company but instead wanted to watch Sarah squirm.
"What are you talking about? You're a CEO, of course you can do it" she said on the verge of frustration. She had worked too hard to see it be lost in the backlog all because Harvey enjoyed being a prick, but there was nothing she could do.
"You're right. Maybe there is some way we can help each other out." Harvey leaned back in the leather chair with a greedy smile that made Sarah sick to the stomach. She was about to tell him where he could stick that counter-proposal and go do with himself, when the boardroom door swung open nearly shattering on its hinges and an immense stack of paper was dropped in front of Harvey.
"What the hell are you doing this is a private meeting. Get out you...." Angry at being denied a chance to bag Sarah, Harvey turned to face the intruder and his hot fury suddenly died in his throat. The room inexplicably seemed to become much colder and smaller.
Standing beside Harvey was more a mountain of muscle than a woman, someone or something that would look more at home in a Televised Wrestling match or a bodybuilding competition than in an office. A tie was wrapped around one bulging bicep already fraying and losing the fight to contain the power beneath despite looking brand new, complete with price tag. A pair of oversized glasses that usually made the wearer look meek and nerdy like much of the office workers in the city, only served to enhance the threatening nature of the towering figure before him. Across their back was a well used axe that any role player would empty their bank account for. Curiously it too had a pair of glasses perched on its head and a tie wrapped around its handle.
"Can I help you?" Harvey asked timidly as he nearly forgot how to speak and breathe. "....miss" his brain told him to add out of politeness and as a way to maybe live beyond the next few seconds.
The figure merely stood still for a second, her arms folded over her chest rising and falling slowly as she breathed. She continued to glower at Harvey and at the world in general before a rumble echoed forth.
"Accounts" she said as no one had ever said them before: it was a promise of death and destruction that would lead to much wailing and sorrow of the defeated foe. That one word was a declaration of war, primal scream and battlecry rolled into one that alone could have broken the Roman Empire and sent men fleeing for the hills. In response Harvey tried immensely to sink so far into the leather chair that he would disappear or wake from this nightmare. While he sweated, stuttered and wet himself exactly as he had done when he was five, Sarah fared a little better.
"Accounts? What do you mean accounts? Is there something wrong with the accounts?" The titan nodded back, as she turned to walk around the table to Sarah, Harvey let out a whimper cravenly raising his quivering fingers in mercy. "Thank you." Sarah coolly took hold of the clipboard maintaining her professionalism while a voice in the back of her head gibbered like Harvey as it tried to rationalise the thing before her.
"Huh, looks like there are numerous errors with the payroll and the company property" Sarah commented as she leafed through the papers. "Meaning the company should have... how much? No wonder we're near bankruptcy. Hang on this is your signature Harvey and so is this. You... you..." She moved to throw the clipboard but a hand shot out and firmly restrained her in mid-throw.
"There is no work without tools" the conquerors voiced rumbled in counsel. No one was meant to look at the accounts let alone notice the mismanagement and siphoning of funds, not until the company had gone bust and he was far away enjoying the spoils of war.
Harvey burbled and gurgled until finally his brain formed a sentence that marked him as part of the human race. Maybe not part of the good or moral part, but still part of it. "The accounts stretch back decades, no one could go through all that and still be sane. No one can do that but a machine!"
"I am Accountant, I account. I bring you to account." The warrior goddess unslung the axe from behind her back and grasped it in both hands and strode towards Harvey. Harvey fainted. She manoeuvred the handle over the top piece of paper and carefully signed and dated the form with a pen nib attached to the handle. She then resheathed her weapon with one hand, slung Harvey over the other shoulder, meticulously placed the signed form on the desk, and then carefully carried the accounts under the other arm. Something that had been nagging at the back of Sarah's mind ever since the colossus had entered the room finally made its way to the front.
"Sorry, who are you?" she asked.
"I am Helga, and this is Jafnir" she shook one shoulder in emphasis to the axe's name "I am Accountant. And this is good day." With that Helga left. Sarah still struggled to recount those few minutes to the authorities and the company board in answer to how the company had been miraculously saved and Harvey's embezzlement uncovered perfectly at the right time.
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/u/Luna_LoveWell has ruined this for me, but here goes...
The hour is 1630. The evening is Freya's day. My colleagues are removing their ties and leaving early, slovenly sauntering to the bar over the road. But there remains reconciliation to be done. This is time for /u/Veganpuncher.
The VP gazes, condescendingly, out of the 32nd floor window at the hordes of ingrates who will not finish their TP16's tonight. He turns to his computer and roars "To defeat my enemies, to drive them before me, and to hear the lamentations of their women." And it's on.
Form after form is torn from inboxes, processed, signed, and processed. By the time Freya has crossed the moon, VP has emptied the room of paper. It is time for ale.
VP, retaining the dignity that the nonbelievers associate with ties, ascends to their 'bar'. He gazes upon their light beers and white wines, snorts, and orders the biggest beer in the house. Without a thought it is consumed. Another follows.
One's own sons await the fruits of Accounts Receivable at home, bitter and unblooded from a week at school, but Debbie, from AI has mentioned that her boyfriend has left for the weekend. It is time for VP to live up to his beard. Wiping the froth from his beard, VP walks up to the table at which Debbie sits.
'Anyone sitting here better have a bigger axe than VP!'
The crowd roars. The axe is produced and the song begins: 'My cock rages on, my cock rages on...'
OTYBL.
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
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Thag the Smasher of Numbers sat at his desk, his muscles pouring out of his ill-fitting business casual shirt. His desk sat askew from his billowing body frame that threatened to burst his cubicle like a gazelle from a tuft of long bladed grass. He grunted in frustration, as his computer clearly labelled an email request to create new W2 forms for his coworkers. "Filthy weaklings...," grumbled Thag under his breath. Thag rose in his seat, realizing he had enough of these games of this job. This was personal. He grabbed his battle axe from under his already wrecked desk and began his way down the aisle. "Always nagging always complaining, Thag like axe too much to leave home." He grumbled continuously down the hall til he found his first target. "How can I help you with you job?" The target asked. But there was no words, no gestures, and no mercy.
This was a life Thag was determined to end right now with his actions, not silly papers. "Are you experiencing a problem?" The target asked Thag quickly. It was time Thag realized, and let out a bloodthirsty roar as he lifted his weapon of earthly destruction above his head. "*NO!*" rang out before the axe crashed upon his target, spilling liquids and innards upon the floor that would take weeks to clean out. The smell alone may Thag himself wince. The target laid sprawled out upon the floor, broken. "ANY LAST WORDS!?" Thag screamed to his target. His target only replied, "PC Load Letter." And with a broken hum, Thag had won.
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/u/Luna_LoveWell has ruined this for me, but here goes...
The hour is 1630. The evening is Freya's day. My colleagues are removing their ties and leaving early, slovenly sauntering to the bar over the road. But there remains reconciliation to be done. This is time for /u/Veganpuncher.
The VP gazes, condescendingly, out of the 32nd floor window at the hordes of ingrates who will not finish their TP16's tonight. He turns to his computer and roars "To defeat my enemies, to drive them before me, and to hear the lamentations of their women." And it's on.
Form after form is torn from inboxes, processed, signed, and processed. By the time Freya has crossed the moon, VP has emptied the room of paper. It is time for ale.
VP, retaining the dignity that the nonbelievers associate with ties, ascends to their 'bar'. He gazes upon their light beers and white wines, snorts, and orders the biggest beer in the house. Without a thought it is consumed. Another follows.
One's own sons await the fruits of Accounts Receivable at home, bitter and unblooded from a week at school, but Debbie, from AI has mentioned that her boyfriend has left for the weekend. It is time for VP to live up to his beard. Wiping the froth from his beard, VP walks up to the table at which Debbie sits.
'Anyone sitting here better have a bigger axe than VP!'
The crowd roars. The axe is produced and the song begins: 'My cock rages on, my cock rages on...'
OTYBL.
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
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Axes clanged together and sweat dripped from my brow. I reveled in the slight pain as I went for another blow against my rival. We matched each other blow for blow, and I let a battle cry before backing away slightly. "We must put this fight on hold!"
My rival snarled and lowered his weapon. "Why?"
I pointed to the watch on my wrist. It was the only thing I wore other than a loincloth and a necklace of teeth. "I'm late for work."
"Very well," he bowed. "Until next time, Stevrok."
I raced to my hut and washed as best I could. I donned my suit and headed to the office. Not a single coworker could tell what I did in my time off.
"Hey Steve. What happened to your eye?"
"Motorcycle accident."
"Again?" He cocked his head. "You need more lessons man."
"I challenge you to a death duel for insulting me!"
"What?"
I coughed and sipped my water. "Uh, nothing."
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/u/Luna_LoveWell has ruined this for me, but here goes...
The hour is 1630. The evening is Freya's day. My colleagues are removing their ties and leaving early, slovenly sauntering to the bar over the road. But there remains reconciliation to be done. This is time for /u/Veganpuncher.
The VP gazes, condescendingly, out of the 32nd floor window at the hordes of ingrates who will not finish their TP16's tonight. He turns to his computer and roars "To defeat my enemies, to drive them before me, and to hear the lamentations of their women." And it's on.
Form after form is torn from inboxes, processed, signed, and processed. By the time Freya has crossed the moon, VP has emptied the room of paper. It is time for ale.
VP, retaining the dignity that the nonbelievers associate with ties, ascends to their 'bar'. He gazes upon their light beers and white wines, snorts, and orders the biggest beer in the house. Without a thought it is consumed. Another follows.
One's own sons await the fruits of Accounts Receivable at home, bitter and unblooded from a week at school, but Debbie, from AI has mentioned that her boyfriend has left for the weekend. It is time for VP to live up to his beard. Wiping the froth from his beard, VP walks up to the table at which Debbie sits.
'Anyone sitting here better have a bigger axe than VP!'
The crowd roars. The axe is produced and the song begins: 'My cock rages on, my cock rages on...'
OTYBL.
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
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The sun, a skybound golden coin
Rising twixt the earth and sky.
Red numbers on my clock, bedside,
Bid me from my slumber rise.
Shirt, white creased, with buttoned cuff
Fixed round my neck with silken tie
And belted trousers, woven there
From cotton, khaki, as the dust.
The bus, great beast with clear glass armored
Guides me on the day’s commute.
With seats, hard plastic, often filled
With dregs and other retches there.
Arrive. Arise, oh reception maid,
And warn of coming meetings,
Calls oft missed and memos posted,
Before I land in cub-ed berth.
Ted, a warrior, noble blood,
Accounting warlock, partner, friend,
Serves the high department Lord,
With numbers boldly slaughtered.
No salad, kale, or whelping meal,
Doth I and noble Ted devour,
But Earth’s pure mead and bloody meat
To strengthen will and hands.
My right hand bears the mighty lead
From Ticonderogas steely forge
To shape and wrought as Odin did
To balance our accounts most dear
My left, the tele-horn doth wield
To carry loft o’er countless miles
The calls of allies, and even foes
In mortal fiscal battle.
Five o’clock, the sun does warn
And frees me from my daily bond,
To rest my weary frame against
The worthy foe of currency.
edit: I cant figure out how this formatting works....
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/u/Luna_LoveWell has ruined this for me, but here goes...
The hour is 1630. The evening is Freya's day. My colleagues are removing their ties and leaving early, slovenly sauntering to the bar over the road. But there remains reconciliation to be done. This is time for /u/Veganpuncher.
The VP gazes, condescendingly, out of the 32nd floor window at the hordes of ingrates who will not finish their TP16's tonight. He turns to his computer and roars "To defeat my enemies, to drive them before me, and to hear the lamentations of their women." And it's on.
Form after form is torn from inboxes, processed, signed, and processed. By the time Freya has crossed the moon, VP has emptied the room of paper. It is time for ale.
VP, retaining the dignity that the nonbelievers associate with ties, ascends to their 'bar'. He gazes upon their light beers and white wines, snorts, and orders the biggest beer in the house. Without a thought it is consumed. Another follows.
One's own sons await the fruits of Accounts Receivable at home, bitter and unblooded from a week at school, but Debbie, from AI has mentioned that her boyfriend has left for the weekend. It is time for VP to live up to his beard. Wiping the froth from his beard, VP walks up to the table at which Debbie sits.
'Anyone sitting here better have a bigger axe than VP!'
The crowd roars. The axe is produced and the song begins: 'My cock rages on, my cock rages on...'
OTYBL.
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
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It was a fine door, made of solid oak, lovingly crafted by a master artisan in her prime. Standing roughly eight feet tall at the end of the conference room, this particular door flooded the adjoining hallway with a sense of strength, stoicism, and imposing clout. The people meeting behind that door determined the fates of thousands of people; billions of dollars; entire companies; maybe even entire industries.
It was a fine door until it buckled inward and split in half. The four dark suits looked up at him, horrified.
"Which one of you is Phil from the Risk department?"
Albert had never known a job that really spoke to him. He'd danced around teaching, he'd dabbled in science, he'd once done a stint in a circus, and he'd decided that nothing worked. The last few years had been a series of odd jobs from electrician to oil well engineer and finally to office manager. In a major meeting with a client, his temper had gotten the better of him when the client demanded something his company simply couldn't provide. The negotiations broke down when Albert lifted the client by the back of his belt and prepared to throw him out of the twelfth story window. Fortunately, four people tackling him simultaneously was *just* enough to stay his hand.
Albert was, of course, fired. The client, however, was an employee with Stellus, a radical, multinational insurance firm that was rumored to engage in "unorthodox" practices to get their jobs done. After coming down from the adrenaline and fear, the former client introduced Albert to the HR department at Stellus and the rest, of course, is history.
He enjoyed his new job, though he was admittedly skeptical when the representative had told him he would be working in accounting.
"I'm not very good at math," he had offered at the beginning of the interview.
The three dark suits interviewing him had laughed. Perhaps a bit too long for comfort. Twenty minutes later, Albert was sitting at his new desk. A reflective name tag was pinned to the wall of his cubicle.
"Senior Corruption Detection and Prevention Manager," it read. The first two weeks were training- they always are. The first month after that was rocky. His superiors didn't love Albert's performance and had told him so on more than one occasion. "Lackluster" was a word that had come up. "Uninspired" usually followed. He had been advised to "really get into it," and to "show some passion," in his work; "Try being a little more *barbaric*, you know? These are criminals, Albert!"
Another week of re-education on corporate policies and a few months of practice, and Albert felt much more secure in his understanding of how Stellus operated.
One of the four dark suits feebly raised his hand. The other three rolled their executive chairs in separate directions away from the outstretched and wavering hand.
"Embezzlement is a serious crime, Phil," Albert growled. Phil's hand slowly fell back down and he shrank in his chair.
A tense few seconds later, Phil's quivering lips parted. "Sorry..?" It was uttered quietly and as one offers a goat to an angry god. The kind of offering someone does when they're just going through the ritual that they know is expected, but they know won't actually increase their odds of survival. A plea that one might make when they know there's nothing else left to lose.
"I'm not," Albert grinned. The axe made a sickeningly slick sound as it parted Phil, and his chair, in half before landing halfway in the floor with a resounding and satisfying "*thunk*."
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/u/Luna_LoveWell has ruined this for me, but here goes...
The hour is 1630. The evening is Freya's day. My colleagues are removing their ties and leaving early, slovenly sauntering to the bar over the road. But there remains reconciliation to be done. This is time for /u/Veganpuncher.
The VP gazes, condescendingly, out of the 32nd floor window at the hordes of ingrates who will not finish their TP16's tonight. He turns to his computer and roars "To defeat my enemies, to drive them before me, and to hear the lamentations of their women." And it's on.
Form after form is torn from inboxes, processed, signed, and processed. By the time Freya has crossed the moon, VP has emptied the room of paper. It is time for ale.
VP, retaining the dignity that the nonbelievers associate with ties, ascends to their 'bar'. He gazes upon their light beers and white wines, snorts, and orders the biggest beer in the house. Without a thought it is consumed. Another follows.
One's own sons await the fruits of Accounts Receivable at home, bitter and unblooded from a week at school, but Debbie, from AI has mentioned that her boyfriend has left for the weekend. It is time for VP to live up to his beard. Wiping the froth from his beard, VP walks up to the table at which Debbie sits.
'Anyone sitting here better have a bigger axe than VP!'
The crowd roars. The axe is produced and the song begins: 'My cock rages on, my cock rages on...'
OTYBL.
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
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*Scene: a bloodthirsty barbarian running around a modern office swinging his axe all over the place. A male office worker approaches a woman in a cubicle.*
Man: What's going on?
Woman: Oh, it's the new guy from accounting. They say he's serious about cutting costs.
*The barbarian's axe cleaves into a desk and breaks something on it.*
Man: Maybe we should go to Staples. They have great office supplies at low prices.
Woman: And then we wouldn't have a bloodthirsty barbarian running around the office.
*The barbarian lets out a mighty scream and barely misses another worker.*
Man: Oof. Steve caught a lucky break.
Narrator: Great office supplies at low prices. Staples: That was easy(tm).
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/u/Luna_LoveWell has ruined this for me, but here goes...
The hour is 1630. The evening is Freya's day. My colleagues are removing their ties and leaving early, slovenly sauntering to the bar over the road. But there remains reconciliation to be done. This is time for /u/Veganpuncher.
The VP gazes, condescendingly, out of the 32nd floor window at the hordes of ingrates who will not finish their TP16's tonight. He turns to his computer and roars "To defeat my enemies, to drive them before me, and to hear the lamentations of their women." And it's on.
Form after form is torn from inboxes, processed, signed, and processed. By the time Freya has crossed the moon, VP has emptied the room of paper. It is time for ale.
VP, retaining the dignity that the nonbelievers associate with ties, ascends to their 'bar'. He gazes upon their light beers and white wines, snorts, and orders the biggest beer in the house. Without a thought it is consumed. Another follows.
One's own sons await the fruits of Accounts Receivable at home, bitter and unblooded from a week at school, but Debbie, from AI has mentioned that her boyfriend has left for the weekend. It is time for VP to live up to his beard. Wiping the froth from his beard, VP walks up to the table at which Debbie sits.
'Anyone sitting here better have a bigger axe than VP!'
The crowd roars. The axe is produced and the song begins: 'My cock rages on, my cock rages on...'
OTYBL.
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
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"Well, hello, Mary. This is Grabthar, our new accounts receivable clerk. He is being brought in to help with our more delinquent accounts."
I looked up from my computer screen, not that I was anxious to meet our new clerk. They were a dime a dozen here. You gotta have a thick skin in receivables, most people I met here didn't. I'd long lost bothering to remember their names. I was quite surprised when I saw Grabthar. He was close to seven feet tall, heavily muscled, wearing animal furs for clothes, his red hair was ragged and long, reaching well past his shoulders. He had an immensely thick beard that almost looked fake. He was a few feet away but he smelled of raw meat.
Grabthar nodded to me, his blue eyes shining in the way guys do when they meet a pretty woman for the first time. "Me Grabthar happy to meet you, young maiden."
"Nice to meet you, too." I said and pretended to scratch my cheek, exposing my engagement ring to his gaze. His look didn't change. I sighed and got back to work. My boss, Nathan Douglas, guided Grabthar to his desk.
"Now, I'll leave you to your work. The spreadsheet has already been filtered so the most delinquent accounts are at the top. I look forward to hearing your progress." Nathan glided out of the office.
It wasn't long before I heard the phone being picked up.
"Yes, I am Grabthar the Great of WP's accounts receivable department. I need to speak to your payable department. Thank you." His manner was surprisingly polite, even eager. They all started that way, of course.
"Yes, I am calling from WP. Your account is on credit hold as you have a balance of $5,123,098.01. It has been 6 months since we have last received payment from you, despite your repeated assurances that you will wire us the money. This deceit ends now. You will wire us a minimum payment of 25% of the outstanding balance today!"
His voice started to rise at the end, in excitement almost, like he was gearing up for a fight.
"By Odin, I care not for your silly excuses. You have promised us money for which you have not delivered in exchange for goods and services which we have delivered. This insulting behaviour ends now!"
There was a brief pause, his voice was louder now, not quite yelling, but anyone in the neighbouring offices could probably hear him through the drywall.
"By Thor's testicles I am tired of your lying!" He was in a full yell now, his feet were stomping on the floor. "IF YOU DO NOT SEND A WIRE TRANSFER BEFORE END OF BUSINESS, I SHALL VISIT YOUR OFFICES AND LAY WASTE TO EVERY DISHONEST HEATHEN INHABITING YOUR FOUL COMPANY. I WILL SLAY EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU AND RAPE AND PILLAGE YOUR ACCOUNTS PAYABLE DEPARTMENT, I WILL LAY WASTE TO YOUR BANK ACCOUNT, BUT ONLY TAKE THE AMOUNT OWED AND NOT ONE PENNY MORE BECAUSE I AM VIOLENT BUT I AM HONEST! THERE WILL BE WAR! DEATH! BLOOD! TRIUMPH! AND RUMPY PUMPY!"
He slammed his fists on the desk. By now, more than a few people were peering through the door into the office. I was staring at him too. There was silence of a few seconds. His eyes were wide open, his impressive biceps were pulsing heavily.
"Yes, thank you." He said calmly, suddenly. The volume and violence was gone. He fiddled with the mouse and was looking on his screen. We continued to stare at him in suspense. What was happening?
"Excellent, I have just received confirmation of your wire transfer. Yes, the full amount of $5,123,098.01. Yes, this will take your account off hold. Have a wonderful day and may you crush your enemies, see them driven before you and hear the lamentations of their women."
End
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/u/Luna_LoveWell has ruined this for me, but here goes...
The hour is 1630. The evening is Freya's day. My colleagues are removing their ties and leaving early, slovenly sauntering to the bar over the road. But there remains reconciliation to be done. This is time for /u/Veganpuncher.
The VP gazes, condescendingly, out of the 32nd floor window at the hordes of ingrates who will not finish their TP16's tonight. He turns to his computer and roars "To defeat my enemies, to drive them before me, and to hear the lamentations of their women." And it's on.
Form after form is torn from inboxes, processed, signed, and processed. By the time Freya has crossed the moon, VP has emptied the room of paper. It is time for ale.
VP, retaining the dignity that the nonbelievers associate with ties, ascends to their 'bar'. He gazes upon their light beers and white wines, snorts, and orders the biggest beer in the house. Without a thought it is consumed. Another follows.
One's own sons await the fruits of Accounts Receivable at home, bitter and unblooded from a week at school, but Debbie, from AI has mentioned that her boyfriend has left for the weekend. It is time for VP to live up to his beard. Wiping the froth from his beard, VP walks up to the table at which Debbie sits.
'Anyone sitting here better have a bigger axe than VP!'
The crowd roars. The axe is produced and the song begins: 'My cock rages on, my cock rages on...'
OTYBL.
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
"Well, hello, Mary. This is Grabthar, our new accounts receivable clerk. He is being brought in to help with our more delinquent accounts."
I looked up from my computer screen, not that I was anxious to meet our new clerk. They were a dime a dozen here. You gotta have a thick skin in receivables, most people I met here didn't. I'd long lost bothering to remember their names. I was quite surprised when I saw Grabthar. He was close to seven feet tall, heavily muscled, wearing animal furs for clothes, his red hair was ragged and long, reaching well past his shoulders. He had an immensely thick beard that almost looked fake. He was a few feet away but he smelled of raw meat.
Grabthar nodded to me, his blue eyes shining in the way guys do when they meet a pretty woman for the first time. "Me Grabthar happy to meet you, young maiden."
"Nice to meet you, too." I said and pretended to scratch my cheek, exposing my engagement ring to his gaze. His look didn't change. I sighed and got back to work. My boss, Nathan Douglas, guided Grabthar to his desk.
"Now, I'll leave you to your work. The spreadsheet has already been filtered so the most delinquent accounts are at the top. I look forward to hearing your progress." Nathan glided out of the office.
It wasn't long before I heard the phone being picked up.
"Yes, I am Grabthar the Great of WP's accounts receivable department. I need to speak to your payable department. Thank you." His manner was surprisingly polite, even eager. They all started that way, of course.
"Yes, I am calling from WP. Your account is on credit hold as you have a balance of $5,123,098.01. It has been 6 months since we have last received payment from you, despite your repeated assurances that you will wire us the money. This deceit ends now. You will wire us a minimum payment of 25% of the outstanding balance today!"
His voice started to rise at the end, in excitement almost, like he was gearing up for a fight.
"By Odin, I care not for your silly excuses. You have promised us money for which you have not delivered in exchange for goods and services which we have delivered. This insulting behaviour ends now!"
There was a brief pause, his voice was louder now, not quite yelling, but anyone in the neighbouring offices could probably hear him through the drywall.
"By Thor's testicles I am tired of your lying!" He was in a full yell now, his feet were stomping on the floor. "IF YOU DO NOT SEND A WIRE TRANSFER BEFORE END OF BUSINESS, I SHALL VISIT YOUR OFFICES AND LAY WASTE TO EVERY DISHONEST HEATHEN INHABITING YOUR FOUL COMPANY. I WILL SLAY EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU AND RAPE AND PILLAGE YOUR ACCOUNTS PAYABLE DEPARTMENT, I WILL LAY WASTE TO YOUR BANK ACCOUNT, BUT ONLY TAKE THE AMOUNT OWED AND NOT ONE PENNY MORE BECAUSE I AM VIOLENT BUT I AM HONEST! THERE WILL BE WAR! DEATH! BLOOD! TRIUMPH! AND RUMPY PUMPY!"
He slammed his fists on the desk. By now, more than a few people were peering through the door into the office. I was staring at him too. There was silence of a few seconds. His eyes were wide open, his impressive biceps were pulsing heavily.
"Yes, thank you." He said calmly, suddenly. The volume and violence was gone. He fiddled with the mouse and was looking on his screen. We continued to stare at him in suspense. What was happening?
"Excellent, I have just received confirmation of your wire transfer. Yes, the full amount of $5,123,098.01. Yes, this will take your account off hold. Have a wonderful day and may you crush your enemies, see them driven before you and hear the lamentations of their women."
End
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"Well you see Sarah we simply cannot just accept your proposal, there are procedures to follow, it is out of my hands." Harvey flipped back the note chart and casually flicked it across the boardroom table, with one of his insincere smiles plastered across his face. Over an hour of negotiation were about to go down the toilet, he had the power to say yes and save the company but instead wanted to watch Sarah squirm.
"What are you talking about? You're a CEO, of course you can do it" she said on the verge of frustration. She had worked too hard to see it be lost in the backlog all because Harvey enjoyed being a prick, but there was nothing she could do.
"You're right. Maybe there is some way we can help each other out." Harvey leaned back in the leather chair with a greedy smile that made Sarah sick to the stomach. She was about to tell him where he could stick that counter-proposal and go do with himself, when the boardroom door swung open nearly shattering on its hinges and an immense stack of paper was dropped in front of Harvey.
"What the hell are you doing this is a private meeting. Get out you...." Angry at being denied a chance to bag Sarah, Harvey turned to face the intruder and his hot fury suddenly died in his throat. The room inexplicably seemed to become much colder and smaller.
Standing beside Harvey was more a mountain of muscle than a woman, someone or something that would look more at home in a Televised Wrestling match or a bodybuilding competition than in an office. A tie was wrapped around one bulging bicep already fraying and losing the fight to contain the power beneath despite looking brand new, complete with price tag. A pair of oversized glasses that usually made the wearer look meek and nerdy like much of the office workers in the city, only served to enhance the threatening nature of the towering figure before him. Across their back was a well used axe that any role player would empty their bank account for. Curiously it too had a pair of glasses perched on its head and a tie wrapped around its handle.
"Can I help you?" Harvey asked timidly as he nearly forgot how to speak and breathe. "....miss" his brain told him to add out of politeness and as a way to maybe live beyond the next few seconds.
The figure merely stood still for a second, her arms folded over her chest rising and falling slowly as she breathed. She continued to glower at Harvey and at the world in general before a rumble echoed forth.
"Accounts" she said as no one had ever said them before: it was a promise of death and destruction that would lead to much wailing and sorrow of the defeated foe. That one word was a declaration of war, primal scream and battlecry rolled into one that alone could have broken the Roman Empire and sent men fleeing for the hills. In response Harvey tried immensely to sink so far into the leather chair that he would disappear or wake from this nightmare. While he sweated, stuttered and wet himself exactly as he had done when he was five, Sarah fared a little better.
"Accounts? What do you mean accounts? Is there something wrong with the accounts?" The titan nodded back, as she turned to walk around the table to Sarah, Harvey let out a whimper cravenly raising his quivering fingers in mercy. "Thank you." Sarah coolly took hold of the clipboard maintaining her professionalism while a voice in the back of her head gibbered like Harvey as it tried to rationalise the thing before her.
"Huh, looks like there are numerous errors with the payroll and the company property" Sarah commented as she leafed through the papers. "Meaning the company should have... how much? No wonder we're near bankruptcy. Hang on this is your signature Harvey and so is this. You... you..." She moved to throw the clipboard but a hand shot out and firmly restrained her in mid-throw.
"There is no work without tools" the conquerors voiced rumbled in counsel. No one was meant to look at the accounts let alone notice the mismanagement and siphoning of funds, not until the company had gone bust and he was far away enjoying the spoils of war.
Harvey burbled and gurgled until finally his brain formed a sentence that marked him as part of the human race. Maybe not part of the good or moral part, but still part of it. "The accounts stretch back decades, no one could go through all that and still be sane. No one can do that but a machine!"
"I am Accountant, I account. I bring you to account." The warrior goddess unslung the axe from behind her back and grasped it in both hands and strode towards Harvey. Harvey fainted. She manoeuvred the handle over the top piece of paper and carefully signed and dated the form with a pen nib attached to the handle. She then resheathed her weapon with one hand, slung Harvey over the other shoulder, meticulously placed the signed form on the desk, and then carefully carried the accounts under the other arm. Something that had been nagging at the back of Sarah's mind ever since the colossus had entered the room finally made its way to the front.
"Sorry, who are you?" she asked.
"I am Helga, and this is Jafnir" she shook one shoulder in emphasis to the axe's name "I am Accountant. And this is good day." With that Helga left. Sarah still struggled to recount those few minutes to the authorities and the company board in answer to how the company had been miraculously saved and Harvey's embezzlement uncovered perfectly at the right time.
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
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It was a fine door, made of solid oak, lovingly crafted by a master artisan in her prime. Standing roughly eight feet tall at the end of the conference room, this particular door flooded the adjoining hallway with a sense of strength, stoicism, and imposing clout. The people meeting behind that door determined the fates of thousands of people; billions of dollars; entire companies; maybe even entire industries.
It was a fine door until it buckled inward and split in half. The four dark suits looked up at him, horrified.
"Which one of you is Phil from the Risk department?"
Albert had never known a job that really spoke to him. He'd danced around teaching, he'd dabbled in science, he'd once done a stint in a circus, and he'd decided that nothing worked. The last few years had been a series of odd jobs from electrician to oil well engineer and finally to office manager. In a major meeting with a client, his temper had gotten the better of him when the client demanded something his company simply couldn't provide. The negotiations broke down when Albert lifted the client by the back of his belt and prepared to throw him out of the twelfth story window. Fortunately, four people tackling him simultaneously was *just* enough to stay his hand.
Albert was, of course, fired. The client, however, was an employee with Stellus, a radical, multinational insurance firm that was rumored to engage in "unorthodox" practices to get their jobs done. After coming down from the adrenaline and fear, the former client introduced Albert to the HR department at Stellus and the rest, of course, is history.
He enjoyed his new job, though he was admittedly skeptical when the representative had told him he would be working in accounting.
"I'm not very good at math," he had offered at the beginning of the interview.
The three dark suits interviewing him had laughed. Perhaps a bit too long for comfort. Twenty minutes later, Albert was sitting at his new desk. A reflective name tag was pinned to the wall of his cubicle.
"Senior Corruption Detection and Prevention Manager," it read. The first two weeks were training- they always are. The first month after that was rocky. His superiors didn't love Albert's performance and had told him so on more than one occasion. "Lackluster" was a word that had come up. "Uninspired" usually followed. He had been advised to "really get into it," and to "show some passion," in his work; "Try being a little more *barbaric*, you know? These are criminals, Albert!"
Another week of re-education on corporate policies and a few months of practice, and Albert felt much more secure in his understanding of how Stellus operated.
One of the four dark suits feebly raised his hand. The other three rolled their executive chairs in separate directions away from the outstretched and wavering hand.
"Embezzlement is a serious crime, Phil," Albert growled. Phil's hand slowly fell back down and he shrank in his chair.
A tense few seconds later, Phil's quivering lips parted. "Sorry..?" It was uttered quietly and as one offers a goat to an angry god. The kind of offering someone does when they're just going through the ritual that they know is expected, but they know won't actually increase their odds of survival. A plea that one might make when they know there's nothing else left to lose.
"I'm not," Albert grinned. The axe made a sickeningly slick sound as it parted Phil, and his chair, in half before landing halfway in the floor with a resounding and satisfying "*thunk*."
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Axes clanged together and sweat dripped from my brow. I reveled in the slight pain as I went for another blow against my rival. We matched each other blow for blow, and I let a battle cry before backing away slightly. "We must put this fight on hold!"
My rival snarled and lowered his weapon. "Why?"
I pointed to the watch on my wrist. It was the only thing I wore other than a loincloth and a necklace of teeth. "I'm late for work."
"Very well," he bowed. "Until next time, Stevrok."
I raced to my hut and washed as best I could. I donned my suit and headed to the office. Not a single coworker could tell what I did in my time off.
"Hey Steve. What happened to your eye?"
"Motorcycle accident."
"Again?" He cocked his head. "You need more lessons man."
"I challenge you to a death duel for insulting me!"
"What?"
I coughed and sipped my water. "Uh, nothing."
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
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*Scene: a bloodthirsty barbarian running around a modern office swinging his axe all over the place. A male office worker approaches a woman in a cubicle.*
Man: What's going on?
Woman: Oh, it's the new guy from accounting. They say he's serious about cutting costs.
*The barbarian's axe cleaves into a desk and breaks something on it.*
Man: Maybe we should go to Staples. They have great office supplies at low prices.
Woman: And then we wouldn't have a bloodthirsty barbarian running around the office.
*The barbarian lets out a mighty scream and barely misses another worker.*
Man: Oof. Steve caught a lucky break.
Narrator: Great office supplies at low prices. Staples: That was easy(tm).
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Axes clanged together and sweat dripped from my brow. I reveled in the slight pain as I went for another blow against my rival. We matched each other blow for blow, and I let a battle cry before backing away slightly. "We must put this fight on hold!"
My rival snarled and lowered his weapon. "Why?"
I pointed to the watch on my wrist. It was the only thing I wore other than a loincloth and a necklace of teeth. "I'm late for work."
"Very well," he bowed. "Until next time, Stevrok."
I raced to my hut and washed as best I could. I donned my suit and headed to the office. Not a single coworker could tell what I did in my time off.
"Hey Steve. What happened to your eye?"
"Motorcycle accident."
"Again?" He cocked his head. "You need more lessons man."
"I challenge you to a death duel for insulting me!"
"What?"
I coughed and sipped my water. "Uh, nothing."
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
"Well, hello, Mary. This is Grabthar, our new accounts receivable clerk. He is being brought in to help with our more delinquent accounts."
I looked up from my computer screen, not that I was anxious to meet our new clerk. They were a dime a dozen here. You gotta have a thick skin in receivables, most people I met here didn't. I'd long lost bothering to remember their names. I was quite surprised when I saw Grabthar. He was close to seven feet tall, heavily muscled, wearing animal furs for clothes, his red hair was ragged and long, reaching well past his shoulders. He had an immensely thick beard that almost looked fake. He was a few feet away but he smelled of raw meat.
Grabthar nodded to me, his blue eyes shining in the way guys do when they meet a pretty woman for the first time. "Me Grabthar happy to meet you, young maiden."
"Nice to meet you, too." I said and pretended to scratch my cheek, exposing my engagement ring to his gaze. His look didn't change. I sighed and got back to work. My boss, Nathan Douglas, guided Grabthar to his desk.
"Now, I'll leave you to your work. The spreadsheet has already been filtered so the most delinquent accounts are at the top. I look forward to hearing your progress." Nathan glided out of the office.
It wasn't long before I heard the phone being picked up.
"Yes, I am Grabthar the Great of WP's accounts receivable department. I need to speak to your payable department. Thank you." His manner was surprisingly polite, even eager. They all started that way, of course.
"Yes, I am calling from WP. Your account is on credit hold as you have a balance of $5,123,098.01. It has been 6 months since we have last received payment from you, despite your repeated assurances that you will wire us the money. This deceit ends now. You will wire us a minimum payment of 25% of the outstanding balance today!"
His voice started to rise at the end, in excitement almost, like he was gearing up for a fight.
"By Odin, I care not for your silly excuses. You have promised us money for which you have not delivered in exchange for goods and services which we have delivered. This insulting behaviour ends now!"
There was a brief pause, his voice was louder now, not quite yelling, but anyone in the neighbouring offices could probably hear him through the drywall.
"By Thor's testicles I am tired of your lying!" He was in a full yell now, his feet were stomping on the floor. "IF YOU DO NOT SEND A WIRE TRANSFER BEFORE END OF BUSINESS, I SHALL VISIT YOUR OFFICES AND LAY WASTE TO EVERY DISHONEST HEATHEN INHABITING YOUR FOUL COMPANY. I WILL SLAY EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU AND RAPE AND PILLAGE YOUR ACCOUNTS PAYABLE DEPARTMENT, I WILL LAY WASTE TO YOUR BANK ACCOUNT, BUT ONLY TAKE THE AMOUNT OWED AND NOT ONE PENNY MORE BECAUSE I AM VIOLENT BUT I AM HONEST! THERE WILL BE WAR! DEATH! BLOOD! TRIUMPH! AND RUMPY PUMPY!"
He slammed his fists on the desk. By now, more than a few people were peering through the door into the office. I was staring at him too. There was silence of a few seconds. His eyes were wide open, his impressive biceps were pulsing heavily.
"Yes, thank you." He said calmly, suddenly. The volume and violence was gone. He fiddled with the mouse and was looking on his screen. We continued to stare at him in suspense. What was happening?
"Excellent, I have just received confirmation of your wire transfer. Yes, the full amount of $5,123,098.01. Yes, this will take your account off hold. Have a wonderful day and may you crush your enemies, see them driven before you and hear the lamentations of their women."
End
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Axes clanged together and sweat dripped from my brow. I reveled in the slight pain as I went for another blow against my rival. We matched each other blow for blow, and I let a battle cry before backing away slightly. "We must put this fight on hold!"
My rival snarled and lowered his weapon. "Why?"
I pointed to the watch on my wrist. It was the only thing I wore other than a loincloth and a necklace of teeth. "I'm late for work."
"Very well," he bowed. "Until next time, Stevrok."
I raced to my hut and washed as best I could. I donned my suit and headed to the office. Not a single coworker could tell what I did in my time off.
"Hey Steve. What happened to your eye?"
"Motorcycle accident."
"Again?" He cocked his head. "You need more lessons man."
"I challenge you to a death duel for insulting me!"
"What?"
I coughed and sipped my water. "Uh, nothing."
|
|
[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
*Scene: a bloodthirsty barbarian running around a modern office swinging his axe all over the place. A male office worker approaches a woman in a cubicle.*
Man: What's going on?
Woman: Oh, it's the new guy from accounting. They say he's serious about cutting costs.
*The barbarian's axe cleaves into a desk and breaks something on it.*
Man: Maybe we should go to Staples. They have great office supplies at low prices.
Woman: And then we wouldn't have a bloodthirsty barbarian running around the office.
*The barbarian lets out a mighty scream and barely misses another worker.*
Man: Oof. Steve caught a lucky break.
Narrator: Great office supplies at low prices. Staples: That was easy(tm).
|
The sun, a skybound golden coin
Rising twixt the earth and sky.
Red numbers on my clock, bedside,
Bid me from my slumber rise.
Shirt, white creased, with buttoned cuff
Fixed round my neck with silken tie
And belted trousers, woven there
From cotton, khaki, as the dust.
The bus, great beast with clear glass armored
Guides me on the day’s commute.
With seats, hard plastic, often filled
With dregs and other retches there.
Arrive. Arise, oh reception maid,
And warn of coming meetings,
Calls oft missed and memos posted,
Before I land in cub-ed berth.
Ted, a warrior, noble blood,
Accounting warlock, partner, friend,
Serves the high department Lord,
With numbers boldly slaughtered.
No salad, kale, or whelping meal,
Doth I and noble Ted devour,
But Earth’s pure mead and bloody meat
To strengthen will and hands.
My right hand bears the mighty lead
From Ticonderogas steely forge
To shape and wrought as Odin did
To balance our accounts most dear
My left, the tele-horn doth wield
To carry loft o’er countless miles
The calls of allies, and even foes
In mortal fiscal battle.
Five o’clock, the sun does warn
And frees me from my daily bond,
To rest my weary frame against
The worthy foe of currency.
edit: I cant figure out how this formatting works....
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
"Well, hello, Mary. This is Grabthar, our new accounts receivable clerk. He is being brought in to help with our more delinquent accounts."
I looked up from my computer screen, not that I was anxious to meet our new clerk. They were a dime a dozen here. You gotta have a thick skin in receivables, most people I met here didn't. I'd long lost bothering to remember their names. I was quite surprised when I saw Grabthar. He was close to seven feet tall, heavily muscled, wearing animal furs for clothes, his red hair was ragged and long, reaching well past his shoulders. He had an immensely thick beard that almost looked fake. He was a few feet away but he smelled of raw meat.
Grabthar nodded to me, his blue eyes shining in the way guys do when they meet a pretty woman for the first time. "Me Grabthar happy to meet you, young maiden."
"Nice to meet you, too." I said and pretended to scratch my cheek, exposing my engagement ring to his gaze. His look didn't change. I sighed and got back to work. My boss, Nathan Douglas, guided Grabthar to his desk.
"Now, I'll leave you to your work. The spreadsheet has already been filtered so the most delinquent accounts are at the top. I look forward to hearing your progress." Nathan glided out of the office.
It wasn't long before I heard the phone being picked up.
"Yes, I am Grabthar the Great of WP's accounts receivable department. I need to speak to your payable department. Thank you." His manner was surprisingly polite, even eager. They all started that way, of course.
"Yes, I am calling from WP. Your account is on credit hold as you have a balance of $5,123,098.01. It has been 6 months since we have last received payment from you, despite your repeated assurances that you will wire us the money. This deceit ends now. You will wire us a minimum payment of 25% of the outstanding balance today!"
His voice started to rise at the end, in excitement almost, like he was gearing up for a fight.
"By Odin, I care not for your silly excuses. You have promised us money for which you have not delivered in exchange for goods and services which we have delivered. This insulting behaviour ends now!"
There was a brief pause, his voice was louder now, not quite yelling, but anyone in the neighbouring offices could probably hear him through the drywall.
"By Thor's testicles I am tired of your lying!" He was in a full yell now, his feet were stomping on the floor. "IF YOU DO NOT SEND A WIRE TRANSFER BEFORE END OF BUSINESS, I SHALL VISIT YOUR OFFICES AND LAY WASTE TO EVERY DISHONEST HEATHEN INHABITING YOUR FOUL COMPANY. I WILL SLAY EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU AND RAPE AND PILLAGE YOUR ACCOUNTS PAYABLE DEPARTMENT, I WILL LAY WASTE TO YOUR BANK ACCOUNT, BUT ONLY TAKE THE AMOUNT OWED AND NOT ONE PENNY MORE BECAUSE I AM VIOLENT BUT I AM HONEST! THERE WILL BE WAR! DEATH! BLOOD! TRIUMPH! AND RUMPY PUMPY!"
He slammed his fists on the desk. By now, more than a few people were peering through the door into the office. I was staring at him too. There was silence of a few seconds. His eyes were wide open, his impressive biceps were pulsing heavily.
"Yes, thank you." He said calmly, suddenly. The volume and violence was gone. He fiddled with the mouse and was looking on his screen. We continued to stare at him in suspense. What was happening?
"Excellent, I have just received confirmation of your wire transfer. Yes, the full amount of $5,123,098.01. Yes, this will take your account off hold. Have a wonderful day and may you crush your enemies, see them driven before you and hear the lamentations of their women."
End
|
The sun, a skybound golden coin
Rising twixt the earth and sky.
Red numbers on my clock, bedside,
Bid me from my slumber rise.
Shirt, white creased, with buttoned cuff
Fixed round my neck with silken tie
And belted trousers, woven there
From cotton, khaki, as the dust.
The bus, great beast with clear glass armored
Guides me on the day’s commute.
With seats, hard plastic, often filled
With dregs and other retches there.
Arrive. Arise, oh reception maid,
And warn of coming meetings,
Calls oft missed and memos posted,
Before I land in cub-ed berth.
Ted, a warrior, noble blood,
Accounting warlock, partner, friend,
Serves the high department Lord,
With numbers boldly slaughtered.
No salad, kale, or whelping meal,
Doth I and noble Ted devour,
But Earth’s pure mead and bloody meat
To strengthen will and hands.
My right hand bears the mighty lead
From Ticonderogas steely forge
To shape and wrought as Odin did
To balance our accounts most dear
My left, the tele-horn doth wield
To carry loft o’er countless miles
The calls of allies, and even foes
In mortal fiscal battle.
Five o’clock, the sun does warn
And frees me from my daily bond,
To rest my weary frame against
The worthy foe of currency.
edit: I cant figure out how this formatting works....
|
|
[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
Office workers are generally not accustomed to threats of violence. They assume their workplace is safe, and violence cannot happen there. Many of these people haven't had to even consider a violent response since middle school. This false sense of security leads to reckless behavior. When confronted with a direct, real threat of violence to their person, they have no idea how to react.
The only reason I got my accounting degree is because the facility was terrified of me. Constantly. In my first year I got a F on an exam. I visited the professor in his office with my ax. I cleaved his desk in half and told him to change my grade to an A. He obviously hadn't been threatened with violence in decades, he wet his pants. He said he wouldn't change the grade with a whimper. I crushed his eye socket with the handle of my ax and held the blade to his neck. I told him if he didn't change the grade, I'd kill him. He didn't even struggle. He agreed to change the grade. As I left the office I told him I'd be back if he called the cops. I graduated with straight As only having to threaten a couple other professors and assaulting one more.
My first boss thought he was a tough guy. I'd see him try to physically intimidate my coworkers with his size and expressions. He would yell at people and call them names. I could not wait until he tried any of that with me. The day couldn't come fast enough. It was a Tuesday when came to my desk, threw down a copy of a report I submitted and asked if I was a "fucking retard". I smashed his jaw with my elbow. As he fell to the ground the look on his face was priceless. It was shock sprinkled with fear. I grabbed his hair and dragged him to the stairwell. I told him he needed to quit just before I tossed him down the stairs.
I took my ax to the meeting with HR. Missy was flabbergasted. She said, "You can't have a weapon in this office, I'm going to call security and they will escort you out. You're fired for assaulting Rob and for bringing that thing to this meeting"
I asked, "Where do you live?"
Missy said, "Excuse me?"
"Where do you live?" I asked slower this time
"That's none of your business", she spat as she dialed security.
I hung up her phone and said, "Well I just want to know the name of the place where it's ok for someone like you to threaten someone like me"
"I didn't threaten you", she was now living in Fear-land.
"You just threatened to fire me, to remove my livelihood. Without a job, without money I will starve. I will die. You have threatened my life. Every person who has threatened my life is now dead."
Missy tried to speak but terror stopped the words from coming out. She lunged for her phone, but I smashed it with my ax. I told her Rob fell down the stairs, I had nothing to do with it. I told her I was going back to work as I left her office.
Rob never came back to the office. I got his job and I'm on the fast track to be CFO. When people know for a fact that you can kill them and have a hint that you'd be willing to do it, they treat you different. Better.
|
It was a strange quirk of reality, that consciousnesses, or 'souls', were not created anew with a new assemblage of biochemical circuitry with each new bouncing baby.
No, reincarnation was very much real, even if the primitive ape-descendants that invented the concept of 'reincarnation' didn't truly realise that they were in fact, the same few million people there had been since time immemorial when nature got sick of there being so many unique perspectives on life, the universe, and the rest of the bollocks out there, that it started using the same template for each new person.
It is for this reason, an event occurred, which is best described as the Lunchtime Cupcake Incident.
Dave Hughes was an ordinary, albeit very Welsh man. He had come from a long line of Welsh men, each pretty stoic and calm, except when the rugby was on, and while there were a few bad apples during World War 2 who painted directional arrows on their barns pointing in the direction of Liverpool and London because, as Dave's great grandfather would say, 'foc yr Saes', Dave himself was a rather peaceful man, more content to having a pint of cider on the weekend with the lads and working hard through the week.
He had the strength to throw a punch, but he also lacked the temperament to really get heavily invested in a fight.
And so, it may come to a surprise to many that in the month of July, 2006, Dave Hughes was jailed for 7 years for the ritual execution of a colleague of his with a flint axe, as something unusual triggered his racial memory of being a barbarian warlord named Genghis Khan, marauding through the Mongolian Steppes.
The trigger, it would appear, was a chocolate cupcake, with one unusual ingredient, unbeknownst to the manufacturers: fermented honey, small traces of it.
Those of you keeping track would know it by another name. The delicious alcoholic beverage known as mead.
Dave had always steered clear of honey: he was allergic to beestings, and it followed that he was probably allergic to bee bits in honey. It made sense.
What Dave didn't know was that the faint taste of sweet nectar from mountain flowers, converted into a golden yellow liquid that had been baked into the cupcake, was enough to trigger an unused genetic sequence in his brain that once spawned a continent-spanning empire.
Dave was arrested for attempted manslaughter, and had a quiet life in prison. He never knew he was descended from Genghis Khan, and he never realised that it was honey that triggered his random rage, all he knew was that he was a murderer and a fool.
Dave hung himself in 2010, his depression overtaking him.
Nobody was all that surprised.
|
|
[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
"Well, hello, Mary. This is Grabthar, our new accounts receivable clerk. He is being brought in to help with our more delinquent accounts."
I looked up from my computer screen, not that I was anxious to meet our new clerk. They were a dime a dozen here. You gotta have a thick skin in receivables, most people I met here didn't. I'd long lost bothering to remember their names. I was quite surprised when I saw Grabthar. He was close to seven feet tall, heavily muscled, wearing animal furs for clothes, his red hair was ragged and long, reaching well past his shoulders. He had an immensely thick beard that almost looked fake. He was a few feet away but he smelled of raw meat.
Grabthar nodded to me, his blue eyes shining in the way guys do when they meet a pretty woman for the first time. "Me Grabthar happy to meet you, young maiden."
"Nice to meet you, too." I said and pretended to scratch my cheek, exposing my engagement ring to his gaze. His look didn't change. I sighed and got back to work. My boss, Nathan Douglas, guided Grabthar to his desk.
"Now, I'll leave you to your work. The spreadsheet has already been filtered so the most delinquent accounts are at the top. I look forward to hearing your progress." Nathan glided out of the office.
It wasn't long before I heard the phone being picked up.
"Yes, I am Grabthar the Great of WP's accounts receivable department. I need to speak to your payable department. Thank you." His manner was surprisingly polite, even eager. They all started that way, of course.
"Yes, I am calling from WP. Your account is on credit hold as you have a balance of $5,123,098.01. It has been 6 months since we have last received payment from you, despite your repeated assurances that you will wire us the money. This deceit ends now. You will wire us a minimum payment of 25% of the outstanding balance today!"
His voice started to rise at the end, in excitement almost, like he was gearing up for a fight.
"By Odin, I care not for your silly excuses. You have promised us money for which you have not delivered in exchange for goods and services which we have delivered. This insulting behaviour ends now!"
There was a brief pause, his voice was louder now, not quite yelling, but anyone in the neighbouring offices could probably hear him through the drywall.
"By Thor's testicles I am tired of your lying!" He was in a full yell now, his feet were stomping on the floor. "IF YOU DO NOT SEND A WIRE TRANSFER BEFORE END OF BUSINESS, I SHALL VISIT YOUR OFFICES AND LAY WASTE TO EVERY DISHONEST HEATHEN INHABITING YOUR FOUL COMPANY. I WILL SLAY EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU AND RAPE AND PILLAGE YOUR ACCOUNTS PAYABLE DEPARTMENT, I WILL LAY WASTE TO YOUR BANK ACCOUNT, BUT ONLY TAKE THE AMOUNT OWED AND NOT ONE PENNY MORE BECAUSE I AM VIOLENT BUT I AM HONEST! THERE WILL BE WAR! DEATH! BLOOD! TRIUMPH! AND RUMPY PUMPY!"
He slammed his fists on the desk. By now, more than a few people were peering through the door into the office. I was staring at him too. There was silence of a few seconds. His eyes were wide open, his impressive biceps were pulsing heavily.
"Yes, thank you." He said calmly, suddenly. The volume and violence was gone. He fiddled with the mouse and was looking on his screen. We continued to stare at him in suspense. What was happening?
"Excellent, I have just received confirmation of your wire transfer. Yes, the full amount of $5,123,098.01. Yes, this will take your account off hold. Have a wonderful day and may you crush your enemies, see them driven before you and hear the lamentations of their women."
End
|
It was a strange quirk of reality, that consciousnesses, or 'souls', were not created anew with a new assemblage of biochemical circuitry with each new bouncing baby.
No, reincarnation was very much real, even if the primitive ape-descendants that invented the concept of 'reincarnation' didn't truly realise that they were in fact, the same few million people there had been since time immemorial when nature got sick of there being so many unique perspectives on life, the universe, and the rest of the bollocks out there, that it started using the same template for each new person.
It is for this reason, an event occurred, which is best described as the Lunchtime Cupcake Incident.
Dave Hughes was an ordinary, albeit very Welsh man. He had come from a long line of Welsh men, each pretty stoic and calm, except when the rugby was on, and while there were a few bad apples during World War 2 who painted directional arrows on their barns pointing in the direction of Liverpool and London because, as Dave's great grandfather would say, 'foc yr Saes', Dave himself was a rather peaceful man, more content to having a pint of cider on the weekend with the lads and working hard through the week.
He had the strength to throw a punch, but he also lacked the temperament to really get heavily invested in a fight.
And so, it may come to a surprise to many that in the month of July, 2006, Dave Hughes was jailed for 7 years for the ritual execution of a colleague of his with a flint axe, as something unusual triggered his racial memory of being a barbarian warlord named Genghis Khan, marauding through the Mongolian Steppes.
The trigger, it would appear, was a chocolate cupcake, with one unusual ingredient, unbeknownst to the manufacturers: fermented honey, small traces of it.
Those of you keeping track would know it by another name. The delicious alcoholic beverage known as mead.
Dave had always steered clear of honey: he was allergic to beestings, and it followed that he was probably allergic to bee bits in honey. It made sense.
What Dave didn't know was that the faint taste of sweet nectar from mountain flowers, converted into a golden yellow liquid that had been baked into the cupcake, was enough to trigger an unused genetic sequence in his brain that once spawned a continent-spanning empire.
Dave was arrested for attempted manslaughter, and had a quiet life in prison. He never knew he was descended from Genghis Khan, and he never realised that it was honey that triggered his random rage, all he knew was that he was a murderer and a fool.
Dave hung himself in 2010, his depression overtaking him.
Nobody was all that surprised.
|
|
[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
"Kronk want grande chai tea latte, 3 pump, skim milk, lite water, no foam, extra hot in a big cup to go. Make sure to only half fill." The Starbucks attendant sighed. standing before of her was Kronk the gregarious. Local accountant for one of the largest firms in New York. "Would you like your straw today, Kronk? Extra metallic?"
Rubbing his large fingers on his bearded chin, Kronk shook his head. "No thanks. Just what Kronk ask for please. Kronk very cranky. Big boss meeting, need much energy. No time for sippy."
Her hands moved quickly, running through a practiced routine, pouring and filling and measuring, then re-measuring and pumping then finally adding the finishing touches. "There you go, Kronk. One tea to go. Hope your day isn't like yesterday" she said, a grimace playing on her face.
"If Kronk lucky, it be better." he said as he grinned, showing off his rotting yellowed teeth. It contrasted horribly with his trimmed and tailored grey suit with a maroon tie set against a pure white shirt, freshly pressed. His muscles bulged underneath, fighting to get free. On his back sat two incredibly large axe's. twice the size of the Starbucks barista before him. Tiny flecks of red sat on the sharp keen edges that looked lovingly cared after. Leather bound handles smelling of heavy earth and sweat wrapped around long oaken stakes to hold it together.
The barista couldn't help but sigh again, wistfully as Kronk stomped off.
She nice, Kronk thought. Maybe me take back to cave tonight after great meeting victory over 'boss'.
One large gulp later, and the tea was gone. Too cold, he thought. Must ask for hotter.
_____________________
A dull buzzing came from the fan that was blowing hot air just next to Kronk as he sat in a chair at least five times too small for him. Sweat poured down his chiseled face, filling his collar with it, turning the freshly pressed white linen grey. Opposite him was his boss. A small stout man with a mustache far too big for his small rotund face that jiggled as the fan blew air into it on it's rotation.
"Well now, Kronk." He said, fixing his small glasses as he spoke. "It's time for your performance review." Kronk gulped while twisting his large rough thumbs around each other. "Yes, sir. Kronk ready for great review. Kronk thinks he has worked very hard this year."
Kronk's boss cleared his throat and tapped a thick wad of papers that he had in his hands on the desk. "Yes.. good.." he said, his eyes squinting as they looked up and down Kronk's figure. What wrong? thought Kronk, maybe hair mussed up by fan? Kronk lathered his hand in spit and furiously matted down his long flowing mane of gloriously golden brown hair, sticking it to his skull. Making a noise of disgust, Kronk's boss continued. "As I was saying.. your performance review - well.. it's.. It's not good."
Kronk's mouth upturned, twisting slightly. "Sir?" Taking off his glasses Kronk's boss sighed. "Well.. it's just.. I don't think, even with your years in college and university that our firm is.. suited for you, Kronk. This set of results I have here of your performance is reports from YESTERDAY. The rest of them.." Kronk's boss looked to the side of the room where a mountain of box's sat against the wall, towering to the ceiling casting a shadow that ran the length of the room and back again. "Why, just yesterday you threatened Robert McKinley, one of our largest clients with, and I quote 'stuffing his own throat down his arse so far he'll be swallowing his own shit for years to come.'" Kronk laughed, his voice booming across the small wooden paneled room. "Oh, yes! That was great day for Kronk! Got much signings and much tax returns for Mr Robert. He refused to help fill in his forms proper but I made sure it was good and well." His face splitting in half with the large disgusting grin made Kronk's boss pause for just a moment.
"Yes, well.. Shortly after Mr McKinley came into my office and canceled all future contracts with our firm." Kronk's grin faltered, replaced with a dark turn of the mouth and short angry breaths as his face reddened. "Kronk will win back contract! Even if he must ki-" Kronk's boss slammed his fist on the table, interrupting the Barbarians train of thought. "You will do no such think, Kronk! How many times must I tell you?! NO KILLING THE CLIENTS. NO KILLING THE CO-WORKERS. AND CERTAINLY NO KILLING THE POLICE WHO QUESTION YOU.
Silence filled the room as Kronk sat back, his chair groaning with pressure, deflating. "But.. boss.. Kronk only want to account good. Kronk good with numbers. Tax is beaten before Kronk's mighty chest and pen!"
Making a steeple with his fingers, Kronk's boss looked the Barbarian in the eye. "Kronk, there's no easy way to say this. I could keep you here all day telling you that chopping your colleague in half and bathing in their blood because they filled a form in is wrong, or killing a clients pet dog because it dishonored you by peeing on your car is not acceptable. Hell. Even though we all cheered, killing an IRS auditor is simply NOT acceptable!"
Kronk sunk further, somehow, his chair lowering it's self impossibly. "What Kronk's boss mean?"
Sighing, Kronk's boss stood up and walked to the man sized window and stared out at the city before him. Then, puffing up he turned. "Kronk. You're fired. Clear your desk by the end of today. I'll personally bring you your pay check then."
Kronk sat, a shadow passing his face as his boss continued to drone on about the minutiae of the firing process. Kronk.. fired? He thought as the world seemed to drop out from beneath his large fur lined boots. "Kronk.. not fired.. Kronk.. FIRE.. YOU!!" he said as he launched himself across the small wooden desk, ripping his shirt off showing his waxed and shiny sheen hairless chest to the world before grabbing his boss and lifting him into the air, effortlessly.
"Now now, Kronk" his boss said, gasping for air as Kronk's grip tightened. "Let's not.. get.. too.. tes...ty.." A vein pulsed on Kronk's forehead, an evil purple looking snake that twitched and boiled. "Kronk not testy. Kronk now boss of firm. Kronk say, you fired!" Before he knew it, Kronk's axe was in his hand, an extension of his self. It smashed the window he stood at effortlessly. Kronk moved forward, hanging his former boss out the window. "Kronk.. PLEASE!" he gasped, his face now turning a deep shade of blue. "I.. TRIED.. TO.. HELP... YOU..."
Kronk thought for a moment, a great effort as the rage flowed through his blood, blinding him to the gorgeous view of skyscrapers lined against the blue horizon.
"You.. did hire Kronk when no else would.. Kronk.. thanks you. Kronk also wants you to know, that Kronk is bestest worker at firm and will take good care of it."
"KROOOOOOOOOO^ooonnn^kkkkk^k....."
_________________________
"Yes sir. Please take a seat, our CEO will see you momentarily."
Tired of waiting, Robert McKinley stormed past the small diminutive secretary and slammed the door to the office open.
"How dare you call me back here after what your stupid buffoon did.. to..
me...
..."
"Hello, Kronk."
Sitting in a lavishly blue furred suit, lined with gold and silver trimmings, a blood red tie dashing against his bare chest, Kronk was reclining in a large overly ornate chair, covered in bear furs and other illegal-to-kill and possibly now extinct animals.
Draped across one of the large golden arms was a small lady wearing a Starbucks uniform, filing her nails looking bored.
"Hello Mr Robert. Please, take a seat. This won't take long at all."
|
It was a strange quirk of reality, that consciousnesses, or 'souls', were not created anew with a new assemblage of biochemical circuitry with each new bouncing baby.
No, reincarnation was very much real, even if the primitive ape-descendants that invented the concept of 'reincarnation' didn't truly realise that they were in fact, the same few million people there had been since time immemorial when nature got sick of there being so many unique perspectives on life, the universe, and the rest of the bollocks out there, that it started using the same template for each new person.
It is for this reason, an event occurred, which is best described as the Lunchtime Cupcake Incident.
Dave Hughes was an ordinary, albeit very Welsh man. He had come from a long line of Welsh men, each pretty stoic and calm, except when the rugby was on, and while there were a few bad apples during World War 2 who painted directional arrows on their barns pointing in the direction of Liverpool and London because, as Dave's great grandfather would say, 'foc yr Saes', Dave himself was a rather peaceful man, more content to having a pint of cider on the weekend with the lads and working hard through the week.
He had the strength to throw a punch, but he also lacked the temperament to really get heavily invested in a fight.
And so, it may come to a surprise to many that in the month of July, 2006, Dave Hughes was jailed for 7 years for the ritual execution of a colleague of his with a flint axe, as something unusual triggered his racial memory of being a barbarian warlord named Genghis Khan, marauding through the Mongolian Steppes.
The trigger, it would appear, was a chocolate cupcake, with one unusual ingredient, unbeknownst to the manufacturers: fermented honey, small traces of it.
Those of you keeping track would know it by another name. The delicious alcoholic beverage known as mead.
Dave had always steered clear of honey: he was allergic to beestings, and it followed that he was probably allergic to bee bits in honey. It made sense.
What Dave didn't know was that the faint taste of sweet nectar from mountain flowers, converted into a golden yellow liquid that had been baked into the cupcake, was enough to trigger an unused genetic sequence in his brain that once spawned a continent-spanning empire.
Dave was arrested for attempted manslaughter, and had a quiet life in prison. He never knew he was descended from Genghis Khan, and he never realised that it was honey that triggered his random rage, all he knew was that he was a murderer and a fool.
Dave hung himself in 2010, his depression overtaking him.
Nobody was all that surprised.
|
|
[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
"Well, hello, Mary. This is Grabthar, our new accounts receivable clerk. He is being brought in to help with our more delinquent accounts."
I looked up from my computer screen, not that I was anxious to meet our new clerk. They were a dime a dozen here. You gotta have a thick skin in receivables, most people I met here didn't. I'd long lost bothering to remember their names. I was quite surprised when I saw Grabthar. He was close to seven feet tall, heavily muscled, wearing animal furs for clothes, his red hair was ragged and long, reaching well past his shoulders. He had an immensely thick beard that almost looked fake. He was a few feet away but he smelled of raw meat.
Grabthar nodded to me, his blue eyes shining in the way guys do when they meet a pretty woman for the first time. "Me Grabthar happy to meet you, young maiden."
"Nice to meet you, too." I said and pretended to scratch my cheek, exposing my engagement ring to his gaze. His look didn't change. I sighed and got back to work. My boss, Nathan Douglas, guided Grabthar to his desk.
"Now, I'll leave you to your work. The spreadsheet has already been filtered so the most delinquent accounts are at the top. I look forward to hearing your progress." Nathan glided out of the office.
It wasn't long before I heard the phone being picked up.
"Yes, I am Grabthar the Great of WP's accounts receivable department. I need to speak to your payable department. Thank you." His manner was surprisingly polite, even eager. They all started that way, of course.
"Yes, I am calling from WP. Your account is on credit hold as you have a balance of $5,123,098.01. It has been 6 months since we have last received payment from you, despite your repeated assurances that you will wire us the money. This deceit ends now. You will wire us a minimum payment of 25% of the outstanding balance today!"
His voice started to rise at the end, in excitement almost, like he was gearing up for a fight.
"By Odin, I care not for your silly excuses. You have promised us money for which you have not delivered in exchange for goods and services which we have delivered. This insulting behaviour ends now!"
There was a brief pause, his voice was louder now, not quite yelling, but anyone in the neighbouring offices could probably hear him through the drywall.
"By Thor's testicles I am tired of your lying!" He was in a full yell now, his feet were stomping on the floor. "IF YOU DO NOT SEND A WIRE TRANSFER BEFORE END OF BUSINESS, I SHALL VISIT YOUR OFFICES AND LAY WASTE TO EVERY DISHONEST HEATHEN INHABITING YOUR FOUL COMPANY. I WILL SLAY EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU AND RAPE AND PILLAGE YOUR ACCOUNTS PAYABLE DEPARTMENT, I WILL LAY WASTE TO YOUR BANK ACCOUNT, BUT ONLY TAKE THE AMOUNT OWED AND NOT ONE PENNY MORE BECAUSE I AM VIOLENT BUT I AM HONEST! THERE WILL BE WAR! DEATH! BLOOD! TRIUMPH! AND RUMPY PUMPY!"
He slammed his fists on the desk. By now, more than a few people were peering through the door into the office. I was staring at him too. There was silence of a few seconds. His eyes were wide open, his impressive biceps were pulsing heavily.
"Yes, thank you." He said calmly, suddenly. The volume and violence was gone. He fiddled with the mouse and was looking on his screen. We continued to stare at him in suspense. What was happening?
"Excellent, I have just received confirmation of your wire transfer. Yes, the full amount of $5,123,098.01. Yes, this will take your account off hold. Have a wonderful day and may you crush your enemies, see them driven before you and hear the lamentations of their women."
End
|
It was a fine door, made of solid oak, lovingly crafted by a master artisan in her prime. Standing roughly eight feet tall at the end of the conference room, this particular door flooded the adjoining hallway with a sense of strength, stoicism, and imposing clout. The people meeting behind that door determined the fates of thousands of people; billions of dollars; entire companies; maybe even entire industries.
It was a fine door until it buckled inward and split in half. The four dark suits looked up at him, horrified.
"Which one of you is Phil from the Risk department?"
Albert had never known a job that really spoke to him. He'd danced around teaching, he'd dabbled in science, he'd once done a stint in a circus, and he'd decided that nothing worked. The last few years had been a series of odd jobs from electrician to oil well engineer and finally to office manager. In a major meeting with a client, his temper had gotten the better of him when the client demanded something his company simply couldn't provide. The negotiations broke down when Albert lifted the client by the back of his belt and prepared to throw him out of the twelfth story window. Fortunately, four people tackling him simultaneously was *just* enough to stay his hand.
Albert was, of course, fired. The client, however, was an employee with Stellus, a radical, multinational insurance firm that was rumored to engage in "unorthodox" practices to get their jobs done. After coming down from the adrenaline and fear, the former client introduced Albert to the HR department at Stellus and the rest, of course, is history.
He enjoyed his new job, though he was admittedly skeptical when the representative had told him he would be working in accounting.
"I'm not very good at math," he had offered at the beginning of the interview.
The three dark suits interviewing him had laughed. Perhaps a bit too long for comfort. Twenty minutes later, Albert was sitting at his new desk. A reflective name tag was pinned to the wall of his cubicle.
"Senior Corruption Detection and Prevention Manager," it read. The first two weeks were training- they always are. The first month after that was rocky. His superiors didn't love Albert's performance and had told him so on more than one occasion. "Lackluster" was a word that had come up. "Uninspired" usually followed. He had been advised to "really get into it," and to "show some passion," in his work; "Try being a little more *barbaric*, you know? These are criminals, Albert!"
Another week of re-education on corporate policies and a few months of practice, and Albert felt much more secure in his understanding of how Stellus operated.
One of the four dark suits feebly raised his hand. The other three rolled their executive chairs in separate directions away from the outstretched and wavering hand.
"Embezzlement is a serious crime, Phil," Albert growled. Phil's hand slowly fell back down and he shrank in his chair.
A tense few seconds later, Phil's quivering lips parted. "Sorry..?" It was uttered quietly and as one offers a goat to an angry god. The kind of offering someone does when they're just going through the ritual that they know is expected, but they know won't actually increase their odds of survival. A plea that one might make when they know there's nothing else left to lose.
"I'm not," Albert grinned. The axe made a sickeningly slick sound as it parted Phil, and his chair, in half before landing halfway in the floor with a resounding and satisfying "*thunk*."
|
|
[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
"Well, hello, Mary. This is Grabthar, our new accounts receivable clerk. He is being brought in to help with our more delinquent accounts."
I looked up from my computer screen, not that I was anxious to meet our new clerk. They were a dime a dozen here. You gotta have a thick skin in receivables, most people I met here didn't. I'd long lost bothering to remember their names. I was quite surprised when I saw Grabthar. He was close to seven feet tall, heavily muscled, wearing animal furs for clothes, his red hair was ragged and long, reaching well past his shoulders. He had an immensely thick beard that almost looked fake. He was a few feet away but he smelled of raw meat.
Grabthar nodded to me, his blue eyes shining in the way guys do when they meet a pretty woman for the first time. "Me Grabthar happy to meet you, young maiden."
"Nice to meet you, too." I said and pretended to scratch my cheek, exposing my engagement ring to his gaze. His look didn't change. I sighed and got back to work. My boss, Nathan Douglas, guided Grabthar to his desk.
"Now, I'll leave you to your work. The spreadsheet has already been filtered so the most delinquent accounts are at the top. I look forward to hearing your progress." Nathan glided out of the office.
It wasn't long before I heard the phone being picked up.
"Yes, I am Grabthar the Great of WP's accounts receivable department. I need to speak to your payable department. Thank you." His manner was surprisingly polite, even eager. They all started that way, of course.
"Yes, I am calling from WP. Your account is on credit hold as you have a balance of $5,123,098.01. It has been 6 months since we have last received payment from you, despite your repeated assurances that you will wire us the money. This deceit ends now. You will wire us a minimum payment of 25% of the outstanding balance today!"
His voice started to rise at the end, in excitement almost, like he was gearing up for a fight.
"By Odin, I care not for your silly excuses. You have promised us money for which you have not delivered in exchange for goods and services which we have delivered. This insulting behaviour ends now!"
There was a brief pause, his voice was louder now, not quite yelling, but anyone in the neighbouring offices could probably hear him through the drywall.
"By Thor's testicles I am tired of your lying!" He was in a full yell now, his feet were stomping on the floor. "IF YOU DO NOT SEND A WIRE TRANSFER BEFORE END OF BUSINESS, I SHALL VISIT YOUR OFFICES AND LAY WASTE TO EVERY DISHONEST HEATHEN INHABITING YOUR FOUL COMPANY. I WILL SLAY EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU AND RAPE AND PILLAGE YOUR ACCOUNTS PAYABLE DEPARTMENT, I WILL LAY WASTE TO YOUR BANK ACCOUNT, BUT ONLY TAKE THE AMOUNT OWED AND NOT ONE PENNY MORE BECAUSE I AM VIOLENT BUT I AM HONEST! THERE WILL BE WAR! DEATH! BLOOD! TRIUMPH! AND RUMPY PUMPY!"
He slammed his fists on the desk. By now, more than a few people were peering through the door into the office. I was staring at him too. There was silence of a few seconds. His eyes were wide open, his impressive biceps were pulsing heavily.
"Yes, thank you." He said calmly, suddenly. The volume and violence was gone. He fiddled with the mouse and was looking on his screen. We continued to stare at him in suspense. What was happening?
"Excellent, I have just received confirmation of your wire transfer. Yes, the full amount of $5,123,098.01. Yes, this will take your account off hold. Have a wonderful day and may you crush your enemies, see them driven before you and hear the lamentations of their women."
End
|
*Scene: a bloodthirsty barbarian running around a modern office swinging his axe all over the place. A male office worker approaches a woman in a cubicle.*
Man: What's going on?
Woman: Oh, it's the new guy from accounting. They say he's serious about cutting costs.
*The barbarian's axe cleaves into a desk and breaks something on it.*
Man: Maybe we should go to Staples. They have great office supplies at low prices.
Woman: And then we wouldn't have a bloodthirsty barbarian running around the office.
*The barbarian lets out a mighty scream and barely misses another worker.*
Man: Oof. Steve caught a lucky break.
Narrator: Great office supplies at low prices. Staples: That was easy(tm).
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
"Well, hello, Mary. This is Grabthar, our new accounts receivable clerk. He is being brought in to help with our more delinquent accounts."
I looked up from my computer screen, not that I was anxious to meet our new clerk. They were a dime a dozen here. You gotta have a thick skin in receivables, most people I met here didn't. I'd long lost bothering to remember their names. I was quite surprised when I saw Grabthar. He was close to seven feet tall, heavily muscled, wearing animal furs for clothes, his red hair was ragged and long, reaching well past his shoulders. He had an immensely thick beard that almost looked fake. He was a few feet away but he smelled of raw meat.
Grabthar nodded to me, his blue eyes shining in the way guys do when they meet a pretty woman for the first time. "Me Grabthar happy to meet you, young maiden."
"Nice to meet you, too." I said and pretended to scratch my cheek, exposing my engagement ring to his gaze. His look didn't change. I sighed and got back to work. My boss, Nathan Douglas, guided Grabthar to his desk.
"Now, I'll leave you to your work. The spreadsheet has already been filtered so the most delinquent accounts are at the top. I look forward to hearing your progress." Nathan glided out of the office.
It wasn't long before I heard the phone being picked up.
"Yes, I am Grabthar the Great of WP's accounts receivable department. I need to speak to your payable department. Thank you." His manner was surprisingly polite, even eager. They all started that way, of course.
"Yes, I am calling from WP. Your account is on credit hold as you have a balance of $5,123,098.01. It has been 6 months since we have last received payment from you, despite your repeated assurances that you will wire us the money. This deceit ends now. You will wire us a minimum payment of 25% of the outstanding balance today!"
His voice started to rise at the end, in excitement almost, like he was gearing up for a fight.
"By Odin, I care not for your silly excuses. You have promised us money for which you have not delivered in exchange for goods and services which we have delivered. This insulting behaviour ends now!"
There was a brief pause, his voice was louder now, not quite yelling, but anyone in the neighbouring offices could probably hear him through the drywall.
"By Thor's testicles I am tired of your lying!" He was in a full yell now, his feet were stomping on the floor. "IF YOU DO NOT SEND A WIRE TRANSFER BEFORE END OF BUSINESS, I SHALL VISIT YOUR OFFICES AND LAY WASTE TO EVERY DISHONEST HEATHEN INHABITING YOUR FOUL COMPANY. I WILL SLAY EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU AND RAPE AND PILLAGE YOUR ACCOUNTS PAYABLE DEPARTMENT, I WILL LAY WASTE TO YOUR BANK ACCOUNT, BUT ONLY TAKE THE AMOUNT OWED AND NOT ONE PENNY MORE BECAUSE I AM VIOLENT BUT I AM HONEST! THERE WILL BE WAR! DEATH! BLOOD! TRIUMPH! AND RUMPY PUMPY!"
He slammed his fists on the desk. By now, more than a few people were peering through the door into the office. I was staring at him too. There was silence of a few seconds. His eyes were wide open, his impressive biceps were pulsing heavily.
"Yes, thank you." He said calmly, suddenly. The volume and violence was gone. He fiddled with the mouse and was looking on his screen. We continued to stare at him in suspense. What was happening?
"Excellent, I have just received confirmation of your wire transfer. Yes, the full amount of $5,123,098.01. Yes, this will take your account off hold. Have a wonderful day and may you crush your enemies, see them driven before you and hear the lamentations of their women."
End
|
Office workers are generally not accustomed to threats of violence. They assume their workplace is safe, and violence cannot happen there. Many of these people haven't had to even consider a violent response since middle school. This false sense of security leads to reckless behavior. When confronted with a direct, real threat of violence to their person, they have no idea how to react.
The only reason I got my accounting degree is because the facility was terrified of me. Constantly. In my first year I got a F on an exam. I visited the professor in his office with my ax. I cleaved his desk in half and told him to change my grade to an A. He obviously hadn't been threatened with violence in decades, he wet his pants. He said he wouldn't change the grade with a whimper. I crushed his eye socket with the handle of my ax and held the blade to his neck. I told him if he didn't change the grade, I'd kill him. He didn't even struggle. He agreed to change the grade. As I left the office I told him I'd be back if he called the cops. I graduated with straight As only having to threaten a couple other professors and assaulting one more.
My first boss thought he was a tough guy. I'd see him try to physically intimidate my coworkers with his size and expressions. He would yell at people and call them names. I could not wait until he tried any of that with me. The day couldn't come fast enough. It was a Tuesday when came to my desk, threw down a copy of a report I submitted and asked if I was a "fucking retard". I smashed his jaw with my elbow. As he fell to the ground the look on his face was priceless. It was shock sprinkled with fear. I grabbed his hair and dragged him to the stairwell. I told him he needed to quit just before I tossed him down the stairs.
I took my ax to the meeting with HR. Missy was flabbergasted. She said, "You can't have a weapon in this office, I'm going to call security and they will escort you out. You're fired for assaulting Rob and for bringing that thing to this meeting"
I asked, "Where do you live?"
Missy said, "Excuse me?"
"Where do you live?" I asked slower this time
"That's none of your business", she spat as she dialed security.
I hung up her phone and said, "Well I just want to know the name of the place where it's ok for someone like you to threaten someone like me"
"I didn't threaten you", she was now living in Fear-land.
"You just threatened to fire me, to remove my livelihood. Without a job, without money I will starve. I will die. You have threatened my life. Every person who has threatened my life is now dead."
Missy tried to speak but terror stopped the words from coming out. She lunged for her phone, but I smashed it with my ax. I told her Rob fell down the stairs, I had nothing to do with it. I told her I was going back to work as I left her office.
Rob never came back to the office. I got his job and I'm on the fast track to be CFO. When people know for a fact that you can kill them and have a hint that you'd be willing to do it, they treat you different. Better.
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
"Well, hello, Mary. This is Grabthar, our new accounts receivable clerk. He is being brought in to help with our more delinquent accounts."
I looked up from my computer screen, not that I was anxious to meet our new clerk. They were a dime a dozen here. You gotta have a thick skin in receivables, most people I met here didn't. I'd long lost bothering to remember their names. I was quite surprised when I saw Grabthar. He was close to seven feet tall, heavily muscled, wearing animal furs for clothes, his red hair was ragged and long, reaching well past his shoulders. He had an immensely thick beard that almost looked fake. He was a few feet away but he smelled of raw meat.
Grabthar nodded to me, his blue eyes shining in the way guys do when they meet a pretty woman for the first time. "Me Grabthar happy to meet you, young maiden."
"Nice to meet you, too." I said and pretended to scratch my cheek, exposing my engagement ring to his gaze. His look didn't change. I sighed and got back to work. My boss, Nathan Douglas, guided Grabthar to his desk.
"Now, I'll leave you to your work. The spreadsheet has already been filtered so the most delinquent accounts are at the top. I look forward to hearing your progress." Nathan glided out of the office.
It wasn't long before I heard the phone being picked up.
"Yes, I am Grabthar the Great of WP's accounts receivable department. I need to speak to your payable department. Thank you." His manner was surprisingly polite, even eager. They all started that way, of course.
"Yes, I am calling from WP. Your account is on credit hold as you have a balance of $5,123,098.01. It has been 6 months since we have last received payment from you, despite your repeated assurances that you will wire us the money. This deceit ends now. You will wire us a minimum payment of 25% of the outstanding balance today!"
His voice started to rise at the end, in excitement almost, like he was gearing up for a fight.
"By Odin, I care not for your silly excuses. You have promised us money for which you have not delivered in exchange for goods and services which we have delivered. This insulting behaviour ends now!"
There was a brief pause, his voice was louder now, not quite yelling, but anyone in the neighbouring offices could probably hear him through the drywall.
"By Thor's testicles I am tired of your lying!" He was in a full yell now, his feet were stomping on the floor. "IF YOU DO NOT SEND A WIRE TRANSFER BEFORE END OF BUSINESS, I SHALL VISIT YOUR OFFICES AND LAY WASTE TO EVERY DISHONEST HEATHEN INHABITING YOUR FOUL COMPANY. I WILL SLAY EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU AND RAPE AND PILLAGE YOUR ACCOUNTS PAYABLE DEPARTMENT, I WILL LAY WASTE TO YOUR BANK ACCOUNT, BUT ONLY TAKE THE AMOUNT OWED AND NOT ONE PENNY MORE BECAUSE I AM VIOLENT BUT I AM HONEST! THERE WILL BE WAR! DEATH! BLOOD! TRIUMPH! AND RUMPY PUMPY!"
He slammed his fists on the desk. By now, more than a few people were peering through the door into the office. I was staring at him too. There was silence of a few seconds. His eyes were wide open, his impressive biceps were pulsing heavily.
"Yes, thank you." He said calmly, suddenly. The volume and violence was gone. He fiddled with the mouse and was looking on his screen. We continued to stare at him in suspense. What was happening?
"Excellent, I have just received confirmation of your wire transfer. Yes, the full amount of $5,123,098.01. Yes, this will take your account off hold. Have a wonderful day and may you crush your enemies, see them driven before you and hear the lamentations of their women."
End
|
"YOU HAVE HUMILIATED ME FOR THE LA-" I stopped mid speech, once again the entire office had their eyes on me, quietly I sat back down in my tiny chair and re-adjusted my tie
*Thy suffering is for Sara* I muttered to myself, re-organizing my desk. I could see my boss smirking, in all his small weak frame I could see how much he enjoyed seeing me accidently firing myself.
"I wouldn't do that unless you wanted to be fired again Urgthar" he sneered, before turning out to leave. "You wouldn't want your probational officer finding out you still have anger issues would you?"
"No boss." I muttered quietly, reshuffling my papers to pretend I had something to do.
It has been 3 years since I was released from prison, and 8 years since I entered this realm. When I had arrived I was so confused, the world I had once known of violence and glory was replaced by monotonous office work and promotions. The police arrested me for attacking a few people and inciting a panic and bad behaviour didn't shorten my sentence.
"Urgthar!" Screeched my senior. I jolted at the shriek emanating from that harpy's mouth. "Stop day dreaming and get back to work!"
*Do it for Sara, do it for Sara*
A quick glance to the woman in the photo on my desk calmed me down, she taught me how to live in this world. If this is what you call living, she calmed me down long enough to get off on good behaviour and gave me her hearth for warmth. I have much to thank her for.
I go back to work. Another three hours and I will be free of these chains. This world where you waste your life away for 8 day hours when you could be out there exploring the world and fighting for glory. All my achievements, my family, my castle, my strength all means nothing in this world.
In this world, I am nothing.
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
"Kronk want grande chai tea latte, 3 pump, skim milk, lite water, no foam, extra hot in a big cup to go. Make sure to only half fill." The Starbucks attendant sighed. standing before of her was Kronk the gregarious. Local accountant for one of the largest firms in New York. "Would you like your straw today, Kronk? Extra metallic?"
Rubbing his large fingers on his bearded chin, Kronk shook his head. "No thanks. Just what Kronk ask for please. Kronk very cranky. Big boss meeting, need much energy. No time for sippy."
Her hands moved quickly, running through a practiced routine, pouring and filling and measuring, then re-measuring and pumping then finally adding the finishing touches. "There you go, Kronk. One tea to go. Hope your day isn't like yesterday" she said, a grimace playing on her face.
"If Kronk lucky, it be better." he said as he grinned, showing off his rotting yellowed teeth. It contrasted horribly with his trimmed and tailored grey suit with a maroon tie set against a pure white shirt, freshly pressed. His muscles bulged underneath, fighting to get free. On his back sat two incredibly large axe's. twice the size of the Starbucks barista before him. Tiny flecks of red sat on the sharp keen edges that looked lovingly cared after. Leather bound handles smelling of heavy earth and sweat wrapped around long oaken stakes to hold it together.
The barista couldn't help but sigh again, wistfully as Kronk stomped off.
She nice, Kronk thought. Maybe me take back to cave tonight after great meeting victory over 'boss'.
One large gulp later, and the tea was gone. Too cold, he thought. Must ask for hotter.
_____________________
A dull buzzing came from the fan that was blowing hot air just next to Kronk as he sat in a chair at least five times too small for him. Sweat poured down his chiseled face, filling his collar with it, turning the freshly pressed white linen grey. Opposite him was his boss. A small stout man with a mustache far too big for his small rotund face that jiggled as the fan blew air into it on it's rotation.
"Well now, Kronk." He said, fixing his small glasses as he spoke. "It's time for your performance review." Kronk gulped while twisting his large rough thumbs around each other. "Yes, sir. Kronk ready for great review. Kronk thinks he has worked very hard this year."
Kronk's boss cleared his throat and tapped a thick wad of papers that he had in his hands on the desk. "Yes.. good.." he said, his eyes squinting as they looked up and down Kronk's figure. What wrong? thought Kronk, maybe hair mussed up by fan? Kronk lathered his hand in spit and furiously matted down his long flowing mane of gloriously golden brown hair, sticking it to his skull. Making a noise of disgust, Kronk's boss continued. "As I was saying.. your performance review - well.. it's.. It's not good."
Kronk's mouth upturned, twisting slightly. "Sir?" Taking off his glasses Kronk's boss sighed. "Well.. it's just.. I don't think, even with your years in college and university that our firm is.. suited for you, Kronk. This set of results I have here of your performance is reports from YESTERDAY. The rest of them.." Kronk's boss looked to the side of the room where a mountain of box's sat against the wall, towering to the ceiling casting a shadow that ran the length of the room and back again. "Why, just yesterday you threatened Robert McKinley, one of our largest clients with, and I quote 'stuffing his own throat down his arse so far he'll be swallowing his own shit for years to come.'" Kronk laughed, his voice booming across the small wooden paneled room. "Oh, yes! That was great day for Kronk! Got much signings and much tax returns for Mr Robert. He refused to help fill in his forms proper but I made sure it was good and well." His face splitting in half with the large disgusting grin made Kronk's boss pause for just a moment.
"Yes, well.. Shortly after Mr McKinley came into my office and canceled all future contracts with our firm." Kronk's grin faltered, replaced with a dark turn of the mouth and short angry breaths as his face reddened. "Kronk will win back contract! Even if he must ki-" Kronk's boss slammed his fist on the table, interrupting the Barbarians train of thought. "You will do no such think, Kronk! How many times must I tell you?! NO KILLING THE CLIENTS. NO KILLING THE CO-WORKERS. AND CERTAINLY NO KILLING THE POLICE WHO QUESTION YOU.
Silence filled the room as Kronk sat back, his chair groaning with pressure, deflating. "But.. boss.. Kronk only want to account good. Kronk good with numbers. Tax is beaten before Kronk's mighty chest and pen!"
Making a steeple with his fingers, Kronk's boss looked the Barbarian in the eye. "Kronk, there's no easy way to say this. I could keep you here all day telling you that chopping your colleague in half and bathing in their blood because they filled a form in is wrong, or killing a clients pet dog because it dishonored you by peeing on your car is not acceptable. Hell. Even though we all cheered, killing an IRS auditor is simply NOT acceptable!"
Kronk sunk further, somehow, his chair lowering it's self impossibly. "What Kronk's boss mean?"
Sighing, Kronk's boss stood up and walked to the man sized window and stared out at the city before him. Then, puffing up he turned. "Kronk. You're fired. Clear your desk by the end of today. I'll personally bring you your pay check then."
Kronk sat, a shadow passing his face as his boss continued to drone on about the minutiae of the firing process. Kronk.. fired? He thought as the world seemed to drop out from beneath his large fur lined boots. "Kronk.. not fired.. Kronk.. FIRE.. YOU!!" he said as he launched himself across the small wooden desk, ripping his shirt off showing his waxed and shiny sheen hairless chest to the world before grabbing his boss and lifting him into the air, effortlessly.
"Now now, Kronk" his boss said, gasping for air as Kronk's grip tightened. "Let's not.. get.. too.. tes...ty.." A vein pulsed on Kronk's forehead, an evil purple looking snake that twitched and boiled. "Kronk not testy. Kronk now boss of firm. Kronk say, you fired!" Before he knew it, Kronk's axe was in his hand, an extension of his self. It smashed the window he stood at effortlessly. Kronk moved forward, hanging his former boss out the window. "Kronk.. PLEASE!" he gasped, his face now turning a deep shade of blue. "I.. TRIED.. TO.. HELP... YOU..."
Kronk thought for a moment, a great effort as the rage flowed through his blood, blinding him to the gorgeous view of skyscrapers lined against the blue horizon.
"You.. did hire Kronk when no else would.. Kronk.. thanks you. Kronk also wants you to know, that Kronk is bestest worker at firm and will take good care of it."
"KROOOOOOOOOO^ooonnn^kkkkk^k....."
_________________________
"Yes sir. Please take a seat, our CEO will see you momentarily."
Tired of waiting, Robert McKinley stormed past the small diminutive secretary and slammed the door to the office open.
"How dare you call me back here after what your stupid buffoon did.. to..
me...
..."
"Hello, Kronk."
Sitting in a lavishly blue furred suit, lined with gold and silver trimmings, a blood red tie dashing against his bare chest, Kronk was reclining in a large overly ornate chair, covered in bear furs and other illegal-to-kill and possibly now extinct animals.
Draped across one of the large golden arms was a small lady wearing a Starbucks uniform, filing her nails looking bored.
"Hello Mr Robert. Please, take a seat. This won't take long at all."
|
"YOU HAVE HUMILIATED ME FOR THE LA-" I stopped mid speech, once again the entire office had their eyes on me, quietly I sat back down in my tiny chair and re-adjusted my tie
*Thy suffering is for Sara* I muttered to myself, re-organizing my desk. I could see my boss smirking, in all his small weak frame I could see how much he enjoyed seeing me accidently firing myself.
"I wouldn't do that unless you wanted to be fired again Urgthar" he sneered, before turning out to leave. "You wouldn't want your probational officer finding out you still have anger issues would you?"
"No boss." I muttered quietly, reshuffling my papers to pretend I had something to do.
It has been 3 years since I was released from prison, and 8 years since I entered this realm. When I had arrived I was so confused, the world I had once known of violence and glory was replaced by monotonous office work and promotions. The police arrested me for attacking a few people and inciting a panic and bad behaviour didn't shorten my sentence.
"Urgthar!" Screeched my senior. I jolted at the shriek emanating from that harpy's mouth. "Stop day dreaming and get back to work!"
*Do it for Sara, do it for Sara*
A quick glance to the woman in the photo on my desk calmed me down, she taught me how to live in this world. If this is what you call living, she calmed me down long enough to get off on good behaviour and gave me her hearth for warmth. I have much to thank her for.
I go back to work. Another three hours and I will be free of these chains. This world where you waste your life away for 8 day hours when you could be out there exploring the world and fighting for glory. All my achievements, my family, my castle, my strength all means nothing in this world.
In this world, I am nothing.
|
|
[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
"So, you're the new intern, eh?" asked Ted, straightening his tie. "Well don't worry, what you're going to do here isn't all that tricky, I'll have you prepped in no time."
"Alright," smiled Jessica brightly. "So should we start wi-"
"TED! WHERE ARE FORMS!?" came a bellow from another room.
"I'll have them in a minute, Korlak!" Ted yelled back.
"WHAT!? WHAT IS CAUSE OF DELAY!?" the voice roared back. A hulking blond man of massive proportions walked into Ted's office, his muscles somehow barely stuffed into the largest suit Jessica had ever seen.
As he walked into the room, he locked eyes with Jessica and calmed down immediately.
"Who is girl?" Korlak asked.
"New intern," said Ted, not even looking up from his screen. "I'm training her."
"Ahhhh..." Korlok continued, nodding his understanding. "Teaching new mind of powers of accounting. You are true brother of Telecom Corp!"
"Sure, sure," nodded Ted, barely paying attention. "I'll see you in Valhalla or whatever."
Korlok walked away, beaming, and nodded at Jessica as he left. She stared back, horrified.
"Hey, you want to get something to eat first?" said Ted.
Thousands of miles away, one God turned to another and said "See? I *told* you Ted was interested in Valhalla!"
|
"YOU HAVE HUMILIATED ME FOR THE LA-" I stopped mid speech, once again the entire office had their eyes on me, quietly I sat back down in my tiny chair and re-adjusted my tie
*Thy suffering is for Sara* I muttered to myself, re-organizing my desk. I could see my boss smirking, in all his small weak frame I could see how much he enjoyed seeing me accidently firing myself.
"I wouldn't do that unless you wanted to be fired again Urgthar" he sneered, before turning out to leave. "You wouldn't want your probational officer finding out you still have anger issues would you?"
"No boss." I muttered quietly, reshuffling my papers to pretend I had something to do.
It has been 3 years since I was released from prison, and 8 years since I entered this realm. When I had arrived I was so confused, the world I had once known of violence and glory was replaced by monotonous office work and promotions. The police arrested me for attacking a few people and inciting a panic and bad behaviour didn't shorten my sentence.
"Urgthar!" Screeched my senior. I jolted at the shriek emanating from that harpy's mouth. "Stop day dreaming and get back to work!"
*Do it for Sara, do it for Sara*
A quick glance to the woman in the photo on my desk calmed me down, she taught me how to live in this world. If this is what you call living, she calmed me down long enough to get off on good behaviour and gave me her hearth for warmth. I have much to thank her for.
I go back to work. Another three hours and I will be free of these chains. This world where you waste your life away for 8 day hours when you could be out there exploring the world and fighting for glory. All my achievements, my family, my castle, my strength all means nothing in this world.
In this world, I am nothing.
|
|
[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
|
"Kronk want grande chai tea latte, 3 pump, skim milk, lite water, no foam, extra hot in a big cup to go. Make sure to only half fill." The Starbucks attendant sighed. standing before of her was Kronk the gregarious. Local accountant for one of the largest firms in New York. "Would you like your straw today, Kronk? Extra metallic?"
Rubbing his large fingers on his bearded chin, Kronk shook his head. "No thanks. Just what Kronk ask for please. Kronk very cranky. Big boss meeting, need much energy. No time for sippy."
Her hands moved quickly, running through a practiced routine, pouring and filling and measuring, then re-measuring and pumping then finally adding the finishing touches. "There you go, Kronk. One tea to go. Hope your day isn't like yesterday" she said, a grimace playing on her face.
"If Kronk lucky, it be better." he said as he grinned, showing off his rotting yellowed teeth. It contrasted horribly with his trimmed and tailored grey suit with a maroon tie set against a pure white shirt, freshly pressed. His muscles bulged underneath, fighting to get free. On his back sat two incredibly large axe's. twice the size of the Starbucks barista before him. Tiny flecks of red sat on the sharp keen edges that looked lovingly cared after. Leather bound handles smelling of heavy earth and sweat wrapped around long oaken stakes to hold it together.
The barista couldn't help but sigh again, wistfully as Kronk stomped off.
She nice, Kronk thought. Maybe me take back to cave tonight after great meeting victory over 'boss'.
One large gulp later, and the tea was gone. Too cold, he thought. Must ask for hotter.
_____________________
A dull buzzing came from the fan that was blowing hot air just next to Kronk as he sat in a chair at least five times too small for him. Sweat poured down his chiseled face, filling his collar with it, turning the freshly pressed white linen grey. Opposite him was his boss. A small stout man with a mustache far too big for his small rotund face that jiggled as the fan blew air into it on it's rotation.
"Well now, Kronk." He said, fixing his small glasses as he spoke. "It's time for your performance review." Kronk gulped while twisting his large rough thumbs around each other. "Yes, sir. Kronk ready for great review. Kronk thinks he has worked very hard this year."
Kronk's boss cleared his throat and tapped a thick wad of papers that he had in his hands on the desk. "Yes.. good.." he said, his eyes squinting as they looked up and down Kronk's figure. What wrong? thought Kronk, maybe hair mussed up by fan? Kronk lathered his hand in spit and furiously matted down his long flowing mane of gloriously golden brown hair, sticking it to his skull. Making a noise of disgust, Kronk's boss continued. "As I was saying.. your performance review - well.. it's.. It's not good."
Kronk's mouth upturned, twisting slightly. "Sir?" Taking off his glasses Kronk's boss sighed. "Well.. it's just.. I don't think, even with your years in college and university that our firm is.. suited for you, Kronk. This set of results I have here of your performance is reports from YESTERDAY. The rest of them.." Kronk's boss looked to the side of the room where a mountain of box's sat against the wall, towering to the ceiling casting a shadow that ran the length of the room and back again. "Why, just yesterday you threatened Robert McKinley, one of our largest clients with, and I quote 'stuffing his own throat down his arse so far he'll be swallowing his own shit for years to come.'" Kronk laughed, his voice booming across the small wooden paneled room. "Oh, yes! That was great day for Kronk! Got much signings and much tax returns for Mr Robert. He refused to help fill in his forms proper but I made sure it was good and well." His face splitting in half with the large disgusting grin made Kronk's boss pause for just a moment.
"Yes, well.. Shortly after Mr McKinley came into my office and canceled all future contracts with our firm." Kronk's grin faltered, replaced with a dark turn of the mouth and short angry breaths as his face reddened. "Kronk will win back contract! Even if he must ki-" Kronk's boss slammed his fist on the table, interrupting the Barbarians train of thought. "You will do no such think, Kronk! How many times must I tell you?! NO KILLING THE CLIENTS. NO KILLING THE CO-WORKERS. AND CERTAINLY NO KILLING THE POLICE WHO QUESTION YOU.
Silence filled the room as Kronk sat back, his chair groaning with pressure, deflating. "But.. boss.. Kronk only want to account good. Kronk good with numbers. Tax is beaten before Kronk's mighty chest and pen!"
Making a steeple with his fingers, Kronk's boss looked the Barbarian in the eye. "Kronk, there's no easy way to say this. I could keep you here all day telling you that chopping your colleague in half and bathing in their blood because they filled a form in is wrong, or killing a clients pet dog because it dishonored you by peeing on your car is not acceptable. Hell. Even though we all cheered, killing an IRS auditor is simply NOT acceptable!"
Kronk sunk further, somehow, his chair lowering it's self impossibly. "What Kronk's boss mean?"
Sighing, Kronk's boss stood up and walked to the man sized window and stared out at the city before him. Then, puffing up he turned. "Kronk. You're fired. Clear your desk by the end of today. I'll personally bring you your pay check then."
Kronk sat, a shadow passing his face as his boss continued to drone on about the minutiae of the firing process. Kronk.. fired? He thought as the world seemed to drop out from beneath his large fur lined boots. "Kronk.. not fired.. Kronk.. FIRE.. YOU!!" he said as he launched himself across the small wooden desk, ripping his shirt off showing his waxed and shiny sheen hairless chest to the world before grabbing his boss and lifting him into the air, effortlessly.
"Now now, Kronk" his boss said, gasping for air as Kronk's grip tightened. "Let's not.. get.. too.. tes...ty.." A vein pulsed on Kronk's forehead, an evil purple looking snake that twitched and boiled. "Kronk not testy. Kronk now boss of firm. Kronk say, you fired!" Before he knew it, Kronk's axe was in his hand, an extension of his self. It smashed the window he stood at effortlessly. Kronk moved forward, hanging his former boss out the window. "Kronk.. PLEASE!" he gasped, his face now turning a deep shade of blue. "I.. TRIED.. TO.. HELP... YOU..."
Kronk thought for a moment, a great effort as the rage flowed through his blood, blinding him to the gorgeous view of skyscrapers lined against the blue horizon.
"You.. did hire Kronk when no else would.. Kronk.. thanks you. Kronk also wants you to know, that Kronk is bestest worker at firm and will take good care of it."
"KROOOOOOOOOO^ooonnn^kkkkk^k....."
_________________________
"Yes sir. Please take a seat, our CEO will see you momentarily."
Tired of waiting, Robert McKinley stormed past the small diminutive secretary and slammed the door to the office open.
"How dare you call me back here after what your stupid buffoon did.. to..
me...
..."
"Hello, Kronk."
Sitting in a lavishly blue furred suit, lined with gold and silver trimmings, a blood red tie dashing against his bare chest, Kronk was reclining in a large overly ornate chair, covered in bear furs and other illegal-to-kill and possibly now extinct animals.
Draped across one of the large golden arms was a small lady wearing a Starbucks uniform, filing her nails looking bored.
"Hello Mr Robert. Please, take a seat. This won't take long at all."
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"Morning, Mr. Grarf," said Kim, my secretary, as she entered my room with a cup of coffee. Her yellow blouse made her smile seem even brighter.
"What this?" I said, pushing a stack of papers across my wide oak table to her. Hearing a soft ripping sound, I froze and retracted my arm. My clothes were already stretched to tearing point around my chest and biceps. Seven-thousand-dollar custom-made suits were a hefty expense, especially when one ruined at least three of them on a weekly basis.
Her smile faltered a little. "Uh, Kylie said these are the management accounts for the previous financial quarter."
I slammed a fist on the table. "Too many long word!"
She jumped. "Sorry! Revenues and expenses for the last three months."
When would those people ever learn? Tearing my axe free from the table, I clove the stack into two. Kim took a step back as scraps of paper were flung into the air from the force. Leaving the handle to quiver, blade embedded in the wood, I grabbed a fistful of the report, stalked around the table and shoved it into her arms.
"You tell Kylie," I said. "No crayons, no read report! Grarf like crayon. Grarf no like Excel!"
Nodding furiously, she rushed out of the room. Outside my office, some of the employees were staring, wide-eyed. Likely the newer recruits. The regulars barely twitched.
I went back to my desk and shoved the rest of the paper to the floor. Kim or someone else would come by to clean up later. Why, I could never figure out. Did people sweep a battlefield of its corpses, wipe away the blood, bury the rot?
No! Let the carnage stand as a testament of glorious combat, I'd told them. Let the office floor be carpeted by the refuse of our work! But no, even the directors had agreed with the old cleaning lady.
"Much paper make much mess," Ama had said, waving a broom in my face. "I need clean. Not you. So mess."
Maybe they were afraid of her. Rumor had it that she was a dragon.
Lille had agreed with her almost readily. "Grarf, when our clients visit us, do you honestly want them to say 'Holy crap, is Arcane Solutions Inc. too poor to buy a shredder?' Because that's how we lose clients," she'd said, pouting, arms crossed beneath her breasts so that they almost spilled out of her low-cut blouse.
What did she know, that stupid cow? Did she think she could boss me around just because she was head of marketing?
"Earns pay for nothing," I grumbled as I polished my axe. "No even have market inside office. No goat, no vegetables, no armor stall. 'Marketing' Grarf's ass."
"What're you muttering about?" said a cheerful voice.
Rasputin was leaning against my trophy wall of helmets and skulls, a doughnut in his hand. He had straw-colored hair and a perpetual smirk that I'd fantasized slicing off with my axe more than once.
"Go away," I said. "Why you here? Thought directors go Asia. For busi—biz—busy—work."
He shrugged and took a bite of his pastry. Why man eat sweet pastry instead of meat and mead? "Someone needs to keep an eye on you idiots. 'specially you. Just 'cause you're head of accounting doesn't give you the right—"
"Grarf like crayon!" I roared.
Coming to stand in front of my table, he said sternly, "—to authorize the construction of a longboat for personal use."
I groaned. How could they have found out if I'd used Alex's computer? Maybe Kim had made a typo somewhere.
"Me no part in that," I mumbled.
He was bouncing my axe in a single hand. "You signed the authorization forms, you dimwit. Oops!"
The axe clanged onto my table. With a snarl, I grabbed it before he could pick it up, and said, "Did you know that forty-six percent of barbarian infant mortality cases can be attributed to irresponsible handling of a battle-axe by either parent or the guardian, and is absolutely preventable? If unsure of how to—you hear that?"
Rasputin cocked his ear. "You're right."
I frowned. "Pop. Pop. Pop. Is sound like—"
The director paled. "Guns."
Suddenly, the glass entrance across the office shattered. Armed men with rifles charged in, firing indiscriminately. Our employees began to scream and run, but many of them were mowed down before they could even make a move.
"Who are they?" I shouted, hefting my axe.
"Corporate rivals." Rasputin's eyes were glowing with red light. "I'll inform the rest of the directors. Protect our people!"
Bellowing a war cry, I charged out of my office, tearing through the flimsy cubicle walls and desks. One of the men had leaped onto a table, firing at one of the manager's offices. As I neared him, I swung my axe with mighty force. The blade sheared through his knees, and he fell with a scream.
"Only red in this ledger!" I roared.
Another gunman swung his rifle toward me, but before he could fire, I hurled my axe at him. "Accounts receivable!" I shouted. The weapon buried itself in his skull.
Unarmed, but overcome with bloodlust, I barreled into another pair of intruders. My punch shattered one man's jaw, while his fellow drove the butt of his rifle into my face. His look of triumph turned to horror when I barely reacted to the blow. Instead, I grabbed him in my arms and began to squeeze. My sleeves tore at the seams, but I didn't care.
"You hurt my people?" I said. "I balance your accounts!"
There was a loud crack, and he went limp. Dropping him, I picked the other attacker up and crushed his skull between my hands.
"You can call my methods ... ac-cruel," I said.
"Freeze, asshole," the last of the attackers said, gun aimed at my head. Lowering my head, I prepared to charge, but a wave of invisible energy slammed into him and threw him across the office.
Lille sauntered over to me, hands outstretched, broad smile on her face.
"Cover up! Have you no decency, you harridan," I said to her chest.
"You're welcome." Her expression turned grim as she surveyed the damage to the office. Moans of pain came from all around us. Spotting a familiar face nearby, I hurried over to Kim, who was curled up with a bloody wound on her stomach. She was gasping in pain.
"Need help here," I said.
"The other directors will be here shortly," Rasputin said. He was perched on a nearby table, licking blood-stained fingers. "She'll be fine. Tristan will heal her."
"Wouldn't want to be the insurance team after today," Lille said.
I groaned, thinking of the numbers and forms that were sure to come my way.
"This is a serious matter, however," Rasputin said. He nodded toward the head of product development standing nearby with a huge broadsword resting against his shoulder. "Otis told me what they were after."
"What? They didn't get to our servers in time," Lille said.
He shook his head. "They took Ama. Knocked her out with some kinda spell and carted her away. Somehow they figured out she's Amadrakaris. God only knows what they want with a dragon."
***
*I have more stories at [The Nonsense Locker](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker). Come visit!*
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
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"So, you're the new intern, eh?" asked Ted, straightening his tie. "Well don't worry, what you're going to do here isn't all that tricky, I'll have you prepped in no time."
"Alright," smiled Jessica brightly. "So should we start wi-"
"TED! WHERE ARE FORMS!?" came a bellow from another room.
"I'll have them in a minute, Korlak!" Ted yelled back.
"WHAT!? WHAT IS CAUSE OF DELAY!?" the voice roared back. A hulking blond man of massive proportions walked into Ted's office, his muscles somehow barely stuffed into the largest suit Jessica had ever seen.
As he walked into the room, he locked eyes with Jessica and calmed down immediately.
"Who is girl?" Korlak asked.
"New intern," said Ted, not even looking up from his screen. "I'm training her."
"Ahhhh..." Korlok continued, nodding his understanding. "Teaching new mind of powers of accounting. You are true brother of Telecom Corp!"
"Sure, sure," nodded Ted, barely paying attention. "I'll see you in Valhalla or whatever."
Korlok walked away, beaming, and nodded at Jessica as he left. She stared back, horrified.
"Hey, you want to get something to eat first?" said Ted.
Thousands of miles away, one God turned to another and said "See? I *told* you Ted was interested in Valhalla!"
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"Morning, Mr. Grarf," said Kim, my secretary, as she entered my room with a cup of coffee. Her yellow blouse made her smile seem even brighter.
"What this?" I said, pushing a stack of papers across my wide oak table to her. Hearing a soft ripping sound, I froze and retracted my arm. My clothes were already stretched to tearing point around my chest and biceps. Seven-thousand-dollar custom-made suits were a hefty expense, especially when one ruined at least three of them on a weekly basis.
Her smile faltered a little. "Uh, Kylie said these are the management accounts for the previous financial quarter."
I slammed a fist on the table. "Too many long word!"
She jumped. "Sorry! Revenues and expenses for the last three months."
When would those people ever learn? Tearing my axe free from the table, I clove the stack into two. Kim took a step back as scraps of paper were flung into the air from the force. Leaving the handle to quiver, blade embedded in the wood, I grabbed a fistful of the report, stalked around the table and shoved it into her arms.
"You tell Kylie," I said. "No crayons, no read report! Grarf like crayon. Grarf no like Excel!"
Nodding furiously, she rushed out of the room. Outside my office, some of the employees were staring, wide-eyed. Likely the newer recruits. The regulars barely twitched.
I went back to my desk and shoved the rest of the paper to the floor. Kim or someone else would come by to clean up later. Why, I could never figure out. Did people sweep a battlefield of its corpses, wipe away the blood, bury the rot?
No! Let the carnage stand as a testament of glorious combat, I'd told them. Let the office floor be carpeted by the refuse of our work! But no, even the directors had agreed with the old cleaning lady.
"Much paper make much mess," Ama had said, waving a broom in my face. "I need clean. Not you. So mess."
Maybe they were afraid of her. Rumor had it that she was a dragon.
Lille had agreed with her almost readily. "Grarf, when our clients visit us, do you honestly want them to say 'Holy crap, is Arcane Solutions Inc. too poor to buy a shredder?' Because that's how we lose clients," she'd said, pouting, arms crossed beneath her breasts so that they almost spilled out of her low-cut blouse.
What did she know, that stupid cow? Did she think she could boss me around just because she was head of marketing?
"Earns pay for nothing," I grumbled as I polished my axe. "No even have market inside office. No goat, no vegetables, no armor stall. 'Marketing' Grarf's ass."
"What're you muttering about?" said a cheerful voice.
Rasputin was leaning against my trophy wall of helmets and skulls, a doughnut in his hand. He had straw-colored hair and a perpetual smirk that I'd fantasized slicing off with my axe more than once.
"Go away," I said. "Why you here? Thought directors go Asia. For busi—biz—busy—work."
He shrugged and took a bite of his pastry. Why man eat sweet pastry instead of meat and mead? "Someone needs to keep an eye on you idiots. 'specially you. Just 'cause you're head of accounting doesn't give you the right—"
"Grarf like crayon!" I roared.
Coming to stand in front of my table, he said sternly, "—to authorize the construction of a longboat for personal use."
I groaned. How could they have found out if I'd used Alex's computer? Maybe Kim had made a typo somewhere.
"Me no part in that," I mumbled.
He was bouncing my axe in a single hand. "You signed the authorization forms, you dimwit. Oops!"
The axe clanged onto my table. With a snarl, I grabbed it before he could pick it up, and said, "Did you know that forty-six percent of barbarian infant mortality cases can be attributed to irresponsible handling of a battle-axe by either parent or the guardian, and is absolutely preventable? If unsure of how to—you hear that?"
Rasputin cocked his ear. "You're right."
I frowned. "Pop. Pop. Pop. Is sound like—"
The director paled. "Guns."
Suddenly, the glass entrance across the office shattered. Armed men with rifles charged in, firing indiscriminately. Our employees began to scream and run, but many of them were mowed down before they could even make a move.
"Who are they?" I shouted, hefting my axe.
"Corporate rivals." Rasputin's eyes were glowing with red light. "I'll inform the rest of the directors. Protect our people!"
Bellowing a war cry, I charged out of my office, tearing through the flimsy cubicle walls and desks. One of the men had leaped onto a table, firing at one of the manager's offices. As I neared him, I swung my axe with mighty force. The blade sheared through his knees, and he fell with a scream.
"Only red in this ledger!" I roared.
Another gunman swung his rifle toward me, but before he could fire, I hurled my axe at him. "Accounts receivable!" I shouted. The weapon buried itself in his skull.
Unarmed, but overcome with bloodlust, I barreled into another pair of intruders. My punch shattered one man's jaw, while his fellow drove the butt of his rifle into my face. His look of triumph turned to horror when I barely reacted to the blow. Instead, I grabbed him in my arms and began to squeeze. My sleeves tore at the seams, but I didn't care.
"You hurt my people?" I said. "I balance your accounts!"
There was a loud crack, and he went limp. Dropping him, I picked the other attacker up and crushed his skull between my hands.
"You can call my methods ... ac-cruel," I said.
"Freeze, asshole," the last of the attackers said, gun aimed at my head. Lowering my head, I prepared to charge, but a wave of invisible energy slammed into him and threw him across the office.
Lille sauntered over to me, hands outstretched, broad smile on her face.
"Cover up! Have you no decency, you harridan," I said to her chest.
"You're welcome." Her expression turned grim as she surveyed the damage to the office. Moans of pain came from all around us. Spotting a familiar face nearby, I hurried over to Kim, who was curled up with a bloody wound on her stomach. She was gasping in pain.
"Need help here," I said.
"The other directors will be here shortly," Rasputin said. He was perched on a nearby table, licking blood-stained fingers. "She'll be fine. Tristan will heal her."
"Wouldn't want to be the insurance team after today," Lille said.
I groaned, thinking of the numbers and forms that were sure to come my way.
"This is a serious matter, however," Rasputin said. He nodded toward the head of product development standing nearby with a huge broadsword resting against his shoulder. "Otis told me what they were after."
"What? They didn't get to our servers in time," Lille said.
He shook his head. "They took Ama. Knocked her out with some kinda spell and carted her away. Somehow they figured out she's Amadrakaris. God only knows what they want with a dragon."
***
*I have more stories at [The Nonsense Locker](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker). Come visit!*
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[WP] You are a bloodthirsty, battle-axe wielding barbarian. You work for a multinational corporation, in the accounting department.
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At 5 PM, Lothrak shut off his computer monitor and stood up, sending his braided beard tumbling down. He nodded to Ted in the cubicle next to him. "Farewell, Ted of the Accounting Department!" he shouted, thumping his chest with a closed fist in what must have been some kind of Viking farewell tradition or something. Lothrak's ways had been both confusing and amusing when he first started as an accountant at Sullivan and Morrison, but that was more than two years ago. Now, Ted just waved goodbye without even looking up from his own spreadsheets.
Lothrak made his way down to the lobby and greeted Linda of the Security Desk. They chatted a bit about the latest hockey game, which Lothrak had recently discovered and quickly grew to love. Then Linda gave Lothrak his battleax back; he wasn't allowed to bring it into the building, of course, so he had to leave it at security every morning. As always, Lothrak tenderly ran a finger over the delicate runes on the handle to make sure that it was undamaged. "A man is only as good as his ax," he'd always tell his coworkers (none of whom owned axes). They mostly ignored him, though secretly Dale from pricing had gone out and bought a hatchet to keep under his bed.
Taxis honked and people chattered and the subway clacked under metal grates. It had taken Lothrak a very, very, very long time to get used to all of the hustle and bustle of New York City. Even now, years later, it was still *unfathomable* how large this city was. His own hamlet in Norway hadn't even had a population of one thousand back in 996 AD. And suddenly, here he was more than a thousand years later surrounded by *millions*! More than the stars in the sky.
Strangers gave him weird looks and went out of their way to avoid him. Even in the city of New York, where there is no such thing as too unusual, Lothrak got a wide berth. Maybe it was the fact that he was 6 foot 4, with bulging muscles and a long, blond beard that swung near his belt buckle. Maybe it was the fact that he only had four teeth left. Maybe it was that he still wore a leather jerkin and carried his battleax with him at all times. Whatever it was, even the crowded sidewalks of New York parted like the Red Sea when Lothrak came walking.
Lothrak raised one massive fist and thumped on the emergency door; it swung open a moment later. "Evenin', Lothrak!" The guards of the Museum of Natural History knew him well by now. At first, it had been as an attraction and medical marvel. Scientists had unfrozen Lothrak from the glacial crevice in Norway that he'd fallen into on a hunt, and had even been able to repair any tissue damage from the cold. He'd been put on display while the medical team studied him, and it was world news. People came from all over to see Lothrak, and his exhibit had to be carefully guarded, with one guard sitting in the exhibit with him at all times. So he'd gotten to know all the guards well during that time. That was also when he'd learned accounting. Some government agency had given a big grant to determine whether he was just as intelligent as a modern man, if given the right education. Turns out that he was!
But eventually the furor died down and the project ran out of funding. PETA's lawsuit against the Museum had successfully argued that keeping him as an exhibit was inhumane and cruel... so the Museum had been forced to kick him out of the only home he'd ever had in this city. With no credit history, social security number, or anything else like that, finding an apartment had been a hassle and he'd just been out on the streets. Instead the guards let him come by and visit and sleep in one of the back rooms. Derek, the head night watchman, would even sneak in some mead for Lothrak though there was no food or drink allowed. It was the least they could do for him.
Lothrak rested his ax against the wall of the longhouse in the 'Norse Village' exhibit. The whole thing had been designed based entirely on his memories, which were far more accurate than the relics that any archeological site could ever produce. Everything from the bearskin rugs to the stone hearth was just like home. And all around him was his family. Wax figures, of course, but sculpted to look like those that he remembered from the village. He had spent *hours* making sure that the artists got everything right. Every wrinkle on Gran's face. Every hair on his brother Madfen's beard. Every soft curve of his wife's face. And those clear blue eyes of his son, now more than a millennium dead.
"Good news!" Lothrak announced, taking his seat at the table alongside his wife. "I was assigned to work on the financials for a 'hostile takeover' today!" He broke open the bottle of mead and poured it into his goblet, then continued telling his family about his day and how a hostile takeover was certainly not as exciting as it sounded, but was at least a change of pace for him.
"Poor guy," Derek whispered to himself as he made his rounds past the Norse exhibit and heard Lothrak talking to his 'family.'
----
If you enjoy my writing, make sure that you subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for lots more!
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"Intern girl, bring me the files!" Codin yelled. A young woman scrambled into the room with a stack of files that she set upon Codin's desk. Then, as she had been taught to do, she backed away and bowed her head so that Codin would not perceive her as a threat.
"Heathen!" Codin yelled. "These files are not organized under the dewey decimal system! I should fight you in the ring of truth, where your blood will stain the ground with justice for your misdoings!"
"I'm really sorry," the young intern squeaked. "Please don't fire me. Jake says you can't fire me but also please don't kill me, I just brought you the files and —"
"Out!" yelled Codin. The girl scrambled away. Codin picked up his axe and began to sharpen it against a stone as he opened the first of the folders. He let out a mighty roar as he picked up a pencil and began to scribble in the margins of the page.
"TAX MAN," his voice boomed. "COME SPEAK TO ME THIS INSTANT."
Toby, largely in charge of corporate taxes and their not-so-legal offshore accounts, popped his head in.
"WHY IS 12% OF THE MONEY GONE?"
"Those are taxes, Codin. You remember we talked about taxes your first week here? We pay them to the government."
"The government!" Codin shouted. "I will slaughter them all until they pay *us* 12%."
"That's...that's not really how it works," Toby said.
"Shut up, Toby!" cried Codin. He stood, his loincloth hanging from his hips as he swung his axe over his shoulder. Every muscle in his body seemed to bulge, making the large office small in comparison. Toby had still not adjusted to the mere size of the barbarian. "I will go and find this government and get back our money! Their blood will spill from this land to the next. They will regret the day they ever crossed Codin!"
"No, Codin, we're *supposed* to pay them."
"Quiet! It is an insult to make us pay them. They must pay *us*. I will paint the city with their blood! I will tear their limbs from their bodies. I will —"
Toby held up a hand. "I understand. No more detail needed. Just...just go."
As the barbarian stomped off the manager of the department, Jake, slid up to Toby.
"They're going to fine us again, aren't they." It would be the fourth fine of the year. With luck Codin would be arrested for a few days and Jake would be able to get the office under control again. The manager considered how hard it must be to arrest a man like Codin. Jake imagined that Codin wasn't arrested more simply because the police officers feared him.
"Why don't you just fire him? He's awful at this. I don't think he even knows how to count."
Jake gave Toby a look. "Would *you* want to fire him?"
Toby tilted his head to one side. "Good point."
Edit: [Here's Part Two :)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4o155t/wp_you_are_a_bloodthirsty_battleaxe_wielding/d4912lv)
---
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please go check out /r/Celsius232
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[deleted]
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[WP] Alright guys let's get it all out. Describe the person you love. It can be poetry, prose, binary for all I care. Make me feel.
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Who is that raven which weeps in the night
But let's not the darkness define her
Who is that raven which has of love fright
And who hides so that it may not find her
Who is that crow who sees the nights tears
And yearns for that sorrowful raven
Who is that crow which takes away all the fears
And offers its wings as safe haven
Who is that raven which leaves it's own nest
And flies to escape winter cold
Who is that raven who seeks all the best
To find love and together grow old
Who is that crow who watches that flight
And admits that he'll never catch her
Who is that crow who endures winter's bite
And will always be there to patch her
Who is that crow who waits for his black dove
But fears she may never return
Who is that crow without his bird's love
Without whom his feelings adjourn
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I was completely oblivious to the feeling before I felt it. Love has a weird way of being everywhere. In movies, books and songs. It's everywhere at once and yet at the same time so impossible that when it hits you it's like it isn't you anymore. It isn't the same place anymore. The same pieces are all there only it's all completely and wonderfully different. That's how she made me feel. She made me feel like all the movies and songs and books all of our world's obsession with love wasn't just an understatement it was a complete undersell. The warmth in her smile, her eyes, her laugh. God her laugh, I swear her laugh remains the best sound I've heard. It's almost unfair to try to describe her. It's unfair to describe her as beautiful, I'd have to invent a language and dedicate it only to her. To say I love her is wrong but love is the closest word we have for it. A simple 4 letter word for the most inconceivable wave of feeling. But for lack of a better phrase the love was somehow not enough and now I feel literal pain each and every time I have to see her.
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[deleted]
|
[WP] Alright guys let's get it all out. Describe the person you love. It can be poetry, prose, binary for all I care. Make me feel.
|
I sit with her again for a session of societal soul searching
under a starless night sky
as the air hums with thick humidity around me
and hangs in my lungs heavy.
And my heart aches to reach out and touch her porcelain cheek
now that I've seen the cracks underneath
she covers with plaster colored paint.
But she's warned me before that the parasitic darkness
burrowed deep within the folds of her brain
could not simply be plucked or pulled out
with the whispers of sweet words against her ears
which bounce off the darkness like dull bullets,
never fixing
only temporarily tethering a fresh band-aid to a bleeding heart
that's been soaked sordid in black blood.
But I wish she could see what I see when I stare
into the ocean's storm that swirls deep in her eyes,
or how the clouds in those gray orbs break
to let the sun burst through as she breathes life
into the words on her crumpled pages of poetry,
if only she could hear what I hear when she speaks,
her promises of forever that pierce my very pulse.
And she rationalizes putting poisons in her skin
by saying she'd rather be the fly free to find new places
than the spider stuck spinning a home in the corner of a dark garage.
And I am realizing too late that she is neither the spider nor the fly
but the web in which I've gotten myself caught
and there's no escape for eager boys
in love with such a fragile thread,
one that has been tangled too viciously in my veins for a clean break
but one that no one sees
under my own plaster colored paint.
|
I was completely oblivious to the feeling before I felt it. Love has a weird way of being everywhere. In movies, books and songs. It's everywhere at once and yet at the same time so impossible that when it hits you it's like it isn't you anymore. It isn't the same place anymore. The same pieces are all there only it's all completely and wonderfully different. That's how she made me feel. She made me feel like all the movies and songs and books all of our world's obsession with love wasn't just an understatement it was a complete undersell. The warmth in her smile, her eyes, her laugh. God her laugh, I swear her laugh remains the best sound I've heard. It's almost unfair to try to describe her. It's unfair to describe her as beautiful, I'd have to invent a language and dedicate it only to her. To say I love her is wrong but love is the closest word we have for it. A simple 4 letter word for the most inconceivable wave of feeling. But for lack of a better phrase the love was somehow not enough and now I feel literal pain each and every time I have to see her.
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] Alright guys let's get it all out. Describe the person you love. It can be poetry, prose, binary for all I care. Make me feel.
|
We met while hanging out with a mutual friend. The moment I saw her I knew I wanted her to be mine. We talk for a few days, I finally invite her over. We watch some shows together, half paying attention to them while we get to know each other. We kiss. I made her mine.
Weeks pass. Months. We're with each other constantly. Talking, driving, cooking, relaxing, any reason there is for us to see each other, we're together. We talk about our futures, what we want to do. We're both unsure, but we have vague ideas. Hair stylist, tattoo artist, things that keep her hands moving. I'm still unsure, maybe a writer, if I could stop procrastinating. She laughs. Makes me promise that I will write a children's story, to make that my goal, and she will illustrate. I agree.
I tell her I love her. She loves me too.
A year passes. She's struggling with school, work. Anxiety, OCD, depression, insomnia, PTSD. Home life is a mess. Leaving her room means a panic attack, leaving the house isn't an option. Days, weeks off of work. I don't remember the last time I saw her. She goes to a mental health institution. Weeks with no contact to anyone.
She returns. It's helped. Somewhat.
She's trying to work again, slowly. Schoolwork is hard, work is harder. Barely talks to anyone, anyone talking to her makes her panic. We go out sometimes, buying a few things for our future apartment. Not often, never any other occasions. She's realized how her current state of mind affects her, decides she needs to work on fixing herself.
Alone.
Nothing I can say will stop her. She cries, I cry. I love her, she loves me. She doesn't know if she'll be back. I cry harder. She says she needs to go. Her car drives out of sight.
Four months later, I'm still waiting for her call.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sorry if this doesn't fit perfectly to this prompt, it got out of hand while I was writing. Also, this is my first prompt, so I hope I didn't do terribly. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
|
I was completely oblivious to the feeling before I felt it. Love has a weird way of being everywhere. In movies, books and songs. It's everywhere at once and yet at the same time so impossible that when it hits you it's like it isn't you anymore. It isn't the same place anymore. The same pieces are all there only it's all completely and wonderfully different. That's how she made me feel. She made me feel like all the movies and songs and books all of our world's obsession with love wasn't just an understatement it was a complete undersell. The warmth in her smile, her eyes, her laugh. God her laugh, I swear her laugh remains the best sound I've heard. It's almost unfair to try to describe her. It's unfair to describe her as beautiful, I'd have to invent a language and dedicate it only to her. To say I love her is wrong but love is the closest word we have for it. A simple 4 letter word for the most inconceivable wave of feeling. But for lack of a better phrase the love was somehow not enough and now I feel literal pain each and every time I have to see her.
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] Alright guys let's get it all out. Describe the person you love. It can be poetry, prose, binary for all I care. Make me feel.
|
She sat across from me and up two rows
Her scent so strong it tingled my nose
Love was in the air
But could not lift me from my chair
Minds drifting from the task at hand
The beating on my chest I could barely stand
Our souls on paper is what we chose
She drew a thorn and I a rose
Every rose has its thorn, they say
But me she never chose
Lovestruck and relying on luck
I dreamed of confessing my heart
I hoped for us to never part
But she drew a thorn and I never arose
|
I was completely oblivious to the feeling before I felt it. Love has a weird way of being everywhere. In movies, books and songs. It's everywhere at once and yet at the same time so impossible that when it hits you it's like it isn't you anymore. It isn't the same place anymore. The same pieces are all there only it's all completely and wonderfully different. That's how she made me feel. She made me feel like all the movies and songs and books all of our world's obsession with love wasn't just an understatement it was a complete undersell. The warmth in her smile, her eyes, her laugh. God her laugh, I swear her laugh remains the best sound I've heard. It's almost unfair to try to describe her. It's unfair to describe her as beautiful, I'd have to invent a language and dedicate it only to her. To say I love her is wrong but love is the closest word we have for it. A simple 4 letter word for the most inconceivable wave of feeling. But for lack of a better phrase the love was somehow not enough and now I feel literal pain each and every time I have to see her.
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] Alright guys let's get it all out. Describe the person you love. It can be poetry, prose, binary for all I care. Make me feel.
|
There's him. We joke about dicks and memes, punch each other, and all that other guy stuff. He doesn't know that little part of me--the one that likes him. The way he laughs after throwing that bottle of vinegar and baking soda at the principal's window. His smile, his face, his personality. Perfect in the best way.
Then there's her. We don't know each other much more than a nod in the hallway, or a "Sign my yearbook?", but I always notice her laugh. Her flowing brunette hair. That cute way she laughs with her friends. When she smiles, I want to evaporate so she doesn't notice me, because when she does, the laugh stops. We're polar opposites. Me, the fat-linux-geek-with-2.8-GPA guy. Her, the prom-queen-cheerleader-who-has-a-social-life-and-4.5-GPA.
I know there's no chance for either of them and I. He's not like me, and she isn't like me in a different way. It's a vicious thing, trying to tear me apart. One is my friend, but doesn't like me that way. One is my polar opposite, who's mind's contents will never be known. Neither of them know each other, neither of them care.
At least I can dream.
|
I was completely oblivious to the feeling before I felt it. Love has a weird way of being everywhere. In movies, books and songs. It's everywhere at once and yet at the same time so impossible that when it hits you it's like it isn't you anymore. It isn't the same place anymore. The same pieces are all there only it's all completely and wonderfully different. That's how she made me feel. She made me feel like all the movies and songs and books all of our world's obsession with love wasn't just an understatement it was a complete undersell. The warmth in her smile, her eyes, her laugh. God her laugh, I swear her laugh remains the best sound I've heard. It's almost unfair to try to describe her. It's unfair to describe her as beautiful, I'd have to invent a language and dedicate it only to her. To say I love her is wrong but love is the closest word we have for it. A simple 4 letter word for the most inconceivable wave of feeling. But for lack of a better phrase the love was somehow not enough and now I feel literal pain each and every time I have to see her.
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] Alright guys let's get it all out. Describe the person you love. It can be poetry, prose, binary for all I care. Make me feel.
|
your voice brings blurry lines
suddenly
crispintofocus
your hello hello
high then low
and then i am warm blooded from a lizard to a tiger
flush in my cheeks glint in my
i
catch a whiff of you on the bus
whip around. not you
wishing as i crumble i fall to ash
when do I see you again why do you work so much why do you always seem fine even though the strain has me
dying
|
I was completely oblivious to the feeling before I felt it. Love has a weird way of being everywhere. In movies, books and songs. It's everywhere at once and yet at the same time so impossible that when it hits you it's like it isn't you anymore. It isn't the same place anymore. The same pieces are all there only it's all completely and wonderfully different. That's how she made me feel. She made me feel like all the movies and songs and books all of our world's obsession with love wasn't just an understatement it was a complete undersell. The warmth in her smile, her eyes, her laugh. God her laugh, I swear her laugh remains the best sound I've heard. It's almost unfair to try to describe her. It's unfair to describe her as beautiful, I'd have to invent a language and dedicate it only to her. To say I love her is wrong but love is the closest word we have for it. A simple 4 letter word for the most inconceivable wave of feeling. But for lack of a better phrase the love was somehow not enough and now I feel literal pain each and every time I have to see her.
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] Alright guys let's get it all out. Describe the person you love. It can be poetry, prose, binary for all I care. Make me feel.
|
He has a quirky smile, with one side of his mouth a little higher than the other. Sometimes I kiss it, just because.
He likes to wear gym shorts. Lazy day? Gym shorts. Errands? Gym shorts. Car trip? Gym shorts. Hiking? Dinner? Hanging out? Probably gym shorts. I was annoyed at the beginning but now I know better. It's just how he dresses.
He likes a decent amount of the same music that I do. We send each other music, youtube links, cool articles we've read- almost constantly. We discuss. We bond. He knows I'll listen to the songs he sends me, even if they might not be my cup of tea. I know he'll let me play my roadtrip playlists in the car on long rides.
He knows I like coffee and tea equally passionately. I know that he never used to drink tea before he met me, but now he drinks earl grey. Sometimes with milk. When I made earl grey cookies, he tried one slowly, then excitedly ate the rest.
He has a cowlick that he shakes to the side. When it's windy he grumbles to himself and re-combs his hair over and over. Sometimes I tease him about it, but sometimes I just comb it back with my fingers.
He's bad at decision-making, indecisive. Dinner and what movies or shows to watch are often left up to me, which I embrace, but I also support his big choices. School, work, I can tell when he's frustrated and angry about making life decisions. I know the best ways to calm him down, to get him to talk through his thoughts.
He knows the things that frustrate me, too. Takes care of me and talks me down. The darkest, most stormy mood of mine that would send lesser men flying is a challenge to him, and I couldn't count the times he has made me laugh after a long day when I have sworn to be angry the entire night.
He's my sidekick. My superhero. One of my best friends.
|
I was completely oblivious to the feeling before I felt it. Love has a weird way of being everywhere. In movies, books and songs. It's everywhere at once and yet at the same time so impossible that when it hits you it's like it isn't you anymore. It isn't the same place anymore. The same pieces are all there only it's all completely and wonderfully different. That's how she made me feel. She made me feel like all the movies and songs and books all of our world's obsession with love wasn't just an understatement it was a complete undersell. The warmth in her smile, her eyes, her laugh. God her laugh, I swear her laugh remains the best sound I've heard. It's almost unfair to try to describe her. It's unfair to describe her as beautiful, I'd have to invent a language and dedicate it only to her. To say I love her is wrong but love is the closest word we have for it. A simple 4 letter word for the most inconceivable wave of feeling. But for lack of a better phrase the love was somehow not enough and now I feel literal pain each and every time I have to see her.
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] Alright guys let's get it all out. Describe the person you love. It can be poetry, prose, binary for all I care. Make me feel.
|
Everyone says he has the hands of a fighter.
Yet they've never felt his gentle palms.
He could cradle a feather as well as break a stone.
There's a desperation in his eyes.
He's always trying to make them proud.
I've always tried to make him proud.
Together we are prouder than the wind.
Nobody hits harder, but how he bends when I hit back.
He's where I go for softness.
I'm where he goes for strength.
He'll never say so. I do the same.
We don't need words to know one another.
|
I was completely oblivious to the feeling before I felt it. Love has a weird way of being everywhere. In movies, books and songs. It's everywhere at once and yet at the same time so impossible that when it hits you it's like it isn't you anymore. It isn't the same place anymore. The same pieces are all there only it's all completely and wonderfully different. That's how she made me feel. She made me feel like all the movies and songs and books all of our world's obsession with love wasn't just an understatement it was a complete undersell. The warmth in her smile, her eyes, her laugh. God her laugh, I swear her laugh remains the best sound I've heard. It's almost unfair to try to describe her. It's unfair to describe her as beautiful, I'd have to invent a language and dedicate it only to her. To say I love her is wrong but love is the closest word we have for it. A simple 4 letter word for the most inconceivable wave of feeling. But for lack of a better phrase the love was somehow not enough and now I feel literal pain each and every time I have to see her.
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] Alright guys let's get it all out. Describe the person you love. It can be poetry, prose, binary for all I care. Make me feel.
|
Who is that raven which weeps in the night
But let's not the darkness define her
Who is that raven which has of love fright
And who hides so that it may not find her
Who is that crow who sees the nights tears
And yearns for that sorrowful raven
Who is that crow which takes away all the fears
And offers its wings as safe haven
Who is that raven which leaves it's own nest
And flies to escape winter cold
Who is that raven who seeks all the best
To find love and together grow old
Who is that crow who watches that flight
And admits that he'll never catch her
Who is that crow who endures winter's bite
And will always be there to patch her
Who is that crow who waits for his black dove
But fears she may never return
Who is that crow without his bird's love
Without whom his feelings adjourn
|
She's not perfect in the way she walks,
Nor is she in the way that she talks.
Her face is little a bove average looks,
I'm still get ting used to the way that she cooks.
Our musical tastes are not quite the same.
We like different things, it's a damn shame.
What matters the most between her and I
Is the way that we are both so damn shy.
Or maybe the way she touches my heart.
What about when she laughs at my fart?
It's clear that from here you know the rest,
In the end, it's the little things that make her the best.
Not a poetry guy, this was kind of a first. Hope you enjoyed it.
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] Alright guys let's get it all out. Describe the person you love. It can be poetry, prose, binary for all I care. Make me feel.
|
I sit with her again for a session of societal soul searching
under a starless night sky
as the air hums with thick humidity around me
and hangs in my lungs heavy.
And my heart aches to reach out and touch her porcelain cheek
now that I've seen the cracks underneath
she covers with plaster colored paint.
But she's warned me before that the parasitic darkness
burrowed deep within the folds of her brain
could not simply be plucked or pulled out
with the whispers of sweet words against her ears
which bounce off the darkness like dull bullets,
never fixing
only temporarily tethering a fresh band-aid to a bleeding heart
that's been soaked sordid in black blood.
But I wish she could see what I see when I stare
into the ocean's storm that swirls deep in her eyes,
or how the clouds in those gray orbs break
to let the sun burst through as she breathes life
into the words on her crumpled pages of poetry,
if only she could hear what I hear when she speaks,
her promises of forever that pierce my very pulse.
And she rationalizes putting poisons in her skin
by saying she'd rather be the fly free to find new places
than the spider stuck spinning a home in the corner of a dark garage.
And I am realizing too late that she is neither the spider nor the fly
but the web in which I've gotten myself caught
and there's no escape for eager boys
in love with such a fragile thread,
one that has been tangled too viciously in my veins for a clean break
but one that no one sees
under my own plaster colored paint.
|
She's not perfect in the way she walks,
Nor is she in the way that she talks.
Her face is little a bove average looks,
I'm still get ting used to the way that she cooks.
Our musical tastes are not quite the same.
We like different things, it's a damn shame.
What matters the most between her and I
Is the way that we are both so damn shy.
Or maybe the way she touches my heart.
What about when she laughs at my fart?
It's clear that from here you know the rest,
In the end, it's the little things that make her the best.
Not a poetry guy, this was kind of a first. Hope you enjoyed it.
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] Alright guys let's get it all out. Describe the person you love. It can be poetry, prose, binary for all I care. Make me feel.
|
We met while hanging out with a mutual friend. The moment I saw her I knew I wanted her to be mine. We talk for a few days, I finally invite her over. We watch some shows together, half paying attention to them while we get to know each other. We kiss. I made her mine.
Weeks pass. Months. We're with each other constantly. Talking, driving, cooking, relaxing, any reason there is for us to see each other, we're together. We talk about our futures, what we want to do. We're both unsure, but we have vague ideas. Hair stylist, tattoo artist, things that keep her hands moving. I'm still unsure, maybe a writer, if I could stop procrastinating. She laughs. Makes me promise that I will write a children's story, to make that my goal, and she will illustrate. I agree.
I tell her I love her. She loves me too.
A year passes. She's struggling with school, work. Anxiety, OCD, depression, insomnia, PTSD. Home life is a mess. Leaving her room means a panic attack, leaving the house isn't an option. Days, weeks off of work. I don't remember the last time I saw her. She goes to a mental health institution. Weeks with no contact to anyone.
She returns. It's helped. Somewhat.
She's trying to work again, slowly. Schoolwork is hard, work is harder. Barely talks to anyone, anyone talking to her makes her panic. We go out sometimes, buying a few things for our future apartment. Not often, never any other occasions. She's realized how her current state of mind affects her, decides she needs to work on fixing herself.
Alone.
Nothing I can say will stop her. She cries, I cry. I love her, she loves me. She doesn't know if she'll be back. I cry harder. She says she needs to go. Her car drives out of sight.
Four months later, I'm still waiting for her call.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sorry if this doesn't fit perfectly to this prompt, it got out of hand while I was writing. Also, this is my first prompt, so I hope I didn't do terribly. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
|
She's not perfect in the way she walks,
Nor is she in the way that she talks.
Her face is little a bove average looks,
I'm still get ting used to the way that she cooks.
Our musical tastes are not quite the same.
We like different things, it's a damn shame.
What matters the most between her and I
Is the way that we are both so damn shy.
Or maybe the way she touches my heart.
What about when she laughs at my fart?
It's clear that from here you know the rest,
In the end, it's the little things that make her the best.
Not a poetry guy, this was kind of a first. Hope you enjoyed it.
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] Alright guys let's get it all out. Describe the person you love. It can be poetry, prose, binary for all I care. Make me feel.
|
She sat across from me and up two rows
Her scent so strong it tingled my nose
Love was in the air
But could not lift me from my chair
Minds drifting from the task at hand
The beating on my chest I could barely stand
Our souls on paper is what we chose
She drew a thorn and I a rose
Every rose has its thorn, they say
But me she never chose
Lovestruck and relying on luck
I dreamed of confessing my heart
I hoped for us to never part
But she drew a thorn and I never arose
|
She's not perfect in the way she walks,
Nor is she in the way that she talks.
Her face is little a bove average looks,
I'm still get ting used to the way that she cooks.
Our musical tastes are not quite the same.
We like different things, it's a damn shame.
What matters the most between her and I
Is the way that we are both so damn shy.
Or maybe the way she touches my heart.
What about when she laughs at my fart?
It's clear that from here you know the rest,
In the end, it's the little things that make her the best.
Not a poetry guy, this was kind of a first. Hope you enjoyed it.
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] Alright guys let's get it all out. Describe the person you love. It can be poetry, prose, binary for all I care. Make me feel.
|
There's him. We joke about dicks and memes, punch each other, and all that other guy stuff. He doesn't know that little part of me--the one that likes him. The way he laughs after throwing that bottle of vinegar and baking soda at the principal's window. His smile, his face, his personality. Perfect in the best way.
Then there's her. We don't know each other much more than a nod in the hallway, or a "Sign my yearbook?", but I always notice her laugh. Her flowing brunette hair. That cute way she laughs with her friends. When she smiles, I want to evaporate so she doesn't notice me, because when she does, the laugh stops. We're polar opposites. Me, the fat-linux-geek-with-2.8-GPA guy. Her, the prom-queen-cheerleader-who-has-a-social-life-and-4.5-GPA.
I know there's no chance for either of them and I. He's not like me, and she isn't like me in a different way. It's a vicious thing, trying to tear me apart. One is my friend, but doesn't like me that way. One is my polar opposite, who's mind's contents will never be known. Neither of them know each other, neither of them care.
At least I can dream.
|
She's not perfect in the way she walks,
Nor is she in the way that she talks.
Her face is little a bove average looks,
I'm still get ting used to the way that she cooks.
Our musical tastes are not quite the same.
We like different things, it's a damn shame.
What matters the most between her and I
Is the way that we are both so damn shy.
Or maybe the way she touches my heart.
What about when she laughs at my fart?
It's clear that from here you know the rest,
In the end, it's the little things that make her the best.
Not a poetry guy, this was kind of a first. Hope you enjoyed it.
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] Alright guys let's get it all out. Describe the person you love. It can be poetry, prose, binary for all I care. Make me feel.
|
your voice brings blurry lines
suddenly
crispintofocus
your hello hello
high then low
and then i am warm blooded from a lizard to a tiger
flush in my cheeks glint in my
i
catch a whiff of you on the bus
whip around. not you
wishing as i crumble i fall to ash
when do I see you again why do you work so much why do you always seem fine even though the strain has me
dying
|
She's not perfect in the way she walks,
Nor is she in the way that she talks.
Her face is little a bove average looks,
I'm still get ting used to the way that she cooks.
Our musical tastes are not quite the same.
We like different things, it's a damn shame.
What matters the most between her and I
Is the way that we are both so damn shy.
Or maybe the way she touches my heart.
What about when she laughs at my fart?
It's clear that from here you know the rest,
In the end, it's the little things that make her the best.
Not a poetry guy, this was kind of a first. Hope you enjoyed it.
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] Alright guys let's get it all out. Describe the person you love. It can be poetry, prose, binary for all I care. Make me feel.
|
He has a quirky smile, with one side of his mouth a little higher than the other. Sometimes I kiss it, just because.
He likes to wear gym shorts. Lazy day? Gym shorts. Errands? Gym shorts. Car trip? Gym shorts. Hiking? Dinner? Hanging out? Probably gym shorts. I was annoyed at the beginning but now I know better. It's just how he dresses.
He likes a decent amount of the same music that I do. We send each other music, youtube links, cool articles we've read- almost constantly. We discuss. We bond. He knows I'll listen to the songs he sends me, even if they might not be my cup of tea. I know he'll let me play my roadtrip playlists in the car on long rides.
He knows I like coffee and tea equally passionately. I know that he never used to drink tea before he met me, but now he drinks earl grey. Sometimes with milk. When I made earl grey cookies, he tried one slowly, then excitedly ate the rest.
He has a cowlick that he shakes to the side. When it's windy he grumbles to himself and re-combs his hair over and over. Sometimes I tease him about it, but sometimes I just comb it back with my fingers.
He's bad at decision-making, indecisive. Dinner and what movies or shows to watch are often left up to me, which I embrace, but I also support his big choices. School, work, I can tell when he's frustrated and angry about making life decisions. I know the best ways to calm him down, to get him to talk through his thoughts.
He knows the things that frustrate me, too. Takes care of me and talks me down. The darkest, most stormy mood of mine that would send lesser men flying is a challenge to him, and I couldn't count the times he has made me laugh after a long day when I have sworn to be angry the entire night.
He's my sidekick. My superhero. One of my best friends.
|
She's not perfect in the way she walks,
Nor is she in the way that she talks.
Her face is little a bove average looks,
I'm still get ting used to the way that she cooks.
Our musical tastes are not quite the same.
We like different things, it's a damn shame.
What matters the most between her and I
Is the way that we are both so damn shy.
Or maybe the way she touches my heart.
What about when she laughs at my fart?
It's clear that from here you know the rest,
In the end, it's the little things that make her the best.
Not a poetry guy, this was kind of a first. Hope you enjoyed it.
|
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