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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.
|
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.
|
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.
|
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 just the right kind of perfect.
Not the perfect you're thinking of, and not the perfect he or she or it is thinking of. But *my* perfect.
The way she matches my edges and fills the holes in my heart, it's almost tailor-made.
Or maybe when her lips fit into mine, and they lock, just right.
Maybe it's because she compensates for everything I lack, and what we both lack are things we can live without.
She's not your perfect, and she's not his or hers or theirs or it's, but mine.
(Ugh I suck at this. First time doing a prompt)
|
[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 just the right kind of perfect.
Not the perfect you're thinking of, and not the perfect he or she or it is thinking of. But *my* perfect.
The way she matches my edges and fills the holes in my heart, it's almost tailor-made.
Or maybe when her lips fit into mine, and they lock, just right.
Maybe it's because she compensates for everything I lack, and what we both lack are things we can live without.
She's not your perfect, and she's not his or hers or theirs or it's, but mine.
(Ugh I suck at this. First time doing a prompt)
|
[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 just the right kind of perfect.
Not the perfect you're thinking of, and not the perfect he or she or it is thinking of. But *my* perfect.
The way she matches my edges and fills the holes in my heart, it's almost tailor-made.
Or maybe when her lips fit into mine, and they lock, just right.
Maybe it's because she compensates for everything I lack, and what we both lack are things we can live without.
She's not your perfect, and she's not his or hers or theirs or it's, but mine.
(Ugh I suck at this. First time doing a prompt)
|
[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 just the right kind of perfect.
Not the perfect you're thinking of, and not the perfect he or she or it is thinking of. But *my* perfect.
The way she matches my edges and fills the holes in my heart, it's almost tailor-made.
Or maybe when her lips fit into mine, and they lock, just right.
Maybe it's because she compensates for everything I lack, and what we both lack are things we can live without.
She's not your perfect, and she's not his or hers or theirs or it's, but mine.
(Ugh I suck at this. First time doing a prompt)
|
[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.
|
We make more sense than love.
We are bonded in our determination to cultivate a healthy relationship for each other to share. Therapy, sadness, confusion, self-esteem, all things we both struggle with.
When we're together, we either melt into each other or simply melt each other.
When we're apart, we fight.
When we're together, I can't get enough of him.
When we're apart, he misses me and I stress out.
He calls, I do not answer.
I touch him, he flinches away.
Ebbs and flows, highs and lows.
I fear he may propose soon.
|
[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 haven't met you yet. I imagine leaning on the hood of your car in hundred degree weather while we wait for my sister to find her keys; that crunkle-pop! noise when I lean too far back and you wrinkle your nose at me. Sometimes you wear Adam Lambert glam eye-liner and I think that maybe you'd be the one who'd finally teach me how to wear make-up. Sometimes you have twenty thousand muscles, sometimes none at all.
Hold my hand at every doctor appointment. Tell me you love when the doctor says they can't do anything to help. Lose ten pounds with me, or gain twenty. Let her have your eyes and my nose and better skin than either of us. We'll retire in Half-Moon Bay and eat beans and rice just so we can live somewhere beautiful. Never forget I love you. Never forget to say it back.
Never stop looking for me.
|
[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.
|
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
|
[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
|
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
|
[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)_/¯
|
Of all the the lights in the sky
She shines brighter than I can deny
What she has I can't define
What she seeks is not to find
I talk but no words come out
I always fill myself with doubt
There's something I'd like to ask
But it's just such a risky task
So for now we'll stay friends
Until my confidence extends
And maybe some day some how
I'll ask her and pretend to take a bow
|
[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
|
Of all the the lights in the sky
She shines brighter than I can deny
What she has I can't define
What she seeks is not to find
I talk but no words come out
I always fill myself with doubt
There's something I'd like to ask
But it's just such a risky task
So for now we'll stay friends
Until my confidence extends
And maybe some day some how
I'll ask her and pretend to take a bow
|
[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.
|
Of all the the lights in the sky
She shines brighter than I can deny
What she has I can't define
What she seeks is not to find
I talk but no words come out
I always fill myself with doubt
There's something I'd like to ask
But it's just such a risky task
So for now we'll stay friends
Until my confidence extends
And maybe some day some how
I'll ask her and pretend to take a bow
|
[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
|
Of all the the lights in the sky
She shines brighter than I can deny
What she has I can't define
What she seeks is not to find
I talk but no words come out
I always fill myself with doubt
There's something I'd like to ask
But it's just such a risky task
So for now we'll stay friends
Until my confidence extends
And maybe some day some how
I'll ask her and pretend to take a bow
|
[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.
|
Of all the the lights in the sky
She shines brighter than I can deny
What she has I can't define
What she seeks is not to find
I talk but no words come out
I always fill myself with doubt
There's something I'd like to ask
But it's just such a risky task
So for now we'll stay friends
Until my confidence extends
And maybe some day some how
I'll ask her and pretend to take a bow
|
[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.
|
Of all the the lights in the sky
She shines brighter than I can deny
What she has I can't define
What she seeks is not to find
I talk but no words come out
I always fill myself with doubt
There's something I'd like to ask
But it's just such a risky task
So for now we'll stay friends
Until my confidence extends
And maybe some day some how
I'll ask her and pretend to take a bow
|
[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 met him in college, long long ago. He was strong and goofy and a little broken. Blonde and always fresh-showered clean and probably destined to go bald. I was lost, confused, and young in ways I wouldn't understand for decades. Neither of us was ready or willing for what we felt. Fear divided us so life moved us apart. Nobody since has come close to filling that wound.
His face is mostly gone. I remember his smell, fresh-showered but musky. I sometimes move in a way that I know I picked up from him.
Now he's just this ideal that haunts me at odd moments. The patchwork memory of unrequited love.
|
Of all the the lights in the sky
She shines brighter than I can deny
What she has I can't define
What she seeks is not to find
I talk but no words come out
I always fill myself with doubt
There's something I'd like to ask
But it's just such a risky task
So for now we'll stay friends
Until my confidence extends
And maybe some day some how
I'll ask her and pretend to take a bow
|
[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 find it pretty hard to understand emotions and empathise with others. I'm terrible at the whole socialising thing but I get by somehow. The thing is, I have acquaintances instead of friends. No one wants to start the conversation with me, no one texts to see how I'm doing, no one has my back when shit hits the fan.
So when I find someone who's willing to take time out, I fall pretty hard. Now, I usually mess it up by being too forward. But I never learn.
To answer your request: she's brilliant. Reserved from what seems to be years of...let's call it emotional oppression. Sometimes if I press too hard she withdraws and it's not very pleasant to see. But I like broken things. Call me an ass but I really like broken things. If they can't be fixed, they can be broken further. Either way is objectively fascinating.
She says hello first. She comes and sees me. She kissed me today. On the cheek.
Shame she's married.
|
Of all the the lights in the sky
She shines brighter than I can deny
What she has I can't define
What she seeks is not to find
I talk but no words come out
I always fill myself with doubt
There's something I'd like to ask
But it's just such a risky task
So for now we'll stay friends
Until my confidence extends
And maybe some day some how
I'll ask her and pretend to take a bow
|
[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
|
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.
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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)_/¯
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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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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.
|
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.
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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)_/¯
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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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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
|
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)_/¯
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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.
|
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.
|
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.
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[WP] A young man is given unlimited wishes, the bad side being that every time he wishes for something he forgets something very important.
|
It was always something important. The problem is, what's "important" is subjective. It doesn't only change from person to person, but also within a single person as they grow.
When it first started, those with the ability would wish randomly. No one knew the consequences. It took a little longer to catch on because those infected were scattered all over the globe. Different ages, countries, genders. For awhile, it was mostly chalked up to faith.
The wishes--and the consequences--were nothing unusual. A woman in Poughkeepsie won the lottery. She forgot where she hid the ticket. It made the news when she found it a year later, long after it expired. Some dude in London wished he was the Prime Minister. When the Prime Minister started insisting he was someone else, but couldn't remember who he was, they popped him in the nut house. A guy in America wished he could win a presidential election, then forgot how to be human. At least, that's what everyone claims.
But the wishes and the forgotten things weren't always related, either. A kid in Iowa wished for an "A" on his math test and forgot where he put his car keys. He missed out on a big date. That one never made the news. That was my dad. I remember hearing the story, growing up.
Eventually, though, people figured it out. Then there were tests. At first it was voluntary. People were asked to participate. Paid for their cooperation. No one wanted to cooperate. Why should they, when they could wish for the money without being poked and prodded.
The government in America started rounding up the "infected". They were arrested and gassed and strapped down. Then Frank Baker wished the scientists would all die.
He was found unfit to stand trial for murder when he forgot pretty much everything. It seemed each scientist counted as a wish.
Things calmed down after that. For the most part, people learned to adapt. The things that are important to kids change every day, so they wished the most. The elderly, who tended to forget things anyway, they made a lot of wishes too. Ironically, they mostly wished to remember. Everyone else was more careful. And the world was a better place, I think.
Some people wished to help others. Cancer was cured--though the guy who made the wish forgot his wife who had cancer. It's okay, though. She was kind of a bitch and was planning to leave him anyway. Some people got rich, but money didn't matter so much anymore. Not to those infected with the right to wish for their own happiness.
Except... I think, maybe, people don't always know what they want. And people will be people no matter what you wish for. If, say, a woman wishes that everyone would be nice to each other, it works. Everyone who is currently living becomes nice. But babies are born every day. And they grow up.
By the time I hit high school it was the same as high school's always been. Everyone in different cliques, picking on anyone who was different. I swear, I didn't even know I was infected. I'd never had a wish come true before. It's just something you *say*, you know?
I haven't seen another living person since the day Brian stole my lunch and dumped it in my locker. Not since I said "I wish everyone would leave me alone."
And that's all there is. See, I haven't forgotten anything.
|
I'd always saved my wishes in case I ever needed them. Today was the day. I'd gotten duumped and I really needed a pick-me-up.
"Gene." I called for him.
"Yes? Will you have a wish today?" He asked me.
I smiled and nodded, "Yes I will. Cheesecake please!"
Gene stared at me a moment, but I was impatient. Cheese cake was what I needed. For my luck, maybe it'd be her I forgot. See, whenever I use a wish, I'm going to forget a memmory.
"Cheese cake? With my sugnificant power, you choose cheese cake?" He asked in a booming voice.
I nodded again, "Cheese cake, yup. That is my adult choice."
Gene granted me a cheese cake. Suddenly, I had a cheese cake infront of me so I dug in. How'd it get there? I looked up at a floating blue man.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"Who am I? I am gene and you get three wis-" he began to boast.
"Cheese cake, please." I felt like I needed another one.
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[WP] A young man is given unlimited wishes, the bad side being that every time he wishes for something he forgets something very important.
|
It was always something important. The problem is, what's "important" is subjective. It doesn't only change from person to person, but also within a single person as they grow.
When it first started, those with the ability would wish randomly. No one knew the consequences. It took a little longer to catch on because those infected were scattered all over the globe. Different ages, countries, genders. For awhile, it was mostly chalked up to faith.
The wishes--and the consequences--were nothing unusual. A woman in Poughkeepsie won the lottery. She forgot where she hid the ticket. It made the news when she found it a year later, long after it expired. Some dude in London wished he was the Prime Minister. When the Prime Minister started insisting he was someone else, but couldn't remember who he was, they popped him in the nut house. A guy in America wished he could win a presidential election, then forgot how to be human. At least, that's what everyone claims.
But the wishes and the forgotten things weren't always related, either. A kid in Iowa wished for an "A" on his math test and forgot where he put his car keys. He missed out on a big date. That one never made the news. That was my dad. I remember hearing the story, growing up.
Eventually, though, people figured it out. Then there were tests. At first it was voluntary. People were asked to participate. Paid for their cooperation. No one wanted to cooperate. Why should they, when they could wish for the money without being poked and prodded.
The government in America started rounding up the "infected". They were arrested and gassed and strapped down. Then Frank Baker wished the scientists would all die.
He was found unfit to stand trial for murder when he forgot pretty much everything. It seemed each scientist counted as a wish.
Things calmed down after that. For the most part, people learned to adapt. The things that are important to kids change every day, so they wished the most. The elderly, who tended to forget things anyway, they made a lot of wishes too. Ironically, they mostly wished to remember. Everyone else was more careful. And the world was a better place, I think.
Some people wished to help others. Cancer was cured--though the guy who made the wish forgot his wife who had cancer. It's okay, though. She was kind of a bitch and was planning to leave him anyway. Some people got rich, but money didn't matter so much anymore. Not to those infected with the right to wish for their own happiness.
Except... I think, maybe, people don't always know what they want. And people will be people no matter what you wish for. If, say, a woman wishes that everyone would be nice to each other, it works. Everyone who is currently living becomes nice. But babies are born every day. And they grow up.
By the time I hit high school it was the same as high school's always been. Everyone in different cliques, picking on anyone who was different. I swear, I didn't even know I was infected. I'd never had a wish come true before. It's just something you *say*, you know?
I haven't seen another living person since the day Brian stole my lunch and dumped it in my locker. Not since I said "I wish everyone would leave me alone."
And that's all there is. See, I haven't forgotten anything.
|
A plume of smoke appeared before me, and before I could even blink, a man dressed in purple was standing where my mothers horrible teapot had just been.
"WHO DARES AWAKE ME FROM MY- Oh, hello Dave."
I raise my hand in acknowledgement.
"Hey Bryce."
"Got anything you need from me?"
I nod.
"Well," I begin, "I just watched that movie Aladdin..."
"Oh god."
"And apparently you genies grant wishes."
"Well yeah. Three wishes. Three wishes, and you cant wish for more-"
"I want unlimited."
"wat."
I nod again.
"Yeah. Infinite wishes."
"Um...actually, I can do that. But it comes at a cost."
"Oh yeah?" I ask.
"Whenever you wish for anything, you will lose all memory of any people the wish will effect. For example, wishing your grandmother back to life, you would forget about your grandmother."
I shrug. And then I frown.
"So what I wished for that jackass Daniel to grow taste buds in his asshole?"
Dave the genie frowns, seemingly confused.
"Um... Well, you would forget Daniel. But why-"
"And I imagine," I continue, "that since I wouldn't know him, the whole thing would be less satisfying?"
"Well," says the genie, "yes, but you could grant world peace! You could right the wrongs of the world, and fix-"
I wave him away.
"Nah. I'll pass."
|
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[WP] A young man is given unlimited wishes, the bad side being that every time he wishes for something he forgets something very important.
|
'Whenever you wish for something, you will lose a memory most important to you.'
Those words stuck in my mind as I remembered when I was young, wanting to be rich.
How important could memories be anyway?
I'd learnt the answer to that the hard way. I wished to be a millionaire and it happened but I couldn't remember the people who I lived with. They claimed to be my parents.
I never wished again. Thought I'd never wish again. Anything I wanted I could buy.
I smiled as I looked at the little bundle in my arms. My gorgeous baby girl. I would raise her right, she would never go without.
My heart was with this child. When she cried, I cried. If she hurt I hurt. I loved her so much.
That's why I wished again. She'd fallen down the stairs. The latch on the child gate had broken. I'd told myself I would fix it soon.
As I held her small body in my arms, her lips turning blue and her body growing cold, I wished.
I wished for her to be safe, to be well, to never have harm come to her.
My wife sobbed with joy as she grabbed the now crying baby from my arms. I opened my mouth to speak...
'Why are you holding a baby?'
|
I wish I had a way to cool my self down!
But now I can't remember how to get in to town.
I wish I had a dick as big as a porn star!
But now I don't know where the switch on the walls are.
I wish for trampolines instead of a floor!
I do my backflips naked- can't find my underwear drawer.
I wish I never grow old, like Peter Pan!
Instructions unclear, dick stuck in a fan.
|
|
[WP] "So maybe killing Hitler wasn't the BEST idea. We probably should have thought this out more."
|
The Travel back hadn't been too turbulent, apparently going forward wasn't such an arduous task as forcing your way into the time stream. The two men inside had been in 1934 for weeks planning their attack. A marine corps scout sniper and his spotter, an FBI agent. The unlikely pair was sent to ensure backup options were possible. In the event Corporal George Evans missed his shots, the special agent in charge could devise a plan to overcome and assassinate the third reich's most notorious leadership another way.
If only it had gone to plan.
Well, in a manner of speaking it did. The Corporal was spot on, his Cheytac intervention sniper system was more than capable of the long range shots. The undesired effect came about far after.
Once the titanium alloy exterior of their chronological dislocation vehicle iced over, they knew the year. 2049, but something was very off. The door swung open to a group of unfamiliar faced men, all armed, and fairly unhappy. The two were dragged out and put on the floor of the warehouse, the structure looked different from the last time they'd seen in. The men around them spoke what was very clearly Russian.
Evans looked scared, "What happened, Sir? Where's the science team that sent us back?" Agent Cross looked up at the men, clad black in heavy riot armor. "I think we messed up, Corporal. I think we messed up something huge." One of the bigger men swiftly kicked Cross in the stomach, shouting in what was clearly for him to be silent.
* * *
They were taken to lockup and ignored for the better part of three days, when finally a history major came with a translator device. It was the last thing the two of them expected for an interrogation. The man handed them earpieces and began speaking in his native tongue. "I am here to explain to you the ramifications of your actions, so that you can better understand this world you're now going to have to fit into." He smiled as the two received the translation in real time. "Your countries downfall wasn't extremely surprising, being incredibly isolationist, they hasn't amassed the military or technology necessary to win a global war. Meanwhile the USSR was thriving with our plentiful oil fields and army of millions who hadn't gone to the slaughter. When the time came to envelope your little country into our iron curtain, we faced little resistance. The Germans put up a fight sure, but even they couldn't stand up to us when every one of their allies abandoned them. In the end we conquered everything, and your language is now a dead one. I'm sorry to say."
Cross narrowed his eyes, "That's all well and good, but how did you know where we would come out at? That was only known to the group of men who sent us, and they're surely not even in the same occupational field now." The Russian historian laughed, "That's the best part! One of your secretaries of defense didn't utilize the proper encryption on a few emails when they sent you back. We recovered the coordinates and left them in a place where they would be discovered by our own people in this time line. It held with it an account of everything that had gone on in the first timestream, and what you two were doing about it. We knew precisely where you would be."
The man asked for his head phones back, then he promptly left. They spent more time completely alone. It had been hours before Corporal Evans had spoken, "So what do we do now? Live out the remainder of our lives as prisoners?" Malcolm smirked, "Son, you're a trained marksman with the ability to put lead miles downrange accurately. I've been working with the Russian language for years, and I'm a human intelligence specialist. We both speak a dead language and we've got all the time in the world."
Evans locked eyes with his superior, "So you mean... we're going to-?" The agent cut him off, "Yes, Corporal. We're going to go repeat history."
|
"That's what we all said"
"Alright well let's dwell on the past"
"Why because it makes you look like an idiot?"
"No, because there's nothing we can do about it"
"But we have a time machine"
"Hey guys, just finished destroying the time machine"
"You did what?"
"I...I destroyed the time machine. Like you said"
"When we get back to our time, disable the time machine, were my exact words"
"..."
"..."
"That one is my bad"
"No one is disputing that"
"Now killing Hitler doesn't seem like such a bad id..."
"Stop talking"
"No talking"
"Hey who are they?"
"They are a collective of edgy fourteen year olds who got all their fake internet points and validation by saying things like "Hitler had some good ideas" and people who are incapable of coming up with non-Hitler based story ideas, who are angry that their life now has no purpose"
"Uh-huh, and who are they?"
"Those are 9 foot tall lizards"
"Ssssssssssup"
"Why?"
"Because /u/SarkasticWatcher is a repetetive hack"
"Fair enough, fair enough. And who's that?"
"That's the corpse of Hitler"
"Right, right and who are you?"
"..."
"I'm very high right now"
"This isn't helping anything, we need to fix this mess"
"..."
"Fine, I need to fix my mess"
"..."
"Are you going to..."
"Give me a sec...wait I've got it"
"Hey angry people, Trump just said something"
"Everyone in the time machine"
"Hey lizards, someone just posted a politics writing prompt"
"Ssssssssso long, ssssssssssuckers"
"Now we just have to get in one of the time machines and..."
"..."
"Now we just have to acclimatize to a 1940s without Hitler"
"Oh you dumb motherfucker"
"Sup. Guten tag"
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[WP] You've just had your prayer for enough money to last you for the rest of your life answered. You received $1.00.
|
- Three dollars ninenty nine cents please. - Said the cashier.
- Just a second. - I answered nervously looking through my pockets. - I only have two dollars, oh and ninety nine cent. - I said showing the cashier money in my shaking hand.
- I am sorry I cannot sell you this.
- Please, half of it? Please.
- I am sorry. I can't.
- Fuck you then. - I yelled and turned around to storm out of the store, but then I felt a sudden urge. - Could I use the toilet please?
- Yeah, sure. Whatever. - he answered like he didn't care, because he probably didn't.
I went into the stall and started crying. Even in moment like this I didn't have enough money. That had to be the saddest fucking thing in my life. I put my hands together and started praying, which I haven't done in a long damn time. God. I said. Please I ask you only of this, this one last favor. One fucking dollar, that is all I ask from you. One dollar. Then I waited. I don't know what I was waiting for, but I waited.
- Hey? Are you done there? There are other people that want to use the restroom. - said the guy while knocking on the door.
- I'm sorry, give me a minute. - then I saw something on the wall in front of me 'wanna earn and have some fun? call this number'. -Oh fuck you, I ain't sucking a dick for a dollar. - I said while opening the door.
- Yeah, ok man, whatever. - said the cashier, looking at me like I was some kind of crazy fella. Screw him, I ain't.
I could finally storm out of the store like I wanted to, I rushed towards the door like a madman I was. But the door opened only inside so I knocked myself on my ass and as I was standing up to finally and properly storm out of the storm I noticed a piece of paper under the vending machine. A fucking dollar bill was just lying there. I picked it up. It had a writing on it 'fuck you', well fuck you to, whoever wrote this, I got your dollar. I bought what I needed and headed home. I tried it on, it fit perfectly, like a nice tie. I kicked the stool from under me. The noose tightened around my neck. I felt the sweet arms of death wrapping around my body. Finally all of this would be gone. Then the rope broke, cheap shit broke and my nearly dead body hit the wooden floor. Then I saw the rope had a little tag on it 'should have called'.
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My father had died. He was a failed business man, always coming up with ideas to make money but never really getting there. Sometimes we had money but mostly he lost money. Once, when I was a kid, he "borrowed" my little saving for an investment in a telephone directory of free "800" numbers. He promised to pay it back and never did.
But that was not what came between us. In my teen years, he started to drink to relieve the pressure of life and went on to become a drunk. Unfortunately, he was one of those mean drunks. It was his violence fuel by anger that came between he and my mother. My mom had to leave him and she move away across the country taking me with her.
I believe that my father loved me and my mom but his life just got away from him. I know this because my father left me his most treasured possession, his lucky coin. It was a silver dollar. He had found it on the side walk when he was starting his first job as a grocery delivery boy. He took this to be a lucky sign that he was going to make it in this world, to be a rich and successful man. With the start of each new business venture, he would bring it out and show it to us, saying,"This coin was Manna dropped by God in my path to tell me what my future portended. This time, the coin will do its work and we will be rich." Never did happen.
Now the coin is mine. It was not a particularly valuable coin as it was worn from the many years my father would rub it in hope. I had though that I would honor my father's memory and make a gamble on a venture. I used my father's lucky coin to buy a ticket in the two-hundred million lottery and I won. My father was right. The coin was from God but I now think that God had meant for him to spend it and not to keep it as a good luck charm.
RIP my father.
[Same As It Ever Was](http://volunteer11.blogspot.com/)
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[WP] You begin to suspect, after a string of unusual occurrences, that your roommate has the power to control time.
|
The third worst thing about eating tacos is when the shell splits in half because there's too much meat inside. The second worst thing is when you bite into your taco, and the meat juices start to dribble down the side of your hand. The worst thing, though, is when you're about to bite into your perfectly handcrafted taco, and it vanishes midway into your mouth.
"Look, Aiden, we need to talk." I walked into our living room just in time to see him wipe traces of liquid from his lips—liquid that suspiciously resembled meat juice.
He leaned back on the couch and swallowed. I hoped his esophagus was in the process of being shredded by insufficiently chewed fragments of taco shells. "What's up, Grant?"
"I've been noticing that food tends to disappear from my plate, as well as from my hand, when you're around."
"Disappear? As in, disappear into your stomach?" Aiden refused to look at me; his face was glued to the television.
"You also seem to finish all your assignments in the hour before they're due."
"Doesn't everyone, though?" Aiden began shoving popcorn into his mouth from a bowl that I'm pretty sure hadn't been here before.
"Finally, on multiple occasions, I've found myself with my pants around my ankles, when they were secured firmly around my waist a second before." I placed my hands on my hips to check that my pants were indeed still there.
"Do you need a belt? You can borrow one of mine."
To think that such a clown would end up being gifted with superpowers. "Quit playing, Aiden," I said crossly, "I know you're stopping time and pulling all these stunts while the world is frozen."
Aiden finally turned away from the television. "Are you okay, Grant? Do you need to lie down? Is everything alright in there?" He got up and waved his hand in front of my face. "Of all the possible, infinitely more reasonable explanations you could have come up with, you go with 'Aiden must be a timelord pulling pranks on me'?"
"Well, for one," I said, smacking his hand away, "we've been receiving letters from 'The Time Police'." Of course, every time I tried to open those letters, they would disappear from my hands.
"Never heard of them." Aiden flopped back onto the couch.
"There's also a giant glowing clock in your bedroom."
"It's just a clock, dude." He turned back to his movie.
"Well, if you don't mind," I said, walking past him, "I'm going to get rid of your clock, since it's just that."
"Don't be a clockblock, man," he called after me.
Unsurprisingly, when I opened his bedroom door, the clock was nowhere to be seen. He'd probably stopped time to hide it somewhere. Maybe I shouldn't have tipped him off and just went and done it myself later, but fuck if Aiden wasn't the type of guy to piss you off into making poor decisions.
As I turned to leave his room, I stumbled and fell face-first onto the floor. My pants had mysteriously wrapped themselves around my ankles again.
|
Tulsa ain't a big town for sublets. Go on Tulsa craigslist, it's a fucking ghost town. People don't come to Tulsa for a little while. If you're here, you're stuck here and a twelve month lease will suit you just fine. So, honestly, the first thing that was weird with Sally was how she was looking to sublet in the first place. But I had the extra room and I needed the money and she seemed forthright enough, so I said fuck it and let her move in.
Now I have a hard time explaining why this is so, but if you ask me if Sally was a good roommate or not, I'll say I truly don't know. I don't mean there's a mixed bag of evidence and I just can't decide which side of the line she falls on. I mean that when I ponder this question, I have all the feelings of seething frustration you have for an inconsiderate, asshole roommate, yet I have literally not one concrete memory of Sally being anything but perfectly polite and easy going.
And what's even worse is I remember me being a total bitch to her! I'd get mad as hell and yell at her from time to time, but I'd just be completely, factually in the wrong about everyting. Take this one time: I start going off on her for having a coke binge in the living room, inviting over some real seedy Peoria types and blasting music til three in the morning. I'm shouting and waving my hands, telling her to look at this mess. Look at this fucking mess you made of my house! Next thing I know, I look around and everything is perfectly clean and tidy. I felt like I was going schizo or something. I'd apologize to her profusely and end up making her some tea or something.
Now Sally didn't seem to have a job, but she always had lots of money. Always these thick stacks of crisp bills. For a while I figured it was drug deals, but frankly she didn't seem ambitious enough to hustle. Basically, she'd party all night and then sit around playing video games all day. She was fucking incredible at video games. Sometimes it seemed like she could beat a whole game in fifteen minutes. Eventually I asked her how she had so much cash all the time. She said she won it all down at the Cherokee Casino. She said she always just had a feeling about which cards were coming next. I told her I was jealous she could just live on her own terms like that.
It was probably about two months in when I found her crying on the bathroom floor. I asked her what the matter was. All she said was she'd been having a lot of long days recently. She said it sometimes felt like she was living whole days in between each tick of the second hand and how that was a lonely way to be. I told her there ain't a woman in Tulsa who don't know that feeling. She laughed and we held hands for a minute. Maybe longer.
Then one day she just up and left. She slipped three months rent under my bedroom door and, before I could count it, her and all her stuff were gone. There was a note with the money toò. It said she'd miss me. It said she felt like we'd shared a hundred years of memories together.
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[WP] Invoke an emotion in the reader, whether it be laughter, tears, or rage - make me feel something.
|
The chilly autumn wind was making leaves dance in pirouettes around him. He saw her tucking her coat tightly around her body as she walked besides him. Her small backpack was decorated with various stickers proclaiming the different causes she was fighting for. Her hair was kept in a loose braid at her upper back, and though her eyes seemed to be tearing from the strong wind he could never be quite sure when it came to her. Since they met she had always been the most beautiful soul he knew. Selflessly giving, creative, and artistic, he was sure she would grow up to be someone amazing. Way out of his league, way out of the league of anyone in their little town.
He had never been a very popular guy, and never truly excelled at anything. He would like to blame that on not trying, but the fact was he kept getting distracted by his own mind. He never found the drive to truly apply himself, and never found the courage to try. Life seemed to him a complex and chaotic mess, full of unwanted surprises and tragedy. This had changed when she started at their college, and he was instantly infatuated with her. Before he had gotten to know her he was in love with the idea of being in love with her. As time passed and their forced proximity caused them to get to know each other, a friendship blossomed, and he was in love with her for who she was. It broke his soul to pieces realizing she could not see herself the way he saw her, but she accepted him as a friend, and that would have to do.
He had started to apply himself now, in all the subject she showed interest for. He let her fill his mind and his soul with all of her passions, and relentlessly sought to excel at them. It felt like the emptiness inside of him had been filled, and it was her spirit doing the internal decoration and structuring of his soul. Another cold gust of wind blew straight towards them, chilling their ears as they slowly progressed along their route. He felt that there were thousands of things he wanted to say, but the words never felt grand enough. How could he possibly explain this connection he felt without sounding like an infatuated teenage boy? Would it even be right to make it sound any different? He frowned and looked down at the cracked asphalt road.
She looked over at her companion. He had been such a great help for her when she started college in this town, and she had welcomed the friendship. She noticed the familiar frown he carried when he let his mind wander, as he so often did. She smiled at the thought, but realizing the complexities it entailed soon made the smile fade away. She was concerned for the boy and the damage his interest could do to him. Life had taught her that it could be random and cruel, and that people around her had a tendency to get their hearts broken. She had felt too disconnected to feel anything resembling love for as long as she could remember. Her own passions and causes were her way of attempting to feel something. Her way of attempting to shine a light on the darkness surrounding her. She never wanted to drag another soul into that mess, and the fervor with which he sought to embrace it truly scared her. She thought to herself that she might soon have to push him away, before the damage would be irreversible. It would hurt, but it would be better for both of them in the long run. Maybe he could find someone less broken.
|
When I rushed around the corner, my first emotion was excitement. The garage door was open, which meant he was accepting interruptions to his work.
*Thwack, thwack, thwack.*
I stood in the entryway, looking up into that familiar, strong, reliable face. How often now had I rushed home from the bus stop just to see what new project he was working on?
*Thwack, thwack, thwack.*
I took a tentative step forward into the enclosed space, confused and slightly worried. It had been several years since he had last towered over me. Partially to blame was my recent growth spurt, but partially too the accident. I could see his empty wheelchair in the periphery of my vision, the small decorative flag on the back flapping weakly in the gentle breeze.
*Thwack, thwack, thwack.*
I took another step forward, before slipping on the wet, greasy concrete and falling onto my face. I remained there as more droplets plopped down from above, mixing into the crimson puddle my hand lay in.
*Thwack, thwack, thwack.*
I tried to shakily stand up, but my gelatinous knees betrayed me, and I stumbled again. I managed to twist before I landed, rolling over onto my back, looking up. Putting together the pieces in a numb malaise, recognizing the chain from my bicycle, which he had been working on fixing in his slow, trembling, yet somehow steady and insistent manner. The loop it made around the rafter, the teeth sawing into both wood and flesh with each pendulumic sway.
*Thwack, thwack, thwack.*
Scarlet raindrops, thrice against my cheek, broke my paralysis.
*Thwack, thwack, thwack.*
"Dad?"
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[WP] Invoke an emotion in the reader, whether it be laughter, tears, or rage - make me feel something.
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Sometime after he left she wrote a seven page letter and put it under her bed, taking it out periodically throughout the coming days and reading it again and again as though it would bring out some understanding of what had happened. He'd left without so much as a word, without telling her that it wasn't working out or that he had to go or that it wasn't her fault. She naturally assumed that all those things were true, and so in the days following his leaving she kept the letter beneath her bed and she read it once a day, twice a day, every few hours until she couldn't stand the masochistic knee-jerk reaction of tears that came from reading, and she stashed it away.
Two months later she heard from him again. He wrote her an email apologizing for what he had done and for leaving. She left work and went home to sob, sitting on her bed and bending over until her stomach hurt and she felt empty and unlovable and *what had she done* and *why had this happened*.
She wrote him back. He didn't respond for another two months. Then again. Then again. She grew distant. The didn't know why she cared. The words that she had written in her diary the day he left, *je t'aimais, je t'aime, je t'aimerai*^* began to lose some of their feeling.
But there was always that. The sliver in the middle of the night that woke her when she felt empty. The literal pain in her heart that logically made no sense. The creeping wonders if in those nights when he had whispered that he loved her had he meant it, had it been real, had any of it been real.
She wrote in her letter to him that she loved him. Three times, their tradition. *I love you, I love you, I love you. And a piece of me will always, always, always be yours.*
The day she threw the letter away she wondered if it was still true. If that love had ever been real or just something that existed in a moment. She wondered if one day he had seen her for the person she feared herself to be.
In the end, she asked him to stop sending emails. They hurt too much.
That night she thought of how he had abandoned her, and the place in her heart ached even though a whole year had gone by. She thought of the email that she had sent merely hours ago.
She wondered if he thought she had abandoned him, too.
---
* I loved you, I love you, I will love you
|
When I rushed around the corner, my first emotion was excitement. The garage door was open, which meant he was accepting interruptions to his work.
*Thwack, thwack, thwack.*
I stood in the entryway, looking up into that familiar, strong, reliable face. How often now had I rushed home from the bus stop just to see what new project he was working on?
*Thwack, thwack, thwack.*
I took a tentative step forward into the enclosed space, confused and slightly worried. It had been several years since he had last towered over me. Partially to blame was my recent growth spurt, but partially too the accident. I could see his empty wheelchair in the periphery of my vision, the small decorative flag on the back flapping weakly in the gentle breeze.
*Thwack, thwack, thwack.*
I took another step forward, before slipping on the wet, greasy concrete and falling onto my face. I remained there as more droplets plopped down from above, mixing into the crimson puddle my hand lay in.
*Thwack, thwack, thwack.*
I tried to shakily stand up, but my gelatinous knees betrayed me, and I stumbled again. I managed to twist before I landed, rolling over onto my back, looking up. Putting together the pieces in a numb malaise, recognizing the chain from my bicycle, which he had been working on fixing in his slow, trembling, yet somehow steady and insistent manner. The loop it made around the rafter, the teeth sawing into both wood and flesh with each pendulumic sway.
*Thwack, thwack, thwack.*
Scarlet raindrops, thrice against my cheek, broke my paralysis.
*Thwack, thwack, thwack.*
"Dad?"
|
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[WP] Invoke an emotion in the reader, whether it be laughter, tears, or rage - make me feel something.
|
There once was a man named Jin, and the day his daughter was born was the happiest day in his life. The day he brought her home was the second saddest day in his life.
Jin insisted that they needed to buy some soju and celebrate the birth of their Seonsil, but Inyung, who was far too tired and exhausted from the pains of childbirth, insisted that they just go straight home from the hospital. Jin ignored the nagging of his wife and drove to the liquor store anyway. There, he bought the best soju that money could buy. Jin didn't really like to drink, but Inyung always loved a good bottle of soju. And it *had* been nine months since Inyung had tasted even a sip of her favorite drink. When Inyung saw the $300 bottle of Cham Soju gift-wrapped in Jin's ecstatic arms, she couldn't help but relent, and a smile worked its way onto her face. There was nothing she loved more in this world than Cham Soju, but Jin could never fathom why. The stuff tasted like shoe polish to him. But he spent every last dollar in his pocket to buy some because he loved Inyung so much, and she certainly deserved a good drink after 14 hours of pushing a baby through her birth canal.
They were almost home when it happened. Five minutes more and they would have never been hit by that drunk truck driver. It happened all so fast. All of a sudden horns were blaring in their ears. A pair of blinding headlights blazed towards them faster than Jin could swerve to move out of the way. The last thing Jin could remember was the way it rained shattered glass on him and his family.
When he awoke, the car was upside down, its wheels still turning. Shards of glass jutted out from his arms and chest, but he was alive. But he wished he had died when he looked over to the passenger seat. A jagged spike of metal had pierced through the demolished windshield and into Inyung's throat. She was still gagging on her own blood when Jin came to. He cried out her name. "INYUNG!" he roared. "INYUNG!"
Her eyes glanced over towards him as she clutched onto the metal spike that jutted through her neck and came out the other side. There was so much blood. More blood than Jin had ever seen before in his life. It ran down her arms in rivulets. It trailed down on the metal spike that pierced her throat and dripped down on to the roof of the overturned car. Inyung gagged such ungodly noises. Jin didn't know what to do. And so he just looked on in horror as he watched his beloved Inyung pass from this world. They had loved one another their entire lives, and they had sworn they would love one another until they were old and gray.
Inyung's 27th birthday would have been next Friday.
By the time the sirens were wailing in Jin's ears, Inyung's body was already cold. It wasn't until his daughter began crying in the backseat that he remembered she was still in the car. Immediately, Jin unbuckled his seatbelt and banged his head against the shattered metal roof of his Hyundai Genesis. He crawled to his newborn Seonsil, miraculously unharmed in the crash. And he swore. Jin swore that he would never let any harm come to so much as a single strand of hair on her precious little head.
Ironically, the truck driver was drunk on Soju.
Sixteen years pass by, and Jin never takes another wife. He never even goes on another date with another girl. He stays true to the memory of his beloved Inyung and raises Seonsil all by himself. She was all he had left now, and she was the light of his world. Jin went to extraordinary lengths to ensure her safety, which of course was very exasperating for the young Seonsil growing up. Jin never let Seonsil go anywhere without his direct supervision. He dropped her off at school every morning, and he picked her up every night. He never let his daughter take the bus, and he never let her out of sight. Even if she were to go to the movies with her friends, Jin would be sitting there in the row behind them, making sure nothing happened to his precious Seonsil. This infuriated Seonsil to no end, and even her friends thought that her father was far too overprotective of her.
Every year at Danwon High School in Ansan, the junior class would take a field trip to Jeju Island, the Hawaii of South Korea. Seonsil desperately wanted to go. All her friends were going, but her father refused to let her take so much as a single step onto that ferry boat. She screamed and she cried and she begged. For *once* in her life, Seonsil wanted to hang out with her friends like all the other kids. For *once* in her life, she wanted her dad to stop being such a dictator. It took weeks of pleading and sobbing, but finally, at long last, Jin relented. She had his permission to go.
Then on the day of the trip to Jeju Island, April 16th, 2014, the MV Sewol capsized, and sank to the bottom of the ocean floor, taking 325 members of the Danwon High School's junior class with it. And Jin never saw Seonsil again.
|
When I rushed around the corner, my first emotion was excitement. The garage door was open, which meant he was accepting interruptions to his work.
*Thwack, thwack, thwack.*
I stood in the entryway, looking up into that familiar, strong, reliable face. How often now had I rushed home from the bus stop just to see what new project he was working on?
*Thwack, thwack, thwack.*
I took a tentative step forward into the enclosed space, confused and slightly worried. It had been several years since he had last towered over me. Partially to blame was my recent growth spurt, but partially too the accident. I could see his empty wheelchair in the periphery of my vision, the small decorative flag on the back flapping weakly in the gentle breeze.
*Thwack, thwack, thwack.*
I took another step forward, before slipping on the wet, greasy concrete and falling onto my face. I remained there as more droplets plopped down from above, mixing into the crimson puddle my hand lay in.
*Thwack, thwack, thwack.*
I tried to shakily stand up, but my gelatinous knees betrayed me, and I stumbled again. I managed to twist before I landed, rolling over onto my back, looking up. Putting together the pieces in a numb malaise, recognizing the chain from my bicycle, which he had been working on fixing in his slow, trembling, yet somehow steady and insistent manner. The loop it made around the rafter, the teeth sawing into both wood and flesh with each pendulumic sway.
*Thwack, thwack, thwack.*
Scarlet raindrops, thrice against my cheek, broke my paralysis.
*Thwack, thwack, thwack.*
"Dad?"
|
|
[WP] Invoke an emotion in the reader, whether it be laughter, tears, or rage - make me feel something.
|
There once was a man named Jin, and the day his daughter was born was the happiest day in his life. The day he brought her home was the second saddest day in his life.
Jin insisted that they needed to buy some soju and celebrate the birth of their Seonsil, but Inyung, who was far too tired and exhausted from the pains of childbirth, insisted that they just go straight home from the hospital. Jin ignored the nagging of his wife and drove to the liquor store anyway. There, he bought the best soju that money could buy. Jin didn't really like to drink, but Inyung always loved a good bottle of soju. And it *had* been nine months since Inyung had tasted even a sip of her favorite drink. When Inyung saw the $300 bottle of Cham Soju gift-wrapped in Jin's ecstatic arms, she couldn't help but relent, and a smile worked its way onto her face. There was nothing she loved more in this world than Cham Soju, but Jin could never fathom why. The stuff tasted like shoe polish to him. But he spent every last dollar in his pocket to buy some because he loved Inyung so much, and she certainly deserved a good drink after 14 hours of pushing a baby through her birth canal.
They were almost home when it happened. Five minutes more and they would have never been hit by that drunk truck driver. It happened all so fast. All of a sudden horns were blaring in their ears. A pair of blinding headlights blazed towards them faster than Jin could swerve to move out of the way. The last thing Jin could remember was the way it rained shattered glass on him and his family.
When he awoke, the car was upside down, its wheels still turning. Shards of glass jutted out from his arms and chest, but he was alive. But he wished he had died when he looked over to the passenger seat. A jagged spike of metal had pierced through the demolished windshield and into Inyung's throat. She was still gagging on her own blood when Jin came to. He cried out her name. "INYUNG!" he roared. "INYUNG!"
Her eyes glanced over towards him as she clutched onto the metal spike that jutted through her neck and came out the other side. There was so much blood. More blood than Jin had ever seen before in his life. It ran down her arms in rivulets. It trailed down on the metal spike that pierced her throat and dripped down on to the roof of the overturned car. Inyung gagged such ungodly noises. Jin didn't know what to do. And so he just looked on in horror as he watched his beloved Inyung pass from this world. They had loved one another their entire lives, and they had sworn they would love one another until they were old and gray.
Inyung's 27th birthday would have been next Friday.
By the time the sirens were wailing in Jin's ears, Inyung's body was already cold. It wasn't until his daughter began crying in the backseat that he remembered she was still in the car. Immediately, Jin unbuckled his seatbelt and banged his head against the shattered metal roof of his Hyundai Genesis. He crawled to his newborn Seonsil, miraculously unharmed in the crash. And he swore. Jin swore that he would never let any harm come to so much as a single strand of hair on her precious little head.
Ironically, the truck driver was drunk on Soju.
Sixteen years pass by, and Jin never takes another wife. He never even goes on another date with another girl. He stays true to the memory of his beloved Inyung and raises Seonsil all by himself. She was all he had left now, and she was the light of his world. Jin went to extraordinary lengths to ensure her safety, which of course was very exasperating for the young Seonsil growing up. Jin never let Seonsil go anywhere without his direct supervision. He dropped her off at school every morning, and he picked her up every night. He never let his daughter take the bus, and he never let her out of sight. Even if she were to go to the movies with her friends, Jin would be sitting there in the row behind them, making sure nothing happened to his precious Seonsil. This infuriated Seonsil to no end, and even her friends thought that her father was far too overprotective of her.
Every year at Danwon High School in Ansan, the junior class would take a field trip to Jeju Island, the Hawaii of South Korea. Seonsil desperately wanted to go. All her friends were going, but her father refused to let her take so much as a single step onto that ferry boat. She screamed and she cried and she begged. For *once* in her life, Seonsil wanted to hang out with her friends like all the other kids. For *once* in her life, she wanted her dad to stop being such a dictator. It took weeks of pleading and sobbing, but finally, at long last, Jin relented. She had his permission to go.
Then on the day of the trip to Jeju Island, April 16th, 2014, the MV Sewol capsized, and sank to the bottom of the ocean floor, taking 325 members of the Danwon High School's junior class with it. And Jin never saw Seonsil again.
|
Both of them knew it. I mean, he hadn't uttered a single word or syllable thus far, and he was approaching three years. The appointment only confirmed what James and Abby already knew, their son was on the autistic spectrum.
Thankfully, early intervention was kind towards Nathan and his parents. He began to speak, interactions with other youths were positive, and it seemed like progress was being made everyday. It now seemed that Nathan only had a slight bend towards autistic behaviors, seemingly unnoticeable to the untrained individual.
Although, progress can be deceiving. Nathan quickly learned throughout the years that acting was his ticket to normalcy. This mimicking wasn't the true Nathan. These behaviors did not originate organically...yet it appeased his teachers, created pseudo-friendships, and most of all, made his parents happy.
What was once a deficit became an area of mastery. When peers were playing video games, Nathan was studying TV shows, movies, and stand up comedy. What better way to learn social skills than from the best? Eventually, a new persona was born.
Nathan called him Nathaniel. Nathan was bleak, dull, and generally void of emotion. Nathaniel was witty, inviting, and charming.
Nathaniel cruised through High School. He dated the hottest cheerleader, unsurprisingly excelled at theater, and aced all his classes. His popularity was through the roof.
At what point does the actor become the true identity? Was Nathan actually creating an entire different persona? Or was he simply emphasizing certain characteristics that were already innate? Was he the jack of all trades, or the master of none?
These questions were easily answered at the end of each and every day, when Nathaniel gave way to Nathan. It was all fake, the smiles, the jokes, the enjoyment, everything. None of these yielded authentic feelings. No intrinsic validation was gleaned from wearing a mask of social skills. Nathan realized genuine happiness, or any true feeling, must be generated from a genuine interaction.
Nathan sat in his room, troubled by this dilemma when a knock came at his door. James poked his head in the door and said: "It's dinner time, Champ."
"Not hungry."
"What's wrong, Nathan?"
"Dad...I need to...feel. I don't know. I just need to know the true me isn't...gone. Whether it be laughter, tears, or rage, how do I make myself feel *something*?"
It was the first time in years that Nathan wasn't being Nathaniel, and James realized it instantly. So, with tears in his eyes, James embraced his son.
Maybe it was the uncertainty of honesty, perhaps it was the overwhelming acceptance of his father, or it could've been the nakedness that comes with bearing one's unaltered personality. Either way, Nathan felt something that day.
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[WP] You're a scientist in a lab, your assistant just said "oops."
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"Oops", I heard Frank at the other end of the lab.
"Frank, can give me a brief and clear reason for that 'oops' of yours?"
Frank adjusted his glasses. His forehead was shining with sweat. He stuttered a word or two before spilling the beans.
"I... Um, I think I accidentaly let one of the genetically enhanced spiders escape."
"You did *what*?!", I suppressed a scream. It was almost morning and the lab was empty, except for Frank, the night guard and myself. "God damn it, Franklin. We have no idea what these spiders are capable of. We gotta find it before *it* finds someone."
Frank knelt down and looked under the table. "No signal of it, doctor. I guess it ran away." He looked at me. I could feel the fear in his eyes. "What should we do?"
I looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost 6AM. In a question of hours all those students from the local high school should arrive and turn my lab into a rave party.
We spent every minute we had to find that accursed spider, but to no avail. The teenagers arrived.
Geeky kids with their gadgets, girls with cameras, taking pictures of our enhanced animals. Jocks insisted on bullying those poor kids. Hell, I was one of these bullied boys once, I hope they can find their way into a bright future like mine.
I heard someone say "ouch". "The spider, the damn spider.", I muttered. Frank tried to find who was bitten, but all he could see was a scrawny boy running away from the lab.
Well, I had only one option: Waiting. Either for the lawsuits from a dead kid's parents or for some relief in discovering that the spider could do nothing.
Two months passed. No one came to my lab complaining about their dead son, so I guess there was nothing special about that spider. My life was normal once more.
Except maybe for the fact that yesterday some crazy guy with mechanical wings tried to explode the lab and a kid dressed as a superhero saved us. Frank asked for his name, and he said "I'm just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man".
*God damn it, Frank.*
|
“I just need to add another 0.1 mg. of this to the syringe and inject into…”
“Oops.” interrupted my assistant.
Cold sweat erupted from my brow. My heart jumped into my throat. I whirl around as fast as I could. My mind raced. What could he have done? Did he release one of the viruses they were working with? Which one? Was this the end? All those years spent on my Ph.D only to succumb to the failings of a grad student? All those years developing my mind and aiming to help the greater good dashed in an instant? I could’ve spent that time getting laid. Oh, man I miss Linda’s glorious tits…
Upon turning, my jaw dropped, my heart sank, and my knees wobbled.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” cheered my friends and family. The broad smiles on their faces quickly vanished. My lab assistant staring in utter horror, hand still on the sock-covered doorknob. Even fucking Linda was there, eyes wide and mouth gaping.
“I wish I was dead, oh God…” I mumbled as I fumbled my penis back into my pants and in my panic tossed the syringe. The syringe flew across the lab towards a filled test tube rack. The sound of glass shattering pierced the awkward silence.
“Oops.” I said as everyone began collapsing to the ground.
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[WP] You're a scientist in a lab, your assistant just said "oops."
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"Oops."
"What happened!?"
"I accidentally broke the test tube."
"Do you know what you've done?! That tube alone costed us 5 dollars! We aren't made of money!"
"Sorry, won't happen again."
|
"Oops."
"Oops?"
"... Oops."
"Oops!?"
Dr. Cavendish turned sharply on his heel and speed walked across the pristine lab. He came upon his assistant, Dr. Yu, standing completely still over a containment chamber. His brown almond eyes transfixed on the seemingly empty vessel.
"What do you mean 'oops!?'" Dr. Cavendish said tetchily.
"I mean oops." Yu replied looking up at his boss. His face was painted every color but calm. Cavendish felt his heart skip over as his gaze trailed down to the containment pod. Yu's hands were still within the isolation gloves that extended into the pod. Yellow light from the incubation bulb flashed dull over their neoprene surface. Yu turned his right glove over and Cavendish saw the reason for his errantly expressed exacerbation.
"The Nirus..." Cavendish said aghast as he stared at the tiny hole in the isolation gloves.
The Nirus, or course stood for nano-virus. A lab created artificial virus composed of the latest and greatest nanotechnology. Combining both organic and synthetic properties the Nirus was intended to be a 'smart-bug,' that could be injected into a human body and act as a T-cell replacement variable. It was intended as an artificial immunobooster that could be programmed to destroy cancerous cells as well as a whole spectrum of untreatable diseases such as STD's, anti-biotic resistant, and genetic aberrations.
However humans are fickle creatures and once discovered that the Nirus could be programmed to heal, it wasn't long before they discovered how to program it to harm. It's new objective was to install a form of sterility in the genetic code as well as release its information for super-AIDS. In short it was the most effective biological weapon known to man. To make it even more effective the Nirus was uploaded with the information and ideals of the Nazi party and South African apartheid. The bug wasn't only deadly, but it was racist as well. Had its creators thought of giving it a tiny nano-mouth there is no doubt that you'd be able to hear tiny racial slurs being shouted from its seething, hateful body. Forget about anthrax, forget about mustard gas, hell, forget about the plague, those bugs couldn't hold a mutated mitochondrion to the Nirus.
Thus when Cavendish heard his clumsy assistant mutter 'oops,' the hairs on the back of his neck did rise. Seeing the hole here and now, his worst fears had been realized. Once introduced to the world there was virtually no stopping its spread. Cavendish looked to his assistant with a hopelessness that would take the heart of Aragorn himself.
"Oops." He said simply. Confirming his assistants fears.
"Oops?" Was Yu's half hopeful reply.
"Oops..." Cavendish said back shaking his head.
Cavendish then reached over to the flash-immolation quarantine switch, knowing full and well that it couldn't stop the Nirus, he pulled the lever.
---
In the charred remained of the once immaculate lab a grain of ash shifted and fell to the side. The tiny grain rolled down a mountain of soot, causing a small ash-avalanche. From the cinders and slag rose put a tiny four legged monster. It raised its arms triumphantly, it's tiny myosin and actin fibers flexing gloriously. Would it only have had a mouth the tiny nanobot would have cried loud and long it's wretched war cry. It looked over the mountains of ash that spanned well over the horizon. There was much work to be done, it was a shame he hadn't the time to replicate within his host. With a solitary finger on its microscopic hand it flipped the world the bird, and set off to burn it to the ground.
---
Hey if you liked this short little story about a racist, genocidal nano-virus, then why don't you hope on down to my sub at /r/ScribeSchneid . Word has it that the cure to that malevolent, malconceived, megalomaniac Nirus is hidden somewhere on that page. Save yourselves!
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[WP] It's the end of the world, and only one man can fix it. His name? Dad.
|
James Shao sits on the trunk of a fallen tree on the Californian coastline, gazing at the waves. Early morning light spills pink and orange watercolors over the ocean. The surf crashes onto the pebbled beach, spray glistening in the air for a moment, catching the light in a sparkling curtain, and receding back into the Pacific. James looks down at his phone and selects a song, a quiet instrumental piece undercut with a dizzying violin solo, a lone string instrument that crescendoed and crashed into silence, again and again, as repetitive and overwhelming as the ocean he now watched.
A few gulls circled overhead, waiting for the tourists to arrive or fish to be deposited on the shore by the waves. Their cries were piercing, mournful. Somehow, they completed the music. James had nothing for them, not a breakfast sandwich that he could tear into pieces for the gulls or a protein bar in his pocket, but he didn't want to interrupt the circling gulls, anyway. If they returned to him with insistent cries for more, they wouldn't be the harmony any more, they'd demand his attention and distract him. He didn't want to lose his focus. Not now.
James had lived in Kansas for most of his life, enduring the stares of white kids who'd never met someone with his eyes or his black hair or his packed lunches with rice and dumplings. He'd earned their respect on the swim team. His breaststroke time was a state record, and he held most of the school's records. His mother was Californian, and here he was, on his first school vacation, on a massive piece of driftwood on the very edge of the state, in his element. He'd never seen the ocean before yesterday, never been in a body of water larger than a pool. He wasn't here to swim- he knew the riptides were lethal.
He sets the phone next to him on the wood and kicks his heels against the dead tree. The ocean curves into itself, roaring ice-blue and deep emerald and abalone-white. He watches. He doesn't know if he can find the words to say. The flight he took yesterday was long and he was cramped in an economy seat, scratching hesitant letters onto a piece of notebook paper. He has the notebook with him- he carried it from his hotel room, about a half-mile walk- and he looks over it again for inspiration.
*Dad. I know w̶h̶o̶ - what you are. I'm your son. My name is James Shao, my mother is Suyuan Shao. She always told you that she knew you for her whole life, and she wasn't kidding. I don't know if you remember me, I guess you might. But if you follow after the Greeks, you probably have a lot of kids, and I'm not that special. Maybe you heard about my swimming? The Olympic team wanted me, but I was too young then, and now I'm in college and I don't think that they still want me. Mom says she wants me to be a doctor, but I think she's joking because she's been very supportive of my environmental sciences major. What do you think of that? I-*
At this point, the person sitting next to him had asked him about his plans in California, and he'd been drawn into a discussion that ranged from the meatpacking industry to Illuminati conspiracy theories to astrophysics. He hadn't finished the letter before the plane had touched down, and now he looks over his scribbles with a sort of dismay. There's nothing here that he can use. The request he came to make is too important to include these inconsequential details about his life. He searches his pockets for a pencil and finds one, and he tries to write some notes again to prepare himself, but he can't think of any small talk to prelude his plea.
*Father, I've been thinking that you could intervene-*
No, too formal. He'll have to try better. He crosses that out with a single neat line through the letters.
*My name is James Shao, son of Suyuan Shao. I am a resident of Kansas with experience in-*
He's not trying to get a job. He's just trying to talk to his dad and ask a single question. He hasn't even thought of how to phrase something of that magnitude, and if the flight and abandoning his friends for the vacation will be worth it if his father denies him.
The song ends, and the shuffle feature brings up an classic rock song. The wailing vocals of the backup singer are lost to the waves. James shuts it off. The instrumental had helped; now the music is distracting him. His concentration on writing isn't great even when it's silent. He's still amazed that he managed to write the essays for college with his scattered attention. Sometimes, he thinks that the pool is the only place where he's truly focused, and then he remembers that he's not focused at all- his mind drifts while his body slices through the water.
*Dad, I know that I'm asking a lot of you. It looks like the world is ending right now. ISIS is rising and Donald Trump might be the next president, which would be pretty bad for immigrants, and I know you wouldn't want people like Mom to get hurt. And then there's the plummeting biodiversity and the ice caps and overfishing. The rainforests. Erosion. Pollution. Oil spills. Seventy percent of the world is a lot, Dad. If you can do anything to help, please-*
He sounds desperate. He is desperate. He doesn't know how to begin. The sun is higher in the sky, molten sunlight cracking over the waves and breaking on the shore, leaving streams of gold between the pebbles as the water rushes back to the sea. On the horizon, the water looks like the surface of the sun, brilliant white. He pushes himself from the driftwood and slides his phone into his pocket.
He walks to the edge of the water, and salt water, frigid, seethes through his sneakers.
“Dad,” he starts, shading his eyes and looking into the distance. “It's me, your son. James Shao. I haven't done a lot for you, and you haven't done much for me, either. I guess this is hello and goodbye. I'm here to ask you a question.”
The waves crash in response.
“The world's in pretty bad shape right now, and I'm not sure what you can do about it. I'm an environmental science major, so I know exactly how bad. If you could do something for me- anything, just make it a little better- I'd appreciate it. It's my eighteenth birthday tomorrow, Dad. This is all I want. Keep this planet spinning a little longer. It's my home and it's yours, too.”
James walks closer to the breaking waves. When the water rushes in from the ocean, the cold stings his legs and comes up to his knees.
“Seventy percent. We're the blue planet. You have to have some influence, right?”
The water drags him towards the foaming gyre of the waves, pulling loose stones into the ocean and bruising his legs. James holds his ground.
“Son,” a voice calls behind him, from the shore. James turns, almost losing his balance. The water pulls, and he walks from the ocean with difficulty.
“Dad?”
The man is tall, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, with a baseball cap that conceals his features. A trident tattoo covers one forearm, and the ink is a deep azure, the color of fathomless waters. He has long black hair and stubble on his chin, a deep voice like the resounding crash behind James.
“Kid,” he says, “Consider your birthday present delivered. And call me Neptune.”
|
When you finally sit up, the circle of white tallow candles around you is burning low. You haven’t been on earth in a while, a couple of weeks maybe, but your fire safety instinct remains strong: your first move is to lick your fingers and pinch out the flames. Then you look around. You realize you woke up sitting on a piece of paper. DAD, it says, in childish handwriting.
That’s your name. Dad. When a six year old is asked to choose one person to bring back from the dead to fix the broken world, who will she pick? Her personal superhero, of course, the man of steel defined in her head by only a three-letter mononym.
You can remember your death easily, it wasn’t too traumatic. Heat causes 90% of initial deaths from a thermonuclear explosion, you read it on Wikipedia on your phone at the breakfast table the same morning the New York Times explained that the war was going badly and we couldn’t trust our enemies not to use too much force.
Wait. DAD is written in your daughter’s hand. Your darling only child with bright eyes and sticky fingers. That means she survived. How? She’s not here; you’re alone in some kind of empty bunker with a concrete floor bare but for the candles, an obligatory copy of the Necronomicon, and a couple of your personal possessions. Summoning aids, you suppose. The hammer with the red handle you’d been using in the last few weeks of your life to build your house a back deck. An MLB baseball cap. The fanny pack you wore on day trips to the zoo or the beach.
The room has only one door. To find your daughter (and repair the post-apocalyptic wasteland like she knew you could) you’ll have to go through it. You pick up the hammer, it seems the most useful. Now you’re awake enough to notice that your hand on the handle is totally charred.
You open the door and survey the damage outside like it’s a finger-paint covered bathroom.
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[WP] Your SO just got home from work. Moments later they text saying they'll be home late.
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There was some fumbling at the door. It was time for Jessica to get home. Sometimes I unlock the door but today I hadn't bothered since I had been busy writing. It really doesn't matter either way; she has a key. She continued to fumble with the door for a bit. Finally, she stopped and my phone vibrated. She must've lost her key again. I stopped my writing and got up to go to the door.
"Hey sweetheart," I sang to her. She was looking gorgeous as usual. Actually, she looked a lot more gorgeous today than she usually did when she got home from work. Her makeup was completely perfect as opposed to the usual signs that she had either sweat or accidentally smudged it in a spot. Her facial expression was spot on though; it was indicative of true hatred for one's job. I opened my arms to give her a hug but she just walked in and shut the door. "How'd you manage to lose your keys," I began; but the words were knocked right out of me as I was tackled to the floor.
"Ok, human," seethed a voice that was not Jessica's, " I'll make this as painless as I can." My phone went off and I looked over at it on the floor. Jessica's name was displayed in the center. The impostor answered and I was persuaded to say hello by something sharp against my throat.
"Hello to you too, Mister I take too long to text back," came Jessica's sassy voice, "I sent you a mess--wait is that you I see coming down the hall?" The impostor threw the phone across the room.
|
I slammed the door shut and slumped on the couch, grabbed the remote and turned on the T.V. Then, my phone buzzed. I looked down and saw a number I didn't recognize.
"I'll be working late, don't wait up for dinner. -XOxo"
The phone fell to the floor as my right hand instantly vanished.
Shocked, I stared ponderously at the phone, and then at my immaculate wrist-stump.
It all made sense.
With not much else to do, I walked over to kitchen, and with some difficulty, managed to open a beer. I awkwardly sipped the beer with my left hand.
"Wonder when my gf will be home"
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Edit: Well this took off better than I expected. We got all kinds of stuff here: romance, comedy, horror, twist endings, even a dab at poetry. I love it!
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[WP] The main character just found out that their significant other is not only a shapeshifter, but also every person they've ever dated.
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"Won't your wife get jealous," I whisper as I lean in to touch John's arm.
"Naw, she is the the jealous type," he smirks, knowing it's a lie. "Anyways she'll never find out about us getting some drinks here and there." It's always the same with him. You would think pretty blond secretaries fell from trees as often as he tries to seduce them.
-----------
"Honey, I'm home!" Here he comes, the man of the century! Fresh from banging his assistant in the handicap stall of the bar bathroom. I actually barely made it home before him this time. Usually I get him to get me a drink when he tells me he needs to make it home for dinner and disappear, but this time I lingered. I guess because it's time. He deserves to know.
"Happy anniversary babe! Ten whole years married, it's a big one!" Being Leslie the housewife is getting boring. I'm bored, he's bored, and nobody's happy, which is probably why he cheats. I lean in to give him a chase kiss. Nothing like what the buxom blond was just doing with her lips and tongue. "I have a present for you."
"Oh, our anniversary, right, I mean, I remembered..." He never remembers.
"I know you did honey, but let me give you your present first. It's going to be unforgettable!" He looks nervous. "Close your eyes," I whisper in his ear, reflecting how his assistant touched him earlier today. He complies, but is wringing his hands. I guess the countless women he has cheated on me with has been wearing on him.
I take a step back, whirl around to change my shape into Ashlee the secretary, complete with sexy lingerie and fuck me heels. "Ok, open!" John's eyes pop open and he stumbles backwards.
"Oh, shit! You can't be here. Oh, shit"
"Relax babe, it's me! Leslie." He's looking around bewildered. Maybe I shouldn't have sprung this on him. Maybe I should have just settled for a divorce and a new skin to walk around in, but this does seem more fun, and I'm desperate for some fun.
"What... What do you mean?"
Ugh! Boring! "Ok so long story short, I can shape shift, so looks like you have the two for one special!" Crickets. Guess it's time to take it up a notch. I whirl around and now I'm Katie, the cute girl in HR. John starts crying.
"I'm so sorry," he starts babbling while tears start streaming down his face. "I don't know how you know, and I don't know how you are doing this, but I'm sorry. It was only the two times. I swear. I love you and I'll never let it happen again.
"Oh silly man!" I complete a series of turns. Whoosh, Jessica, whoosh, Abigail, whoosh, Emily, whoosh, Alexa, whoosh, Brittany. Feeling a bit dizzy I stop and stare at him. The man I would do anything for. He looks dumbfounded. "I'm all of them. I know you love me. You have always loved me. You will always love me. I'm your person."
"But how..."
"Well, when most girls go through puberty, they start their periods. I didn't get that, instead, I looked at a magazine enviously staring at all the pretty girls and all of a stuffed I was that girl. Remember when everyone thought you were dating then Guess model in high school." I shot him a dazzling smile as I twirled into my first transformation. "Surprise!"
"But there have been so many. You couldn't have been all of them."
"Actually I can. It only takes a spin and I'm someone new. I have been to every post football game party, every frat event, every class, every meeting, every bar, every date, every bathroom hookup," he blushed at that last one. "Remember when you told me you loved me and that you wouldn't leave me when we were 18 and pregnant, well, I wasn't pregnant, and you left me anyways. I wasn't going to let you go so easily."
"They have had apartments, families, cars for Christ's sake! How could you manage all that?"
"It's easy really. The families took some forethought. I actually had to make a friend and meet her family, then I would become her and poof instant family!"
"But the money, Natasha only wore designer clothing, and Sarah had a Lexus and a killer apartment."
Looks like he isn't as dumb as I thought. "Killer being the main word there." I start to prowl across the room like a panther eyeing its prey. "Do you know how easy it is to get close to someone when you have a different face? Of course you do," I smile, "I've been close to you so many times. But that's not really the point. You can't get away, and I can't get caught if something happens to you. It's as easy as that!"
John looks like he is about to puke. "Oh baby, don't worry! I'll love you forever, just like you have loved me."
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"Is that your reaction?"
-How do you expect me to react Jane? Or is it Carole?
"My name is Jah-Culle. I thought you would freak out."
-Meh.
"Is that seriously your reaction!? I just told you we've actually been dating since you were 16 yeras old, and this is how you react!?
-Yeah, why you still a bitch?
"Excuse me!?"
-You can shape shift into everyone, but you still haven't learned to stop being a bitch. You think with all your great powers, you can change your mind state too.
"Well...I can...but if I do, it really wouldn't be me anymore...and I only am the way I am to be able to change you! ou have so much potential!"
-Yaddah, yaddah, yaddah, I've heard it all before from...well you!
"I can't believe this is your reaction! You're such an asshole!"
-Well you obviously love me the way I am, I don't have to change...I've broken up with you about 10 times now?
"12...."
-Good. If you truly love me, change your mind to basically do everything I tell you.
"So you don't love me...at all..."
-Not if you don't change.
"ooookaaayyy....but only because I love you..."
-Stop crying. Now when will you change?
"It's already done.
-Good. You can surprise me with a different person everyday, you know what I like. Now go make me a sandwich.
"Okay Billy. I love you..."
-Yep.
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Edit: Well this took off better than I expected. We got all kinds of stuff here: romance, comedy, horror, twist endings, even a dab at poetry. I love it!
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[WP] The main character just found out that their significant other is not only a shapeshifter, but also every person they've ever dated.
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"You mean to say that you were Frank?"
"*And Bob and Jeff and Paul.*"
"And Rick and James and Christopher?"
"*My dear I was them all.*"
"But what about the barman in
The city with the hat?"
"*With I you've only ever been,
I even am your cat.*"
"You mean to say that Mr Fluff..."
"*Is nothing but a fraud!
And if that wasnt quite enough
I'm also Mrs Ward.*"
"My neighbour too? But never did
I take her 'tween my thighs."
"*Though lovers leave you cannot rid
A neighbour til they die!*"
"You awful fiend I cannot stand
To wait a minute more,
I've sent a text and soon a man
Will hammer down the door."
"*Oh what is this? An SMS,
My phone it sings away.
It seems I've something to confess -
You couldn't guess it, pray?*"
"But surely no! It cannot be...
I must be going mad."
"*My lady, does it give me glee
To tell you I'm your dad!*"
"I'm sorry but I'm feeling ill."
"*I thought you'd find it rough.
I'll sweeten up the bitter pill -
I'll shift to Mr Fluff.*"
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"Is that your reaction?"
-How do you expect me to react Jane? Or is it Carole?
"My name is Jah-Culle. I thought you would freak out."
-Meh.
"Is that seriously your reaction!? I just told you we've actually been dating since you were 16 yeras old, and this is how you react!?
-Yeah, why you still a bitch?
"Excuse me!?"
-You can shape shift into everyone, but you still haven't learned to stop being a bitch. You think with all your great powers, you can change your mind state too.
"Well...I can...but if I do, it really wouldn't be me anymore...and I only am the way I am to be able to change you! ou have so much potential!"
-Yaddah, yaddah, yaddah, I've heard it all before from...well you!
"I can't believe this is your reaction! You're such an asshole!"
-Well you obviously love me the way I am, I don't have to change...I've broken up with you about 10 times now?
"12...."
-Good. If you truly love me, change your mind to basically do everything I tell you.
"So you don't love me...at all..."
-Not if you don't change.
"ooookaaayyy....but only because I love you..."
-Stop crying. Now when will you change?
"It's already done.
-Good. You can surprise me with a different person everyday, you know what I like. Now go make me a sandwich.
"Okay Billy. I love you..."
-Yep.
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Edit: Well this took off better than I expected. We got all kinds of stuff here: romance, comedy, horror, twist endings, even a dab at poetry. I love it!
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[WP] The main character just found out that their significant other is not only a shapeshifter, but also every person they've ever dated.
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For the dozenth time, Alex stopped to check his reflection in the mirror. Average height and average weight with a modest drinker's gut, parted dark hair, a decent beard that had just received its weakly trim. He worried at it slightly. Had he trimmed it too much? Not much he could do about that now. He fiddled with his hair a bit, trying to get the lay right.
*You're being ridiculous.* He told himself, and forced his legs to continue on toward the little brewery where he and Monica had enjoyed their first date.
That had been eight months ago, and things were going well. Damned well, even, at least to his way of thinking. He'd never had much luck with women, and his dating history prior to her had consisted of a dozen short stints with various girls never lasting more than a month or two. Before he met Monica, he'd only ever managed to see two of them for a year or more and one of those had been all the way back in high school. Oh, he could meet the pretty ones easily enough; had in fact been with them almost exclusively, save for pudgy Jessica Higgins. But it always seemed to end the same way. She lost her cool in public one too many times, or she got needlessly jealous over one of his female friends or he quit as soon as things got tough. Yeah, Alex had a type alright: slim, leggy girls with a flair for the dramatic and a bizarre and unyielding devotion to him.
But then there was Monica, who'd been a breath of fresh air. She hadn't been controlling or smothering in the slightest. She was so low maintenance compared to the other girls he'd been with, always cool headed. Even their lovemaking was incredible, and she always seemed to know exactly how to please him. The last eight months with her had been a waking dream, and he'd finally begun to wonder if he'd found that fabled "one".
And all that had come crashing down that morning when he'd gotten the dreaded "We need to talk" text from her. He pulled out his phone, checking it again, as though he would find some hidden meaning in this 700th reading that the previous 699 hadn't revealed. "Meet me at Lou's. I have something important I need to discuss with you. Don't worry about the cost, I'll pick it up this time."
He sighed, checking his reflection, and decided that the only way to get through this was to grab the bull by the horns. After a whole day spent worrying about what he'd done wrong or whether there was some other man, the only recourse he had left was to walk into Lou's and deal with it like a man.
He found her in the beer garden sitting at one of the iron tables. She had a dark beer in front of her and had taken the liberty of ordering him a pint of something with a yellow, wheaty look. As ever, she was a vision of loveliness; peaches and cream skin with a braid of dark hair that fell to her waist and a lean build with long, shapely legs. She wore sandals today and a flowing white dress that hinted at her alluring shape without giving too much of it away.
Her blue eyes turned to his as he approached, and her face lit up in a smile that put him slightly at ease.
"There you are! I was starting to think you were gonna stand me up." She said.
"Ugh...sorry about that." He said, "Work caught me late."
"Uh-huh. You can't fool me, Alex Terry. You were nervous."
He blushed a little as he took his seat. She'd read him perfectly, as she often seemed to. He looked around the beer garden and found that they were mercifully alone there. On a such a beautiful Friday night, that was a small miracle.
"I don't blame you," She said quickly, "There's nothing as infuriating as the whole 'we need to talk' thing. But I'm not here to break up with you. Just to come clean about some stuff."
The momentary relief he'd felt was quickly replaced by an uneasy rock in his stomach.
"You're not cheating on me, are you?"
"No! In fact, I think it's safe to say I've never cheated on you in my life." She said.
He found that passing odd but ignored it. If she wasn't breaking up with him or announcing some foul relationship trouble, what could it be?
"Okay," He said, reaching out to take her hand. She returned the gesture with a smile, stroking his palm, "What's going on then? You had me really worried."
"I'm sorry for that, really." She said apologetically, "But I do have something to share with you and it is very important."
She took a deep breath before saying, "I'm a shapeshifter."
Alex blinked.
"A what?"
"A shapeshifter. One who shifts her shape." She said, "I can...well, I suppose it would be easier to show rather than tell."
She closed her eyes and focused on her power. Alex watched in astonishment as the pretty brunette in front of him shifted into a bikini clad, bronzed blonde straight off a post card for Santa Monica beach. She giggled at his gaped mouth reaction and stretched over the table to push his jaw closed. In another moment, she was herself again.
"I...that's incredible! How long have you been able to do it?" He asked.
"The ability started to manifest when I turned 18. I found that every time I wanted a little belly fat to go away or my hair to change, it just...did." She said, "And then I learned that I could change my clothes and we were off to the races."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" He asked, "Were you afraid I'd freak out or something? I think it's kind of awesome."
A little rosy blush crept into her cheeks this time and she bit her lip.
"Weeeell, that's the *other* thing I needed to talk to you about. I'm afraid I have some other confessions to make."
"Okay...It can't get a whole lot weirder than that, could it?" he asked, mind worrying at ways that it might be.
She sucked in air through her teeth.
"I guess there's no way to tell you this but to give it to you straight. You remember Jessica Higgins? Big girl that you dated for a couple years back in high school?"
He remembered her all right. She'd been his first and only high school girlfriend. They'd gotten together when they were both 15 and hadn't broken up until she moved away just before their junior prom. But why would she bring...
Recognition flared in his eyes. "You? You're Jessica?"
He felt a little dizzy. The entire fundamentals of this relationship had been based on a lie.
"Why on earth didn't you just tell me that to start? I wouldn't have been angry to see you again."
She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "Well...you're getting warmer." She said, "But there's a little more to it. This isn't really even the second time we've dated."
His eyes went wide and his skin paled, "How many?" He asked, shakily.
She shifted uncomfortably, taking a quick glance at his face before casting her eyes into her beer again. "Well...all of them." She admitted, a miserable sort of resignation in her voice.
"All of them?" He asked, "What do you mean *all* of them?"
"I'm sorry!" She said, grabbing his hand, "But I'm, well...I'm kind of every girl you've ever dated."
He didn't pull his hand from hers, but he did slouch into his seat. Every girl he'd ever dated? It didn't seem possible. Yet even at a quick inventory, it made a lot of sense. Hadn't he had a very specific type? And hadn't most of his relationships ended in pretty much the same way? Still, it wasn't possible. There'd been too many.
"No way. You can't be." He protested, suddenly remembering, "I met Jess-I mean, your family back in high school. That was a completely different family than Tina's."
She frowned, "Tina...I really thought that one was going to work out." She shook her head, "But those were all paid actors. Really just a paid family. They were a little weirded out but I named them a price for hosting you and they couldn't really refuse."
That had been a bit of a relief. He'd never liked them.
"But that's crazy. No one has that kind of money." He said.
"Oh, I do. Do you have any idea how easy it is to make money when you can do what I do?" She said, "Doubling for actresses, modelling...I've even got a guy who pays me to just morph into clothes he designs. Saves him millions over the year."
He shook his head, trying to get back to subject at hand.
"Is that how you tracked me? Paying to keep up."
"That and your social media stuff." She said, "You really need to come up with some new passwords, babe. Most of the time, figuring out where you were was as easy as tapping into your Facebook."
He pulled away, rubbing his temples.
"Then the dating sites..."
She giggled. "A special favorite. It's like that scene from *Mrs. Doubtfire* where he switches the number and all Sally Fields gets is crazy chicks..."
"I know the scene." He interrupted, "Still, you can't be *all* off them. I barely even dated some of those girls. Like that one girl..."
"Angela." She supplied, "The busty one. Big boobs were such a mistake. You were kind of a moron on that date."
"I wasn't that bad!" He protested before dropping his eyes, "I guess I was kind of that bad. She never even called me back."
"I had to do something to let you know you screwed up. You wouldn't stop shifting. Or staring, for that matter." She said, "You were so distracted that you tried to pay with for dinner with your driver's license."
He looked away uncomfortably. She couldn't possibly have been lying about that one.
"The artsy girl. Pamela. What about her?" He said, "She's nothing like...well...all the others."
"Yeah...might have hammed up the quirky bit much on that one." She admitted, "I just got so caught up in the character, especially when I got into the paintings."
|
"Is that your reaction?"
-How do you expect me to react Jane? Or is it Carole?
"My name is Jah-Culle. I thought you would freak out."
-Meh.
"Is that seriously your reaction!? I just told you we've actually been dating since you were 16 yeras old, and this is how you react!?
-Yeah, why you still a bitch?
"Excuse me!?"
-You can shape shift into everyone, but you still haven't learned to stop being a bitch. You think with all your great powers, you can change your mind state too.
"Well...I can...but if I do, it really wouldn't be me anymore...and I only am the way I am to be able to change you! ou have so much potential!"
-Yaddah, yaddah, yaddah, I've heard it all before from...well you!
"I can't believe this is your reaction! You're such an asshole!"
-Well you obviously love me the way I am, I don't have to change...I've broken up with you about 10 times now?
"12...."
-Good. If you truly love me, change your mind to basically do everything I tell you.
"So you don't love me...at all..."
-Not if you don't change.
"ooookaaayyy....but only because I love you..."
-Stop crying. Now when will you change?
"It's already done.
-Good. You can surprise me with a different person everyday, you know what I like. Now go make me a sandwich.
"Okay Billy. I love you..."
-Yep.
|
Edit: Well this took off better than I expected. We got all kinds of stuff here: romance, comedy, horror, twist endings, even a dab at poetry. I love it!
|
[WP] The main character just found out that their significant other is not only a shapeshifter, but also every person they've ever dated.
|
I did it, I finally told him. I apologized for not telling him sooner.
The look on his face was bringing tears to my eyes. He looked as if I just simultaneously told him Santa wasn't real and his dog Happy didn't go to a farm to live happily ever after. It's such a morbid mix between bewilderment and betrayal. I wonder if Julius Caesar had a similar face when he spoke the words "Et tu, Brute?" As I stared at his face, I wished with all my might he could understand why I did what I did.
I've only ever had two boyfriends. My first boyfriend Brad, was a total lunatic. On the surface, he was the perfect man. He was absolutely charming, with dark brown hair the color of oaken tables, and dark eyes to match. I loved his neatly groomed haircuts, and the 5 o'clock shadow he seemed to always perfectly trim. But despite how gorgeous he was on the surface, he had demons deep inside his heart.
Behind closed doors, he was downright abusive. He spoke to me like he owned me, and told me daily how worthless I was. I hated his nickname for me, sweet cheeks. He always objectified me in front of others by calling me sweet cheeks, and smacking my ass. He verbally beat me into submission, to the point where I felt scared and hopeless and trapped. I fell into a depression, and I just went through the motions to try to appease him. I let him rape me sexually whenever he wanted, because it always improved his mood. Occasionally after sex, he'd let me go to my favorite little French café, where I'd have a cup of French vanilla cappuccino and some biscuits. It was the only time I ever felt alive during our relationship.
One cold chilly night, after I refused sex due to the gut wrenching pain from my period, he backhanded me across the face. It was the first time he physically assaulted me. It stung, and my face felt red hot, like it had been burned by the summer sun. I ran into the bathroom crying, and locked the door. In that moment, all I wanted was to escape and run away. I think my fear and desperation is what awoke my dormant shapeshifting powers.
I shapeshifted for the first time. I became another woman. This was my salvation.
I didn't shapeshift to lie, or to deceive. I shapeshifted for self preservation, to escape Brad. I shapeshifted out of necessity, and it became second nature. The worst I've done was shapeshift in a side aisle at Costco, to double back for a second sample. I never shapeshifted with any malicious intent, and it was the same when it came to John.
After I escaped Brad, I stayed in an altered form constantly. I only ever returned to my original form to recharge for 10 minutes a day, before going back into hiding. I was mortified of going outside at first, but gradually realized Brad wouldn't even recognize me. I began to frequent my favorite little French café, and never saw Brad again.
I'm glad I did, because that's actually where I met John. He was sitting alone with his short, beach blonde hair, and his scruffy facial hair. He had bright blue eyes, that looked like the ocean, and they were intently staring down into one of my favorite books. I saw him a few more times, before I asked him nervously if he was enjoying the Game of Thrones books. We chitchatted, and he seemed to know everything about me and we clicked instantly. We were soulmates, made for each other. I fell madly in love.
That's why I shapeshifted every time we broke up, and found him again. To fall in love with him again. I couldn't lose him, and I couldn't live without him. We fought and broke up over the dumbest things. He would close off, but I always came back to him as another woman. Someone he'd find attractive, and someone he could open up to again. It was a vicious cycle, and he's loved me as four different women now.
And then it hit me. That's a justification he would understand. The words formed in my head, and finally came out.
"John, I know I've deceived you, but I did it out of love. You've loved me as four different women. Isn't that proof enough that we're meant to be together? Doesn't that justify what I've done to preserve our love? You've fallen in love with me four separate times!"
He looked at me, with a blank face, and a smile began to form at the corners of his lips. His eyes narrowed, and suddenly, I didn't recognize him anymore. The hair on his head and face started darkening, as he stared at me with cold threatening eyes.
"Oh I understand. And you've fallen in love with me twice now... Sweet cheeks."
|
"Is that your reaction?"
-How do you expect me to react Jane? Or is it Carole?
"My name is Jah-Culle. I thought you would freak out."
-Meh.
"Is that seriously your reaction!? I just told you we've actually been dating since you were 16 yeras old, and this is how you react!?
-Yeah, why you still a bitch?
"Excuse me!?"
-You can shape shift into everyone, but you still haven't learned to stop being a bitch. You think with all your great powers, you can change your mind state too.
"Well...I can...but if I do, it really wouldn't be me anymore...and I only am the way I am to be able to change you! ou have so much potential!"
-Yaddah, yaddah, yaddah, I've heard it all before from...well you!
"I can't believe this is your reaction! You're such an asshole!"
-Well you obviously love me the way I am, I don't have to change...I've broken up with you about 10 times now?
"12...."
-Good. If you truly love me, change your mind to basically do everything I tell you.
"So you don't love me...at all..."
-Not if you don't change.
"ooookaaayyy....but only because I love you..."
-Stop crying. Now when will you change?
"It's already done.
-Good. You can surprise me with a different person everyday, you know what I like. Now go make me a sandwich.
"Okay Billy. I love you..."
-Yep.
|
Edit: Well this took off better than I expected. We got all kinds of stuff here: romance, comedy, horror, twist endings, even a dab at poetry. I love it!
|
[WP] The main character just found out that their significant other is not only a shapeshifter, but also every person they've ever dated.
|
I did it, I finally told him. I apologized for not telling him sooner.
The look on his face was bringing tears to my eyes. He looked as if I just simultaneously told him Santa wasn't real and his dog Happy didn't go to a farm to live happily ever after. It's such a morbid mix between bewilderment and betrayal. I wonder if Julius Caesar had a similar face when he spoke the words "Et tu, Brute?" As I stared at his face, I wished with all my might he could understand why I did what I did.
I've only ever had two boyfriends. My first boyfriend Brad, was a total lunatic. On the surface, he was the perfect man. He was absolutely charming, with dark brown hair the color of oaken tables, and dark eyes to match. I loved his neatly groomed haircuts, and the 5 o'clock shadow he seemed to always perfectly trim. But despite how gorgeous he was on the surface, he had demons deep inside his heart.
Behind closed doors, he was downright abusive. He spoke to me like he owned me, and told me daily how worthless I was. I hated his nickname for me, sweet cheeks. He always objectified me in front of others by calling me sweet cheeks, and smacking my ass. He verbally beat me into submission, to the point where I felt scared and hopeless and trapped. I fell into a depression, and I just went through the motions to try to appease him. I let him rape me sexually whenever he wanted, because it always improved his mood. Occasionally after sex, he'd let me go to my favorite little French café, where I'd have a cup of French vanilla cappuccino and some biscuits. It was the only time I ever felt alive during our relationship.
One cold chilly night, after I refused sex due to the gut wrenching pain from my period, he backhanded me across the face. It was the first time he physically assaulted me. It stung, and my face felt red hot, like it had been burned by the summer sun. I ran into the bathroom crying, and locked the door. In that moment, all I wanted was to escape and run away. I think my fear and desperation is what awoke my dormant shapeshifting powers.
I shapeshifted for the first time. I became another woman. This was my salvation.
I didn't shapeshift to lie, or to deceive. I shapeshifted for self preservation, to escape Brad. I shapeshifted out of necessity, and it became second nature. The worst I've done was shapeshift in a side aisle at Costco, to double back for a second sample. I never shapeshifted with any malicious intent, and it was the same when it came to John.
After I escaped Brad, I stayed in an altered form constantly. I only ever returned to my original form to recharge for 10 minutes a day, before going back into hiding. I was mortified of going outside at first, but gradually realized Brad wouldn't even recognize me. I began to frequent my favorite little French café, and never saw Brad again.
I'm glad I did, because that's actually where I met John. He was sitting alone with his short, beach blonde hair, and his scruffy facial hair. He had bright blue eyes, that looked like the ocean, and they were intently staring down into one of my favorite books. I saw him a few more times, before I asked him nervously if he was enjoying the Game of Thrones books. We chitchatted, and he seemed to know everything about me and we clicked instantly. We were soulmates, made for each other. I fell madly in love.
That's why I shapeshifted every time we broke up, and found him again. To fall in love with him again. I couldn't lose him, and I couldn't live without him. We fought and broke up over the dumbest things. He would close off, but I always came back to him as another woman. Someone he'd find attractive, and someone he could open up to again. It was a vicious cycle, and he's loved me as four different women now.
And then it hit me. That's a justification he would understand. The words formed in my head, and finally came out.
"John, I know I've deceived you, but I did it out of love. You've loved me as four different women. Isn't that proof enough that we're meant to be together? Doesn't that justify what I've done to preserve our love? You've fallen in love with me four separate times!"
He looked at me, with a blank face, and a smile began to form at the corners of his lips. His eyes narrowed, and suddenly, I didn't recognize him anymore. The hair on his head and face started darkening, as he stared at me with cold threatening eyes.
"Oh I understand. And you've fallen in love with me twice now... Sweet cheeks."
|
"You mean to say that you were Frank?"
"*And Bob and Jeff and Paul.*"
"And Rick and James and Christopher?"
"*My dear I was them all.*"
"But what about the barman in
The city with the hat?"
"*With I you've only ever been,
I even am your cat.*"
"You mean to say that Mr Fluff..."
"*Is nothing but a fraud!
And if that wasnt quite enough
I'm also Mrs Ward.*"
"My neighbour too? But never did
I take her 'tween my thighs."
"*Though lovers leave you cannot rid
A neighbour til they die!*"
"You awful fiend I cannot stand
To wait a minute more,
I've sent a text and soon a man
Will hammer down the door."
"*Oh what is this? An SMS,
My phone it sings away.
It seems I've something to confess -
You couldn't guess it, pray?*"
"But surely no! It cannot be...
I must be going mad."
"*My lady, does it give me glee
To tell you I'm your dad!*"
"I'm sorry but I'm feeling ill."
"*I thought you'd find it rough.
I'll sweeten up the bitter pill -
I'll shift to Mr Fluff.*"
|
Edit: Well this took off better than I expected. We got all kinds of stuff here: romance, comedy, horror, twist endings, even a dab at poetry. I love it!
|
[WP] The main character just found out that their significant other is not only a shapeshifter, but also every person they've ever dated.
|
I did it, I finally told him. I apologized for not telling him sooner.
The look on his face was bringing tears to my eyes. He looked as if I just simultaneously told him Santa wasn't real and his dog Happy didn't go to a farm to live happily ever after. It's such a morbid mix between bewilderment and betrayal. I wonder if Julius Caesar had a similar face when he spoke the words "Et tu, Brute?" As I stared at his face, I wished with all my might he could understand why I did what I did.
I've only ever had two boyfriends. My first boyfriend Brad, was a total lunatic. On the surface, he was the perfect man. He was absolutely charming, with dark brown hair the color of oaken tables, and dark eyes to match. I loved his neatly groomed haircuts, and the 5 o'clock shadow he seemed to always perfectly trim. But despite how gorgeous he was on the surface, he had demons deep inside his heart.
Behind closed doors, he was downright abusive. He spoke to me like he owned me, and told me daily how worthless I was. I hated his nickname for me, sweet cheeks. He always objectified me in front of others by calling me sweet cheeks, and smacking my ass. He verbally beat me into submission, to the point where I felt scared and hopeless and trapped. I fell into a depression, and I just went through the motions to try to appease him. I let him rape me sexually whenever he wanted, because it always improved his mood. Occasionally after sex, he'd let me go to my favorite little French café, where I'd have a cup of French vanilla cappuccino and some biscuits. It was the only time I ever felt alive during our relationship.
One cold chilly night, after I refused sex due to the gut wrenching pain from my period, he backhanded me across the face. It was the first time he physically assaulted me. It stung, and my face felt red hot, like it had been burned by the summer sun. I ran into the bathroom crying, and locked the door. In that moment, all I wanted was to escape and run away. I think my fear and desperation is what awoke my dormant shapeshifting powers.
I shapeshifted for the first time. I became another woman. This was my salvation.
I didn't shapeshift to lie, or to deceive. I shapeshifted for self preservation, to escape Brad. I shapeshifted out of necessity, and it became second nature. The worst I've done was shapeshift in a side aisle at Costco, to double back for a second sample. I never shapeshifted with any malicious intent, and it was the same when it came to John.
After I escaped Brad, I stayed in an altered form constantly. I only ever returned to my original form to recharge for 10 minutes a day, before going back into hiding. I was mortified of going outside at first, but gradually realized Brad wouldn't even recognize me. I began to frequent my favorite little French café, and never saw Brad again.
I'm glad I did, because that's actually where I met John. He was sitting alone with his short, beach blonde hair, and his scruffy facial hair. He had bright blue eyes, that looked like the ocean, and they were intently staring down into one of my favorite books. I saw him a few more times, before I asked him nervously if he was enjoying the Game of Thrones books. We chitchatted, and he seemed to know everything about me and we clicked instantly. We were soulmates, made for each other. I fell madly in love.
That's why I shapeshifted every time we broke up, and found him again. To fall in love with him again. I couldn't lose him, and I couldn't live without him. We fought and broke up over the dumbest things. He would close off, but I always came back to him as another woman. Someone he'd find attractive, and someone he could open up to again. It was a vicious cycle, and he's loved me as four different women now.
And then it hit me. That's a justification he would understand. The words formed in my head, and finally came out.
"John, I know I've deceived you, but I did it out of love. You've loved me as four different women. Isn't that proof enough that we're meant to be together? Doesn't that justify what I've done to preserve our love? You've fallen in love with me four separate times!"
He looked at me, with a blank face, and a smile began to form at the corners of his lips. His eyes narrowed, and suddenly, I didn't recognize him anymore. The hair on his head and face started darkening, as he stared at me with cold threatening eyes.
"Oh I understand. And you've fallen in love with me twice now... Sweet cheeks."
|
For the dozenth time, Alex stopped to check his reflection in the mirror. Average height and average weight with a modest drinker's gut, parted dark hair, a decent beard that had just received its weakly trim. He worried at it slightly. Had he trimmed it too much? Not much he could do about that now. He fiddled with his hair a bit, trying to get the lay right.
*You're being ridiculous.* He told himself, and forced his legs to continue on toward the little brewery where he and Monica had enjoyed their first date.
That had been eight months ago, and things were going well. Damned well, even, at least to his way of thinking. He'd never had much luck with women, and his dating history prior to her had consisted of a dozen short stints with various girls never lasting more than a month or two. Before he met Monica, he'd only ever managed to see two of them for a year or more and one of those had been all the way back in high school. Oh, he could meet the pretty ones easily enough; had in fact been with them almost exclusively, save for pudgy Jessica Higgins. But it always seemed to end the same way. She lost her cool in public one too many times, or she got needlessly jealous over one of his female friends or he quit as soon as things got tough. Yeah, Alex had a type alright: slim, leggy girls with a flair for the dramatic and a bizarre and unyielding devotion to him.
But then there was Monica, who'd been a breath of fresh air. She hadn't been controlling or smothering in the slightest. She was so low maintenance compared to the other girls he'd been with, always cool headed. Even their lovemaking was incredible, and she always seemed to know exactly how to please him. The last eight months with her had been a waking dream, and he'd finally begun to wonder if he'd found that fabled "one".
And all that had come crashing down that morning when he'd gotten the dreaded "We need to talk" text from her. He pulled out his phone, checking it again, as though he would find some hidden meaning in this 700th reading that the previous 699 hadn't revealed. "Meet me at Lou's. I have something important I need to discuss with you. Don't worry about the cost, I'll pick it up this time."
He sighed, checking his reflection, and decided that the only way to get through this was to grab the bull by the horns. After a whole day spent worrying about what he'd done wrong or whether there was some other man, the only recourse he had left was to walk into Lou's and deal with it like a man.
He found her in the beer garden sitting at one of the iron tables. She had a dark beer in front of her and had taken the liberty of ordering him a pint of something with a yellow, wheaty look. As ever, she was a vision of loveliness; peaches and cream skin with a braid of dark hair that fell to her waist and a lean build with long, shapely legs. She wore sandals today and a flowing white dress that hinted at her alluring shape without giving too much of it away.
Her blue eyes turned to his as he approached, and her face lit up in a smile that put him slightly at ease.
"There you are! I was starting to think you were gonna stand me up." She said.
"Ugh...sorry about that." He said, "Work caught me late."
"Uh-huh. You can't fool me, Alex Terry. You were nervous."
He blushed a little as he took his seat. She'd read him perfectly, as she often seemed to. He looked around the beer garden and found that they were mercifully alone there. On a such a beautiful Friday night, that was a small miracle.
"I don't blame you," She said quickly, "There's nothing as infuriating as the whole 'we need to talk' thing. But I'm not here to break up with you. Just to come clean about some stuff."
The momentary relief he'd felt was quickly replaced by an uneasy rock in his stomach.
"You're not cheating on me, are you?"
"No! In fact, I think it's safe to say I've never cheated on you in my life." She said.
He found that passing odd but ignored it. If she wasn't breaking up with him or announcing some foul relationship trouble, what could it be?
"Okay," He said, reaching out to take her hand. She returned the gesture with a smile, stroking his palm, "What's going on then? You had me really worried."
"I'm sorry for that, really." She said apologetically, "But I do have something to share with you and it is very important."
She took a deep breath before saying, "I'm a shapeshifter."
Alex blinked.
"A what?"
"A shapeshifter. One who shifts her shape." She said, "I can...well, I suppose it would be easier to show rather than tell."
She closed her eyes and focused on her power. Alex watched in astonishment as the pretty brunette in front of him shifted into a bikini clad, bronzed blonde straight off a post card for Santa Monica beach. She giggled at his gaped mouth reaction and stretched over the table to push his jaw closed. In another moment, she was herself again.
"I...that's incredible! How long have you been able to do it?" He asked.
"The ability started to manifest when I turned 18. I found that every time I wanted a little belly fat to go away or my hair to change, it just...did." She said, "And then I learned that I could change my clothes and we were off to the races."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" He asked, "Were you afraid I'd freak out or something? I think it's kind of awesome."
A little rosy blush crept into her cheeks this time and she bit her lip.
"Weeeell, that's the *other* thing I needed to talk to you about. I'm afraid I have some other confessions to make."
"Okay...It can't get a whole lot weirder than that, could it?" he asked, mind worrying at ways that it might be.
She sucked in air through her teeth.
"I guess there's no way to tell you this but to give it to you straight. You remember Jessica Higgins? Big girl that you dated for a couple years back in high school?"
He remembered her all right. She'd been his first and only high school girlfriend. They'd gotten together when they were both 15 and hadn't broken up until she moved away just before their junior prom. But why would she bring...
Recognition flared in his eyes. "You? You're Jessica?"
He felt a little dizzy. The entire fundamentals of this relationship had been based on a lie.
"Why on earth didn't you just tell me that to start? I wouldn't have been angry to see you again."
She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "Well...you're getting warmer." She said, "But there's a little more to it. This isn't really even the second time we've dated."
His eyes went wide and his skin paled, "How many?" He asked, shakily.
She shifted uncomfortably, taking a quick glance at his face before casting her eyes into her beer again. "Well...all of them." She admitted, a miserable sort of resignation in her voice.
"All of them?" He asked, "What do you mean *all* of them?"
"I'm sorry!" She said, grabbing his hand, "But I'm, well...I'm kind of every girl you've ever dated."
He didn't pull his hand from hers, but he did slouch into his seat. Every girl he'd ever dated? It didn't seem possible. Yet even at a quick inventory, it made a lot of sense. Hadn't he had a very specific type? And hadn't most of his relationships ended in pretty much the same way? Still, it wasn't possible. There'd been too many.
"No way. You can't be." He protested, suddenly remembering, "I met Jess-I mean, your family back in high school. That was a completely different family than Tina's."
She frowned, "Tina...I really thought that one was going to work out." She shook her head, "But those were all paid actors. Really just a paid family. They were a little weirded out but I named them a price for hosting you and they couldn't really refuse."
That had been a bit of a relief. He'd never liked them.
"But that's crazy. No one has that kind of money." He said.
"Oh, I do. Do you have any idea how easy it is to make money when you can do what I do?" She said, "Doubling for actresses, modelling...I've even got a guy who pays me to just morph into clothes he designs. Saves him millions over the year."
He shook his head, trying to get back to subject at hand.
"Is that how you tracked me? Paying to keep up."
"That and your social media stuff." She said, "You really need to come up with some new passwords, babe. Most of the time, figuring out where you were was as easy as tapping into your Facebook."
He pulled away, rubbing his temples.
"Then the dating sites..."
She giggled. "A special favorite. It's like that scene from *Mrs. Doubtfire* where he switches the number and all Sally Fields gets is crazy chicks..."
"I know the scene." He interrupted, "Still, you can't be *all* off them. I barely even dated some of those girls. Like that one girl..."
"Angela." She supplied, "The busty one. Big boobs were such a mistake. You were kind of a moron on that date."
"I wasn't that bad!" He protested before dropping his eyes, "I guess I was kind of that bad. She never even called me back."
"I had to do something to let you know you screwed up. You wouldn't stop shifting. Or staring, for that matter." She said, "You were so distracted that you tried to pay with for dinner with your driver's license."
He looked away uncomfortably. She couldn't possibly have been lying about that one.
"The artsy girl. Pamela. What about her?" He said, "She's nothing like...well...all the others."
"Yeah...might have hammed up the quirky bit much on that one." She admitted, "I just got so caught up in the character, especially when I got into the paintings."
|
[WP] Apathy has reached dangerously high levels.
|
So this is the way the world ends.
No one really noticed the first wave, when Universities across the country reported a pass rate for final exams of roughly 12%. Midterms next semester might have gotten people to notice, except the Universities didn't bother reporting on anything.
The election here in the States should have been the next big warning flag, but nobody really had high hopes for it anyway. Still, we expected more than a quarter of eligible voters to show up, and I personally expected more of an outcry when that idiot won. But at that point, nobody seemed to care.
I think people started worrying... well, the people still energetic enough to do so... after the wars started petering out. First it was the soldiers that didn't want to be there, so they left. Then the people fighting for god or country or food or whatever stopped too. There was that story of the guy who just went around a city block executing people, nobody really running away, before he just got bored and sat down. That was when it got scary... but not scary enough for anyone to do anything.
The researchers who might've stopped it were simply too late; their labs were empty and their papers unpublished. Last I heard the few that were clinging to sanity were pooling their efforts to reverse this... thing. The broadcast they sent told us what it was but I don't remember, I think I stopped listening.
I lost interest in marking the calendar after the TV networks went off the air. I'm pretty sure that they stopped restocking the supermarkets before that, and that the water and electricity went out a few weeks later. It's funny, you can still find plenty of food in the stores. You might think that they'd be looted clean with no cashiers or security, but I'm pretty sure most people are just too lazy to eat.
I've seen at least one person just stop on the sidewalk and lay down. She's probably dead now. I remember feeling vaguely like I should help but... eh... what's the point?
There's been other things that happened but frankly writing this is exhausting. I'm going to bed now, and with the way the world is looking it seems like I won't be getting up. Oh well.
This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but with a "whatever."
|
“Eh, whatever.”
The intelligence officer looked at the President over his glasses.
“Did you just say *whatever*?”
“Yeah. I mean...whats the point, anyway?”
A pile of manila folders slammed onto the desk.
“*This* is what's important. *This* is the next federal budget. We've already extended the deadline, twice, and congress expects us to have a full proposal by-
“Look, those guys can get their own money. From businesses and stuff.”
“*Those guys*?! Those guys are the *legislative branch*! They practically run our **entire government!**”
“No, I do. I'm the president. And I decree...I can decree stuff, right, that those government guys can get their money from somebody else.”
The intelligence officer had entered the period of anger and disbelief where all that could be done was to foam at the mouth.
“Look, don't worry. I'll make it better. Today is also going to be National Taco Day! Everyone's going to get a free taco, it's-”
“**I WILL NOT LET YOU UNDERMINE OUR DEMOCRACY**”
“Sounds like you need a Taco.”
|
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If you have an idea from the title then don't read this, but for those who are confused, here's a quick explanation:
A killing game, or [Deadly Game](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/DeadlyGame) as TV Tropes puts it (though they do describe a more specific variant), is a game in which players are required or heavily incentivized to kill each other. Whether it is driven by a great reward, a threat, or just a promise of escape for the "winner" doesn't matter. The story itself can be anything from an obvious free-for-all blood bath to a murder mystery, where the killer has to remain undiscovered. These kind of stories usually start out with a relatively large cast and tend to be very character-focused. Good luck!
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[WP] A killing game has begun. Introduce the players, set the scene.
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There were eight of us originally.
We did not know what brought us here. We were obviously chosen; hand-picked from the seven billion people on the planet. We had different characteristics. We ranged from young and filled with energy, to old, frail but sustained by wisdom. We were decades apart. None of us were dressed in similar fashions – the youngest of us in cargo shorts and a t-shirt; the oldest in a finely tailored suit. All of us were male and white. None of us shared any other physical characteristic.
Naturally, we thought we each had a hidden agenda. We questioned every aspect of our lives. We interrogated one another. We asked where each other were from, and where we grew up. We asked each other what we did for work, or where we were going to middle school. The questions kept flowing – some more inquisitive than others.
We began to be suspicious of one another. We did not know where we were, how we got here, who had brought us. We implored each other to share our last memory before we realized we were here.
‘I was in class,’ the youngest said.
‘Caring to my garden,’ said one of the eldest, dressed in khaki and a flannel shirt.
‘I was on a break at work, just grabbing a coffee at the café.’
We were doing different things in different places. We asked if anyone had noticed anything suspicious in the moments, days or weeks leading up to being here. No one noticed anything. Eventually, the conversation grew silent.
One of us began searching. The room was tiled, from floor to ceiling. It was the same, plain white tile throughout. There were no markings, no features. A door and a lamp, positioned on opposite walls, were the only individual features. The door, a solid sheet of pale metal, had no latch, no handle and no keyhole. It had no hinges, and no gaps in its border. The light, sunken into the wall, was warm to the touch and reflected off every surface.
Over time, we were all searching. We slid our fingertips around the edging of the tiles, searching for any anomalies in the grout. Two of us fiddled with the lamp, seeking any lips or skirting around it. Another one of us touched every inch of the door. Then we swapped roles and places, confirming our suspicions that there was nothing to be found.
We all knew what giving up meant: becoming the sole target of the others’ suspicions. We searched. It felt like eternity, but we searched. We searched high, and we searched low. We tapped on the tiles with our fists. We ran at the walls, and slammed into them with our shoulders.
Eventually, we all retired, one-by-one, having felt like we had done enough to avoid suspicion. We sat, in quiet contemplation.
We did not talk that frequently. Tensions were high. Uncertainties were rampant. We were too reserved to give too many details; we gave only what was asked.
‘What did you say your name was?’ the bearded one asked his neighbor, the gray flecks throughout his hair had danced every time he spoke. He wore jeans and a collared shirt. Neither had been washed in weeks.
‘I didn’t,’ the younger one next to him replied. ‘It’s John.’
‘No kidding. I’m John too.’ He said, reaching around him to shake John’s hand.
Many heads were turned to the two of them. Eyes darted around the room at the others. Every person suddenly looked stunned.
‘What are the rest of your names?’ bearded John implored, pointing his finger at the remaining group, ‘come on.’
‘John here too,’ another replied.
‘Mhm.’
Two simply nodded. The youngest remained silent. ‘So, we do not know where we are, how we got here, or what we’re doing here. All we know is, we’re all named John. Anyone got anything else to share?’
‘This is some kind of sick joke.’
‘Reminds me of a movie I saw in high school,’ another said.
‘Funny that, I was thinking of a movie as well.’
‘Next thing you know, they’ll be telling us they want to play a game.’
In the meantime, one stood and paced until he was two meters from the door. Stepping once, he swung around, lifted his knee and landed a kick square against the sheet. A loud thud reverberated off the walls. He tried again. And again. And again.
**NO!**
**IT’S NOT YOUR TIME TO LEAVE, JOHN.** A voice overwhelmed the man at the door. He was taken aback.
‘What the fuck?’
The boy, barely fifteen, sat in the corner. He was visibly shaken. He closed his eyes, brought his knees to his forehead, and wrapped his arms around his shins. He cried, tears rolling down his cheeks.
The voice did not seem to have a point of origin. We looked around, trying to find the source. It spoke slowly, giving us time to press our ears to the tiles. It was loud. Deafening. The vibrations through the walls prevented us from seeking a source. The voice just simply existed, and nothing else.
**YOU’RE STUCK HERE WITH ME.**
‘Come on, who the fuck are you? Where are you? Why are you toying with us?’ One questioned.
*JOHN, I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE. YOU’RE –* the voice faded away into empty silence.
‘What do we have to do to get out of here?’
‘Kick it again.’
Someone else landed a boot on the door. No voice. ‘Keep doing it.’
**I’M STILL HERE, JOHN.**
‘WHO ARE YOU?’ cried one, ‘HOW DO WE GET OUT OF HERE?’
**YOU CAN’T. YOU CAN’T LEAVE.**
‘Fuck.’
No voice. No noise. Everyone sat in silence.
Except for the boy.
The boy wept openly. He was no longer sitting. He had curled up, laid on his side and clutched his arms around his knees. For hours, he wept. We made no attempt to calm him. He simply drifted off to sleep.
He did not wake again.
Then there were seven.
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**PS:** I hardly ever write. I don't consider myself to be a writer in any sense. It probably shows. If you read this, thanks! This prompt was a good outlet.
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Welcome to the 4th mansion of Liars VS Liars!
For all you who are unfamiliar with our game-show here's how it works:
There are twelve different contestants - split into two different teams. They have a week to kill everyone on the opposing team. Here's the catch - they have no idea who their team-mates are! Who do they trust? Can they see the difference between their allies and enemy's? Well they'd better! Because at the end of the week it's sudden death, mansion is set ablaze and all the doors are locked until only one team-remains!
This weeks contestants include:
James, a ex-convict, looking to make some money he claims will be used to support his family! Definitely a risk!
Alice and George - for a rare exception this arguing couple are in it together, however they've no guarantee they'll be on the same team - either they'll become closer than ever or their relationship will -literally- be going up in flames!
Poppy, a young teenager, diagnosed with end-stage cancer, she claim she wants to go out with a blaze of glory - dead either way she has nothing to lose!
Our special guest, medal-winning Olympic Ivan Von Graton, after failing his recent drugs test, he claims this will be his chance to go drug free - or die trying!
All these people and many more! - Subscribe now for only $80.00 to get full coverage of all angles of the mansion for the whole week!
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[WP] Legend says, "Whoever removes the sword, will free the kingdom from the Eternal Tyrant." You stand dumbfounded holding the sword in hand, for you are the Tyrant.
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"...Whoops."
Tyessa, The Eternal Tyrant, stood with her back facing the crowd and her hands wrapped around the previously ensnared great sword. Before she could think of a way to hide this fact, in true heroic fashion the sky opened and rays of light shone down upon her. The stone that held the sword glowed brightly and hummed with an ethereal voice. The crowd of people that were already behind her collectively gasped, then let out a unified cheer. This plan was not going accordingly.
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Twelve hours ago, Tyessa, the Eternal Tyrant, Mistress of the Void, and Destructor of Hope, had sneaked into the city of Adeleda for reconnaissance, along with: two of her most trusted death knights, the brothers known as the Twin Sickles; her trusted sorcerer, the Archmage Daedalean; and the assassin-thief Corvan the Alchemist, known for her deadly poisons. Shedding their regalia and armor, the small party had instead worn the attire of the traditional travelling folk that roamed through the land with the plan to enter the city unassumingly, get within reach of the royal palace, and, through their various methods and trades, strike a decisive blow against the city that so fervently, if not even zealously, fought against her.
Getting in had been the least of their troubles, with Daedalean even remarking that their security was unimaginably lax for being such and important city. Still, the group didn't waste an opportunity where it could be found, and found themselves what had appeared to be a simple tavern. This, when Tyessa would look back, is where things began to go irrevocably wrong.
The tavern was in an uproar of celebration: the seers and wisemen from all over the kingdom had promised that the Tyrant War was to come to an end, and that it would all be decided tomorrow in a grand ceremony. Tyessa bristled with anger, confusion, and even a little intrigue about this finding as her companions were slowly pulled away in the festivities: the Twins were drafted into a drinking competition; Daedalean was being surrounded by attractive girls and being pleaded to show off his magical skills and, after being plied with a drink and a smile, began showing off; Corvan joined the revelry in singing and dancing.
Before long, Tyessa was the only sober person in the entire tavern, even staying moreso than the bartenders, and was the only one to see the sun start to rise from a room rather than the floor of the tavern. She dressed herself simply with a tunic and a cloak to throw over her head, and marched out to find more details about the unsettling news that had been given to her the night before. As sure as the bartenders had told her, a great sword was plunged into a hunk of molten rock that seemed to burst straight from the middle of the square. She eyed it curiously; *This is the sword that could put an end to my reign? It's nothing! Hardly impressive at all!*
As she stood to stare, a small group of people along with a handful of royal guards also gathered in the ruined but reverent square. A knight took out a scroll and announced that all members of the kingdom that had arrived in Adeleda that day were commanded by the king to try their hand at the blade in the hopes that the attempts could be hurried along to find the blade's true owner. This, unfortunately for the guards, meant rallying and transporting the members of every bar, tavern, and inn who had been celebrating in to try.
Tylessa was put into a queue before she ever realized what was happening. She knew that she couldn't try to make a break for it, as she'd be leaving her four inebriated but still loyal comrades and would be found suspicious and likely brought before the royal guard with very little of her magic and none of her artifacts. She stood and watched in a bored, faraway way as men, women, old, young struggled with varied degrees of enthusiasm to lift the sword out, including the Twins who were simultaneously fighting and trying to assist each other in pulling the sword. As she was ushered up to the sword, she shrugged and set her hands on it *Might as well keep up the charade.*
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The group had fled the city. The Tyrant Breaker bounced lightly as it was neatly nestled under Tyessa's arm. They ran, but they knew that no one from the city would chase them after seeing the power of the sword and the sorceress combined. The holy light faded and dark streaks of lightening cracked the broken square even more than the sword itself had; one mighty swing had opened the earth, spewing geysers of hot rock. Tyessa smiled to herself, imagining the faces on the seers and the king as she ran away with what they believed to be the one weapon capable of stopping her. Although she did have to give them one thing for granting her a weapon of this power: it did make her reconsider her title.
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Once upon a time there was a great land called Ferfisev. Although the land was great, its people were not. They were poor, sick, hungry, skinny, and very unhappy. There was no short supply of food or houses that kept the people so down. No, it was all their king's doing.
King Twaswald was a short and very fat man. Although he wore the finest clothes in all of Ferfisev and had the best possible hairstylist, his appearance was rather disgusting. King Twaswald would constantly stuff himself with any food in sight. Rather than use a knife and fork he would use his bear like hands to shove as much as he could into his tiny little mouth. A large majority of that food never got into his belly and instead lived in his fiery red beard until night when his servants bathed him. Most of this food was meant for the people.
No one particularly liked King Twaswald or as the people called him, Tyrant Twat. So when the people heard about a sword stuck in the floor of the Dead Hen Inn that would help whomever unstuck it free Ferfisev of the Tyrant Twat, they flocked there and tried to pull that sword out of the hard stone floor. No one ever succeeded however.
Eventually the King himself heard news of the sword that would destroy him. He summoned his best guards and had them escort him to the Dead Hen Inn. When he arrived he walked up to the sword. It was no special looking sword. Just a regular old iron sword. King Twaswald on a whim decided to see if he could lift the sword from its prison. His belly wobbled as he bent over and placed his furry hands over the sword's hilt. Then be tugged.
The sword slid out with ease. Not a drop of sweat was shed. The King examined it. It was still very much just an old ordinary iron sword. He shuffled over to the innkeeper and questioned him on the history of this "legendary" sword and what would happen now. Soon enough after the innkeeper had attempted to lie very poorly King Twaswald realized what was going on. It was just an iron sword. There was no prophecy. The innkeeper had obviously placed it there to bring the people to his inn where they would spend the little money they had on the terrible mead he served. The people were too weak from the lack of food and never had the strength to lift the sword. It was genius.
King Twaswald handed the sword over to one of his guards and had them shove the sword back into the floor where it previously was. He snickered and struck a deal with the innkeeper. Life went on, the people of Ferfisev continued to believe in the sword and attempt to free it. Only now, ninety percent of what the innkeeper made went to the King.
And so they lived happily ever after. Well, at least King Twaswald did.
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[WP] You know who your soulmate is once they touch you. Yours just punched the shit out of you
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I watch the lean, tall figure dashing through the crowd, her fiery hair trailing behind her as she nimbly leaps over a crate.
"Shit!" I swear as I force myself faster. I can't lose sight of her. She's got my whole day's earnings under her arm.
Damn pickpockets.
I chase after her, my breathes coming in ragged gasps. I may be in good shape but she's getting away like she's a fish in the waves.
I'm about to give up in frustration when I see my chance.
Ha. She doesn't know her way around.
I dash through a side street and throw myself around the corner, tackling her to the ground as she rounds it. She kicks me off and tries to run but I'm on my feet too fast. I snag her around her waist and lift her up so she can't get any traction.
"Get off me!" She screams.
"Give me my money!"
Her elbow connects with my jaw and I drop her. I've barely righted myself when her tiny fist slams into my cheek.
I gasp and spit out a bit of blood before reaching for her arm. I catch it and twist it up behind her back. Without missing a beat, she throws her legs off the ground and slams her feet into my abdomen. I grunt in pain and drop her. A moment later her foot hits my side and I'm on the ground.
Another swift kick catches my ribs and I cry out as I grab her ankle and pull her to the ground. I pin her down with my legs and go to secure her wrists but she reacts too fast, throwing another punch into my face. And another. And another.
She ends the attack with a sharp knee to my chest and throws me aside, getting up to run.
It's as our hands brush in the scuffle that I feel it.
They always told me that it was something you couldn't describe, but that you would know it when you feel it.
I didn't believe them, but now... that's the only explanation.
This is my soulmate.
And she must feel it too.
Her blazing green eyes meet mine as she turns back to face me, and her lush lips part slightly in a silent gasp.
My resolve is renewed and I use all my energy to catcher by her wrist in one hand, her waist in the other.
It's no longer about getting my money back. I cannot let her get away, not know that we are tied together by the Cosmos.
"What's your name?" I demand as I meet her eyes.
She looks defiant, untamable. "The fuck is it you?"
"I think you know," I whisper.
Her eyes widen a little more and I feel her breathing get faster.
"...Erin." she answers after a moment.
"Holland," I give her my own name.
She nods, her pointed chin raised. "It seems we've met an odd twist."
"Indeed."
"What are we to do now?"
"Well... first I'd like my wallet back."
She laughs, a musical, whole laugh. "You'll have to take it from me then."
With those words, she whirls out of my grasp and takes off down the street.
I will find her.
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I've never experienced a riot like this. What was intended to be a peaceful protest evolved into an all out street war. Unfortunately, my job requires me to catch every angle of the action. As I run around with my camera, trying to steady it as I continue to roll through the chaos, I see a little boy get trampled in what looked like a mosh pit of a scuffle. Do I continue to film or do I try to save this child?
The answer would be easy for most but I've recorded so many horrible things in my tenure, sometimes I just stay frozen, as if I am not there, doing my job like an emotionless robot. Not this time, not right now. This child can die. I drop my camera and run right into the scuffle. My senses are heightened now, adrenaline is rushing. There is blood flying everywhere, bodies are getting thrown all around me, many lie motionless on the ground. Are they dead? There's no time to think. I push a few people out of the way and reach the boy.
He is bleeding from a gash on the back of his head. I rip off my shirt sleeve, wrap it around his head and I pick him up. I bolt out of the large crowd as quickly as I physically can; not even thinking about the debris flying near my head. I can see our news van parked in an alley, somewhat out of the danger. I am probably fifty feet away when I hear a female yell "He has my child! He has my child!". She runs towards me in a panic. Normally, I'd say something but her beauty stuns me. She has olive skin, and long, thick brown hair that radiates in the sun. Say something you idiot, she thinks your kidnapping her child.
Before I can speak, she punches me straight into the face. I taste the blood as it fills up my mouth; the familiar iron taste takes over. I finally yell "He was out there getting trampled! I ran into save him. I work for the Wolf 4 News!". She starts to weep. "I am so sorry! Thank you so much!". She embraces both the child and myself. I am still holding the boy. We both feel her love. I grab her hand and look her straight in the eye, "We need to get out of here. Come with me. I will take you two to the hospital".
We scurry inside the van as the protests continues. She calms down and finally looks at me. I can feel her beautiful eyes glowing, she's just staring. As we are driving to the closest hospital in silence, the moment is hard to explain. No words can fill the void. She goes back to staring out the window, catching all the action like I was suppose to do. I don't want her to focus on that, she's already shaken up. I gently reach over and grab her hand. She reciprocates with a tight grip. We hold hands like it was our first date. I pray that won't be the last.
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[WP] You know who your soulmate is once they touch you. Yours just punched the shit out of you
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I watch the lean, tall figure dashing through the crowd, her fiery hair trailing behind her as she nimbly leaps over a crate.
"Shit!" I swear as I force myself faster. I can't lose sight of her. She's got my whole day's earnings under her arm.
Damn pickpockets.
I chase after her, my breathes coming in ragged gasps. I may be in good shape but she's getting away like she's a fish in the waves.
I'm about to give up in frustration when I see my chance.
Ha. She doesn't know her way around.
I dash through a side street and throw myself around the corner, tackling her to the ground as she rounds it. She kicks me off and tries to run but I'm on my feet too fast. I snag her around her waist and lift her up so she can't get any traction.
"Get off me!" She screams.
"Give me my money!"
Her elbow connects with my jaw and I drop her. I've barely righted myself when her tiny fist slams into my cheek.
I gasp and spit out a bit of blood before reaching for her arm. I catch it and twist it up behind her back. Without missing a beat, she throws her legs off the ground and slams her feet into my abdomen. I grunt in pain and drop her. A moment later her foot hits my side and I'm on the ground.
Another swift kick catches my ribs and I cry out as I grab her ankle and pull her to the ground. I pin her down with my legs and go to secure her wrists but she reacts too fast, throwing another punch into my face. And another. And another.
She ends the attack with a sharp knee to my chest and throws me aside, getting up to run.
It's as our hands brush in the scuffle that I feel it.
They always told me that it was something you couldn't describe, but that you would know it when you feel it.
I didn't believe them, but now... that's the only explanation.
This is my soulmate.
And she must feel it too.
Her blazing green eyes meet mine as she turns back to face me, and her lush lips part slightly in a silent gasp.
My resolve is renewed and I use all my energy to catcher by her wrist in one hand, her waist in the other.
It's no longer about getting my money back. I cannot let her get away, not know that we are tied together by the Cosmos.
"What's your name?" I demand as I meet her eyes.
She looks defiant, untamable. "The fuck is it you?"
"I think you know," I whisper.
Her eyes widen a little more and I feel her breathing get faster.
"...Erin." she answers after a moment.
"Holland," I give her my own name.
She nods, her pointed chin raised. "It seems we've met an odd twist."
"Indeed."
"What are we to do now?"
"Well... first I'd like my wallet back."
She laughs, a musical, whole laugh. "You'll have to take it from me then."
With those words, she whirls out of my grasp and takes off down the street.
I will find her.
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"Come on, Tarquin! We're going to be late!"
Margaret took hold of my wrist, her grip like a steely claw. As she began to trot away, her heels clopping on the marbled floor of the theater, I felt her wedding ring dig into the soft flesh below my palm.
"Maggie, babe," I replied as I attempted to yank my arm back. "It's okay. There's always twenty minutes of previews before the movie anyway."
But I only felt her grip tighten as I struggled.
"I know, but you know how being late stresses me out! We need to go!"
My thoughts flashed back three years ago, when I first met Margaret at a party. We knew we weren't meant for each other when we touched. We have always known it. But who is lucky enough to find their soulmate anyway? With seven billion people on this earth? You might as well be looking for a needle in a thousand-mile-wide haystack.
So, as so many others do, we settled for each other. We started dating, moved in with each other shortly after, and got married two years later.
I would be lying if I said that we had the perfect relationship. We fight all the time, usually over inconsequential things. But we had both long since decided that we were going to work on our relationship no matter what happens.
"We may not be soulmates," she had said to me on our wedding night as we lay together in our hotel suite, "but I'll love you forever. I promise."
"I promise too, Maggie," I had replied. "Forever and always."
I tried to remember those words every time we got into a scrape with each other. Sometimes it was difficult to do so, however, and this was one of those instances.
"Calm down! Please!" I said, trying to keep my voice low. "I'd really like to get some popcorn first."
Margaret glanced over my shoulder, then shot me an icy glare. "The line is like ten people long!" she replied, the volume of her voice increasing several decibels. My pulse quickened as a few gawkers began to stare at us.
"We'll make it if I go now," I said, then added with a sigh, "But I guess I can go without. Let's go."
"Okay, good," Margaret said, finally relaxing her grip on my hand. I looked behind me at the concessions line - which was, of course, nearly empty - and then turned back to follow.
It was then that I felt something hard smack against my cheek. For a split second, my vision went blurry. I staggered left, shifting my weight toward what I thought was a wall, and found empty air. I fell.
At some point, in the split second between the panic of losing my balance and the shooting pain through my body as I hit the floor, the feeling began. A warm, comforting feeing spread through my body, like being cradled in the arms of an angel. And as I hurtled toward the tiles below me, I became aware of her. She was two and a half feet away from me. She was five foot three and had skin the color of milk chocolate and a face like all of my dreams rolled into one and eyes like two deep, perfect pools.
I barely noticed the sensation of cool linoleum against my cheek as I lay there, dazed and awed by the vision in my head.
"Hey, watch where you're going, asshole!"
A gruff, male voice yanked me from my reverie. I then realized that I was flat on my stomach and had the wind knocked out of me from the fall.
I raised my eyes. A tall, lanky man in a black tank top stood over me, a look of scorn on his face. I watched, gasping for breath, as he righted himself and turned around.
And there she was. Those beautiful pools staring at me. Her lips open in a look of shock. The knuckles of her right hand red from striking me.
"I'm... I'm sorry," she said. Her voice was the most incredible sound I had ever heard. "It was an accident-"
"Bullshit," Tank Top interrupted, stepping between myself and the woman of my dreams. "This jerk ran into you. Serves him right. Now let's go."
He began to walk away, and before she followed, she gave me a knowing look. And I knew that she had felt it too.
I tried to scream. I tried to tell her to wait. But the air was still returning to my lungs, and the only sound that escaped my lips was a wheeze of exasperation.
She was five feet away. Seven. Ten. And there was nothing that I could do.
"Oh my god!" I heard a voice from behind me shriek. The back of my mind recognized it as Margaret. "Are you okay, Tarquin?"
Frantic footsteps approached me from behind, and a moment later, I felt her hand on my shoulder.
I clambered to my feet and turned to face my wife. My eyes saw her, but my mind's eye saw my soulmate, now fifty feet or more removed from my position, moving quickly.
I took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself. As my soulmate drifted further from me, I felt a burning itch creep over the calmness in my core.
"Are you hurt?" Margaret said. "That looked like a really nasty fall. And what was that asshole on about, anyway? It was just an accident!"
As the word 'accident' drifted through my conscious mind, I thought back to those words on our wedding day.
*Forever and always.*
I smiled in spite of the creeping longing in my soul. "I'm fine," I said. "Let's go. We wouldn't want to be late for the movie."
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[WP] You know who your soulmate is once they touch you. Yours just punched the shit out of you
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I lick the blood dribbling from my bottom lip and glare up at him. He has a smirk on his face, and his fingers are twitching with lust to hurt me again.
Everywhere he touched me my skin felt electrified. Finally alive. He obviously didn't feel the same as he flexed his fingers and loomed over me.
"Stand up. Your training isn't over yet."
His voice was deep and scratched at his throat. My heart skipped a beat as he reached down and roughly pulled me up by the elbow. He let go, my skin on fire. After dusting his hands on his pants, he took up his fighting pose. Hands up in front of his chest, the cracked skin on his knuckles scabbed over.
I took up my own pose, similar to his, because that is how he taught me. My fists were clenched but my legs felt weak. This wasn't the first time he had touched me. Every time I felt his hands brush my skin my knees wobbled and I had to force them to stop.
But every day, after training, with sweat trickling down my back and blood dried on my face, he would forget me and turn to the girl who was always dolled up. Her flawless skin, unbruised and heavily made up. Her tight clothes that clung to her body. He loved her. I overheard him say so. He said she made him feel alive. His skin burn and churn. Just like what he did to me.
But he wasn't telling me that. He was telling her. I stood back a ways, out of sight, my heart cracked. Every time he touched me I knew, I KNEW, he was supposed to be mine.
I let him hit me again. I stumbled back, holding back a grin that disguised itself as a grimace.
"Are you even trying?" He grumbled.
He stepped forward and grabbed my shirt collar and pulled me close to his face. I could feel his hot breath on my cheeks, but I turned my face away because I couldn't look at his face anymore. My heart raced and my legs collapsed underneath me. He dropped me and let me fall onto the ground, my body shaking.
"Fine. I'll see you next week."
He stalked away, obviously fuming at how bad training was going. But I couldn't help it. I loved him. I loved his toughness and every time he beat me. My skin was on fire.
I shakily stood up and took a deep breath. I pushed my sweaty hair out of my eyes and turned away after glimpsing her walk through the gym doors. I headed for the showers, tears glistening in my eyes.
I couldn't come back next week. It hurt me too much. His brief touches weren't enough. I couldn't love him because I was not his soulmate. But he was mine.
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"Come on, Tarquin! We're going to be late!"
Margaret took hold of my wrist, her grip like a steely claw. As she began to trot away, her heels clopping on the marbled floor of the theater, I felt her wedding ring dig into the soft flesh below my palm.
"Maggie, babe," I replied as I attempted to yank my arm back. "It's okay. There's always twenty minutes of previews before the movie anyway."
But I only felt her grip tighten as I struggled.
"I know, but you know how being late stresses me out! We need to go!"
My thoughts flashed back three years ago, when I first met Margaret at a party. We knew we weren't meant for each other when we touched. We have always known it. But who is lucky enough to find their soulmate anyway? With seven billion people on this earth? You might as well be looking for a needle in a thousand-mile-wide haystack.
So, as so many others do, we settled for each other. We started dating, moved in with each other shortly after, and got married two years later.
I would be lying if I said that we had the perfect relationship. We fight all the time, usually over inconsequential things. But we had both long since decided that we were going to work on our relationship no matter what happens.
"We may not be soulmates," she had said to me on our wedding night as we lay together in our hotel suite, "but I'll love you forever. I promise."
"I promise too, Maggie," I had replied. "Forever and always."
I tried to remember those words every time we got into a scrape with each other. Sometimes it was difficult to do so, however, and this was one of those instances.
"Calm down! Please!" I said, trying to keep my voice low. "I'd really like to get some popcorn first."
Margaret glanced over my shoulder, then shot me an icy glare. "The line is like ten people long!" she replied, the volume of her voice increasing several decibels. My pulse quickened as a few gawkers began to stare at us.
"We'll make it if I go now," I said, then added with a sigh, "But I guess I can go without. Let's go."
"Okay, good," Margaret said, finally relaxing her grip on my hand. I looked behind me at the concessions line - which was, of course, nearly empty - and then turned back to follow.
It was then that I felt something hard smack against my cheek. For a split second, my vision went blurry. I staggered left, shifting my weight toward what I thought was a wall, and found empty air. I fell.
At some point, in the split second between the panic of losing my balance and the shooting pain through my body as I hit the floor, the feeling began. A warm, comforting feeing spread through my body, like being cradled in the arms of an angel. And as I hurtled toward the tiles below me, I became aware of her. She was two and a half feet away from me. She was five foot three and had skin the color of milk chocolate and a face like all of my dreams rolled into one and eyes like two deep, perfect pools.
I barely noticed the sensation of cool linoleum against my cheek as I lay there, dazed and awed by the vision in my head.
"Hey, watch where you're going, asshole!"
A gruff, male voice yanked me from my reverie. I then realized that I was flat on my stomach and had the wind knocked out of me from the fall.
I raised my eyes. A tall, lanky man in a black tank top stood over me, a look of scorn on his face. I watched, gasping for breath, as he righted himself and turned around.
And there she was. Those beautiful pools staring at me. Her lips open in a look of shock. The knuckles of her right hand red from striking me.
"I'm... I'm sorry," she said. Her voice was the most incredible sound I had ever heard. "It was an accident-"
"Bullshit," Tank Top interrupted, stepping between myself and the woman of my dreams. "This jerk ran into you. Serves him right. Now let's go."
He began to walk away, and before she followed, she gave me a knowing look. And I knew that she had felt it too.
I tried to scream. I tried to tell her to wait. But the air was still returning to my lungs, and the only sound that escaped my lips was a wheeze of exasperation.
She was five feet away. Seven. Ten. And there was nothing that I could do.
"Oh my god!" I heard a voice from behind me shriek. The back of my mind recognized it as Margaret. "Are you okay, Tarquin?"
Frantic footsteps approached me from behind, and a moment later, I felt her hand on my shoulder.
I clambered to my feet and turned to face my wife. My eyes saw her, but my mind's eye saw my soulmate, now fifty feet or more removed from my position, moving quickly.
I took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself. As my soulmate drifted further from me, I felt a burning itch creep over the calmness in my core.
"Are you hurt?" Margaret said. "That looked like a really nasty fall. And what was that asshole on about, anyway? It was just an accident!"
As the word 'accident' drifted through my conscious mind, I thought back to those words on our wedding day.
*Forever and always.*
I smiled in spite of the creeping longing in my soul. "I'm fine," I said. "Let's go. We wouldn't want to be late for the movie."
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[WP] You know who your soulmate is once they touch you. Yours just punched the shit out of you
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Ever since the discovery of the Eros-Cupid waves back in 2046 - humanity's struggle for finding the perfect mate had been severely reduced. No longer did people have to risk their pride to ask a stranger out. Destroy their friendships to take a chance. Leave their peaceful but painful solitude to seek out another that they would spend the rest of their life with.
The implementation of this discovery into our daily lives had changed courting significantly. It was now about exposing yourself to as many others in the world as you could.
Wait, I should clarify - not the *lewd* kind of exposing - but rather being able to physically be in contact with another.
Machines were built to measure the activity of the E-C waves when two persons came together. Earlier versions required both people to be placed into a gigantic room which housed the machine in order to attempt coitus - as the waves intensified the most during this process.
Not very convenient, alluring (having to sleep with everybody just to see if you get along well?), nor affordable.
Advances were quickly made - by this day, the measurement of E-C waves could be done by merely placing a strand of hair from each prospective candidate together.
It had become a huge industry - funded by the United Nations of Love (yes, they formally changed their name in 2074 following the Love Love Revolution) - specialised buildings were built in order to increase efficiency of the matching process. They housed billions of samples from almost the entire populace of the world - collected at birth by an opt-out program.
Almost - after all there were still some traditional folks that preferred the barbaric and antiquated methods of finding a mate. *Picking up* each other at a *bar*. Due to these *traditionalists* or *fundamentalists* as they wished to be called, divorce lawyers still had a job.
But not all of us are destined for happiness - I thought as the audible crunch of cartilage resonated through my skull as his fist crushed my recently healed nose.
I had given up crying a long time ago - it only made it worse. The pain shot through me, making my body involuntarily wince.
Bruises covered every single inch of my body, some of my limbs no longer functioned - or even resembled a limb.
We were a match - I did love him. And he loved me too - he told me so every day.
As he pierced my skin with needles. Or smashed bones with his hammer.
The days when he really loved me, he would use the soldering iron. Marking me as his - those were the days I knew that the love was real.
The suffering was my fault anyways. I had forgotten to do something, make his lunch, take the trash out, have his beer stocked, or looked at him wrong when he came home.
It was always my fault. I tried every day to be a better person for him.
It wasn't his fault that the person he loved was an "incompetent useless swine" - his pet name for me. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach everytime he called me that - although it was hard to tell as it was soon followed by a knee to the stomach.
I knew I loved him. I knew he loved me.
After all, the machine had said it to be so.
----
Edit: Phrasing changes, missing words, spelling corrections.
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"OOOOHHHHHHH!!"
For this drunk lad, the entire world just did a backflip as he dropped like a log. The entire bar simply erupted in a single chorus, wincing at just how hard this woman just ploughed her fist into his face.
"You. Fucking. Asshole!" Jane grunted, as she nursed her fist.
Security just muscled their way through the crowd and took a look at the situation. "Is there a problem, ma'am?" the bouncer asked, raising an eyebrow in admiration at the fact she managed to flatten someone practically twice her size.
"Yeah, apparently this groping pervert is..." She paused. "I need a drink. Or five."
Jane's friend, Lucy, just snapped out of shock as her friend walked over to the bar. She hustled over, nearly tripping over the man's unconscious body, towards her friend. She paused for a second to look down at him, before her mind snapped back to her friend.
"Jesus, Jane. That looks like it hurt!" She motioned towards her red knuckles. "What just happened?"
Jane drank a shot. "Well, I just gave the future father of my kids a concussion."
"Oh, shit."
Jane looked at her friend. "Haha, just my luck, right?"
"No, I mean... I just..." Lucy hesitated.
"What?"
"... can't believe this is happening, you know?" Lucy took a deep breath. "Let's get outta here." She smiled and took $50 out of her purse to pay for their drinks.
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[WP] You wake up to a beautiful morning. The birds are singing, there's not a cloud in the sky. This is terrifying to you.
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Things used to be different.
I used to love days like this.
I can still remember warm summer days, playing outside until the stars would come out. Singing and laughing with my friends and getting into endless trouble.
Our mothers would run out, shouting at us to behave and to calm down. But we always knew they loved to see us play together and do the same things they did as kids. We could hear them downstairs after bedtime, talking and chatting, sharing stories about all the trouble they used to get into. Sometimes it would even inspire our adventures the next morning!
Things are different now.
Now I look for the cloudy skies, the days where the sun isn't peeking through. I long for overcast, gray, gloomy skies.
Because those are the days when the drones can't fly.
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For as long as anyone can remember, the sky has been covered in darkness. It was the norm. Sometimes it rained, other times there was hail. Most of the time there was no precipitation at all. We still have a day/night cycle, but nobody knows where the little light that shines through the clouds comes from. As far as we know, there is nothing above the clouds. Darkness was our entire life. Until our nations were thrown into chaos by the harshness of the light.
I woke up to the sound of screams. I jolted out of bed and ran downstairs. Outside, people were running around furiously. Cars were on fire, there were people curled up in a fetal position, and general chaos was in the air. But the most shocking thing of all was a huge hole in the clouds. The light was pouring in through the hole! I saw an ocean of blue with a ball of yellow flame in the middle of it all. My mind was on fire!
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Edit: alien / human first contact? 😉
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[WP] spaceships have allways been grown, it's a known fact that it cannot be done any other way. A drifting craft has been found, a mess of parts, rivets and welds, an abomination.
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Commander Nightfall stood on the bridge of his Warship turned Freight hauler, watching as his crew run through system checks and their daily processes before he re-engaged another void crossing. This old ship had seen a hard war and didn’t have a lot of the fancy technologies of the other one but the Ship herself didn’t mind.
Anarayl had a sweet angelic voice that he had thought was a gift from the heavens but after serving in the War with her that voice could, could easy be, like nails down a chalkboard. Perhaps he was bias but he really felt the third generation vessels had the best personalities and traits but when you’re stuck with someone who has saved your life on more than one occasion it’s hard to have a bad word to say.
“Commander” her voice rang. He was deep in thought remembering the time when the authority had constructed their metal ships, a team of scientists had sworn black and blue that this new alloy they had created would protect the crews from the Void. Sure the simulations came up with remarkable results, even their test flights showed no issues however they were only quick jaunts to the edge of the solar system and back. Every Captain of a living ship knew that was nothing but despite our protesting, which fell on deaf ears they continued ahead with moving them into active service. In this age creating a interstellar hoping metal coffin was an easy task compared to growing the ships that first gave our simple race space travel.
“Commander!” Her sweet voice shrilling through Command deck, some of the crew turn to look. Laughing to himself, he asked her to stop calling him Commander, he hadn’t been in the military for years, not since Anarayl had been released from service and asked him to accompany her as she explored the galaxy of her own free will for once, fighting when and for who she wanted.
Life was good though. He was turning a nice profit doing the more dangerous missions and taking exploration gigs which help keep Anarayl stocked with a full complement of crew members, she wasn’t a young ship and it wasn’t fair she be expected to split her mind onto so many tasks. Not when the edge of known space held hostilities that few knew and even fewer had experienced.
“COMMANDER!!” Her voice rang harshly through across the deck, all hands now looking at the Commander, in another one of his absent minded states that he occasionally got into when he allow his mind to wander. A small smile crossed his face as his eyes came back into focus and soon he was looking aware slightly bemused at the fuss he had caused.
“Yes, my dear… What is it now?” he replied sarcastically.
“We have a large object on the edge of the sensor horizon” she replied then a moment’s hesitation she followed with “It is an Abomination… A class…”
‘A class Abomination’ God, he had thought they left known space years ago, called by some beacon that had them all just turn around and headed for deep deep space. They stopped attacking ships, station and settlements and just with a single mind left us all alone. However seeing this ship back… It was the beginning of something, not fun and certainly not good…
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It was a calm day in the quadrant. War hadn't touched the place in, oh, fifty turns, and it showed. None of the planets there dealt with any leftover radiation, thanks to the dedicated clean-up crews. Species were slowly coming back. Ships were starting to grow again, though only shuttlecraft had been harvest-able, so far.
That's why, when a grey hunk of metal came crashing into the atmosphere of Lark-42, it was a cause for alarm. They hadn't seen craft like that in fifty turns. It was an abomination of a thing - driven purely by inorganic thought, and driverless. There was no symbiosis between splorch and starcraft. It was just...a tool. A lifeless tool.
It didn't look new. There were only rebel Terrans left behind, and they'd long since either died or gone slightly senile. None of the surviving ones were really any use at identifying it. One pointed out that it looked similar to something he saw at a fair in his youth, but what good was that? Until they could figure out what it was, and why it had suddenly popped up, the entirety of Lark-42 was quarantined.
One day, a brave and slightly dumb splorch decided he was going to do his duty for monarch and country, and break into the thing. He snuck in mid-day, while everyone was still asleep, and bravely took a thwack at it with a hammer he found. Something spilled out of the craft at the smallest amount of force, and before he knew it, the whole abomination had simply fallen apart in a pile of parts and shoddy welding.
Again, he wasn't the smartest splorch, but he could recognize a trash pod when he saw one. The entirety of Lark-42 was advised to never bring up the matter again.
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Edit: alien / human first contact? 😉
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[WP] spaceships have allways been grown, it's a known fact that it cannot be done any other way. A drifting craft has been found, a mess of parts, rivets and welds, an abomination.
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"It's a well known fact that only large living things can withstand travel through the void. Only living ships have a hide thick enough. It has been that way for millennia. The few who questioned why this must be suffered a horrible fate: they had their question answered," the feminine voice emanated out from the walls and ceiling.
"Yes, we all know this, Viara," Captain Grova addressed his ship, a gulper-class freighter that was currently hauling rare metals to a foundry world. The path was through a sparse and distant arm of the galaxy where almost nothing happened. Except for this time, they found the ship, "But it still there. A ship made of metal and inorganics!"
"Yes. It's an abomination, captain, "Viara stated matter-of-factly, "I may not be a warship, but I do have some anti-piracy emplacements. They should be enough to completely destroy this... this thing!"
Captain Grova thought for a moment and then nodded to himself, "No. I'm going to board it."
"Sorry, Captain. My audio sensors are picking up something completely crazy. Did I just hear that you wanted to actually go into that metal doom ship?"
"Yes! I've been traveling with you for over 500 cycles. We've been making the same thirty-six different runs since you accepted me as you Captain. I've been needing a little adventure, and this is it!"
"No, this is insanity," the living ship sighed, "You don't know what's on board that.. thing. You're not prepared. Look, how about I send a few shufflers over and you can see through their cybernetic suites. You can even control one if you want?"
"Oh, very well. We'll do it the safe way."
"Shufflers are ready, Captain."
Captain Grova sat down at his chair and connected a tendril to his brain port. Suddenly, he was seeing out of the eyes of one of the bulky grey shufflers. The labor constructs were usually controlled fully by whichever living ship they worked on.
"Well, lets see what lies within a metal ship!" with a mental command, the shufflers forced their way open through the decrepit airlock and looked around.
Viara made a sigh-like noise, "Apparently, corpses lie within a metal ship. Just alien corpses. People who probably now figured out that traveling without an awesome living ship like myself is impossible and just leads to dead bodies. Are you satisfied now, captain?"
Grova's shuffler shook his head negatively, "We just started. And who knows what killed all these aliens. It could have been disease or a life support malfunction or..."
Whatever the captain was about to say got stuck on its way out simply because he couldn't believe what he was seeing. The corpses, the long dead corpses moved. Not in any of the way they were supposed to, but in a horrible boneless way like a liquid made of skulls and flesh and bits of spacesuits. The dead pulsing mass merged with other corpses, rising up until it blended with the ceiling. Then, a grizzly spear of rotting bone lashed out, spearing one of the shufflers and impaling it into the metal wall. Then it happened again. The bone spears were actually absorbing the shufflers from the inside-out, turning them into shriveled husks before absorbing even those. The last thing the Captain heard through his shuffler was the sound of horrible wheezing laughter.
"You were right, Viara! Fire all your weapons until that horror is globs of molten metal!" Grova yelled as he tore the tendril out of his head.
"Sorry, Captain. The ship has activated it's engines and is about to void jump. I'm bracing against the void emissions now. The ship is gone."
Captain Grova sat in his chair, taking in deep breaths and letting them out. Then he came to a decision, "We have to stop it."
"No, we have to warn the military and their war ships should take care of it. I don't want to get within a light year of that awful thing. Now you see what happens if you try to travel through the warp without a living ship protecting you?"
"I'll turn into a corpse monster?"
"That's actually one of the better things that can happen," Viara laughed without humor. She remembered how she had been selected for a new flight system. How the artificial shielding failed. How she screamed even as she grew and consumed. How she became the same ship which she had been now for so very long. She shook the memories away, "Now let's head to the nearest station and let them know where we found the horrible thing."
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It was a calm day in the quadrant. War hadn't touched the place in, oh, fifty turns, and it showed. None of the planets there dealt with any leftover radiation, thanks to the dedicated clean-up crews. Species were slowly coming back. Ships were starting to grow again, though only shuttlecraft had been harvest-able, so far.
That's why, when a grey hunk of metal came crashing into the atmosphere of Lark-42, it was a cause for alarm. They hadn't seen craft like that in fifty turns. It was an abomination of a thing - driven purely by inorganic thought, and driverless. There was no symbiosis between splorch and starcraft. It was just...a tool. A lifeless tool.
It didn't look new. There were only rebel Terrans left behind, and they'd long since either died or gone slightly senile. None of the surviving ones were really any use at identifying it. One pointed out that it looked similar to something he saw at a fair in his youth, but what good was that? Until they could figure out what it was, and why it had suddenly popped up, the entirety of Lark-42 was quarantined.
One day, a brave and slightly dumb splorch decided he was going to do his duty for monarch and country, and break into the thing. He snuck in mid-day, while everyone was still asleep, and bravely took a thwack at it with a hammer he found. Something spilled out of the craft at the smallest amount of force, and before he knew it, the whole abomination had simply fallen apart in a pile of parts and shoddy welding.
Again, he wasn't the smartest splorch, but he could recognize a trash pod when he saw one. The entirety of Lark-42 was advised to never bring up the matter again.
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In other words, write an adventure story (or part of one) from the bartender's perspective
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[WP] You're the bartender at a medieval pub, and some very adventurous people just walked in...
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Jim could tell alot about a man from the lizard they rode. Most people just saw lizards as a vehicle to travel between the desert cities. Jim saw alot more. And owning the only tavern within a few hours travel, he saw alot of lizards.
Merchants and bandits made up the bulk of Jim's customers. While merchants often rode fully laden lizards, this wasn't a very reliable read. It took a trained eye, like Jim's, to notice the thicker muscle development of the merchant's lizard. The bandit's lizard was usually packed alot lighter, but what really gave them away was their expression. They did not share the usual look of boredom that a merchant's lizard would wear. They were constantly on alert, trained to survey their surroundings, in a paranoid manner.
When a cloaked man pulled up on a slick black reptile; Jim was taken aback. He had never seen this type before but could tell from the way it darted towards the shade, it wasn't used to the desert climate. Judging by its smooth skin, it looked like a swimmer, and the nearest coast was weeks away. The other patrons didn't notice anything strange, but they weren't well versed in the subtle differences of lizards.
"Desert ale, thanks," said the man as he peeled back the dusty cloak from his face, revealing scarred black skin.
"Sure thing. You from around here?" said Jim conversationally, trying to get his bearings.
"Yea, I'm from the mountain city, travelling through to visit family in the caves." The man said a little too quickly. *Most mountaineers have winged lizards*, Jim thought, *definitely not from around here.*
Jim kept an eye on the man's ride while pouring his beer. It didn't relax out in the stables, it jumped every time the stable boy walked past. It even hissed at a neighboring scaled lizard for merely looking in its direction. This made Jim feel uneasy.
Several more of these oversized geckos, carrying mysterious men, landed over the next thirty minutes. The lizards appeared to recognize each other in the stables, yet inside, their owners ignored each other and sat by themselves. Another gecko arrived, but this time it was different. This lizard greeted the stable boy happily and didn't try to steal food and water the moment it entered the stables. Signs of a well treated reptile. But when it spotted the others, it screeched and protested against the stable boy. Jim knew this behavior, it thought it was being led into a trap.
Before the man could enter the bar, Jim calmly walked past the patrons and intercepted him by the door. "Leave now, I think men here are planning to kill you." Jim whispered. The man shot a glance inside and sure enough, a few of the cloaked men had got up and were making their way towards them.
The newcomer didn't question Jim. He just fled. The man's lizard was already straining against its tethers to get out of there. As they sprinted away, the other men all gave chase immediately, except for one. The scarred black man.
"You will regret that, barman." The guy said before following the others.
The threat played on Jim's mind all night. When the sun came up, he walked downstairs to open the pub. His heart started when he saw one of the oversized geckos already in the stables. He relaxed when he saw it was resting happily amongst a bunch of smaller winged lizards. The man he had warned, waited nearby.
"You saved my life, now it is time for me to save yours. We must leave, now."
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Living next to Zangdar’s tower on the road of Mir-Nodd, the legendary dwarf city, I was used to companies of adventurers. I had seen a lot of them, from battalion of dwarves coming back from the war of Tulgar Laijnek to companies of paladin trying to beat Zangdar’s tower. All those companies didn’t get along every time, those blood seeker guys always were on the verge of fighting. After so many years, I knew when my pub was about to get dirty. But this time it was different, this company was so eclectic, it didn’t even make sense.
The nameless company was made of: a ranger, an elf woman, a dwarf, a barbarian, a magician girl and an ogre. They didn’t seem really dangerous and low level, like the first time they were on a quest, and they were all pretty excited, talking about the reward about to come.
The dwarf was holding a teddy bear, making an irritating sound every time he squeezed it, and laughing every time he did it. The ranger was next to the elf woman, who was complaining about her bra size who increased since she levelled up and the fact that she didn’t predict this because she had no other bra, while the ranger was peeking an eye each time he could. The barbarian was arm wrestling with the ogre while the magician girl was supervising everything and reading a letter.
Everything went south when the dwarf spitted the ale he ordered saying it was as toxic as goblin sweat and that the person who did it should be ashamed and never make ale again. The brewer who was in the room, stood up in the same time as the three goblins, shouting to the dwarf to piss off, which made the dwarf, the ogre and the barbarian to stood up and unsheathe their weapons, and then everything became crazy. The goblins attacked the dwarf, but the dwarf was caught by the ogre, making him turn, with his battle axe and being dangerous for everyone. The barbarian shouted “Fight!” and literally jumped in the crowd with his sword in front of him. The elf girl took her bow and shot arrows everywhere, piercing half of the casks I kept in the room, and touching people randomly, like the ranger in the ass. Finally, the magician girl took her staff, starting to glow, and said “zemrodne suov sednab ed sdratab”. Everyone one in the room fell asleep except for the company, who decided to get out of the pub.
I came back in the main room to see the disaster: 2 goblins were dead, the brewer had an arm cut, and the room was a mess. Moreover, everyone was asleep and seemed to grow their toenails very long.
Maybe it’s time for me to retire…
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In other words, write an adventure story (or part of one) from the bartender's perspective
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[WP] You're the bartender at a medieval pub, and some very adventurous people just walked in...
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"Sir, sir! Incoming, from the South! Four men in shining armor, plus a cart with supplies! Adventurers by the looks of 'em!"
I must admit I was surprised when little Charlie said that. People from the south?! I am used to get a lot of people *going* south - this is the last pub in the Fork Road before the frontier of Avernera, there's always a trickle of people on their way there, coming from Cavestown or the Brooklands. Also people from either east or west - trade caravans from the fringes of the Empire, or patrols; there's always plenty of those two coming or going.
But never from the south. People from Avernera and the outlying kingdoms have no interest on the Empire; why, the last time I had visitors from the south was - almost twelve years ago...
The doorbell jingled. The four man had indeed come for the pub.
"Beer for four, and the best stew you have!" Said the man in golden armor. He seemed to be the leader of the crew.
"Yessir, right away, sir!" Charlie replied, and bolted for the kitchen. He was for some reason still around, and had taken chaperoning duties for these four men. Good thing, too; I was much too gobsmacked by their presence to be an efficient host. I kept staring at them; they didn't seem to notice, their attention was too absorbed. One of them, a skinny youngster in glasses and embroidered leather armor, pulled a map and a magnifying glass from a satchel he was carrying. He put both on the table, and the man in white-and-gold armor took the glass and examined the map. The other two - a very old, skinny man in light leather, and a hunkering beast of a man, easily carrying two-hundred pounds of purê muscle under his thick steel armor - waited in reverent silence.
"Gentlemen." I spoke up after breaking out of my daze. "Welcome to the Summer Tree Pub & Inn. Bartender Charlie is already providing the beer and stew you have requested; is there anything else I can do for you on this fine afternoon?"
"Can't you see we're busy? Get lost!" said the strongman.
"Please, Albart. Can you not see the man is offering to help us?" admonished the older man. "Here, sir; My name is Charlus Mason; a pleasure to meet you." And stretched his hand which I took without hesitation. Polite people are easier to empathize with; plus, there was something familiar about his accent, though I couldn't place what it was. "This is Albart Tanner," he pointed to the strongman, "and that is my grandson Eldred." The young man in glasses nodded respectfully. The old man smiled, but did not introduce their leader. "Please come back when his Highness finishes reading the map." *His 'Highness'?* "We will be happy to converse with you when -"
"I'm done." Said the 'highness' suddenly; the three man came with a start and turned to him, ignoring my standing there completely. "We will take the Host through Fork Road by the Black Coat Forest by dusk; Cavestown would be a better route, but there are too many suspicious eyes there. Charlus, I will need you to take the scout detachment at least an hour early. Albart, you will lead the men while I write my plans for when we're past Graytrickle. Eldred, you wil check on the supply carts as fast as possible, and after that you'll come back to my side, I need your help with the cartography. And who is this?" He suddenly took note of my presence.
"He is the owner of the pub, your Highness", Charlus replied. "He was just offering us hospitality. Worry not, the beer and stew are already coming. *Peasant!*" He turned to me suddenly. "This is Prince Berdann, rightful ruler of the Calisian Kingdom. *Show your reverence!*" And at that, he, Eldred and Albart got up from their seats and kneeled in front of Prince Berdann. I followed suit and kneeled myself.
This got a chuckle out of Prince Berdann. "Please rise. This is not necessary at all." The four of us rose. "What is your name, pub-owner?"
"I-it's Damian, your Highness. D-Da-Damian Woodbranch." I stammered. The memories of King Calis came rushing; was this man *really* a lost descendant of the dead Calisian Royal Family?!
"Please forgive old man Charlus; he's sometimes too zealous of his duties as my Knight. Can't blame him really. His loyalty is true." He offered Charlus a warm smile, and turned back to me. "So, Damian Woodbranch. You were offering us your hospitality, yes?"
"Y-yes, your Highness." Funny how an ingrained habit came back quickly. I hadn't called anyone 'Highness' in over twelve years but the words flowed naturally from my lips.
"As I hear, the drink and food are already coming. What else can you offer us?"
"Well, your Highness, we have rooms for the night but nothing worthy of your stature," - Berdann smiled at that - "and we also offer a warm bath that is considered very very good by all our patrons, if you please. Of course, we also have a stable; we will tend to your horses, and mules if you have any, with the utmost care. Some small things other than that, your Highness, but nothing up your standards I'm afraid. This is a simple pub mostly for travelers and caravans; we don't have many amenities to cater for high nobility such as yourself."
"Nothing to fret about, good man." Berdann smiled benevolently. "I'll take up your offer on the stables; please have someone take care of my horses. It's going to be a long trip to Parabel. We will defeat the evil Shadow Emperor, and restore the Calisian Kingdom to its former glory! And I can't have a shabby looking horse leading the Host now can I?" Berdann laughed at himself. He then took a pipe from his own satchel, and started smoking. It's forbidden to smoke inside the premises but I didn't feel the least bit inclined to tell him off.
"I'll care for them myself, your Highness." I turned and left.
On the front of the pub, the four horses were tied to the post with the Smiling Tree sign; I untied them and carried them over to the stables. Maug the horsekeeper was fast asleep inside.
"Wake up, you mongrel!" I shouted, and shook him up. He woke up in a hurry.
"Yes mr. Woodbranch!"
"We have some very fine horses to care for today. Nobility horses. Clean them up and serve them the freshest grass and hay we have; after that you will brush their manes *with the utmost care.* These horses belong to the heir of old King Calis!"
"Yessi- wait what? The 'heir of King Calis'? But isn't Princess Arenia dead?"
"Yes, she is, been dead a long time now. But the man carries the regalia of the old King, so we're not taking chances. Get to work, old friend. I have some very upper-end guests to spoil."
"Will do, mr. Woodbranch." He replied, and turned to the horses. "*Nobility horses? At this day and age? I'll be damned...*" he muttered behind my back. I went outside, for a smoke of my own. I only now realized how nerve-wracking that short interaction with the Prince was!
There is an old rocking chair on the porch outside the stables; I took its seat and pulled my pipe from my pocket. As I was about to light it, a solitary crow landed on the arm of the rocking chair.
It looked at me, with its black beady eyes.
"Did you hear that, birdie?" I spoke to it - or maybe *at* it. "There's a man in the pub claiming to be a Calisian Prince! Says he's leading a Host to the Imperial Capital!" The bird ruffled its feathers but did not reply. "I wonder when the next patrol of the Imperial Guard is going to be. I wonder what the Guard would say if they were to see a man in white-and-gold armor in my pub! I hope there's no bloodshed inside my inn tonight." The bird suddenly turned around and took flight. I sighed, and smoked my pipe. Quickly - I was probably needed back inside.
***Continues***
|
Living next to Zangdar’s tower on the road of Mir-Nodd, the legendary dwarf city, I was used to companies of adventurers. I had seen a lot of them, from battalion of dwarves coming back from the war of Tulgar Laijnek to companies of paladin trying to beat Zangdar’s tower. All those companies didn’t get along every time, those blood seeker guys always were on the verge of fighting. After so many years, I knew when my pub was about to get dirty. But this time it was different, this company was so eclectic, it didn’t even make sense.
The nameless company was made of: a ranger, an elf woman, a dwarf, a barbarian, a magician girl and an ogre. They didn’t seem really dangerous and low level, like the first time they were on a quest, and they were all pretty excited, talking about the reward about to come.
The dwarf was holding a teddy bear, making an irritating sound every time he squeezed it, and laughing every time he did it. The ranger was next to the elf woman, who was complaining about her bra size who increased since she levelled up and the fact that she didn’t predict this because she had no other bra, while the ranger was peeking an eye each time he could. The barbarian was arm wrestling with the ogre while the magician girl was supervising everything and reading a letter.
Everything went south when the dwarf spitted the ale he ordered saying it was as toxic as goblin sweat and that the person who did it should be ashamed and never make ale again. The brewer who was in the room, stood up in the same time as the three goblins, shouting to the dwarf to piss off, which made the dwarf, the ogre and the barbarian to stood up and unsheathe their weapons, and then everything became crazy. The goblins attacked the dwarf, but the dwarf was caught by the ogre, making him turn, with his battle axe and being dangerous for everyone. The barbarian shouted “Fight!” and literally jumped in the crowd with his sword in front of him. The elf girl took her bow and shot arrows everywhere, piercing half of the casks I kept in the room, and touching people randomly, like the ranger in the ass. Finally, the magician girl took her staff, starting to glow, and said “zemrodne suov sednab ed sdratab”. Everyone one in the room fell asleep except for the company, who decided to get out of the pub.
I came back in the main room to see the disaster: 2 goblins were dead, the brewer had an arm cut, and the room was a mess. Moreover, everyone was asleep and seemed to grow their toenails very long.
Maybe it’s time for me to retire…
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In other words, write an adventure story (or part of one) from the bartender's perspective
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[WP] You're the bartender at a medieval pub, and some very adventurous people just walked in...
|
Jim could tell alot about a man from the lizard they rode. Most people just saw lizards as a vehicle to travel between the desert cities. Jim saw alot more. And owning the only tavern within a few hours travel, he saw alot of lizards.
Merchants and bandits made up the bulk of Jim's customers. While merchants often rode fully laden lizards, this wasn't a very reliable read. It took a trained eye, like Jim's, to notice the thicker muscle development of the merchant's lizard. The bandit's lizard was usually packed alot lighter, but what really gave them away was their expression. They did not share the usual look of boredom that a merchant's lizard would wear. They were constantly on alert, trained to survey their surroundings, in a paranoid manner.
When a cloaked man pulled up on a slick black reptile; Jim was taken aback. He had never seen this type before but could tell from the way it darted towards the shade, it wasn't used to the desert climate. Judging by its smooth skin, it looked like a swimmer, and the nearest coast was weeks away. The other patrons didn't notice anything strange, but they weren't well versed in the subtle differences of lizards.
"Desert ale, thanks," said the man as he peeled back the dusty cloak from his face, revealing scarred black skin.
"Sure thing. You from around here?" said Jim conversationally, trying to get his bearings.
"Yea, I'm from the mountain city, travelling through to visit family in the caves." The man said a little too quickly. *Most mountaineers have winged lizards*, Jim thought, *definitely not from around here.*
Jim kept an eye on the man's ride while pouring his beer. It didn't relax out in the stables, it jumped every time the stable boy walked past. It even hissed at a neighboring scaled lizard for merely looking in its direction. This made Jim feel uneasy.
Several more of these oversized geckos, carrying mysterious men, landed over the next thirty minutes. The lizards appeared to recognize each other in the stables, yet inside, their owners ignored each other and sat by themselves. Another gecko arrived, but this time it was different. This lizard greeted the stable boy happily and didn't try to steal food and water the moment it entered the stables. Signs of a well treated reptile. But when it spotted the others, it screeched and protested against the stable boy. Jim knew this behavior, it thought it was being led into a trap.
Before the man could enter the bar, Jim calmly walked past the patrons and intercepted him by the door. "Leave now, I think men here are planning to kill you." Jim whispered. The man shot a glance inside and sure enough, a few of the cloaked men had got up and were making their way towards them.
The newcomer didn't question Jim. He just fled. The man's lizard was already straining against its tethers to get out of there. As they sprinted away, the other men all gave chase immediately, except for one. The scarred black man.
"You will regret that, barman." The guy said before following the others.
The threat played on Jim's mind all night. When the sun came up, he walked downstairs to open the pub. His heart started when he saw one of the oversized geckos already in the stables. He relaxed when he saw it was resting happily amongst a bunch of smaller winged lizards. The man he had warned, waited nearby.
"You saved my life, now it is time for me to save yours. We must leave, now."
|
There’s eight of them. EIGHT. And it’s not like they’re not traveling together, either! They all pranced in here in their little laced boots and feathered hats like they owned the damn place! The whole point of an adventuring party is that you’re supposed to cover each other’s weaknesses, not create some kind of teenage boy band!! They won’t last five minutes out in the wild, that’s for damn sure, unless the bears feel like hearing songs today!
Oh Jesus, here they come. Lemme guess, they’re going to ask for the “Jolly Cooperation Special with added dashes of Friendship”?? Good god, are these the toughest guys the city has to offer now? No wonder most of my patrons nowadays only come around once.
Oh, wait… HAH!!! One of those green good-for-nothings just knocked over the Black Baron’s axe! Ohh, he’s not going to be happy about this one, I can tell right now. Last time someone did that, I had to spend half a day’s income resetting the foundation on this place! But, he paid for it, so I’ll let it slide. My returning customers do tend to be the most respectful of this place. Guess it’s cause my ale keeps ‘em happy, hehe!
Ohohoho, he’s getting up and those poor bastards haven’t even noticed. They’ll be lucky to keep their heads on their shoulders at this point. Won’t be strumming out tunes if you don’t have a mouth to sing with, eh? I just hope the ol’ Baron cleans up his mess this time… Well, who am I kidding? He never does.
Alright, he’s swinging! Annnnnnnd the axe goes up…… and the axe goes do--?!
What in blazes?? The Baron, he, he… did he just get knocked out?! How the hell did that dressed-up goon react so damn quickly?? And what the hell are those damn harps made out of?? The Baron’s helmet is made of some seriously hard stuff, but that bloody instrument didn’t even get bent! Hell, the strings are still attached, and by the way he’s strumming it now, it’s even still in pretty damn good tune!! And his companions didn’t even budge an inch, either! Who are these kids??
Well, they’ve got my attention now, along with all the rest of my patrons. I don’t think anyone’s going to mess with them, though, and for good reason. Now that they’re up close to me, I can tell that they’ve definitely seen some nasty things. Their faces are youthful enough, but their eyes… that’s a cold glare that I haven’t seen since the days of my ex-wife, tell ya what.
One of ‘em just asked for the hardest thing I’ve got. Well, I really don’t want to disappoint here, so I’ll give them some of my ol’ Hellspawn Gin. These kids have got some fire in ‘em, but I’ve still got a lesson or two of my own to teach, hehe!
He’s downed the whole thing in one go!!! These kids might be brave, but they sure do seem stupid now, haha! Never down a whole mug in one go until you know what’s behind it, boy! He’s looking at me now, probably ready to beg for mercy!!
“I thought I asked you for the hardest thing you had here. See the Baron over there? He and his minions had been causing trouble for my party for some time now, but we got information that he frequented this place often. And now, he’s dead. His neck’s snapped cleanly in two, a surgical break. And that was done by the weakest member of my party. Now, tell me. Do you really want me to do to you, what my friend here did to the Baron? And unlike him, I won’t hold back.”
The—the Baron’s dead?! Oh, Lord... Looks like I’m gonna be down half a day’s income again…
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In other words, write an adventure story (or part of one) from the bartender's perspective
|
[WP] You're the bartender at a medieval pub, and some very adventurous people just walked in...
|
It was a slow night at the inn. Three regulars and a group of mercenaries. Two regulars -- Jacqueline and Pete -- sat at a nearby table swapping chit-chat, the usual banter best reserved for acquaintances while you wait for your real friends. The other regular, Pongo, nursed his pint at the bar. It was his fifth of the night, which may sound like too much, but you know how dwarf metabolism goes. Things must not be going well with the missus.
The mercenary group in the back? I had my eye on them. They were "passing through," so they said, but we've had some bad experiences with groups like this. Their outfits suggested they were from west of the mountains. What were they doing all the way out here? I'd tended enough bar to know better than to ask.
I wiped down the bar, and used a towel to clean out individual pint glasses. This particular glass wasn't in need of anything cleaning -- I was just occupying my hands while I listened to the mercenaries talk among themselves. They were blusterous and a bit rowdy, not doing anything to dispel the normal westerner stereotype.
The front door opened and two more unfamiliar faces walked in. From the gear they were carrying, one was a ranger, and the other perhaps a mage. They looked in my direction and then at each of the other guests of the inn.
The ranger walked to the bar, "Barkeep. A word."
"What can I do ya for?" I asked and leaned close.
"We're looking for an assassin. Heard he might be in these areas these days. Know anything?" She set a few coins on the bar, "And two pints for me and my friend."
"I can't say that I've seen any assassin, but I have seen a few familiar faces," motioning with my head to the mercenaries in the corner.
The mage walked up and shook his head, "No. This individual hails from the east. It's unlikely to be one of those amateurs."
"I see," I said, handing them their beer. "I can't say that I've heard much on the grapevine either. I spend most of my time here, so I think I would have overheard something about an assassin."
The ranger grabbed her beer and downed in a few gulps, wiping her chin, she asked, "You don't get out much, do you?"
"I used to be an adventurer like you until I..."
"Took an arrow to the knee. Yeah. We've both heard it before. Listen, we're in need of some supplies."
My ears perked up. Experienced adventurers carry good money, and by this point tonight, I could expect the regulars to ask to put their drinks on their endless tab. A little gold would go a long way.
The mage brought out his list, "We're looking for a Scroll of Town Portal. Got any of those?"
"A Scroll of Town Portal? We're just fresh out of stock on that one," I said with a hint of sarcasm. Why would we carry scrolls?
"What about a Tome of Light?"
I shrugged.
"A Scroll of Revive Dead? A Potion of Superior Intellect? Revive Mana? Anything?"
I shrugged again and smiled.
He leaned over to his friend, "This place sucks." And then he leaned over to me, "Would you be interested in buying any of our gear? We're a bit over-encumbered. And we don't have a warrior-friend to do the heavy lifting."
"Unless you're selling beer, meat, or bread, I'm not sure I'll be able to help."
"MEAT" a voice thundered. It was Pongo. The word seemed to draw him out of his stupor. "MEAT will do just fine about now." And he ran his small hands through his enormous beard.
The ranger touched the elbow of the mage and, with her eyes, gesture towards Pongo. She whispered two words, "Hand. Tattoo."
I glanced over and saw a faded tattoo on Pongo's right hand. The two adventurers walked over to Pongo and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Oy milady," He bellowed, "How's about that MEAT." And then he laughed.
Her expression didn't change. "What can you tell us about Phantom Council?"
Pongo, still laughing from thinking about meat, immediately hushed. His eyes moved back and forth between the mage and the ranger. "I can't tell you anything about no Council."
The ranger grabbed his hand and slammed it on the bar. "That tattoo says that you can."
"Aye, that tattoo was given to me. By a friend. It's not mine."
The mage moved close to his ear, "What's your name, dwarf?"
"Pongo. My name is Pongo!"
"I'll give you another chance. What's your real name?"
"Pongo!"
The mage grabbed the dwarf by the beard, and the smell of burning hair flooded the inn. "One last chance."
The dwarf tried to wiggle away, but his beard erupted into flames as the mage let go. He shouted and began smacking himself in the face to fan away the flames. He fell from his stool and crashed into the floor.
The ranger grabbed him by the collar of his tunic. "You're going to tell us about the Council, and you're going to help us find somebody we've been looking for."
The dwarf kicked around, "Or?! Or what?" he spat.
The mage looked at me and put a few extra gold pieces on the bar. "Dwarves," he said, "Always going on about their 'ore'."
|
There’s eight of them. EIGHT. And it’s not like they’re not traveling together, either! They all pranced in here in their little laced boots and feathered hats like they owned the damn place! The whole point of an adventuring party is that you’re supposed to cover each other’s weaknesses, not create some kind of teenage boy band!! They won’t last five minutes out in the wild, that’s for damn sure, unless the bears feel like hearing songs today!
Oh Jesus, here they come. Lemme guess, they’re going to ask for the “Jolly Cooperation Special with added dashes of Friendship”?? Good god, are these the toughest guys the city has to offer now? No wonder most of my patrons nowadays only come around once.
Oh, wait… HAH!!! One of those green good-for-nothings just knocked over the Black Baron’s axe! Ohh, he’s not going to be happy about this one, I can tell right now. Last time someone did that, I had to spend half a day’s income resetting the foundation on this place! But, he paid for it, so I’ll let it slide. My returning customers do tend to be the most respectful of this place. Guess it’s cause my ale keeps ‘em happy, hehe!
Ohohoho, he’s getting up and those poor bastards haven’t even noticed. They’ll be lucky to keep their heads on their shoulders at this point. Won’t be strumming out tunes if you don’t have a mouth to sing with, eh? I just hope the ol’ Baron cleans up his mess this time… Well, who am I kidding? He never does.
Alright, he’s swinging! Annnnnnnd the axe goes up…… and the axe goes do--?!
What in blazes?? The Baron, he, he… did he just get knocked out?! How the hell did that dressed-up goon react so damn quickly?? And what the hell are those damn harps made out of?? The Baron’s helmet is made of some seriously hard stuff, but that bloody instrument didn’t even get bent! Hell, the strings are still attached, and by the way he’s strumming it now, it’s even still in pretty damn good tune!! And his companions didn’t even budge an inch, either! Who are these kids??
Well, they’ve got my attention now, along with all the rest of my patrons. I don’t think anyone’s going to mess with them, though, and for good reason. Now that they’re up close to me, I can tell that they’ve definitely seen some nasty things. Their faces are youthful enough, but their eyes… that’s a cold glare that I haven’t seen since the days of my ex-wife, tell ya what.
One of ‘em just asked for the hardest thing I’ve got. Well, I really don’t want to disappoint here, so I’ll give them some of my ol’ Hellspawn Gin. These kids have got some fire in ‘em, but I’ve still got a lesson or two of my own to teach, hehe!
He’s downed the whole thing in one go!!! These kids might be brave, but they sure do seem stupid now, haha! Never down a whole mug in one go until you know what’s behind it, boy! He’s looking at me now, probably ready to beg for mercy!!
“I thought I asked you for the hardest thing you had here. See the Baron over there? He and his minions had been causing trouble for my party for some time now, but we got information that he frequented this place often. And now, he’s dead. His neck’s snapped cleanly in two, a surgical break. And that was done by the weakest member of my party. Now, tell me. Do you really want me to do to you, what my friend here did to the Baron? And unlike him, I won’t hold back.”
The—the Baron’s dead?! Oh, Lord... Looks like I’m gonna be down half a day’s income again…
|
In other words, write an adventure story (or part of one) from the bartender's perspective
|
[WP] You're the bartender at a medieval pub, and some very adventurous people just walked in...
|
"Sir, sir! Incoming, from the South! Four men in shining armor, plus a cart with supplies! Adventurers by the looks of 'em!"
I must admit I was surprised when little Charlie said that. People from the south?! I am used to get a lot of people *going* south - this is the last pub in the Fork Road before the frontier of Avernera, there's always a trickle of people on their way there, coming from Cavestown or the Brooklands. Also people from either east or west - trade caravans from the fringes of the Empire, or patrols; there's always plenty of those two coming or going.
But never from the south. People from Avernera and the outlying kingdoms have no interest on the Empire; why, the last time I had visitors from the south was - almost twelve years ago...
The doorbell jingled. The four man had indeed come for the pub.
"Beer for four, and the best stew you have!" Said the man in golden armor. He seemed to be the leader of the crew.
"Yessir, right away, sir!" Charlie replied, and bolted for the kitchen. He was for some reason still around, and had taken chaperoning duties for these four men. Good thing, too; I was much too gobsmacked by their presence to be an efficient host. I kept staring at them; they didn't seem to notice, their attention was too absorbed. One of them, a skinny youngster in glasses and embroidered leather armor, pulled a map and a magnifying glass from a satchel he was carrying. He put both on the table, and the man in white-and-gold armor took the glass and examined the map. The other two - a very old, skinny man in light leather, and a hunkering beast of a man, easily carrying two-hundred pounds of purê muscle under his thick steel armor - waited in reverent silence.
"Gentlemen." I spoke up after breaking out of my daze. "Welcome to the Summer Tree Pub & Inn. Bartender Charlie is already providing the beer and stew you have requested; is there anything else I can do for you on this fine afternoon?"
"Can't you see we're busy? Get lost!" said the strongman.
"Please, Albart. Can you not see the man is offering to help us?" admonished the older man. "Here, sir; My name is Charlus Mason; a pleasure to meet you." And stretched his hand which I took without hesitation. Polite people are easier to empathize with; plus, there was something familiar about his accent, though I couldn't place what it was. "This is Albart Tanner," he pointed to the strongman, "and that is my grandson Eldred." The young man in glasses nodded respectfully. The old man smiled, but did not introduce their leader. "Please come back when his Highness finishes reading the map." *His 'Highness'?* "We will be happy to converse with you when -"
"I'm done." Said the 'highness' suddenly; the three man came with a start and turned to him, ignoring my standing there completely. "We will take the Host through Fork Road by the Black Coat Forest by dusk; Cavestown would be a better route, but there are too many suspicious eyes there. Charlus, I will need you to take the scout detachment at least an hour early. Albart, you will lead the men while I write my plans for when we're past Graytrickle. Eldred, you wil check on the supply carts as fast as possible, and after that you'll come back to my side, I need your help with the cartography. And who is this?" He suddenly took note of my presence.
"He is the owner of the pub, your Highness", Charlus replied. "He was just offering us hospitality. Worry not, the beer and stew are already coming. *Peasant!*" He turned to me suddenly. "This is Prince Berdann, rightful ruler of the Calisian Kingdom. *Show your reverence!*" And at that, he, Eldred and Albart got up from their seats and kneeled in front of Prince Berdann. I followed suit and kneeled myself.
This got a chuckle out of Prince Berdann. "Please rise. This is not necessary at all." The four of us rose. "What is your name, pub-owner?"
"I-it's Damian, your Highness. D-Da-Damian Woodbranch." I stammered. The memories of King Calis came rushing; was this man *really* a lost descendant of the dead Calisian Royal Family?!
"Please forgive old man Charlus; he's sometimes too zealous of his duties as my Knight. Can't blame him really. His loyalty is true." He offered Charlus a warm smile, and turned back to me. "So, Damian Woodbranch. You were offering us your hospitality, yes?"
"Y-yes, your Highness." Funny how an ingrained habit came back quickly. I hadn't called anyone 'Highness' in over twelve years but the words flowed naturally from my lips.
"As I hear, the drink and food are already coming. What else can you offer us?"
"Well, your Highness, we have rooms for the night but nothing worthy of your stature," - Berdann smiled at that - "and we also offer a warm bath that is considered very very good by all our patrons, if you please. Of course, we also have a stable; we will tend to your horses, and mules if you have any, with the utmost care. Some small things other than that, your Highness, but nothing up your standards I'm afraid. This is a simple pub mostly for travelers and caravans; we don't have many amenities to cater for high nobility such as yourself."
"Nothing to fret about, good man." Berdann smiled benevolently. "I'll take up your offer on the stables; please have someone take care of my horses. It's going to be a long trip to Parabel. We will defeat the evil Shadow Emperor, and restore the Calisian Kingdom to its former glory! And I can't have a shabby looking horse leading the Host now can I?" Berdann laughed at himself. He then took a pipe from his own satchel, and started smoking. It's forbidden to smoke inside the premises but I didn't feel the least bit inclined to tell him off.
"I'll care for them myself, your Highness." I turned and left.
On the front of the pub, the four horses were tied to the post with the Smiling Tree sign; I untied them and carried them over to the stables. Maug the horsekeeper was fast asleep inside.
"Wake up, you mongrel!" I shouted, and shook him up. He woke up in a hurry.
"Yes mr. Woodbranch!"
"We have some very fine horses to care for today. Nobility horses. Clean them up and serve them the freshest grass and hay we have; after that you will brush their manes *with the utmost care.* These horses belong to the heir of old King Calis!"
"Yessi- wait what? The 'heir of King Calis'? But isn't Princess Arenia dead?"
"Yes, she is, been dead a long time now. But the man carries the regalia of the old King, so we're not taking chances. Get to work, old friend. I have some very upper-end guests to spoil."
"Will do, mr. Woodbranch." He replied, and turned to the horses. "*Nobility horses? At this day and age? I'll be damned...*" he muttered behind my back. I went outside, for a smoke of my own. I only now realized how nerve-wracking that short interaction with the Prince was!
There is an old rocking chair on the porch outside the stables; I took its seat and pulled my pipe from my pocket. As I was about to light it, a solitary crow landed on the arm of the rocking chair.
It looked at me, with its black beady eyes.
"Did you hear that, birdie?" I spoke to it - or maybe *at* it. "There's a man in the pub claiming to be a Calisian Prince! Says he's leading a Host to the Imperial Capital!" The bird ruffled its feathers but did not reply. "I wonder when the next patrol of the Imperial Guard is going to be. I wonder what the Guard would say if they were to see a man in white-and-gold armor in my pub! I hope there's no bloodshed inside my inn tonight." The bird suddenly turned around and took flight. I sighed, and smoked my pipe. Quickly - I was probably needed back inside.
***Continues***
|
There’s eight of them. EIGHT. And it’s not like they’re not traveling together, either! They all pranced in here in their little laced boots and feathered hats like they owned the damn place! The whole point of an adventuring party is that you’re supposed to cover each other’s weaknesses, not create some kind of teenage boy band!! They won’t last five minutes out in the wild, that’s for damn sure, unless the bears feel like hearing songs today!
Oh Jesus, here they come. Lemme guess, they’re going to ask for the “Jolly Cooperation Special with added dashes of Friendship”?? Good god, are these the toughest guys the city has to offer now? No wonder most of my patrons nowadays only come around once.
Oh, wait… HAH!!! One of those green good-for-nothings just knocked over the Black Baron’s axe! Ohh, he’s not going to be happy about this one, I can tell right now. Last time someone did that, I had to spend half a day’s income resetting the foundation on this place! But, he paid for it, so I’ll let it slide. My returning customers do tend to be the most respectful of this place. Guess it’s cause my ale keeps ‘em happy, hehe!
Ohohoho, he’s getting up and those poor bastards haven’t even noticed. They’ll be lucky to keep their heads on their shoulders at this point. Won’t be strumming out tunes if you don’t have a mouth to sing with, eh? I just hope the ol’ Baron cleans up his mess this time… Well, who am I kidding? He never does.
Alright, he’s swinging! Annnnnnnd the axe goes up…… and the axe goes do--?!
What in blazes?? The Baron, he, he… did he just get knocked out?! How the hell did that dressed-up goon react so damn quickly?? And what the hell are those damn harps made out of?? The Baron’s helmet is made of some seriously hard stuff, but that bloody instrument didn’t even get bent! Hell, the strings are still attached, and by the way he’s strumming it now, it’s even still in pretty damn good tune!! And his companions didn’t even budge an inch, either! Who are these kids??
Well, they’ve got my attention now, along with all the rest of my patrons. I don’t think anyone’s going to mess with them, though, and for good reason. Now that they’re up close to me, I can tell that they’ve definitely seen some nasty things. Their faces are youthful enough, but their eyes… that’s a cold glare that I haven’t seen since the days of my ex-wife, tell ya what.
One of ‘em just asked for the hardest thing I’ve got. Well, I really don’t want to disappoint here, so I’ll give them some of my ol’ Hellspawn Gin. These kids have got some fire in ‘em, but I’ve still got a lesson or two of my own to teach, hehe!
He’s downed the whole thing in one go!!! These kids might be brave, but they sure do seem stupid now, haha! Never down a whole mug in one go until you know what’s behind it, boy! He’s looking at me now, probably ready to beg for mercy!!
“I thought I asked you for the hardest thing you had here. See the Baron over there? He and his minions had been causing trouble for my party for some time now, but we got information that he frequented this place often. And now, he’s dead. His neck’s snapped cleanly in two, a surgical break. And that was done by the weakest member of my party. Now, tell me. Do you really want me to do to you, what my friend here did to the Baron? And unlike him, I won’t hold back.”
The—the Baron’s dead?! Oh, Lord... Looks like I’m gonna be down half a day’s income again…
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In other words, write an adventure story (or part of one) from the bartender's perspective
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[WP] You're the bartender at a medieval pub, and some very adventurous people just walked in...
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"Sir, sir! Incoming, from the South! Four men in shining armor, plus a cart with supplies! Adventurers by the looks of 'em!"
I must admit I was surprised when little Charlie said that. People from the south?! I am used to get a lot of people *going* south - this is the last pub in the Fork Road before the frontier of Avernera, there's always a trickle of people on their way there, coming from Cavestown or the Brooklands. Also people from either east or west - trade caravans from the fringes of the Empire, or patrols; there's always plenty of those two coming or going.
But never from the south. People from Avernera and the outlying kingdoms have no interest on the Empire; why, the last time I had visitors from the south was - almost twelve years ago...
The doorbell jingled. The four man had indeed come for the pub.
"Beer for four, and the best stew you have!" Said the man in golden armor. He seemed to be the leader of the crew.
"Yessir, right away, sir!" Charlie replied, and bolted for the kitchen. He was for some reason still around, and had taken chaperoning duties for these four men. Good thing, too; I was much too gobsmacked by their presence to be an efficient host. I kept staring at them; they didn't seem to notice, their attention was too absorbed. One of them, a skinny youngster in glasses and embroidered leather armor, pulled a map and a magnifying glass from a satchel he was carrying. He put both on the table, and the man in white-and-gold armor took the glass and examined the map. The other two - a very old, skinny man in light leather, and a hunkering beast of a man, easily carrying two-hundred pounds of purê muscle under his thick steel armor - waited in reverent silence.
"Gentlemen." I spoke up after breaking out of my daze. "Welcome to the Summer Tree Pub & Inn. Bartender Charlie is already providing the beer and stew you have requested; is there anything else I can do for you on this fine afternoon?"
"Can't you see we're busy? Get lost!" said the strongman.
"Please, Albart. Can you not see the man is offering to help us?" admonished the older man. "Here, sir; My name is Charlus Mason; a pleasure to meet you." And stretched his hand which I took without hesitation. Polite people are easier to empathize with; plus, there was something familiar about his accent, though I couldn't place what it was. "This is Albart Tanner," he pointed to the strongman, "and that is my grandson Eldred." The young man in glasses nodded respectfully. The old man smiled, but did not introduce their leader. "Please come back when his Highness finishes reading the map." *His 'Highness'?* "We will be happy to converse with you when -"
"I'm done." Said the 'highness' suddenly; the three man came with a start and turned to him, ignoring my standing there completely. "We will take the Host through Fork Road by the Black Coat Forest by dusk; Cavestown would be a better route, but there are too many suspicious eyes there. Charlus, I will need you to take the scout detachment at least an hour early. Albart, you will lead the men while I write my plans for when we're past Graytrickle. Eldred, you wil check on the supply carts as fast as possible, and after that you'll come back to my side, I need your help with the cartography. And who is this?" He suddenly took note of my presence.
"He is the owner of the pub, your Highness", Charlus replied. "He was just offering us hospitality. Worry not, the beer and stew are already coming. *Peasant!*" He turned to me suddenly. "This is Prince Berdann, rightful ruler of the Calisian Kingdom. *Show your reverence!*" And at that, he, Eldred and Albart got up from their seats and kneeled in front of Prince Berdann. I followed suit and kneeled myself.
This got a chuckle out of Prince Berdann. "Please rise. This is not necessary at all." The four of us rose. "What is your name, pub-owner?"
"I-it's Damian, your Highness. D-Da-Damian Woodbranch." I stammered. The memories of King Calis came rushing; was this man *really* a lost descendant of the dead Calisian Royal Family?!
"Please forgive old man Charlus; he's sometimes too zealous of his duties as my Knight. Can't blame him really. His loyalty is true." He offered Charlus a warm smile, and turned back to me. "So, Damian Woodbranch. You were offering us your hospitality, yes?"
"Y-yes, your Highness." Funny how an ingrained habit came back quickly. I hadn't called anyone 'Highness' in over twelve years but the words flowed naturally from my lips.
"As I hear, the drink and food are already coming. What else can you offer us?"
"Well, your Highness, we have rooms for the night but nothing worthy of your stature," - Berdann smiled at that - "and we also offer a warm bath that is considered very very good by all our patrons, if you please. Of course, we also have a stable; we will tend to your horses, and mules if you have any, with the utmost care. Some small things other than that, your Highness, but nothing up your standards I'm afraid. This is a simple pub mostly for travelers and caravans; we don't have many amenities to cater for high nobility such as yourself."
"Nothing to fret about, good man." Berdann smiled benevolently. "I'll take up your offer on the stables; please have someone take care of my horses. It's going to be a long trip to Parabel. We will defeat the evil Shadow Emperor, and restore the Calisian Kingdom to its former glory! And I can't have a shabby looking horse leading the Host now can I?" Berdann laughed at himself. He then took a pipe from his own satchel, and started smoking. It's forbidden to smoke inside the premises but I didn't feel the least bit inclined to tell him off.
"I'll care for them myself, your Highness." I turned and left.
On the front of the pub, the four horses were tied to the post with the Smiling Tree sign; I untied them and carried them over to the stables. Maug the horsekeeper was fast asleep inside.
"Wake up, you mongrel!" I shouted, and shook him up. He woke up in a hurry.
"Yes mr. Woodbranch!"
"We have some very fine horses to care for today. Nobility horses. Clean them up and serve them the freshest grass and hay we have; after that you will brush their manes *with the utmost care.* These horses belong to the heir of old King Calis!"
"Yessi- wait what? The 'heir of King Calis'? But isn't Princess Arenia dead?"
"Yes, she is, been dead a long time now. But the man carries the regalia of the old King, so we're not taking chances. Get to work, old friend. I have some very upper-end guests to spoil."
"Will do, mr. Woodbranch." He replied, and turned to the horses. "*Nobility horses? At this day and age? I'll be damned...*" he muttered behind my back. I went outside, for a smoke of my own. I only now realized how nerve-wracking that short interaction with the Prince was!
There is an old rocking chair on the porch outside the stables; I took its seat and pulled my pipe from my pocket. As I was about to light it, a solitary crow landed on the arm of the rocking chair.
It looked at me, with its black beady eyes.
"Did you hear that, birdie?" I spoke to it - or maybe *at* it. "There's a man in the pub claiming to be a Calisian Prince! Says he's leading a Host to the Imperial Capital!" The bird ruffled its feathers but did not reply. "I wonder when the next patrol of the Imperial Guard is going to be. I wonder what the Guard would say if they were to see a man in white-and-gold armor in my pub! I hope there's no bloodshed inside my inn tonight." The bird suddenly turned around and took flight. I sighed, and smoked my pipe. Quickly - I was probably needed back inside.
***Continues***
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Jim could tell alot about a man from the lizard they rode. Most people just saw lizards as a vehicle to travel between the desert cities. Jim saw alot more. And owning the only tavern within a few hours travel, he saw alot of lizards.
Merchants and bandits made up the bulk of Jim's customers. While merchants often rode fully laden lizards, this wasn't a very reliable read. It took a trained eye, like Jim's, to notice the thicker muscle development of the merchant's lizard. The bandit's lizard was usually packed alot lighter, but what really gave them away was their expression. They did not share the usual look of boredom that a merchant's lizard would wear. They were constantly on alert, trained to survey their surroundings, in a paranoid manner.
When a cloaked man pulled up on a slick black reptile; Jim was taken aback. He had never seen this type before but could tell from the way it darted towards the shade, it wasn't used to the desert climate. Judging by its smooth skin, it looked like a swimmer, and the nearest coast was weeks away. The other patrons didn't notice anything strange, but they weren't well versed in the subtle differences of lizards.
"Desert ale, thanks," said the man as he peeled back the dusty cloak from his face, revealing scarred black skin.
"Sure thing. You from around here?" said Jim conversationally, trying to get his bearings.
"Yea, I'm from the mountain city, travelling through to visit family in the caves." The man said a little too quickly. *Most mountaineers have winged lizards*, Jim thought, *definitely not from around here.*
Jim kept an eye on the man's ride while pouring his beer. It didn't relax out in the stables, it jumped every time the stable boy walked past. It even hissed at a neighboring scaled lizard for merely looking in its direction. This made Jim feel uneasy.
Several more of these oversized geckos, carrying mysterious men, landed over the next thirty minutes. The lizards appeared to recognize each other in the stables, yet inside, their owners ignored each other and sat by themselves. Another gecko arrived, but this time it was different. This lizard greeted the stable boy happily and didn't try to steal food and water the moment it entered the stables. Signs of a well treated reptile. But when it spotted the others, it screeched and protested against the stable boy. Jim knew this behavior, it thought it was being led into a trap.
Before the man could enter the bar, Jim calmly walked past the patrons and intercepted him by the door. "Leave now, I think men here are planning to kill you." Jim whispered. The man shot a glance inside and sure enough, a few of the cloaked men had got up and were making their way towards them.
The newcomer didn't question Jim. He just fled. The man's lizard was already straining against its tethers to get out of there. As they sprinted away, the other men all gave chase immediately, except for one. The scarred black man.
"You will regret that, barman." The guy said before following the others.
The threat played on Jim's mind all night. When the sun came up, he walked downstairs to open the pub. His heart started when he saw one of the oversized geckos already in the stables. He relaxed when he saw it was resting happily amongst a bunch of smaller winged lizards. The man he had warned, waited nearby.
"You saved my life, now it is time for me to save yours. We must leave, now."
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In other words, write an adventure story (or part of one) from the bartender's perspective
|
[WP] You're the bartender at a medieval pub, and some very adventurous people just walked in...
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"Sir, sir! Incoming, from the South! Four men in shining armor, plus a cart with supplies! Adventurers by the looks of 'em!"
I must admit I was surprised when little Charlie said that. People from the south?! I am used to get a lot of people *going* south - this is the last pub in the Fork Road before the frontier of Avernera, there's always a trickle of people on their way there, coming from Cavestown or the Brooklands. Also people from either east or west - trade caravans from the fringes of the Empire, or patrols; there's always plenty of those two coming or going.
But never from the south. People from Avernera and the outlying kingdoms have no interest on the Empire; why, the last time I had visitors from the south was - almost twelve years ago...
The doorbell jingled. The four man had indeed come for the pub.
"Beer for four, and the best stew you have!" Said the man in golden armor. He seemed to be the leader of the crew.
"Yessir, right away, sir!" Charlie replied, and bolted for the kitchen. He was for some reason still around, and had taken chaperoning duties for these four men. Good thing, too; I was much too gobsmacked by their presence to be an efficient host. I kept staring at them; they didn't seem to notice, their attention was too absorbed. One of them, a skinny youngster in glasses and embroidered leather armor, pulled a map and a magnifying glass from a satchel he was carrying. He put both on the table, and the man in white-and-gold armor took the glass and examined the map. The other two - a very old, skinny man in light leather, and a hunkering beast of a man, easily carrying two-hundred pounds of purê muscle under his thick steel armor - waited in reverent silence.
"Gentlemen." I spoke up after breaking out of my daze. "Welcome to the Summer Tree Pub & Inn. Bartender Charlie is already providing the beer and stew you have requested; is there anything else I can do for you on this fine afternoon?"
"Can't you see we're busy? Get lost!" said the strongman.
"Please, Albart. Can you not see the man is offering to help us?" admonished the older man. "Here, sir; My name is Charlus Mason; a pleasure to meet you." And stretched his hand which I took without hesitation. Polite people are easier to empathize with; plus, there was something familiar about his accent, though I couldn't place what it was. "This is Albart Tanner," he pointed to the strongman, "and that is my grandson Eldred." The young man in glasses nodded respectfully. The old man smiled, but did not introduce their leader. "Please come back when his Highness finishes reading the map." *His 'Highness'?* "We will be happy to converse with you when -"
"I'm done." Said the 'highness' suddenly; the three man came with a start and turned to him, ignoring my standing there completely. "We will take the Host through Fork Road by the Black Coat Forest by dusk; Cavestown would be a better route, but there are too many suspicious eyes there. Charlus, I will need you to take the scout detachment at least an hour early. Albart, you will lead the men while I write my plans for when we're past Graytrickle. Eldred, you wil check on the supply carts as fast as possible, and after that you'll come back to my side, I need your help with the cartography. And who is this?" He suddenly took note of my presence.
"He is the owner of the pub, your Highness", Charlus replied. "He was just offering us hospitality. Worry not, the beer and stew are already coming. *Peasant!*" He turned to me suddenly. "This is Prince Berdann, rightful ruler of the Calisian Kingdom. *Show your reverence!*" And at that, he, Eldred and Albart got up from their seats and kneeled in front of Prince Berdann. I followed suit and kneeled myself.
This got a chuckle out of Prince Berdann. "Please rise. This is not necessary at all." The four of us rose. "What is your name, pub-owner?"
"I-it's Damian, your Highness. D-Da-Damian Woodbranch." I stammered. The memories of King Calis came rushing; was this man *really* a lost descendant of the dead Calisian Royal Family?!
"Please forgive old man Charlus; he's sometimes too zealous of his duties as my Knight. Can't blame him really. His loyalty is true." He offered Charlus a warm smile, and turned back to me. "So, Damian Woodbranch. You were offering us your hospitality, yes?"
"Y-yes, your Highness." Funny how an ingrained habit came back quickly. I hadn't called anyone 'Highness' in over twelve years but the words flowed naturally from my lips.
"As I hear, the drink and food are already coming. What else can you offer us?"
"Well, your Highness, we have rooms for the night but nothing worthy of your stature," - Berdann smiled at that - "and we also offer a warm bath that is considered very very good by all our patrons, if you please. Of course, we also have a stable; we will tend to your horses, and mules if you have any, with the utmost care. Some small things other than that, your Highness, but nothing up your standards I'm afraid. This is a simple pub mostly for travelers and caravans; we don't have many amenities to cater for high nobility such as yourself."
"Nothing to fret about, good man." Berdann smiled benevolently. "I'll take up your offer on the stables; please have someone take care of my horses. It's going to be a long trip to Parabel. We will defeat the evil Shadow Emperor, and restore the Calisian Kingdom to its former glory! And I can't have a shabby looking horse leading the Host now can I?" Berdann laughed at himself. He then took a pipe from his own satchel, and started smoking. It's forbidden to smoke inside the premises but I didn't feel the least bit inclined to tell him off.
"I'll care for them myself, your Highness." I turned and left.
On the front of the pub, the four horses were tied to the post with the Smiling Tree sign; I untied them and carried them over to the stables. Maug the horsekeeper was fast asleep inside.
"Wake up, you mongrel!" I shouted, and shook him up. He woke up in a hurry.
"Yes mr. Woodbranch!"
"We have some very fine horses to care for today. Nobility horses. Clean them up and serve them the freshest grass and hay we have; after that you will brush their manes *with the utmost care.* These horses belong to the heir of old King Calis!"
"Yessi- wait what? The 'heir of King Calis'? But isn't Princess Arenia dead?"
"Yes, she is, been dead a long time now. But the man carries the regalia of the old King, so we're not taking chances. Get to work, old friend. I have some very upper-end guests to spoil."
"Will do, mr. Woodbranch." He replied, and turned to the horses. "*Nobility horses? At this day and age? I'll be damned...*" he muttered behind my back. I went outside, for a smoke of my own. I only now realized how nerve-wracking that short interaction with the Prince was!
There is an old rocking chair on the porch outside the stables; I took its seat and pulled my pipe from my pocket. As I was about to light it, a solitary crow landed on the arm of the rocking chair.
It looked at me, with its black beady eyes.
"Did you hear that, birdie?" I spoke to it - or maybe *at* it. "There's a man in the pub claiming to be a Calisian Prince! Says he's leading a Host to the Imperial Capital!" The bird ruffled its feathers but did not reply. "I wonder when the next patrol of the Imperial Guard is going to be. I wonder what the Guard would say if they were to see a man in white-and-gold armor in my pub! I hope there's no bloodshed inside my inn tonight." The bird suddenly turned around and took flight. I sighed, and smoked my pipe. Quickly - I was probably needed back inside.
***Continues***
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It was a slow night at the inn. Three regulars and a group of mercenaries. Two regulars -- Jacqueline and Pete -- sat at a nearby table swapping chit-chat, the usual banter best reserved for acquaintances while you wait for your real friends. The other regular, Pongo, nursed his pint at the bar. It was his fifth of the night, which may sound like too much, but you know how dwarf metabolism goes. Things must not be going well with the missus.
The mercenary group in the back? I had my eye on them. They were "passing through," so they said, but we've had some bad experiences with groups like this. Their outfits suggested they were from west of the mountains. What were they doing all the way out here? I'd tended enough bar to know better than to ask.
I wiped down the bar, and used a towel to clean out individual pint glasses. This particular glass wasn't in need of anything cleaning -- I was just occupying my hands while I listened to the mercenaries talk among themselves. They were blusterous and a bit rowdy, not doing anything to dispel the normal westerner stereotype.
The front door opened and two more unfamiliar faces walked in. From the gear they were carrying, one was a ranger, and the other perhaps a mage. They looked in my direction and then at each of the other guests of the inn.
The ranger walked to the bar, "Barkeep. A word."
"What can I do ya for?" I asked and leaned close.
"We're looking for an assassin. Heard he might be in these areas these days. Know anything?" She set a few coins on the bar, "And two pints for me and my friend."
"I can't say that I've seen any assassin, but I have seen a few familiar faces," motioning with my head to the mercenaries in the corner.
The mage walked up and shook his head, "No. This individual hails from the east. It's unlikely to be one of those amateurs."
"I see," I said, handing them their beer. "I can't say that I've heard much on the grapevine either. I spend most of my time here, so I think I would have overheard something about an assassin."
The ranger grabbed her beer and downed in a few gulps, wiping her chin, she asked, "You don't get out much, do you?"
"I used to be an adventurer like you until I..."
"Took an arrow to the knee. Yeah. We've both heard it before. Listen, we're in need of some supplies."
My ears perked up. Experienced adventurers carry good money, and by this point tonight, I could expect the regulars to ask to put their drinks on their endless tab. A little gold would go a long way.
The mage brought out his list, "We're looking for a Scroll of Town Portal. Got any of those?"
"A Scroll of Town Portal? We're just fresh out of stock on that one," I said with a hint of sarcasm. Why would we carry scrolls?
"What about a Tome of Light?"
I shrugged.
"A Scroll of Revive Dead? A Potion of Superior Intellect? Revive Mana? Anything?"
I shrugged again and smiled.
He leaned over to his friend, "This place sucks." And then he leaned over to me, "Would you be interested in buying any of our gear? We're a bit over-encumbered. And we don't have a warrior-friend to do the heavy lifting."
"Unless you're selling beer, meat, or bread, I'm not sure I'll be able to help."
"MEAT" a voice thundered. It was Pongo. The word seemed to draw him out of his stupor. "MEAT will do just fine about now." And he ran his small hands through his enormous beard.
The ranger touched the elbow of the mage and, with her eyes, gesture towards Pongo. She whispered two words, "Hand. Tattoo."
I glanced over and saw a faded tattoo on Pongo's right hand. The two adventurers walked over to Pongo and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Oy milady," He bellowed, "How's about that MEAT." And then he laughed.
Her expression didn't change. "What can you tell us about Phantom Council?"
Pongo, still laughing from thinking about meat, immediately hushed. His eyes moved back and forth between the mage and the ranger. "I can't tell you anything about no Council."
The ranger grabbed his hand and slammed it on the bar. "That tattoo says that you can."
"Aye, that tattoo was given to me. By a friend. It's not mine."
The mage moved close to his ear, "What's your name, dwarf?"
"Pongo. My name is Pongo!"
"I'll give you another chance. What's your real name?"
"Pongo!"
The mage grabbed the dwarf by the beard, and the smell of burning hair flooded the inn. "One last chance."
The dwarf tried to wiggle away, but his beard erupted into flames as the mage let go. He shouted and began smacking himself in the face to fan away the flames. He fell from his stool and crashed into the floor.
The ranger grabbed him by the collar of his tunic. "You're going to tell us about the Council, and you're going to help us find somebody we've been looking for."
The dwarf kicked around, "Or?! Or what?" he spat.
The mage looked at me and put a few extra gold pieces on the bar. "Dwarves," he said, "Always going on about their 'ore'."
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[WP] "What I'm about to show you is so top-secret that we had to invent a new security clearance level for it."
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"Pilot Forrestal," a man clad in a navy-blue suit stood before you, hand outstretched. "I'm Ed Bennington. In charge of Technical Operations here."
You shake his hand. "Glad to finally meet you."
Bennington is definitely, probably in his late 40s. His black- no, *dark brown* hair is combed back, green-gray eyes set in tired sockets, but with a genuine smile on his face. "Didn't have any trouble with Section 2, did you?"
"No, sir," you chuckle, hands raised. "No trouble with security." That's a half-lie. You *did* have to go through several authorization points, passing through bulkhead after bulkhead. Then again, that's every day.
"Glad to hear it." He patted you on the shoulder. "Hear your father works with the UN. That true?"
"Yeah," you admit, rolling your eyes. "Talks about this place often."
The two of you stop in front of a massive bulkhead door, the familiar half-fig leaf and upside-down apple logo emblazoned onto the triple-thick steel plates in red paint. Bennington fumbles through his jacket, handing you a card. You look up at him, confusedly.
"Mr. Bennington," you look up at him. "What's this for? I already have one." You rifle through your own pockets and retrieve your own card. He chuckles.
"Avery," he says, crouching down a bit to be at eye level with you. "Do you know how many clearance levels we have?"
"Easy. Seventeen." You smile as you give him the answer.
"Eighteen now." Bennington smiles, patting you on the shoulder as he swipes his own card. The bulkhead doors shudder as they slowly open.
You step out onto the catwalk. Before you, in a sea of red-orange fluid, are two titans of human engineering. The one to the left is clad in black armor, with red and white detailing. The menacing glare of its presumed cockpit strikes fear into you, as it probably did into the hearts of those that defeated it. To the right is one with three eyes, sea green armor with dark red and golden detailing. You simply *gawk* at the scale of these...these...
"This is what you've been learning to pilot, Forrestal."
You look up. It's Bennington again. He's smiling, proudly at the two humanoid figures.
"These are the pinnacles of our species' achievement. Evangelions."
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"Commander Brannon, what I'm about to show you is the cumulation of decades of work. It is to top-secret that we had to invent a new clearance level for it and, so far, only four people outside of the development team have been afforded level 12 clearance: Myself, you, the Secretary General and Overseer Smith. You cannot tell anyone else anything about this. Do you understand?"
"Wallace..." Kate began, unnerved by how cold he was being.
"Do you understand, Commander Brannon?" He demanded, his suit crumpling slightly as he turned to face her, his face so much colder than it had been in the past and his eyes inscrutible behind a pair of black sun glasses.
"Yes, I understand, Mr. Jones," She nodded, knowing that it was easier to just go along with whatever Section 13. Without another word, Walace opened the chrome box sat upon the table and removed a glass cylinder that had a metal cap on both ends, one of which had a number pad and a digital countdown mounted above the pad and within the cylinder was a red crystal that had wires stretching from both ends to each end of the cylinder.
"Wallace..." Kate gasped, "is... is this what I think it is?" She could barely believe what she was seeing. It was the KB-12.
"That depends on what you think it is, if you think it's the KB-12 you would be correct; if, however, you think it's a toaster then you would be wrong," Wallace remarked dryly.
"Do you know what that thing does?" Kate demanded .
"Yes," he said as he placed the device back in the container and locked it, "it purges all supernatural life forms within 100 miles of the activation site and given the increasing severity of recent supernatural events, Toronto for example, it was decided that the KB-12 should see production."
"Why...? How...? Who... who even gave section 13 approval to build that? I am responsible for the approval of all military technology R and D and I was *never* told anything about this," Kate looked at Wallace, her eyes burining into him and yet he still remained unphased.
"You were never asked to approve it because management elected to bypass the standard development approval process." he motioned to the door and Kate followed him, there was no sense in trying no to move. Once the door to the room was locked, Wallace continued, "they decided to consult the secretary general in order to gain approval to construct the device."
"So a few incidents and now Section 13 can build WMD's?!" Kate demanded with disgust.
"I would hardly say that, Cult uprisings, Demonic incursions and an attempt to sacrifice an entire city to a Pit Fiend can be refered to simply as "incidents", Commander Brannon and besides, it is not a weapon of mass destruction, it's a weapon of very targeted destruction."
"Yes, that has the very specific target of anything supernatural within 100 miles."
"Kate." She was taken aback, Wallace hadn't refered to her by her actual name since he'd started working for Section 13. "Just because there are Witches, such as yourself, and other Supernaturals, that work for the UN it does not mean that we can be without a safety measure for the worst case scenario. Understand?" It had been a long, long time since Kate had seen her once childhood friend display any emotion but his frustration at this discussion was begining to reveal itself.
"Section 13 was given aproval to build that device and deploy it should it ever become necessary. Do you understand, Commander? Or will I have to chalk this up to insubordination and attempted obstruction of Section 13 business?" His once again calm composure made the threat even more prominant.
"No, I appologise, Mr. Jones," Kate answered meekly, she hated that she had to bow to the whims of Section 13 but she, and everyone else who knew of Section 13, knew that it was suicide to try and oppose them.
"Good," Wallace said flatly as he began to walk away, "oh, one last thing," he paused half way through a stride, "Overseer Smith wants to see you in his office one hour from now. Be there." Wallace walked off and Kate remained for a few moments, both angry at how much power Section 13 held that they could do as they like and saddened as she was once again reminded that Wallace was no longer who he had been only a few years before hand.
After the moments had passed, Kate composed herself and pledged a silent vow to herself. She would find out exactly what it was that Section 13 did and that the world would know about Section 13.
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[WP] "What I'm about to show you is so top-secret that we had to invent a new security clearance level for it."
|
It began with a simple question.
"Do you know why you're here?"
I placed the mug on his table. "Vaguely."
"You've been promoted. Congratulations."
"..."
"You seem thrilled."
"May I ask why? It's just..."
"Out of the blue?"
I scratched the back of my head. "Yeah."
The man in the navy blue suit grinned, but even I could tell it was forced. "You will be replacing Senior Head Researcher Edward Weiss. You will be given *Level Five* clearance for all files and unrestricted access to the labs and testing grounds and particle colliders. All five hundred staff members are yours. You will discontinue all previous projects and start fresh. You may appoint someone as your successor, if you so wish. And...of course...there will be a *substantial* pay increase."
For some reason I felt nothing. Only numbness and a tinge of confusion. "What happened to Weiss? He's one of the best around here. Been with us for years."
"Not years. Decades."
"So why am I getting his spot?"
"You seem to be missing the point. No, this isn't an offer, Doctor Kent...this is an executive order. A direct command from the Council. You will accept this promotion, and you will be happy about it. You will drive home to your family with a smile on your face. Do you hear me?"
"..."
"Disobeying a direct Council command will result in expulsion or *termination*."
"I accept the offer...sir. Thank you."
"Good." He ran his scrawny fingers through his cabinet and retrieved a folder. The strange thing was that the cover was blank. "Very good."
"With respect, you still didn't answer my question. What happened to Edward?"
He slid me the file down the slick mahogany surface. "You should read this. Only seven people in the entire world know about this."
"What is it?" I asked.
"A secret."
In a place like this, that could mean anything. Portals? The existence of God? Blood rites? "What kind of secret?"
The man snorted. "The kind that forced us to create another layer of security clearance for it."
It was a briefing on some sort of mechanical device that had taken decades to construct. Thousands of scientists involved, including some prominent world leaders. I read slowly, at first, a word at a time.
Then it set in.
*The truth.*
I denied it. I denied everything the document said, despite all of the evidence, the people involved, eyewitness testimonies and photos of the event.
Most of all...I denied the truth because it was *fucking* impossible.
"You understand what we're dealing with, Doctor Kent? The...gravity of our situation?"
I slammed the papers down. "Is this a sick joke? What is this?"
"No. No, it is not a joke. We are a humorless bunch, mind you."
"How many times? *How many times did we use it?"*
"...Three."
My arms stiffen.
*Three.*
Three times we chose to reset. Three times we failed to save ourselves.
I can barely hold it together. "What happened to the last timeline we were in?"
"Nuclear fallout. Heavy containment breach. Code Reds."
"Jesus..."
"I suppose you need a moment-"
"Wait."
"Hmm?"
"If we all...if we all died in Universe 89-B...then how are we still alive right now?"
The man's eyes narrowed into slits. "*Don't assume you're the same person.*"
And with that statement, he left.
"What do you expect me to do?" I shouted.
The man paused. "Learn. Improve. Study. Test. Experiment. Record. Discuss. Whatever you need to do."
"You want me to fix this device?"
"No. The device is destroyed. *Beyond repair*, were Weiss' words. No, I expect you to make sure we won't have to resort to something like that device again. Do you understand? Because we're stuck here. Whether we like it or not. Are we clear?"
I merely nod.
"Good. See you tomorrow at nine. Don't be late."
...
|
"Commander Brannon, what I'm about to show you is the cumulation of decades of work. It is to top-secret that we had to invent a new clearance level for it and, so far, only four people outside of the development team have been afforded level 12 clearance: Myself, you, the Secretary General and Overseer Smith. You cannot tell anyone else anything about this. Do you understand?"
"Wallace..." Kate began, unnerved by how cold he was being.
"Do you understand, Commander Brannon?" He demanded, his suit crumpling slightly as he turned to face her, his face so much colder than it had been in the past and his eyes inscrutible behind a pair of black sun glasses.
"Yes, I understand, Mr. Jones," She nodded, knowing that it was easier to just go along with whatever Section 13. Without another word, Walace opened the chrome box sat upon the table and removed a glass cylinder that had a metal cap on both ends, one of which had a number pad and a digital countdown mounted above the pad and within the cylinder was a red crystal that had wires stretching from both ends to each end of the cylinder.
"Wallace..." Kate gasped, "is... is this what I think it is?" She could barely believe what she was seeing. It was the KB-12.
"That depends on what you think it is, if you think it's the KB-12 you would be correct; if, however, you think it's a toaster then you would be wrong," Wallace remarked dryly.
"Do you know what that thing does?" Kate demanded .
"Yes," he said as he placed the device back in the container and locked it, "it purges all supernatural life forms within 100 miles of the activation site and given the increasing severity of recent supernatural events, Toronto for example, it was decided that the KB-12 should see production."
"Why...? How...? Who... who even gave section 13 approval to build that? I am responsible for the approval of all military technology R and D and I was *never* told anything about this," Kate looked at Wallace, her eyes burining into him and yet he still remained unphased.
"You were never asked to approve it because management elected to bypass the standard development approval process." he motioned to the door and Kate followed him, there was no sense in trying no to move. Once the door to the room was locked, Wallace continued, "they decided to consult the secretary general in order to gain approval to construct the device."
"So a few incidents and now Section 13 can build WMD's?!" Kate demanded with disgust.
"I would hardly say that, Cult uprisings, Demonic incursions and an attempt to sacrifice an entire city to a Pit Fiend can be refered to simply as "incidents", Commander Brannon and besides, it is not a weapon of mass destruction, it's a weapon of very targeted destruction."
"Yes, that has the very specific target of anything supernatural within 100 miles."
"Kate." She was taken aback, Wallace hadn't refered to her by her actual name since he'd started working for Section 13. "Just because there are Witches, such as yourself, and other Supernaturals, that work for the UN it does not mean that we can be without a safety measure for the worst case scenario. Understand?" It had been a long, long time since Kate had seen her once childhood friend display any emotion but his frustration at this discussion was begining to reveal itself.
"Section 13 was given aproval to build that device and deploy it should it ever become necessary. Do you understand, Commander? Or will I have to chalk this up to insubordination and attempted obstruction of Section 13 business?" His once again calm composure made the threat even more prominant.
"No, I appologise, Mr. Jones," Kate answered meekly, she hated that she had to bow to the whims of Section 13 but she, and everyone else who knew of Section 13, knew that it was suicide to try and oppose them.
"Good," Wallace said flatly as he began to walk away, "oh, one last thing," he paused half way through a stride, "Overseer Smith wants to see you in his office one hour from now. Be there." Wallace walked off and Kate remained for a few moments, both angry at how much power Section 13 held that they could do as they like and saddened as she was once again reminded that Wallace was no longer who he had been only a few years before hand.
After the moments had passed, Kate composed herself and pledged a silent vow to herself. She would find out exactly what it was that Section 13 did and that the world would know about Section 13.
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[WP] "What I'm about to show you is so top-secret that we had to invent a new security clearance level for it."
|
"Pilot Forrestal," a man clad in a navy-blue suit stood before you, hand outstretched. "I'm Ed Bennington. In charge of Technical Operations here."
You shake his hand. "Glad to finally meet you."
Bennington is definitely, probably in his late 40s. His black- no, *dark brown* hair is combed back, green-gray eyes set in tired sockets, but with a genuine smile on his face. "Didn't have any trouble with Section 2, did you?"
"No, sir," you chuckle, hands raised. "No trouble with security." That's a half-lie. You *did* have to go through several authorization points, passing through bulkhead after bulkhead. Then again, that's every day.
"Glad to hear it." He patted you on the shoulder. "Hear your father works with the UN. That true?"
"Yeah," you admit, rolling your eyes. "Talks about this place often."
The two of you stop in front of a massive bulkhead door, the familiar half-fig leaf and upside-down apple logo emblazoned onto the triple-thick steel plates in red paint. Bennington fumbles through his jacket, handing you a card. You look up at him, confusedly.
"Mr. Bennington," you look up at him. "What's this for? I already have one." You rifle through your own pockets and retrieve your own card. He chuckles.
"Avery," he says, crouching down a bit to be at eye level with you. "Do you know how many clearance levels we have?"
"Easy. Seventeen." You smile as you give him the answer.
"Eighteen now." Bennington smiles, patting you on the shoulder as he swipes his own card. The bulkhead doors shudder as they slowly open.
You step out onto the catwalk. Before you, in a sea of red-orange fluid, are two titans of human engineering. The one to the left is clad in black armor, with red and white detailing. The menacing glare of its presumed cockpit strikes fear into you, as it probably did into the hearts of those that defeated it. To the right is one with three eyes, sea green armor with dark red and golden detailing. You simply *gawk* at the scale of these...these...
"This is what you've been learning to pilot, Forrestal."
You look up. It's Bennington again. He's smiling, proudly at the two humanoid figures.
"These are the pinnacles of our species' achievement. Evangelions."
|
The steel blast doors groaned in protest as heavy actuators pulled them apart, revealing a room as devoid of light as the void of space.
"Now, what I'm about to show you is so to-secret that we had to invent a new security clearance level for it."
The man reached into a pocket hidden within his formal jacket and pressed a button. With a series of heavy clunks, lights hanging far above in the vault's ceiling lit one row at a time, illuminating a chamber large enough to easily hold three aircraft carriers lined up end-to-end. Filling the hangar effortlessly was a vast, teardrop-shaped *something*. It looked as if it had been made of metal turned to liquid, a vast metallic pool contained within an invisible flask. At first, I thought it was being suspended from the ceiling, but suddenly I realized that it was somehow hovering in place under its own power.
"You mean to say that the leader of this entire country doesn't know what you have buried out here?" I wondered, pushing my glasses back up my nose to get a better view. Suspicion, which had begun to grow in my stomach like a knotted root the moment that the armored car arrived in my driveway, suddenly blossomed into a rancid flower. "Why show someone like *me* this place? Are you going to kill me?"
The man just laughed. "Oh, he has a good idea that we have *something*, but even he knows that we wouldn't keep secrets unless we absolutely had to. Papers detailing the object are in a sealed folder in his desk, right on top of the nuclear launch codes. He is under strict instructions not to break the seal except in case of emergency. Which..." He lowered the dark sunglasses that he wore even in these tunnels far enough to fix me with a piercing gaze. "is why we called you here today. Tell me, what do you think this object is?"
Still not convinced that I was out of the woods, I turned back to the shimmering substance. "Well...if you called me here, I would have to guess it was some kind of alien craft."
"That is our assumption as well. Several decades ago, our men discovered a large deposit of metal underneath the Meteor Crater in Arizona using experimental sonar. We thought it was the Russians - back then, everything was about the damn Russians - but when we tunneled our way in, we found *this*. I doubt the Russians could even conceive of such a thing, eh?" He let out a humorless laugh. "Moving it was too hard, so construction began immediately to create a containment facility on-site. If you hadn't guessed, that's where we stand now."
I grumbled at that, remembering the several-hour long car ride I had spent with a blindfold wrapped around my head. "Yeah. And Area 51 is a decoy, I know."
"So you have known about this thing for decades, and you haven't come to get me until now?" I continued, giving him a sidelong glance before flicking my gaze back up to the ship. "What changed?"
"I think it would be better to show you than tell you." Before I could stop him, the man reached out and stroked the hull of the craft with a single finger. From where he made contact, a vast ripple spread over the ship, like a wrinkle in the smooth metal surface. When it returned, it seemed to rush inward, and suddenly a gaping hole opened in the ship's hull. A ribbon of quicksilver that reminded me unnervingly of a tongue slipped out of the opening to rest at our feet.
"Follow me." The man said, and walked up the ramp with easy strides. After a moment, I followed him.
The inside of the ship was remarkably different from the exterior. Instead of silver, it seemed as if it had been made out of a rainbow of crystal. The walls, instead of the austere gray I expected, were covered in what looked like stained glass, lit from within by a mysterious light. Scenes like out of a fairy tale, with dragons, knights, and castles, were depicted on every surface. A carpet of transparent plastic clearly of human origin, protected the floor, where a giant serpent seemed to lead the way deeper into the ship with its kaleidoscope of crystal scales.
"Most of the technology in this craft we already have." My escort said, seemingly unimpressed by the view. "The problem is, we simply don't have the raw power to make it run...and we have as of yet found no way of replicating their engine. And *that* is why we called you here today."
At his touch, a panel depicting a burning orb slid back to reveal a spherical chamber that seemed to glow with a fiery light. Tentatively, I followed him into the room.
Soon, it became apparent what was causing the glow. The walls were covered from top to bottom with precious stones, arranged in a mosaic depicting flames so real that they seemed to dance before my eyes. A small gangplank-like platform stretched into the very center of the room, where it ended in a ring-like platform that surrounded an orb of light so bright that I had to avert my eyes.
"Here." Said my guide, offering a pair of the same dark shades that he wore. "Now you know why I kept these on."
Together, we strode to the heart of the chamber - and, if my suspicions were correct, the heart of the ship itself. As we got closer, a loud humming filled our ears, seeming to emanate from the sphere itself.
"Once your eyes have adjusted a bit, look at the center of the light." Said my guide, peering at the orb with a pained expression on his face. To my surprise, I saw a small oblong shape the size of a tennis ball, almost invisible at the center of the sphere. As I watched, it shook slightly from left to right, rocking in a cradle made of light.
"What is it?" I called, yelling to be heard over the din.
"We think it's one of their eggs." Yelled my guide. "It has been stable for years, but recently something has changed."
"We think it's hatching."
***
*Well that was fun. CC appreciated, and if you enjoyed you can find more of my work over at /r/TimeSyncs!*
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[WP] "What I'm about to show you is so top-secret that we had to invent a new security clearance level for it."
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"Pilot Forrestal," a man clad in a navy-blue suit stood before you, hand outstretched. "I'm Ed Bennington. In charge of Technical Operations here."
You shake his hand. "Glad to finally meet you."
Bennington is definitely, probably in his late 40s. His black- no, *dark brown* hair is combed back, green-gray eyes set in tired sockets, but with a genuine smile on his face. "Didn't have any trouble with Section 2, did you?"
"No, sir," you chuckle, hands raised. "No trouble with security." That's a half-lie. You *did* have to go through several authorization points, passing through bulkhead after bulkhead. Then again, that's every day.
"Glad to hear it." He patted you on the shoulder. "Hear your father works with the UN. That true?"
"Yeah," you admit, rolling your eyes. "Talks about this place often."
The two of you stop in front of a massive bulkhead door, the familiar half-fig leaf and upside-down apple logo emblazoned onto the triple-thick steel plates in red paint. Bennington fumbles through his jacket, handing you a card. You look up at him, confusedly.
"Mr. Bennington," you look up at him. "What's this for? I already have one." You rifle through your own pockets and retrieve your own card. He chuckles.
"Avery," he says, crouching down a bit to be at eye level with you. "Do you know how many clearance levels we have?"
"Easy. Seventeen." You smile as you give him the answer.
"Eighteen now." Bennington smiles, patting you on the shoulder as he swipes his own card. The bulkhead doors shudder as they slowly open.
You step out onto the catwalk. Before you, in a sea of red-orange fluid, are two titans of human engineering. The one to the left is clad in black armor, with red and white detailing. The menacing glare of its presumed cockpit strikes fear into you, as it probably did into the hearts of those that defeated it. To the right is one with three eyes, sea green armor with dark red and golden detailing. You simply *gawk* at the scale of these...these...
"This is what you've been learning to pilot, Forrestal."
You look up. It's Bennington again. He's smiling, proudly at the two humanoid figures.
"These are the pinnacles of our species' achievement. Evangelions."
|
The world was dark.It felt meticulously maddening but that was nothing new to Ned.He was blind but nevermind.This was accepted by him long ago in a distant memory when he was touched by god.The room he was in felt cavernous and cold.He could hear the slight whirred of the air-conditioner and taste the metallic air of the sterile room.But there was something more,something hidden and subtle like a whisper of substances that procreates a sense of falling endlessly through an abyss.The flow of the world felt interrupted against it.Warped it into something of its own.
He tried feeling for it but was lost like trying to grip shadows and letting water flows uninterrupted through his closed fist.Even in doing this he felt terrified and unclean as if he had disturbed an evil...no,not evil.It felt like nature,it felt grey and unstoppable.It felt as if he had intrude in a holy sanctity that worships the wind and sunlight and all those that it encompasses.
The man that had spoken earlier was gone leaving a slimmer of his presence behind.He has been touch.This revelation came like lightning and turmoils in his hollow stomach.The man's essence was tainted by "it",forever changed.Yet,Ned does not regret this change had happen to the man.He had spoken with thunderous voice that carried a commanding tone like an ancient god whose name had been forgotten.This too,Ned had felt, been touched by "it".The words that were carried by the thunder was this :"What I'm about to show you is so top secret that we had to invent a new security clearance level for it!".He had left soon afterward.
He was riding home on the subway when he was taken.The compartments of the trains had always felt like decadent and trivialities to him.Rot that was not visible had sullied the train,like an open arm of beggar and rat kings that reigned supreme.But today it was different somehow.The aura had warped and bend to a new presence.A team of armed and suited mens had rushed the train during the first stop.He could smell the oil and gunpowder of the gun and heard the ruffle of the shirts.One of the mens had grip his right bicep with an iron grip and proceeded to cart him off the train and haul him to a foreign room that had taste of metal and touched by something old.He had protest but that too was trivial.And here we are.
While he was revisiting these events,he felt gently nudged at first but was rocked stupidly by something.His mind,so sharp so as to be able to cut other untrained hearts and minds is now babbling incoherently in the foreground and background.This wall of noises was superceded by..."it".The man was back and he had carried a new wonder with him.He had brought back a sense to Ned.Through the tears that he felt wetting his eyes and cheeks,he found light that blind him.This ball of light that awaits him was wispy and flowing continously in an unrecognised patterns that was beautiful in its abstract and chaotic nature.He reached out to it like a man dying of thirst reaching for something far beyond him.To his amazement he touched the light.It was solid but not to his hand that lay solemnly at his side now but it in his mind.The wall of noise had vanished and replaced by something wondrous.To his suprise,he was calm in glimpsing all of eternities:the past and the future intermingling in his mind.And he know he was chosen,not today but the since the beginning of time.
Do you see?,the man and "it"has asked.
Yes,we had answered.
Then let there be light.
Edit:a sentence.
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[WP] "What I'm about to show you is so top-secret that we had to invent a new security clearance level for it."
|
It began with a simple question.
"Do you know why you're here?"
I placed the mug on his table. "Vaguely."
"You've been promoted. Congratulations."
"..."
"You seem thrilled."
"May I ask why? It's just..."
"Out of the blue?"
I scratched the back of my head. "Yeah."
The man in the navy blue suit grinned, but even I could tell it was forced. "You will be replacing Senior Head Researcher Edward Weiss. You will be given *Level Five* clearance for all files and unrestricted access to the labs and testing grounds and particle colliders. All five hundred staff members are yours. You will discontinue all previous projects and start fresh. You may appoint someone as your successor, if you so wish. And...of course...there will be a *substantial* pay increase."
For some reason I felt nothing. Only numbness and a tinge of confusion. "What happened to Weiss? He's one of the best around here. Been with us for years."
"Not years. Decades."
"So why am I getting his spot?"
"You seem to be missing the point. No, this isn't an offer, Doctor Kent...this is an executive order. A direct command from the Council. You will accept this promotion, and you will be happy about it. You will drive home to your family with a smile on your face. Do you hear me?"
"..."
"Disobeying a direct Council command will result in expulsion or *termination*."
"I accept the offer...sir. Thank you."
"Good." He ran his scrawny fingers through his cabinet and retrieved a folder. The strange thing was that the cover was blank. "Very good."
"With respect, you still didn't answer my question. What happened to Edward?"
He slid me the file down the slick mahogany surface. "You should read this. Only seven people in the entire world know about this."
"What is it?" I asked.
"A secret."
In a place like this, that could mean anything. Portals? The existence of God? Blood rites? "What kind of secret?"
The man snorted. "The kind that forced us to create another layer of security clearance for it."
It was a briefing on some sort of mechanical device that had taken decades to construct. Thousands of scientists involved, including some prominent world leaders. I read slowly, at first, a word at a time.
Then it set in.
*The truth.*
I denied it. I denied everything the document said, despite all of the evidence, the people involved, eyewitness testimonies and photos of the event.
Most of all...I denied the truth because it was *fucking* impossible.
"You understand what we're dealing with, Doctor Kent? The...gravity of our situation?"
I slammed the papers down. "Is this a sick joke? What is this?"
"No. No, it is not a joke. We are a humorless bunch, mind you."
"How many times? *How many times did we use it?"*
"...Three."
My arms stiffen.
*Three.*
Three times we chose to reset. Three times we failed to save ourselves.
I can barely hold it together. "What happened to the last timeline we were in?"
"Nuclear fallout. Heavy containment breach. Code Reds."
"Jesus..."
"I suppose you need a moment-"
"Wait."
"Hmm?"
"If we all...if we all died in Universe 89-B...then how are we still alive right now?"
The man's eyes narrowed into slits. "*Don't assume you're the same person.*"
And with that statement, he left.
"What do you expect me to do?" I shouted.
The man paused. "Learn. Improve. Study. Test. Experiment. Record. Discuss. Whatever you need to do."
"You want me to fix this device?"
"No. The device is destroyed. *Beyond repair*, were Weiss' words. No, I expect you to make sure we won't have to resort to something like that device again. Do you understand? Because we're stuck here. Whether we like it or not. Are we clear?"
I merely nod.
"Good. See you tomorrow at nine. Don't be late."
...
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Mary struggled to stand on shaking legs, pushing the hair out of her face and doing her solid best to stand at attention.
"At ease, soldier." The man in the black suit told her simply and she shifted positions even as he shook his head. "You can sit." He corrected her.
It was with relief that Mary sank back into her hospital bed, self-conscious of the mint-green gown draped over her aching body. She had been in the hospital for two days now, and her muscles were still weak but she refused to let that keep her from showing respect as fit her rank.
"I was hoping you could answer some questions for me." The man asked, and she nodded.
"Of course." Neither of them quite smiled, but it was hard to tell what the man was thinking through his dark sunglasses. She could see herself, tired, reflected in the lenses if she tried.
"Your husband, where did the two of you meet?" There was something testing in the tone, and Mary was left with the distinct impression he already knew.
"New Mexico, sir." She hoped that he wouldn't take the fatigue in her voice as a tone of disrespect. "Five years ago. I was stationed on a guard detail there and he was working in a nearby diner."
"Are you sure?" The man asked, the fingers of his right hand just barely grazing the watch on his other wrist. The room fell silent enough that she could hear her own heartbeat.
She was certain, of course, but at the same time she suddenly wasn't. She could remember seeing him there, clear as day with a smile and milkshake 'on the house'. There was the way she had finally propositioned him one day, her nose sunburnt, and he had accepted anyway.
Why, she wondered, would he imply it had been any other way?
"Sir, yes, sir." Mary finally tells him, her voice firm and she thinks that she can see him smile.
"You are less susceptible than I thought. Commander Clarke? What I'm about to show you is so top-secret that we had to invent a new security clearance level for it."
"Is this related to Abe?" Mary asked her tone almost defensive. Her husband was, she had to admit, the gentlest man that she had ever met. Prone to sickness, but always able to smile for her.
He had gone missing, three months into her pregnancy. She still had yet to hear from him, and there was a solid pit of fear in her chest that she wouldn't.
"Yes. We believe your husband may be an illegal alien. However there is more to this than that." A nurse comes to the door of the room with a wheelchair, the conversation not causing even a moment's hesitation as she parked it at the side of Mary's bed.
"I can walk." Mary told him, her voice growing icy. She prickled at his accusation that the man she loved, that the man she may have lost had been lying to her. This was all too much right now, on a day where she was already worn thin. Where he should have been there.
"Safety, Ma'am." The nurse tells her simply. "Liability if not that."
She opened her mouth to speak, increasingly frustrated and the man in black held up a solitary finger. "Commander Clarke - Mary. Trust me; you'll want to be sitting for this. It isn't your husband that I'm taking you to see."
It takes more effort than Mary thought she had left in her to relent, realization striking her as to where they were likely going.
"When will I get to see my son?" Mary asked the nurse who looked at her like a deer in the headlights. "He was born at 0900; it's been over three hours."
"Or-" Mary started again when the nurse edged away and the man in the black suit started to smile again. "Is he what you're intending to show me."
"Please." the man told her simply, gesturing to the chair. She forced down the panic rising inside of her gut. If something had happened to him, if there was something wrong, she would lose her last connection to Abe. She would lose the only family that she had.
Mary surprises herself with her stoicism as she moves from the bed to the chair, and the nurse leaves. It is the man who takes the chair's handles and steers her half-dressed from her room.
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
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It was cold...a dry cold, and the wind was blowing enough to water your eyes and let the chill leak into your bones.
You don't remember a lot from back then, but how could you? It was so very long ago, and I was just a boy. You looked into my eyes, "son, it isn't fair what I have done to you. I can never truly understand how you feel, and I can't expect your forgiveness." I looked at him, and struggled to hold back the horrifying urge which forced my eyes closed. I was numb. I was numb to him.
He handed me this crude, and clumsy piece of metal, "what is this?" I said to him. He looked into my eyes with such courage that I myself felt brave. He reached his hand to my shoulder and I felt his strength, "We have to go. I'm sorry but this period of your life has come to an end, and the next is just about to begin." I didn't know what to say, or how to respond. What do you say to this man. I returned his courage and his strength as I looked and said "Dad, I want to learn it all. I want to learn about propane, and propane accessories."
|
My mouth hit the floor as the memory of the man I'd forced myself to forget over the last 2 decades rushed back into my mind like a raging current of absence. In an instant, every single scar on my psyche was torn back open. Suddenly it was every Christmas... every birthday that I cried in my poor mother's arms as she'd rub my back and hum the everly brothers to console me..her broken little boy, who just didn't understand why his father could just abandon him, all over again.
I stared daggers into this familiar stranger, this.. shadow of the man who was supposed to teach me love and trust but only instilled a lingering sense sadness and abandonment.
Overwhelmed with anger, sadness and regret, I feel my hands clench into fists. I simultaneously want to beat this stranger to death and collapse on the floor sobbing, begging to just know why.
He stares back, hand on the hilt of his sword.
"You'll never believe what happened!"
He almost sings this to me.
Smile wide.
Sickeningly proud.
I could feel my heart start to jackhammer and the veins in my head constrict as
everything I've wanted to say swells up inside of me, but all I can choke out is a shakey whimper.
"what?"
"I went out for cigarettes, but on the way I found this pawn shop. Bought a sword. I got so distracted, I forgot the cigarettes! Hah! I'm getting old, eh son? Well, I guess I'm making 2 trips! ^Wooo! ^what ^a ^day!"
And just like that,
he vanished once again.
He had skipped down the road, far from earshot before I could tell him... Before I could form the words I've wanted to say to him all these years..
"We are out of milk."
|
|
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
The young man yawned, moaning with a volume fit for a cartoon bear breaking his winter hibernation. Jakob was exhausted from sleeping in late and then attaching his backside to the worn, leather recliner that was the sole piece of furniture in the living room of his one bedroom apartment, not counting the tv stand, of course. The chair was cracked and scratched at his arms at times but it was his father's, the only thing his dad left him that was of any use. Maybe he would have asked for something else from his dad (money, advice, who knows?) had he known he'd never see him return from that impromptu trip to the corner store for bread, milk and cigarettes (of course) twenty years ago. However, the chair was at least comfortable and Jakob refused to throw the recliner to the curb. Part time retail work didn't pay enough to be picky about trivialities like nice furniture but at least Goody's Home Goods' schedule allowed him plenty of off days to recuperate from dealing with the hordes of clueless customers that filled his workdays with annoyance; but today was his day off and he meant to milk it for every last, lazy drop. He turned the volume on the TV up, curious if the contestant could guess the price of that six pack of tuna accurately. $1.79, that was his guess anyway.
With his can of breakfast beer empty and the game show going to commercial (apparently tuna is more expensive than previously thought, thanks Mr. Reagan), Jakob groaned his way out of his blue collar throne and marched to the fridge to grab another beer for brunch. He broke a cold one out from the fridge, cracked it open and took several healthy gulps, nearly finishing it, before belching out a roar that would make any elementary school boy jealous. Jakob had always been proud of this particular talent. He scratched and adjusted his itchy parts and plodded back into the other room, his bare feet slapping on the cheap kitchen linoleum. When he returned to living room, a man was waiting for him, standing in front of the television. His first reaction was to grab the nearest, heaviest object available and chuck it at the intruder but something made him pause just long enough to inspect the stranger and let shock set in. The half-empty beer slipped from his limp hand and splashed on the floor, glugging out one more stain on the heavily stained carpet.
The intruder's hair hung to his shoulders, grimy and looking like it had never met a brush it liked, but it was the same color as it was twenty years ago, brick streaked with gray. The man's skin was deeply tanned and etched with years of stress, much like the recliner he had left behind. He was clad in his familiar denim riding jacket, the same he always had worn, the hard bottom boots on his feet even matched Jakob's memory perfectly. If any doubt survived Jakob's initial scan, the intruder spoke in that same rough voice, the sound of lifetime smoker, and all remaining skepticism was blown away like exhaust from a tail pipe.
"Son?"
"D-dad?"
"There ain't no time to explain. Here, take these," the rider reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, withdrew a cigarette box, his trusty brand, and tossed it at Jakob, who caught it without ever taking his eyes off his father.
"Wh-what? I don't--"
"I wish I could explain but we ain't got the time!" the Rider shouted and as if to punctuate his claim, the front door to Jakob's apartment exploded into the room, kicked right from its hinges as if a coked up bull was tired of waiting outside.
What followed the door in was no animal but a pair of helmeted men, neither of which taller than a child and both carried what looked to be toy pistols ripped from the cover of the science fiction pulps Jakob read as a kid, often in violation his bedtime. In unison, the short men pushed the visors of their helmets up and revealed faces that couldn't pass for human or any other kind of creature Jakob had ever seen. Their skin was as pale as fish that had no concept of sunlight and their foreheads were speckled with a dozen small bulbs, which twitched constantly around the apartment. When the pair raised their guns, again in unison, and pointed them at Jakob's father, Jakob counted only three, spindly fingers on their hands. Jakob couldn't move an inch or say another word, not even noticing as the spilled beer ran coldly over his toes. He looked at his father for an explanation, an answer, any kind of response and the Rider didn't disappoint.
With a howl that put Jakob's manly belch to shame, the Rider pulled a blade from the back of his jeans, too short to be a sword but much too long to be called a knife, and rushed the aliens. The two creatures fired their weapons, the sound no more than a puff of air, but the Rider ducked the shots. The TV exploded into a cloud of gas behind him, leaving no more than a residue of dust and a slight taste of metal in the air. The Rider brought the blade up in a wide arc from his hip to his opposite shoulder, slicing the alien on the left with a terrible gash across the chest. The pale creature screeched, the squeal much like a distressed pig, and fell backwards clutching at his midsection. The second alien did the same, holding its chest though the blade missed it entirely. The pair writhed on the ground, the left one leaking from its wound onto the carpet, the liquid a sickly shade of bile. Between the door and the carpet, Jakob knew he could kiss his security deposit goodbye.
The Rider turned his back to the aliens and stepped towards his son when the alien on the right managed to point his pistol and fire once more before going eternally still. The Rider heard the click of the trigger just in time to throw himself forward, hit his shins on the outstretched footrest of his old recliner and tumble out of the way. The shot struck the wall beside Jakob's head, blowing a hole clear through the drywall so that he could peek into the kitchen without ever having to leave the living room. Forget the security deposit. At this rate, Jakob would be lucky to be offered a new lease.
The Rider rolled over onto his back, smiled and patted the leather recliner like a cowboy showing his horse affection. "Your mom never did like this thing. Gimmie a hand, will ya?"
Jakob pulled his father up, the slim man grunting all the way to his feet. "What the fuck, Dad?"
"Hey now, don't take that tone with me."
"I'm sorry, no, I mean...WHAT.THE.FUCK?!"
The Rider shook his head and slid his blade back into its sheath hanging from the back of his belt. "I told ya, we ain't got the time. Gimmie one of them smokes and take one yourself."
"I don't smoke."
"Today you do. Now do what I say," the Rider conjured the tone that all father's possess, the tone that says 'Closed for Business', and even after all these years, the trick worked. Jakob fumbled two cigarettes from the box his dad tossed him. His hands were shaking with the aftershocks of adrenaline and as he reached out to hand one to his father, it tumbled towards the floor. With the same speed used to slay his attackers, the Rider snatched the cigarette from midair, popped it between his lips and had it lit before Jakob could react. "Go on, have a smoke with your old man."
Jakob puffed on his cigarette, the tobacco tasted old and burned the back of this throat but the smell transported him to the days of his youth when his dad had been his hero, before he stopped being a god and became nothing more than a worn out story of a dead beat who had left him and his mother all those years ago.
"We gotta get outta here, son."
"But I live here," Jakob stammered.
"Sorry, boy, it ain't an option."
Jakob head was throbbing, he never did acquire the taste for nicotine. "Why? Are the cops after you again?"
"Worse. Take a look," the Rider walked to the hole where Jakob's door once stood and pointed into the sky. Jakob took another puff from his cigarette, forcing himself to draw in the smoke even though his head was killing him, and walked to see what his Dad meant.
Shoulder to shoulder with his father, both sucking on the cigarettes like locomotives, Jakob stared as hundreds, possibly thousands, of dark shapes glided across the clear, summer sky. The objects were too high to discern their exact shape but they moved in a formation much too quickly and much too synchronized to be of an Earthly descent. After a moment, smaller specks began to fall from the shapes, each object dropping dozens until the entirety of the sky was dotted with black spots like a frightening inverse of night. Jakob may have panicked as a cold fear radiated from his belly but the pain in his head was becoming all encompassing. His vision dimmed and his footing wavered until his father steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. Somehow, the cigarette was still pinched securely in his lips, only a tiny bit of tobacco remaining before the filter.
"Better finish that up, kiddo, we gotta split," the Rider said as he took a deep puff.
Moments before the invading force's bombs exploded just above the Earth's surface, Jakob's headache intensified to a level of pain he had never known, could never have imagined. Just when he was certain every brain cell in his noodle was simultaneously popping, Jakob lost consciousness and his body let go of its physical form. Jakob, the boy who had been content working part time and renting for the rest of his life, who had turned down every offer of promotion at Goody's Home Goods, who wouldn't have known ambition if it leapt from a beer can and slapped him, left the Earth behind to disappear and venture forth into the vast corridors of the universe. The Rider flicked his cigarette butt away, closed his eyes, breathed the air of his home world one last time, and faded away to follow his son.
Light flared and the Earth died.
|
My mouth hit the floor as the memory of the man I'd forced myself to forget over the last 2 decades rushed back into my mind like a raging current of absence. In an instant, every single scar on my psyche was torn back open. Suddenly it was every Christmas... every birthday that I cried in my poor mother's arms as she'd rub my back and hum the everly brothers to console me..her broken little boy, who just didn't understand why his father could just abandon him, all over again.
I stared daggers into this familiar stranger, this.. shadow of the man who was supposed to teach me love and trust but only instilled a lingering sense sadness and abandonment.
Overwhelmed with anger, sadness and regret, I feel my hands clench into fists. I simultaneously want to beat this stranger to death and collapse on the floor sobbing, begging to just know why.
He stares back, hand on the hilt of his sword.
"You'll never believe what happened!"
He almost sings this to me.
Smile wide.
Sickeningly proud.
I could feel my heart start to jackhammer and the veins in my head constrict as
everything I've wanted to say swells up inside of me, but all I can choke out is a shakey whimper.
"what?"
"I went out for cigarettes, but on the way I found this pawn shop. Bought a sword. I got so distracted, I forgot the cigarettes! Hah! I'm getting old, eh son? Well, I guess I'm making 2 trips! ^Wooo! ^what ^a ^day!"
And just like that,
he vanished once again.
He had skipped down the road, far from earshot before I could tell him... Before I could form the words I've wanted to say to him all these years..
"We are out of milk."
|
|
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
I stood in shock, total disbelief. His hair matted and tangled curling round his shoulders, some parts falling over his waist.
Before me stood my father, a man who left 20 years ago, with no explination beyond groceries, and here he was. Returned, I had no idea what to say. Thankfully, I didn't need to start the conversation...
'Son...'
his voice was raspy, like a chain being pulled through a rusty barrel, deep and commanding, yet frightened.
I couldn't process words fast enough, i was trying to take in what I was seeing. He was wearing a strange yellow jacket with black piping, red shorts that fell just past his knees, black socks pulled up to his thighs, at least i imagined they did as they went under the shorts. White running trainers, a two inch belt hanging round his hips loose, not connected to his shorts in any way, and the strangest item, a baseball cap.
I finally managed to croak out 'dad?'
He smiled.
I smiled.
I suddenly lost controll of my body, lip quivvered, tears began streaming, i felt sick, i felt elation, i felt pure emotion, i could see he felt the same, and we fell into each others arms, crying, hugging, holding each other as tight as we could, a hug bonding 20 years of lonliness. We embraced for what seemed like forever.
Finally, we pulled back, his strong arms holding onto my shoulders, he looked at me and beamed with pride. I finally saw him closer, and realised his arms were huge, ripped and toned, legs too.
Taking a step back i saw he was in fantastic shape, better than fantastic, the man must have been a professional athlete, despite his strange attire.
I forced more words...
'What...'
He stepped forward and held out his hand, I looked down, It was a phone.
I had no clue what to say, i started crying again. I managed to bring my eyes up to meet his desperate for some answers.
'Where have you been?' I expected a long and detailed answer, he had 20 years to make up for.
'Son' He smiled. 'I've been beta testing. It's taken me 20 years but,
finally,
I caught them all'.
|
This man was my father? This was the fucker that left my mum 20 years ago to take care of their year old son? I didn't believe him one bit. Probably was some hobo looking for free food and shelter. Regardless, I decided to listen to his story.
"Before I start, where's your mother?" He started with a challenging question. I informed him of her sad fate and how she spent her last 15 years waiting for him to come back. He didn't seem at all affected by my remarks and started his story.
"See, son.."
"Don't call me that."
"Jared, when I went to the store those 20 years ago, I expected to be back within 20 minutes, no more. At the last moment I realised I forgot to get you a birthday gift and lied to your mother about getting cigarettes, so that she wouldn't be upset. I knew at the time you really liked medieval themed toys, so I looked for a thing that'd suit your likings."
He was right. Ever since I remember, I've always been fascinated by anything medieval related - from the feudal system to chivalry to knighthood. I was still skeptical, but his story was starting to connect like the pieces of a puzzle.
"I didn't find anything in the store, unfortunately. I was ready to go back and face your mother's wrath when I saw a man selling some sort of weird device, claiming it allows time travel. Upon asking him if he could set it to the medieval ages, he messed around and fired. A small portal appeared. Before I stepped in, he gave me the device, so that I could return, never telling me how to operate it though. That's where the real adventure started. I spent 20 years becoming a well-known knight and a ruler in the region I traveled too. You might actually know me from your history books, I was nicknamed 'the Conqueror.'"
Holy shit. There was no way this could've been true. Yet I had been intrigued. "Do you have any proof of this? And besides, William ruled England for 20 years, how could you have done so if you've supposedly stayed there for only 20 years? I don't think the locals would've made you king as soon as you appeared."
"Oh, but they did. Not instantly, of course, but it only took a couple of months - it didn't take me a long time to learn to fight decently and, as your mother should've told you, I was a great leader. I mustered a small army and set out to conquer. That's how I became king and reigned for twenty years, while trying to fix the time machine and get back to you. Finally, it ended up working, although one of the dials got locked two digits ahead, and, as such, this is when I got back and not twenty years ago. And to prove I'm your father, I have this."
Out of the remains of his wallet he produced a photo of me as a baby, the same one my mother always showed me. Finally, I believed him. This man was my father. This was the fucker that left my mum 20 years ago to care care of their year old son, me. This was William the Conqueror.
He was finally back. I couldn't bring myself to hate him anymore. It was not his fault after all that he was gone.
He was my idol. He was my father.
|
|
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
The air of disbelief hung between us.
He stood there in the doorway; wide-eyed and panting like he’d just been running from something fierce. Incredibly he was still wearing the same clothes he had all those years ago. He shuffled towards my bed, dropping the bag he had clutched in his left hand and limping heavily as he went. As he reached the wooden chest that sat at the foot of my bed, had always sat at the foot of my bed, he stopped. With obvious pain he laid the sword that he had held in his right hand carefully down onto the ornate, hand-carved lid.
The sword caught the moonlight and in stream of silver I could see some characters etched into the surface of the blade. To my eyes they looked like symbols of some Far Eastern language. There was no way I would be able to understand what they meant, even if I inspected the sword with a magnifying glass.
My father kept moving towards me. The nose and freckles on his cheek told me it was him, he even had the cigarette tucked cheekily behind his ear in that way mum hated so much, but time made me apprehensive to believe it could ever be true. He half-lurched, half collapsed onto my bed and emitted a loud moan as he rolled onto his good side. Sticking from his right thigh was a piece of jagged metal which looked like it had been there for a good while. The skin on his arms looked raw and sunburnt.
I leaned across and propped him up with one of my pillows. As I did he began to speak, quieter and softer than he had before.
“They took me……outside Kwik-Save……I was just coming out……knocked me to the floor…..”
There was a note of pleading in his voice and his eyes looked slightly glazed over. His breathing slowed as I moved his hair away from his face. It was horrible to touch, thick and matte with dirt and grease. The smell of sewage, the ocean and manure all crept up into my nostrils.
“I’m so sorry son” He whispered “I finally broke free……..been running for years…only supposed to have been gone five minutes….it had been so long…….”
His eyes closed and his body stiffened in my hands.
“I knew it was your birthday tomorrow…….I had to see you…..but……I couldn’t lose them” Tears began to seep from under his eyelids and down his wrinkled cheeks. “All these years and I could never lose them…..”
A tingling on the back of my neck made me straighten up and a shadow fell across my fathers withered face. In front of me a billowing black robe flickered in the breeze. Staggering backwards I hit the headboard that lay between myself and the open window. My father fell from the bed, giving out a cry of despair as the shuriken dug further into his leg. The figure stepped forwards, over the chest and onto the bed.
There was no sound as he drew his sword from the sheathe on his back and, whilst his eyes were lost in the night, I could tell he was staring at me. I heard my father struggle to his knees and saw his hand grasp loosely at the man’s ankle. The assassin broke free of his grip easily and I heard a futile cry escape from my father’s throat as the robe moved closer towards me.
An ethereal lunar light shone across the man’s arms and chest as he held the sword above me.
A dry rasp came from his mouth, shrouded in the darkness he seemed to wholly inhabit.
“You shall die here namekuji. The circle shall finally be complete.”
The sword shot into the air and then, with a strange juicy crunching noise, jerked oddly in front of him. Speckles of silvery liquid sprayed down at me and I blinked them away, furiously trying to work out what had happened. I saw a shining, jagged edge protruding from my attacker’s throat and, as he toppled face-first onto my pillow, I quickly rolled down onto the floor.
With my heart racing I looked up at my mother, effortlessly pulling my father’s sword from the back of the dead man’s neck. She glanced at me to check I was okay and then stepped backwards onto the rug. As I regained my feet a shaking hand appeared from the other side of the bed as my father staggered into view.
“I’m sorry Yuko-chan…..” He spluttered from the floor. “We must leave now……they won’t stop until they have him……”
My mother turned and gave him a look I knew too well from my easily quashed teenage years. She bent down and, as she picked the fallen bag of mouldy bread up off the floor, she spoke for the first time in twenty years.
“You forgot the milk.”
|
This man was my father? This was the fucker that left my mum 20 years ago to take care of their year old son? I didn't believe him one bit. Probably was some hobo looking for free food and shelter. Regardless, I decided to listen to his story.
"Before I start, where's your mother?" He started with a challenging question. I informed him of her sad fate and how she spent her last 15 years waiting for him to come back. He didn't seem at all affected by my remarks and started his story.
"See, son.."
"Don't call me that."
"Jared, when I went to the store those 20 years ago, I expected to be back within 20 minutes, no more. At the last moment I realised I forgot to get you a birthday gift and lied to your mother about getting cigarettes, so that she wouldn't be upset. I knew at the time you really liked medieval themed toys, so I looked for a thing that'd suit your likings."
He was right. Ever since I remember, I've always been fascinated by anything medieval related - from the feudal system to chivalry to knighthood. I was still skeptical, but his story was starting to connect like the pieces of a puzzle.
"I didn't find anything in the store, unfortunately. I was ready to go back and face your mother's wrath when I saw a man selling some sort of weird device, claiming it allows time travel. Upon asking him if he could set it to the medieval ages, he messed around and fired. A small portal appeared. Before I stepped in, he gave me the device, so that I could return, never telling me how to operate it though. That's where the real adventure started. I spent 20 years becoming a well-known knight and a ruler in the region I traveled too. You might actually know me from your history books, I was nicknamed 'the Conqueror.'"
Holy shit. There was no way this could've been true. Yet I had been intrigued. "Do you have any proof of this? And besides, William ruled England for 20 years, how could you have done so if you've supposedly stayed there for only 20 years? I don't think the locals would've made you king as soon as you appeared."
"Oh, but they did. Not instantly, of course, but it only took a couple of months - it didn't take me a long time to learn to fight decently and, as your mother should've told you, I was a great leader. I mustered a small army and set out to conquer. That's how I became king and reigned for twenty years, while trying to fix the time machine and get back to you. Finally, it ended up working, although one of the dials got locked two digits ahead, and, as such, this is when I got back and not twenty years ago. And to prove I'm your father, I have this."
Out of the remains of his wallet he produced a photo of me as a baby, the same one my mother always showed me. Finally, I believed him. This man was my father. This was the fucker that left my mum 20 years ago to care care of their year old son, me. This was William the Conqueror.
He was finally back. I couldn't bring myself to hate him anymore. It was not his fault after all that he was gone.
He was my idol. He was my father.
|
|
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
"You're never going to believe what happened." He rushed in through the open door and swept everything off the countertop to make space for his groceries. Key Food.
The last Key Food had closed 5 years ago. The Key Food near our house, 10. Who was this straggler who barged into my house? How far and how long had he been traveling? The man looked homeless, covered in grime and muck in a barely visible dark blue uniform. I pitied him… but he could still be dangerous. I took a step back, resting my hand on the gun cabinet.
"Hello?,” I asked, and flexed my shoulders to make myself big.
“Look.” He pulled out the sword from his hip and laid it on the counter. "Look at it." The light bounced off the hilt of the sword. Intricate lines ran down the silver-gold sheath. He danced his fingers down the sword, following the curves to their end and tracing another as it began. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” His eyes followed his fingers, transfixed on the glinting light.
It indeed was. “How much?” Maybe I could buy the thing and get rid of him.
“That’s the best part! Free!”
I felt the familiar grooves of my shotgun and pulled it towards me. I had bought it on my sixteenth birthday, ten years after my father’s disappearance. It reminded me that I was the man of the house. And I was not going to let this crazy sword gypsy scare me in it. I shouldered the Remington 870. “Get out!”
He looked up and slowly raised his hands. “I’m sorry. I must have had the wrong house. I live over at 34-09 Willow Lane.”
“This is 34-09 Willow Lane.” With one hand firmly on the gun, I grabbed his collar and started dragging him to the door. My hand on his grime-covered… mechanic’s uniform. A nametag. Theodore Sr. “Dad?” He looked up and for the first time since he walked in, I looked at his face. He had a brilliant spark in his eyes and was only a few years older than me. A handsome smile and... that scar on his chin... from that work accident. He looked exactly like the pictures. Pictures that were twenty years old.
“What? I am sorry, sir. I must have walked into the wrong house. I didn’t mean any trouble.”
He looked uneasy in my grip. I let go, rested the gun on the wall and took a seat near the counter. All I could do was stare in awe. He was exactly like the pictures. He hadn’t changed a single bit. I could only choke out a single word. “Dad?”
“I’m sorry, I have no idea who you are.” He opened the door to leave and turned around. He looked back at me, then the counter, then at me, then the ceiling. His eyes darted around the room. “This is my house. Why are you in my house? What happened? I was gone twenty minutes.”
“Try twenty years. It’s me, Teddy. Dad, it’s me.”
"So... you're like twenty-five?"
"Yea."
He collapsed at the door. I could see he was lost in thought. I felt helpless, but I couldn’t explain it either. We both sat in silence.
“The sword…” He looked at me with a tear coming down his eye. “He asked. The man… he offered me the sword… for just a moment of my time.”
|
This man was my father? This was the fucker that left my mum 20 years ago to take care of their year old son? I didn't believe him one bit. Probably was some hobo looking for free food and shelter. Regardless, I decided to listen to his story.
"Before I start, where's your mother?" He started with a challenging question. I informed him of her sad fate and how she spent her last 15 years waiting for him to come back. He didn't seem at all affected by my remarks and started his story.
"See, son.."
"Don't call me that."
"Jared, when I went to the store those 20 years ago, I expected to be back within 20 minutes, no more. At the last moment I realised I forgot to get you a birthday gift and lied to your mother about getting cigarettes, so that she wouldn't be upset. I knew at the time you really liked medieval themed toys, so I looked for a thing that'd suit your likings."
He was right. Ever since I remember, I've always been fascinated by anything medieval related - from the feudal system to chivalry to knighthood. I was still skeptical, but his story was starting to connect like the pieces of a puzzle.
"I didn't find anything in the store, unfortunately. I was ready to go back and face your mother's wrath when I saw a man selling some sort of weird device, claiming it allows time travel. Upon asking him if he could set it to the medieval ages, he messed around and fired. A small portal appeared. Before I stepped in, he gave me the device, so that I could return, never telling me how to operate it though. That's where the real adventure started. I spent 20 years becoming a well-known knight and a ruler in the region I traveled too. You might actually know me from your history books, I was nicknamed 'the Conqueror.'"
Holy shit. There was no way this could've been true. Yet I had been intrigued. "Do you have any proof of this? And besides, William ruled England for 20 years, how could you have done so if you've supposedly stayed there for only 20 years? I don't think the locals would've made you king as soon as you appeared."
"Oh, but they did. Not instantly, of course, but it only took a couple of months - it didn't take me a long time to learn to fight decently and, as your mother should've told you, I was a great leader. I mustered a small army and set out to conquer. That's how I became king and reigned for twenty years, while trying to fix the time machine and get back to you. Finally, it ended up working, although one of the dials got locked two digits ahead, and, as such, this is when I got back and not twenty years ago. And to prove I'm your father, I have this."
Out of the remains of his wallet he produced a photo of me as a baby, the same one my mother always showed me. Finally, I believed him. This man was my father. This was the fucker that left my mum 20 years ago to care care of their year old son, me. This was William the Conqueror.
He was finally back. I couldn't bring myself to hate him anymore. It was not his fault after all that he was gone.
He was my idol. He was my father.
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
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I stood in shock, total disbelief. His hair matted and tangled curling round his shoulders, some parts falling over his waist.
Before me stood my father, a man who left 20 years ago, with no explination beyond groceries, and here he was. Returned, I had no idea what to say. Thankfully, I didn't need to start the conversation...
'Son...'
his voice was raspy, like a chain being pulled through a rusty barrel, deep and commanding, yet frightened.
I couldn't process words fast enough, i was trying to take in what I was seeing. He was wearing a strange yellow jacket with black piping, red shorts that fell just past his knees, black socks pulled up to his thighs, at least i imagined they did as they went under the shorts. White running trainers, a two inch belt hanging round his hips loose, not connected to his shorts in any way, and the strangest item, a baseball cap.
I finally managed to croak out 'dad?'
He smiled.
I smiled.
I suddenly lost controll of my body, lip quivvered, tears began streaming, i felt sick, i felt elation, i felt pure emotion, i could see he felt the same, and we fell into each others arms, crying, hugging, holding each other as tight as we could, a hug bonding 20 years of lonliness. We embraced for what seemed like forever.
Finally, we pulled back, his strong arms holding onto my shoulders, he looked at me and beamed with pride. I finally saw him closer, and realised his arms were huge, ripped and toned, legs too.
Taking a step back i saw he was in fantastic shape, better than fantastic, the man must have been a professional athlete, despite his strange attire.
I forced more words...
'What...'
He stepped forward and held out his hand, I looked down, It was a phone.
I had no clue what to say, i started crying again. I managed to bring my eyes up to meet his desperate for some answers.
'Where have you been?' I expected a long and detailed answer, he had 20 years to make up for.
'Son' He smiled. 'I've been beta testing. It's taken me 20 years but,
finally,
I caught them all'.
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Stomach growling, I decided to haul my 18-year-old rear out of bed and sneak my way downstairs for a late-night snack. Ma was already in bed reading the evening paper or listening to the radio, so I was sure she wouldn't hear me. As I tiptoed across the hallway floor, a loud series of knocks rang out from the front door. I cringed as the knocking ceased, watching the stairs and listening to see if I could hear her getting out of bed. Thankfully, I could hear she had the radio jacked up pretty high tonight, to try and drown out the running water from our neighbors in the other half of our duplex. Their fondness of late-night showers drove her batshit-crazy sometimes.
Not willing to incur her wrath if she were to ask why I was down here this late, I decided to answer the door to see if I could get rid of this pesky late-night visitor. I walked over to the door and quickly undid the deadbolt, slowly opening the door to keep it from being too noisy again.
On the top step of the stairs to our door, a middle-aged man with peppery-grey hair tied back into a ponytail stood. Dressed in a pretty odd collection of sackcloth and ratty, worn camoflage clothes, he looked like an adventurer from a fantasy flick, flown straight out of the set of a Hollywood movie out here to Bonifay, Florida. Looking down, I noticed a worn brass ball at the end of a smooth wooden handle sticking out of a leather belt on his waist, which I recognized to be some sort of sword or machete. An old, faded GI magazine carrying rig was cinched down across his chest like the ones I'd seen in news footage of the war, with a few battered magazines that were too tall for the pouches sticking out of the slots.
"Evening, sir! Isn't it a little early for Halloween?" I said, stalling. Seeing the armed man in the doorway, I instinctively reached for the old, weatherbeaten Winchester that Ma kept hidden behind a few umbrellas behind the doorway, pretending to lean against the door in relaxation. The old man's face tightened as he placed a hand on his sword, reading my motions with a scrutinizing stare.
"I wouldn't be reachin' for that, Scotty," the man growled, a scowl on his face. "Eighteen years of hand-to-mouth bullshit living's the best teacher in the world for stayin' alive."
I was bewildered, withdrawing from the doorway and ready to run for the next nearest gun, hidden in the kitchen drawers a few rooms away. "How do you know my name?"
The old man shrugged, not letting go of his sword. "Well, you'd think I'd know the name your Ma and I gave you, right?" He smiled for a moment and rubbed his face, rubbing away a few drops from his eyes with his scarred, callous hands. "Ta' think I finally made it home... God, it actually worked! Is Ma up?"
"Uhh... I don't know you?... one moment," I said, stepping forward to shut the door and lock it tight. I bolted for the kitchen and yanked open a cabinet, fishing around in the back behind bottles of spices for my grandpa's old service pistol from World War Two. The vintage Colt's slide faithfully snapped shut with a quick yank back, chambering a round from the loaded magazine Ma left in it. I stuffed the heavy handgun in my pajama pocket and bolted for the stairs, sliding briefly on the polished wooden floor before scrambling up the stairs. I darted down the short hallway, practically slamming my way through the door and into my Ma's room. She was still seated in bed with her reading lamp on, the radio blaring over the sound of rushing water in the pipes that ran through the wall behind her bed.
"What in th' name of all creation are you doin' up at this hour, boy?!?" she yelled, flipping off the radio and tossing her paper aside. "You should be in bed!"
"Ma, this ain't no joke!" I said, gesturing for her to follow me. "Some old guy's on our doorstep with a machete, and he wants to see you!"
Ma's face went white. She got out of bed and began to walk over to the phone to call the cops, but I pulled the handgun out of my pocket and walked it over to her, placing the gun in her hand. "He say's he's Pa. He knew my name, Ma!"
"Naw... Naw!" she said, taking a seat on the bed and tossing the gun aside, trying to collect her thoughts. "That bastard's been gone for eighteen years... Ran out on me when the money went dry and had to go to war out in Vietnam. He never came back. There's no way he'd come back..."
"Well, he's outside our door now. We gotta see him. YOU'VE gotta see him."
Ma muttered some incoherent babble for a minute, occasionally swearing to herself. Eventually, she stood up and handed the gun back to me. "Keep this in yer pocket, and stay back. This might be one of those crazies, those shithead druggies like your brother. If it IS him, well... I'll beat the shit outta him myself," she added, rubbing her face.
Me and Ma walked back downstairs. I stood in the hallway with my hands in my pockets, gently caressing the trigger guard of the 1911 with my right hand as I waited for all hell to break loose. Ma undid the deadbolt once more and cracked the door open, peeking outside at her new visitor. Suddenly, she flung the door wide open and practically threw herself out to the man, embracing him in a deep bearhug on the doorstep. I walked forward and waited at the doorframe for the two to finish having their moment, shutting the door behind them as they made their way back inside. We all took a seat at the kitchen table, with Ma fetching a couple glasses for iced tea. The man began unpacking, flipping up his ragtag sackcloth cape to remove his gear and set them up on the table. He laid out two rifles, a green metal tube roughly two feet long, a fancy, curved saber, and his bandolier full of empty and loaded magazines of all shapes. Pausing, as if to recall something, he reached for his feet and withdrew a small derringer and a cloth packet that jingled with spare cartridges.
"So, uhh... you two care to explain anything?" I asked, "'cuz I'm sure as hell lost."
The man accepted his glass from Ma and took a sip before locking eyes with me. "Scotty, this is gonna sound like a load o' shit, but... I'm your dad."
I scanned his face looking for any sign of a lie, but the man's face was cold as steel. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?... why the hell didn't you come back from Vietnam?!?" I said, my temper rising. "Ma was worried sick about you. Hell, I never even got to see you! I cried for you at night, you old-"
"Scotty!" Ma scolded, smacking me over the head. "Be nice, now! The last thing your Pa wants to see is how bad your manners've gotten over the years."
"Sorry Ma," I said, taking a sip of my tea. The syrupy-sweet liquid filled my mouth and gave me a bit of energy, easing my racing mind and calming me down. "So, what happened?"
Pa let out a whistle. "Well, let's see. Where to begin..."
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
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"I'm going to get cigarettes," I said.
"I'll be back in a few minutes," I said, shortly after putting on my Calvin Klien Arnold Lace-Up Sneakers.
I left my house with those sneakers, my Pleated Super 100s Worsted Wool Trousers, and my Smartcare™ Traditional Fit Plaid Dress Shirt. Nothing special, but at the time I thought I was simply going to get cigarettes and maybe milk.
Fourteen minutes. That was how long it took before I noticed that something was seriously wrong. The once bustling city had changed to one that looked straight out of The Purge.
"You, come here!" A man to my right whispered.
"What?" I said in a regular tone. At the time, I thought he wanted to mug me.
"Get in here before you get hurt!" The man said, a little louder, and his tapped a flashlight hanging on his belt.
At least, I thought it was a flashlight.
"Hey man," I said, raising my hands, thinking that he was going to bash me with the flashlight if I didn't enter the alley. "I don't want any trouble."
"Then don't go standing in the middle of the street!" The man said, a little louder than before. "Do you want a walker to see you?"
At this point, I should have noticed that something strange was happening behind me, but I was too absorbed in the threatening man in front of me to notice.
"A walker?" I asked, oblivious to the two figures approaching me from behind.
"Shit!" The man said, lurching forward and pulling me by the arm into the alley. "You must be a newbie!" The man put his right hand on the flashlight, and, instead of a flashlight, he pulled a full sword from his belt.
The scabbard had been hidden behind the man's back, and I never saw it, but in his hand, he now wielded a three-foot long iron sword, similar to those seen in the video game Skyrim.
"What are those!" I yelled, looking at the hobbling, human figures the man pulled me away from.
"Those are walkers," The man said, and he slashed the sword across the neck of the closest figure. The sword tip ran smoothly across the neck of the figure, and blood spurted from the wound. "They won't die as easily as that!" The man yelled, and, with a massive swing, decapitated the figure.
"Holy fuck!" I yelled, unable to grasp the situation. The figures looked human but were obviously rotting, like a mummy recently taken from its tomb. As the head from the first walker flew into the air, the man moved onto the second walker. With a single swing, the second head was sent flying.
"We've got to get out of here," The man said, bending down to pick up two shiny coins from the pavement. "We've made too much noise, and are bound to have attracted more."
*****
To be continued? I'll continue it as a virtual reality type thing, kinda like The Gamer manga.
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It all came back to me the minute I saw him. I tried to resist reliving that wretched day during the day, only for the memories to flood in during the night. This was my nightly struggle.
"Daddy!" I yelled as I ran into his arms.
"Sweetie, before we play with your tea set, I am gonna go get some things at the store. Wait here and I'll be right back."
I watched him leave the house, and as he pulled out of the driveway a car collided with him. The other driver grabbed Dad and threw him in the trunk, taking him away from me.
I screamed and kicked, but Mom didn't get there in time to see it.
I lived this nightmare every night in my dreams. For 20 years I lived it.
I was 27, and living alone. I begrudgingly woke up, just like every morning and just went through the motions.
I was watching Netflix.
*knock knock*
No one but the pizza guy and Jehovah's Witnesses ever knocked on my door.
I slowly cracked open the door.
I thought I was high, people didn't show up to your home battle scarred with a sword strapped to their hip.
"Are you "Janet Smith?"
"Yes"
"I'm Phillip Smith"
"What kind of sick joke is this, Daddy's dead ok! Don't think it's funny to make my torment any worse than it already is!"
"No, it's me!" He hugged me instantly.
He quickly pulled out his wallet and showed me an old and bent driver's license.
As soon as I saw this I hugged him.
He came into my house and sat down, "You aren't gonna believe this..."
"Well, spit it out'"
"I was kidnapped and forced to fight in a gladiator's arena full of other kidnapped people. The rules were thay whoever was the last to survive would go home."
"You killed people?"
"Only to see you again, and survive."
"I'm so sorry."
He handed me his sword, at that point he began bawling. He was home, broken, but home.
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
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He was never your typical father, but he always cared. He never missed turning a special occasion into a really special occasion. Birthdays were his favorite. One of my lone memories is when he pretended to be a pirate for my sixth birthday, and turned the house into a ship’s galley. I was daddy’s girl, and I loved him dearly.
The following year, on Birthday eve, he left for Bread, Milk, and smokes, but never returned. When the police stopped searching for him, Mom and I put up posters, but it was just too much for her. She took her life with a pill and a drink a year later to the day.
Birthdays. I fuckin hate ‘em. “Open this one next son. It’s from me and Mommy” the parents would say to their kids every year at those ridiculous parties. I would watch my peers open gifts and finally get to what their parents wrapped. The look of joy and excitement on all of their rotten fuckin faces as Little Bobby and Bobby senior embraced over a model train set. Pathetic.
My grandparents raised me through high school, but things were never the same. Birthdays came and went. Each passing year, the only gift I could look forward to was the angst, and it came wrapped with depression.
When they finally declared him dead too, I was able to collect the insurance money and buy back the old house. Call it sentimental, but I liked the way I felt there, and the last time I was actually happy was in that place.
So there I was, about to graduate med school, preparing myself to head off into the icy, insufferable world. It was that time of year again, and like usual, it was all I could think about. The reason why I hated the day before even more than the day itself. Him.
Out of nostalgia, I had decorated the house to resemble the pirate galley from 20 years earlier. Ready to take the first sip of despair from my freshly blended frozen dachary, I let out a gasp and felt paralysis take hold of my body.
“You’re never going to believe what happened.”
He was in the front doorway, his hands on his hips, looking like some kind of disheveled pirate super hero, in the same dam clothes he left with long ago. Aside from his familiar eyes and smile, his appearance transformed from the once healthy man I knew. With boot leather skin, the remaining ends of dark hair succumbed to a thin ratty mop of grey locks and yellow beard. The cardboard sword I helped him cutout hung limp from his belt-line like a soggy crouton.
Having kicked open the door, the knob stuck into the aged plaster wall, hiding from what was about to unfold…
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It all came back to me the minute I saw him. I tried to resist reliving that wretched day during the day, only for the memories to flood in during the night. This was my nightly struggle.
"Daddy!" I yelled as I ran into his arms.
"Sweetie, before we play with your tea set, I am gonna go get some things at the store. Wait here and I'll be right back."
I watched him leave the house, and as he pulled out of the driveway a car collided with him. The other driver grabbed Dad and threw him in the trunk, taking him away from me.
I screamed and kicked, but Mom didn't get there in time to see it.
I lived this nightmare every night in my dreams. For 20 years I lived it.
I was 27, and living alone. I begrudgingly woke up, just like every morning and just went through the motions.
I was watching Netflix.
*knock knock*
No one but the pizza guy and Jehovah's Witnesses ever knocked on my door.
I slowly cracked open the door.
I thought I was high, people didn't show up to your home battle scarred with a sword strapped to their hip.
"Are you "Janet Smith?"
"Yes"
"I'm Phillip Smith"
"What kind of sick joke is this, Daddy's dead ok! Don't think it's funny to make my torment any worse than it already is!"
"No, it's me!" He hugged me instantly.
He quickly pulled out his wallet and showed me an old and bent driver's license.
As soon as I saw this I hugged him.
He came into my house and sat down, "You aren't gonna believe this..."
"Well, spit it out'"
"I was kidnapped and forced to fight in a gladiator's arena full of other kidnapped people. The rules were thay whoever was the last to survive would go home."
"You killed people?"
"Only to see you again, and survive."
"I'm so sorry."
He handed me his sword, at that point he began bawling. He was home, broken, but home.
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
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It had been three years since I set foot in my old home. By then, my mother was long since committed to Restoration Point Psychiatric Hospital. Once my father left us some 20 years ago, she was never the same person. My uncle, her brother, moved in to help take care of us and was putting up the old home for sale shortly after her funeral. So, after the service we returned to see if there was anything I might of wanted to keep.
I enter her old bedroom and take a look around. Odd books about protection rituals and wards took up space on her bookshelf along with some various family photos. The time I won the Soap Box Derby in Scouts, old vacations with my uncle holding me on his shoulders, me and my prom date. As I grabbed a frame of my mother and myself when I was little, I noticed the corner of the photo was bent. I removed it from the frame to straighten it out, only to discover it was my father. "Fuck you, you worthless bastard." I curse his name and return the picture to it's frame. Just then, the house began to shake violently. My uncle comes racing into the room, screaming at me to "Get down!" and we both hit the floor hard. And not a moment too soon.
A flash of red light materialized from the center of the room, and a large horn pierced the bookshelf that was directly behind and above me. Then, what could only be described as a demon fully formed from the light, crushing my mother's bed beneath his large hooves. Before I could even process what was happening, My uncle stood up, said some Latin words, and a white glow engulfed his whole body. While he looked like my uncle in the face, his body was encased in golden armor. A large battleaxe mounted to his back. He stood their for a moment, staring right back at the beast that had nearly killed us both. He removed his axe and without turning to look at me said only one thing. "Run, Alex. Run!".
I took off from the room to hear my uncle shouting and the demon roaring as they tore apart my house. I was making my way to the front when the demon came flying down from upstairs, my uncle falling with to drive his axe into him. I turn and rush towards the garage when my uncle's axe whizzes right over my head. I double back to the kitchen to the backdoor and without looking slam straight into another armored figure.
His gear was as white as fresh snow. A helm shaped like a lion's head and mane blocked any view of his face. He wordlessly lifts me up of the ground, stares at me for a moment, and unsheathes a dagger from his belt. He hands me the blade, nods, and I take it in my hand. Before I can utter a word, the demon and my uncle land behind us. The demon tries to stomp my uncle, but loses his leg to the swordsman's swing. The beast falls in pain, grasping at the stump, when my uncle returns to his feet and goes to behead the beast, the swordsman yells "Wait Harold! The boy must have his first kill!" My uncle stares the man down, still poised to finish what he had started. "We never had it easy! Why in the hell should it be for him? If he's gonna be an Orderman now, he's just gonna half to kill them like we did Vince!" The swordsman replies "His mother has just died, he's been attacked by a Knight on the eve of her death, and damn it, this is the first time in 20 years I've seen my boy! So cut us all some slack and let him do it!"
Son? The swordsman just called me son. My hands are hurting from clenching the dagger the swordsman has handed me. "You want me to kill that thing?" was the only thing I could manage to say at that time. "Before his leg grows back would be nice." my uncle quips. I much rather not annoy two Medieval looking men in armor, much alone my uncle and some strange man that had just called me son. I head over the the beast, locate it's heart, and ram the blade straight into it. Fire begins to shoot out of the wound I just made, and suddenly, nothing. The swordsman removes his helmet, and his face looks just the same as my father's photo I was looking at some thirty minutes ago. He looks at me lovingly, smiles,and says
"Son, have your uncle and I have something to tell you."
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It all came back to me the minute I saw him. I tried to resist reliving that wretched day during the day, only for the memories to flood in during the night. This was my nightly struggle.
"Daddy!" I yelled as I ran into his arms.
"Sweetie, before we play with your tea set, I am gonna go get some things at the store. Wait here and I'll be right back."
I watched him leave the house, and as he pulled out of the driveway a car collided with him. The other driver grabbed Dad and threw him in the trunk, taking him away from me.
I screamed and kicked, but Mom didn't get there in time to see it.
I lived this nightmare every night in my dreams. For 20 years I lived it.
I was 27, and living alone. I begrudgingly woke up, just like every morning and just went through the motions.
I was watching Netflix.
*knock knock*
No one but the pizza guy and Jehovah's Witnesses ever knocked on my door.
I slowly cracked open the door.
I thought I was high, people didn't show up to your home battle scarred with a sword strapped to their hip.
"Are you "Janet Smith?"
"Yes"
"I'm Phillip Smith"
"What kind of sick joke is this, Daddy's dead ok! Don't think it's funny to make my torment any worse than it already is!"
"No, it's me!" He hugged me instantly.
He quickly pulled out his wallet and showed me an old and bent driver's license.
As soon as I saw this I hugged him.
He came into my house and sat down, "You aren't gonna believe this..."
"Well, spit it out'"
"I was kidnapped and forced to fight in a gladiator's arena full of other kidnapped people. The rules were thay whoever was the last to survive would go home."
"You killed people?"
"Only to see you again, and survive."
"I'm so sorry."
He handed me his sword, at that point he began bawling. He was home, broken, but home.
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
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"You're never going to believe what happened." He rushed in through the open door and swept everything off the countertop to make space for his groceries. Key Food.
The last Key Food had closed 5 years ago. The Key Food near our house, 10. Who was this straggler who barged into my house? How far and how long had he been traveling? The man looked homeless, covered in grime and muck in a barely visible dark blue uniform. I pitied him… but he could still be dangerous. I took a step back, resting my hand on the gun cabinet.
"Hello?,” I asked, and flexed my shoulders to make myself big.
“Look.” He pulled out the sword from his hip and laid it on the counter. "Look at it." The light bounced off the hilt of the sword. Intricate lines ran down the silver-gold sheath. He danced his fingers down the sword, following the curves to their end and tracing another as it began. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” His eyes followed his fingers, transfixed on the glinting light.
It indeed was. “How much?” Maybe I could buy the thing and get rid of him.
“That’s the best part! Free!”
I felt the familiar grooves of my shotgun and pulled it towards me. I had bought it on my sixteenth birthday, ten years after my father’s disappearance. It reminded me that I was the man of the house. And I was not going to let this crazy sword gypsy scare me in it. I shouldered the Remington 870. “Get out!”
He looked up and slowly raised his hands. “I’m sorry. I must have had the wrong house. I live over at 34-09 Willow Lane.”
“This is 34-09 Willow Lane.” With one hand firmly on the gun, I grabbed his collar and started dragging him to the door. My hand on his grime-covered… mechanic’s uniform. A nametag. Theodore Sr. “Dad?” He looked up and for the first time since he walked in, I looked at his face. He had a brilliant spark in his eyes and was only a few years older than me. A handsome smile and... that scar on his chin... from that work accident. He looked exactly like the pictures. Pictures that were twenty years old.
“What? I am sorry, sir. I must have walked into the wrong house. I didn’t mean any trouble.”
He looked uneasy in my grip. I let go, rested the gun on the wall and took a seat near the counter. All I could do was stare in awe. He was exactly like the pictures. He hadn’t changed a single bit. I could only choke out a single word. “Dad?”
“I’m sorry, I have no idea who you are.” He opened the door to leave and turned around. He looked back at me, then the counter, then at me, then the ceiling. His eyes darted around the room. “This is my house. Why are you in my house? What happened? I was gone twenty minutes.”
“Try twenty years. It’s me, Teddy. Dad, it’s me.”
"So... you're like twenty-five?"
"Yea."
He collapsed at the door. I could see he was lost in thought. I felt helpless, but I couldn’t explain it either. We both sat in silence.
“The sword…” He looked at me with a tear coming down his eye. “He asked. The man… he offered me the sword… for just a moment of my time.”
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It all came back to me the minute I saw him. I tried to resist reliving that wretched day during the day, only for the memories to flood in during the night. This was my nightly struggle.
"Daddy!" I yelled as I ran into his arms.
"Sweetie, before we play with your tea set, I am gonna go get some things at the store. Wait here and I'll be right back."
I watched him leave the house, and as he pulled out of the driveway a car collided with him. The other driver grabbed Dad and threw him in the trunk, taking him away from me.
I screamed and kicked, but Mom didn't get there in time to see it.
I lived this nightmare every night in my dreams. For 20 years I lived it.
I was 27, and living alone. I begrudgingly woke up, just like every morning and just went through the motions.
I was watching Netflix.
*knock knock*
No one but the pizza guy and Jehovah's Witnesses ever knocked on my door.
I slowly cracked open the door.
I thought I was high, people didn't show up to your home battle scarred with a sword strapped to their hip.
"Are you "Janet Smith?"
"Yes"
"I'm Phillip Smith"
"What kind of sick joke is this, Daddy's dead ok! Don't think it's funny to make my torment any worse than it already is!"
"No, it's me!" He hugged me instantly.
He quickly pulled out his wallet and showed me an old and bent driver's license.
As soon as I saw this I hugged him.
He came into my house and sat down, "You aren't gonna believe this..."
"Well, spit it out'"
"I was kidnapped and forced to fight in a gladiator's arena full of other kidnapped people. The rules were thay whoever was the last to survive would go home."
"You killed people?"
"Only to see you again, and survive."
"I'm so sorry."
He handed me his sword, at that point he began bawling. He was home, broken, but home.
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
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"You're never going to believe what happened." He rushed in through the open door and swept everything off the countertop to make space for his groceries. Key Food.
The last Key Food had closed 5 years ago. The Key Food near our house, 10. Who was this straggler who barged into my house? How far and how long had he been traveling? The man looked homeless, covered in grime and muck in a barely visible dark blue uniform. I pitied him… but he could still be dangerous. I took a step back, resting my hand on the gun cabinet.
"Hello?,” I asked, and flexed my shoulders to make myself big.
“Look.” He pulled out the sword from his hip and laid it on the counter. "Look at it." The light bounced off the hilt of the sword. Intricate lines ran down the silver-gold sheath. He danced his fingers down the sword, following the curves to their end and tracing another as it began. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” His eyes followed his fingers, transfixed on the glinting light.
It indeed was. “How much?” Maybe I could buy the thing and get rid of him.
“That’s the best part! Free!”
I felt the familiar grooves of my shotgun and pulled it towards me. I had bought it on my sixteenth birthday, ten years after my father’s disappearance. It reminded me that I was the man of the house. And I was not going to let this crazy sword gypsy scare me in it. I shouldered the Remington 870. “Get out!”
He looked up and slowly raised his hands. “I’m sorry. I must have had the wrong house. I live over at 34-09 Willow Lane.”
“This is 34-09 Willow Lane.” With one hand firmly on the gun, I grabbed his collar and started dragging him to the door. My hand on his grime-covered… mechanic’s uniform. A nametag. Theodore Sr. “Dad?” He looked up and for the first time since he walked in, I looked at his face. He had a brilliant spark in his eyes and was only a few years older than me. A handsome smile and... that scar on his chin... from that work accident. He looked exactly like the pictures. Pictures that were twenty years old.
“What? I am sorry, sir. I must have walked into the wrong house. I didn’t mean any trouble.”
He looked uneasy in my grip. I let go, rested the gun on the wall and took a seat near the counter. All I could do was stare in awe. He was exactly like the pictures. He hadn’t changed a single bit. I could only choke out a single word. “Dad?”
“I’m sorry, I have no idea who you are.” He opened the door to leave and turned around. He looked back at me, then the counter, then at me, then the ceiling. His eyes darted around the room. “This is my house. Why are you in my house? What happened? I was gone twenty minutes.”
“Try twenty years. It’s me, Teddy. Dad, it’s me.”
"So... you're like twenty-five?"
"Yea."
He collapsed at the door. I could see he was lost in thought. I felt helpless, but I couldn’t explain it either. We both sat in silence.
“The sword…” He looked at me with a tear coming down his eye. “He asked. The man… he offered me the sword… for just a moment of my time.”
|
The air of disbelief hung between us.
He stood there in the doorway; wide-eyed and panting like he’d just been running from something fierce. Incredibly he was still wearing the same clothes he had all those years ago. He shuffled towards my bed, dropping the bag he had clutched in his left hand and limping heavily as he went. As he reached the wooden chest that sat at the foot of my bed, had always sat at the foot of my bed, he stopped. With obvious pain he laid the sword that he had held in his right hand carefully down onto the ornate, hand-carved lid.
The sword caught the moonlight and in stream of silver I could see some characters etched into the surface of the blade. To my eyes they looked like symbols of some Far Eastern language. There was no way I would be able to understand what they meant, even if I inspected the sword with a magnifying glass.
My father kept moving towards me. The nose and freckles on his cheek told me it was him, he even had the cigarette tucked cheekily behind his ear in that way mum hated so much, but time made me apprehensive to believe it could ever be true. He half-lurched, half collapsed onto my bed and emitted a loud moan as he rolled onto his good side. Sticking from his right thigh was a piece of jagged metal which looked like it had been there for a good while. The skin on his arms looked raw and sunburnt.
I leaned across and propped him up with one of my pillows. As I did he began to speak, quieter and softer than he had before.
“They took me……outside Kwik-Save……I was just coming out……knocked me to the floor…..”
There was a note of pleading in his voice and his eyes looked slightly glazed over. His breathing slowed as I moved his hair away from his face. It was horrible to touch, thick and matte with dirt and grease. The smell of sewage, the ocean and manure all crept up into my nostrils.
“I’m so sorry son” He whispered “I finally broke free……..been running for years…only supposed to have been gone five minutes….it had been so long…….”
His eyes closed and his body stiffened in my hands.
“I knew it was your birthday tomorrow…….I had to see you…..but……I couldn’t lose them” Tears began to seep from under his eyelids and down his wrinkled cheeks. “All these years and I could never lose them…..”
A tingling on the back of my neck made me straighten up and a shadow fell across my fathers withered face. In front of me a billowing black robe flickered in the breeze. Staggering backwards I hit the headboard that lay between myself and the open window. My father fell from the bed, giving out a cry of despair as the shuriken dug further into his leg. The figure stepped forwards, over the chest and onto the bed.
There was no sound as he drew his sword from the sheathe on his back and, whilst his eyes were lost in the night, I could tell he was staring at me. I heard my father struggle to his knees and saw his hand grasp loosely at the man’s ankle. The assassin broke free of his grip easily and I heard a futile cry escape from my father’s throat as the robe moved closer towards me.
An ethereal lunar light shone across the man’s arms and chest as he held the sword above me.
A dry rasp came from his mouth, shrouded in the darkness he seemed to wholly inhabit.
“You shall die here namekuji. The circle shall finally be complete.”
The sword shot into the air and then, with a strange juicy crunching noise, jerked oddly in front of him. Speckles of silvery liquid sprayed down at me and I blinked them away, furiously trying to work out what had happened. I saw a shining, jagged edge protruding from my attacker’s throat and, as he toppled face-first onto my pillow, I quickly rolled down onto the floor.
With my heart racing I looked up at my mother, effortlessly pulling my father’s sword from the back of the dead man’s neck. She glanced at me to check I was okay and then stepped backwards onto the rug. As I regained my feet a shaking hand appeared from the other side of the bed as my father staggered into view.
“I’m sorry Yuko-chan…..” He spluttered from the floor. “We must leave now……they won’t stop until they have him……”
My mother turned and gave him a look I knew too well from my easily quashed teenage years. She bent down and, as she picked the fallen bag of mouldy bread up off the floor, she spoke for the first time in twenty years.
“You forgot the milk.”
|
|
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
It had been three years since I set foot in my old home. By then, my mother was long since committed to Restoration Point Psychiatric Hospital. Once my father left us some 20 years ago, she was never the same person. My uncle, her brother, moved in to help take care of us and was putting up the old home for sale shortly after her funeral. So, after the service we returned to see if there was anything I might of wanted to keep.
I enter her old bedroom and take a look around. Odd books about protection rituals and wards took up space on her bookshelf along with some various family photos. The time I won the Soap Box Derby in Scouts, old vacations with my uncle holding me on his shoulders, me and my prom date. As I grabbed a frame of my mother and myself when I was little, I noticed the corner of the photo was bent. I removed it from the frame to straighten it out, only to discover it was my father. "Fuck you, you worthless bastard." I curse his name and return the picture to it's frame. Just then, the house began to shake violently. My uncle comes racing into the room, screaming at me to "Get down!" and we both hit the floor hard. And not a moment too soon.
A flash of red light materialized from the center of the room, and a large horn pierced the bookshelf that was directly behind and above me. Then, what could only be described as a demon fully formed from the light, crushing my mother's bed beneath his large hooves. Before I could even process what was happening, My uncle stood up, said some Latin words, and a white glow engulfed his whole body. While he looked like my uncle in the face, his body was encased in golden armor. A large battleaxe mounted to his back. He stood their for a moment, staring right back at the beast that had nearly killed us both. He removed his axe and without turning to look at me said only one thing. "Run, Alex. Run!".
I took off from the room to hear my uncle shouting and the demon roaring as they tore apart my house. I was making my way to the front when the demon came flying down from upstairs, my uncle falling with to drive his axe into him. I turn and rush towards the garage when my uncle's axe whizzes right over my head. I double back to the kitchen to the backdoor and without looking slam straight into another armored figure.
His gear was as white as fresh snow. A helm shaped like a lion's head and mane blocked any view of his face. He wordlessly lifts me up of the ground, stares at me for a moment, and unsheathes a dagger from his belt. He hands me the blade, nods, and I take it in my hand. Before I can utter a word, the demon and my uncle land behind us. The demon tries to stomp my uncle, but loses his leg to the swordsman's swing. The beast falls in pain, grasping at the stump, when my uncle returns to his feet and goes to behead the beast, the swordsman yells "Wait Harold! The boy must have his first kill!" My uncle stares the man down, still poised to finish what he had started. "We never had it easy! Why in the hell should it be for him? If he's gonna be an Orderman now, he's just gonna half to kill them like we did Vince!" The swordsman replies "His mother has just died, he's been attacked by a Knight on the eve of her death, and damn it, this is the first time in 20 years I've seen my boy! So cut us all some slack and let him do it!"
Son? The swordsman just called me son. My hands are hurting from clenching the dagger the swordsman has handed me. "You want me to kill that thing?" was the only thing I could manage to say at that time. "Before his leg grows back would be nice." my uncle quips. I much rather not annoy two Medieval looking men in armor, much alone my uncle and some strange man that had just called me son. I head over the the beast, locate it's heart, and ram the blade straight into it. Fire begins to shoot out of the wound I just made, and suddenly, nothing. The swordsman removes his helmet, and his face looks just the same as my father's photo I was looking at some thirty minutes ago. He looks at me lovingly, smiles,and says
"Son, have your uncle and I have something to tell you."
|
"I'm going to get cigarettes," I said.
"I'll be back in a few minutes," I said, shortly after putting on my Calvin Klien Arnold Lace-Up Sneakers.
I left my house with those sneakers, my Pleated Super 100s Worsted Wool Trousers, and my Smartcare™ Traditional Fit Plaid Dress Shirt. Nothing special, but at the time I thought I was simply going to get cigarettes and maybe milk.
Fourteen minutes. That was how long it took before I noticed that something was seriously wrong. The once bustling city had changed to one that looked straight out of The Purge.
"You, come here!" A man to my right whispered.
"What?" I said in a regular tone. At the time, I thought he wanted to mug me.
"Get in here before you get hurt!" The man said, a little louder, and his tapped a flashlight hanging on his belt.
At least, I thought it was a flashlight.
"Hey man," I said, raising my hands, thinking that he was going to bash me with the flashlight if I didn't enter the alley. "I don't want any trouble."
"Then don't go standing in the middle of the street!" The man said, a little louder than before. "Do you want a walker to see you?"
At this point, I should have noticed that something strange was happening behind me, but I was too absorbed in the threatening man in front of me to notice.
"A walker?" I asked, oblivious to the two figures approaching me from behind.
"Shit!" The man said, lurching forward and pulling me by the arm into the alley. "You must be a newbie!" The man put his right hand on the flashlight, and, instead of a flashlight, he pulled a full sword from his belt.
The scabbard had been hidden behind the man's back, and I never saw it, but in his hand, he now wielded a three-foot long iron sword, similar to those seen in the video game Skyrim.
"What are those!" I yelled, looking at the hobbling, human figures the man pulled me away from.
"Those are walkers," The man said, and he slashed the sword across the neck of the closest figure. The sword tip ran smoothly across the neck of the figure, and blood spurted from the wound. "They won't die as easily as that!" The man yelled, and, with a massive swing, decapitated the figure.
"Holy fuck!" I yelled, unable to grasp the situation. The figures looked human but were obviously rotting, like a mummy recently taken from its tomb. As the head from the first walker flew into the air, the man moved onto the second walker. With a single swing, the second head was sent flying.
"We've got to get out of here," The man said, bending down to pick up two shiny coins from the pavement. "We've made too much noise, and are bound to have attracted more."
*****
To be continued? I'll continue it as a virtual reality type thing, kinda like The Gamer manga.
|
|
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
"You're never going to believe what happened." He rushed in through the open door and swept everything off the countertop to make space for his groceries. Key Food.
The last Key Food had closed 5 years ago. The Key Food near our house, 10. Who was this straggler who barged into my house? How far and how long had he been traveling? The man looked homeless, covered in grime and muck in a barely visible dark blue uniform. I pitied him… but he could still be dangerous. I took a step back, resting my hand on the gun cabinet.
"Hello?,” I asked, and flexed my shoulders to make myself big.
“Look.” He pulled out the sword from his hip and laid it on the counter. "Look at it." The light bounced off the hilt of the sword. Intricate lines ran down the silver-gold sheath. He danced his fingers down the sword, following the curves to their end and tracing another as it began. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” His eyes followed his fingers, transfixed on the glinting light.
It indeed was. “How much?” Maybe I could buy the thing and get rid of him.
“That’s the best part! Free!”
I felt the familiar grooves of my shotgun and pulled it towards me. I had bought it on my sixteenth birthday, ten years after my father’s disappearance. It reminded me that I was the man of the house. And I was not going to let this crazy sword gypsy scare me in it. I shouldered the Remington 870. “Get out!”
He looked up and slowly raised his hands. “I’m sorry. I must have had the wrong house. I live over at 34-09 Willow Lane.”
“This is 34-09 Willow Lane.” With one hand firmly on the gun, I grabbed his collar and started dragging him to the door. My hand on his grime-covered… mechanic’s uniform. A nametag. Theodore Sr. “Dad?” He looked up and for the first time since he walked in, I looked at his face. He had a brilliant spark in his eyes and was only a few years older than me. A handsome smile and... that scar on his chin... from that work accident. He looked exactly like the pictures. Pictures that were twenty years old.
“What? I am sorry, sir. I must have walked into the wrong house. I didn’t mean any trouble.”
He looked uneasy in my grip. I let go, rested the gun on the wall and took a seat near the counter. All I could do was stare in awe. He was exactly like the pictures. He hadn’t changed a single bit. I could only choke out a single word. “Dad?”
“I’m sorry, I have no idea who you are.” He opened the door to leave and turned around. He looked back at me, then the counter, then at me, then the ceiling. His eyes darted around the room. “This is my house. Why are you in my house? What happened? I was gone twenty minutes.”
“Try twenty years. It’s me, Teddy. Dad, it’s me.”
"So... you're like twenty-five?"
"Yea."
He collapsed at the door. I could see he was lost in thought. I felt helpless, but I couldn’t explain it either. We both sat in silence.
“The sword…” He looked at me with a tear coming down his eye. “He asked. The man… he offered me the sword… for just a moment of my time.”
|
"I'm going to get cigarettes," I said.
"I'll be back in a few minutes," I said, shortly after putting on my Calvin Klien Arnold Lace-Up Sneakers.
I left my house with those sneakers, my Pleated Super 100s Worsted Wool Trousers, and my Smartcare™ Traditional Fit Plaid Dress Shirt. Nothing special, but at the time I thought I was simply going to get cigarettes and maybe milk.
Fourteen minutes. That was how long it took before I noticed that something was seriously wrong. The once bustling city had changed to one that looked straight out of The Purge.
"You, come here!" A man to my right whispered.
"What?" I said in a regular tone. At the time, I thought he wanted to mug me.
"Get in here before you get hurt!" The man said, a little louder, and his tapped a flashlight hanging on his belt.
At least, I thought it was a flashlight.
"Hey man," I said, raising my hands, thinking that he was going to bash me with the flashlight if I didn't enter the alley. "I don't want any trouble."
"Then don't go standing in the middle of the street!" The man said, a little louder than before. "Do you want a walker to see you?"
At this point, I should have noticed that something strange was happening behind me, but I was too absorbed in the threatening man in front of me to notice.
"A walker?" I asked, oblivious to the two figures approaching me from behind.
"Shit!" The man said, lurching forward and pulling me by the arm into the alley. "You must be a newbie!" The man put his right hand on the flashlight, and, instead of a flashlight, he pulled a full sword from his belt.
The scabbard had been hidden behind the man's back, and I never saw it, but in his hand, he now wielded a three-foot long iron sword, similar to those seen in the video game Skyrim.
"What are those!" I yelled, looking at the hobbling, human figures the man pulled me away from.
"Those are walkers," The man said, and he slashed the sword across the neck of the closest figure. The sword tip ran smoothly across the neck of the figure, and blood spurted from the wound. "They won't die as easily as that!" The man yelled, and, with a massive swing, decapitated the figure.
"Holy fuck!" I yelled, unable to grasp the situation. The figures looked human but were obviously rotting, like a mummy recently taken from its tomb. As the head from the first walker flew into the air, the man moved onto the second walker. With a single swing, the second head was sent flying.
"We've got to get out of here," The man said, bending down to pick up two shiny coins from the pavement. "We've made too much noise, and are bound to have attracted more."
*****
To be continued? I'll continue it as a virtual reality type thing, kinda like The Gamer manga.
|
|
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
"You're never going to believe what happened." He rushed in through the open door and swept everything off the countertop to make space for his groceries. Key Food.
The last Key Food had closed 5 years ago. The Key Food near our house, 10. Who was this straggler who barged into my house? How far and how long had he been traveling? The man looked homeless, covered in grime and muck in a barely visible dark blue uniform. I pitied him… but he could still be dangerous. I took a step back, resting my hand on the gun cabinet.
"Hello?,” I asked, and flexed my shoulders to make myself big.
“Look.” He pulled out the sword from his hip and laid it on the counter. "Look at it." The light bounced off the hilt of the sword. Intricate lines ran down the silver-gold sheath. He danced his fingers down the sword, following the curves to their end and tracing another as it began. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” His eyes followed his fingers, transfixed on the glinting light.
It indeed was. “How much?” Maybe I could buy the thing and get rid of him.
“That’s the best part! Free!”
I felt the familiar grooves of my shotgun and pulled it towards me. I had bought it on my sixteenth birthday, ten years after my father’s disappearance. It reminded me that I was the man of the house. And I was not going to let this crazy sword gypsy scare me in it. I shouldered the Remington 870. “Get out!”
He looked up and slowly raised his hands. “I’m sorry. I must have had the wrong house. I live over at 34-09 Willow Lane.”
“This is 34-09 Willow Lane.” With one hand firmly on the gun, I grabbed his collar and started dragging him to the door. My hand on his grime-covered… mechanic’s uniform. A nametag. Theodore Sr. “Dad?” He looked up and for the first time since he walked in, I looked at his face. He had a brilliant spark in his eyes and was only a few years older than me. A handsome smile and... that scar on his chin... from that work accident. He looked exactly like the pictures. Pictures that were twenty years old.
“What? I am sorry, sir. I must have walked into the wrong house. I didn’t mean any trouble.”
He looked uneasy in my grip. I let go, rested the gun on the wall and took a seat near the counter. All I could do was stare in awe. He was exactly like the pictures. He hadn’t changed a single bit. I could only choke out a single word. “Dad?”
“I’m sorry, I have no idea who you are.” He opened the door to leave and turned around. He looked back at me, then the counter, then at me, then the ceiling. His eyes darted around the room. “This is my house. Why are you in my house? What happened? I was gone twenty minutes.”
“Try twenty years. It’s me, Teddy. Dad, it’s me.”
"So... you're like twenty-five?"
"Yea."
He collapsed at the door. I could see he was lost in thought. I felt helpless, but I couldn’t explain it either. We both sat in silence.
“The sword…” He looked at me with a tear coming down his eye. “He asked. The man… he offered me the sword… for just a moment of my time.”
|
He was never your typical father, but he always cared. He never missed turning a special occasion into a really special occasion. Birthdays were his favorite. One of my lone memories is when he pretended to be a pirate for my sixth birthday, and turned the house into a ship’s galley. I was daddy’s girl, and I loved him dearly.
The following year, on Birthday eve, he left for Bread, Milk, and smokes, but never returned. When the police stopped searching for him, Mom and I put up posters, but it was just too much for her. She took her life with a pill and a drink a year later to the day.
Birthdays. I fuckin hate ‘em. “Open this one next son. It’s from me and Mommy” the parents would say to their kids every year at those ridiculous parties. I would watch my peers open gifts and finally get to what their parents wrapped. The look of joy and excitement on all of their rotten fuckin faces as Little Bobby and Bobby senior embraced over a model train set. Pathetic.
My grandparents raised me through high school, but things were never the same. Birthdays came and went. Each passing year, the only gift I could look forward to was the angst, and it came wrapped with depression.
When they finally declared him dead too, I was able to collect the insurance money and buy back the old house. Call it sentimental, but I liked the way I felt there, and the last time I was actually happy was in that place.
So there I was, about to graduate med school, preparing myself to head off into the icy, insufferable world. It was that time of year again, and like usual, it was all I could think about. The reason why I hated the day before even more than the day itself. Him.
Out of nostalgia, I had decorated the house to resemble the pirate galley from 20 years earlier. Ready to take the first sip of despair from my freshly blended frozen dachary, I let out a gasp and felt paralysis take hold of my body.
“You’re never going to believe what happened.”
He was in the front doorway, his hands on his hips, looking like some kind of disheveled pirate super hero, in the same dam clothes he left with long ago. Aside from his familiar eyes and smile, his appearance transformed from the once healthy man I knew. With boot leather skin, the remaining ends of dark hair succumbed to a thin ratty mop of grey locks and yellow beard. The cardboard sword I helped him cutout hung limp from his belt-line like a soggy crouton.
Having kicked open the door, the knob stuck into the aged plaster wall, hiding from what was about to unfold…
|
|
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
"You're never going to believe what happened." He rushed in through the open door and swept everything off the countertop to make space for his groceries. Key Food.
The last Key Food had closed 5 years ago. The Key Food near our house, 10. Who was this straggler who barged into my house? How far and how long had he been traveling? The man looked homeless, covered in grime and muck in a barely visible dark blue uniform. I pitied him… but he could still be dangerous. I took a step back, resting my hand on the gun cabinet.
"Hello?,” I asked, and flexed my shoulders to make myself big.
“Look.” He pulled out the sword from his hip and laid it on the counter. "Look at it." The light bounced off the hilt of the sword. Intricate lines ran down the silver-gold sheath. He danced his fingers down the sword, following the curves to their end and tracing another as it began. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” His eyes followed his fingers, transfixed on the glinting light.
It indeed was. “How much?” Maybe I could buy the thing and get rid of him.
“That’s the best part! Free!”
I felt the familiar grooves of my shotgun and pulled it towards me. I had bought it on my sixteenth birthday, ten years after my father’s disappearance. It reminded me that I was the man of the house. And I was not going to let this crazy sword gypsy scare me in it. I shouldered the Remington 870. “Get out!”
He looked up and slowly raised his hands. “I’m sorry. I must have had the wrong house. I live over at 34-09 Willow Lane.”
“This is 34-09 Willow Lane.” With one hand firmly on the gun, I grabbed his collar and started dragging him to the door. My hand on his grime-covered… mechanic’s uniform. A nametag. Theodore Sr. “Dad?” He looked up and for the first time since he walked in, I looked at his face. He had a brilliant spark in his eyes and was only a few years older than me. A handsome smile and... that scar on his chin... from that work accident. He looked exactly like the pictures. Pictures that were twenty years old.
“What? I am sorry, sir. I must have walked into the wrong house. I didn’t mean any trouble.”
He looked uneasy in my grip. I let go, rested the gun on the wall and took a seat near the counter. All I could do was stare in awe. He was exactly like the pictures. He hadn’t changed a single bit. I could only choke out a single word. “Dad?”
“I’m sorry, I have no idea who you are.” He opened the door to leave and turned around. He looked back at me, then the counter, then at me, then the ceiling. His eyes darted around the room. “This is my house. Why are you in my house? What happened? I was gone twenty minutes.”
“Try twenty years. It’s me, Teddy. Dad, it’s me.”
"So... you're like twenty-five?"
"Yea."
He collapsed at the door. I could see he was lost in thought. I felt helpless, but I couldn’t explain it either. We both sat in silence.
“The sword…” He looked at me with a tear coming down his eye. “He asked. The man… he offered me the sword… for just a moment of my time.”
|
It had been three years since I set foot in my old home. By then, my mother was long since committed to Restoration Point Psychiatric Hospital. Once my father left us some 20 years ago, she was never the same person. My uncle, her brother, moved in to help take care of us and was putting up the old home for sale shortly after her funeral. So, after the service we returned to see if there was anything I might of wanted to keep.
I enter her old bedroom and take a look around. Odd books about protection rituals and wards took up space on her bookshelf along with some various family photos. The time I won the Soap Box Derby in Scouts, old vacations with my uncle holding me on his shoulders, me and my prom date. As I grabbed a frame of my mother and myself when I was little, I noticed the corner of the photo was bent. I removed it from the frame to straighten it out, only to discover it was my father. "Fuck you, you worthless bastard." I curse his name and return the picture to it's frame. Just then, the house began to shake violently. My uncle comes racing into the room, screaming at me to "Get down!" and we both hit the floor hard. And not a moment too soon.
A flash of red light materialized from the center of the room, and a large horn pierced the bookshelf that was directly behind and above me. Then, what could only be described as a demon fully formed from the light, crushing my mother's bed beneath his large hooves. Before I could even process what was happening, My uncle stood up, said some Latin words, and a white glow engulfed his whole body. While he looked like my uncle in the face, his body was encased in golden armor. A large battleaxe mounted to his back. He stood their for a moment, staring right back at the beast that had nearly killed us both. He removed his axe and without turning to look at me said only one thing. "Run, Alex. Run!".
I took off from the room to hear my uncle shouting and the demon roaring as they tore apart my house. I was making my way to the front when the demon came flying down from upstairs, my uncle falling with to drive his axe into him. I turn and rush towards the garage when my uncle's axe whizzes right over my head. I double back to the kitchen to the backdoor and without looking slam straight into another armored figure.
His gear was as white as fresh snow. A helm shaped like a lion's head and mane blocked any view of his face. He wordlessly lifts me up of the ground, stares at me for a moment, and unsheathes a dagger from his belt. He hands me the blade, nods, and I take it in my hand. Before I can utter a word, the demon and my uncle land behind us. The demon tries to stomp my uncle, but loses his leg to the swordsman's swing. The beast falls in pain, grasping at the stump, when my uncle returns to his feet and goes to behead the beast, the swordsman yells "Wait Harold! The boy must have his first kill!" My uncle stares the man down, still poised to finish what he had started. "We never had it easy! Why in the hell should it be for him? If he's gonna be an Orderman now, he's just gonna half to kill them like we did Vince!" The swordsman replies "His mother has just died, he's been attacked by a Knight on the eve of her death, and damn it, this is the first time in 20 years I've seen my boy! So cut us all some slack and let him do it!"
Son? The swordsman just called me son. My hands are hurting from clenching the dagger the swordsman has handed me. "You want me to kill that thing?" was the only thing I could manage to say at that time. "Before his leg grows back would be nice." my uncle quips. I much rather not annoy two Medieval looking men in armor, much alone my uncle and some strange man that had just called me son. I head over the the beast, locate it's heart, and ram the blade straight into it. Fire begins to shoot out of the wound I just made, and suddenly, nothing. The swordsman removes his helmet, and his face looks just the same as my father's photo I was looking at some thirty minutes ago. He looks at me lovingly, smiles,and says
"Son, have your uncle and I have something to tell you."
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
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"Rioting continues over water shortages as what's left of the government scrambles to--"
There was a knock on the door. I shut off the tv and headed over to see who it was.
"Dad?!?"
There he was, looking more haggard and old than he did when he left me and my mom over twenty years ago, carrying a beat-up burlap sack, but there he was.
"How ya doin', kiddo? You got taller." He said with a grin spreading across his face.
"You've been gone twenty years! Mom said you were dead!"
"Well, your mother says a lot of things, not all of which are true." He replied, still grinning his sly smile. "Anyway, I'm back. With all the stuff I said I'd bring back!"
He pulled out a loaf of squished bread, slightly moldy on the edges, a yellowing jug of milk that sounded like only solid curds instead, and one crumpled, dog-eared carton of cigarettes. He picked one out of the box and lit it with a match.
"Sorry it took so long for me to come back, things are just complicated, yknow?" He said as he puffed on the cigarette.
I nodded unconvincingly.
"Anyway, where's your mother? I haven't seen her around."
"She-- she died." I replied, looking downwards.
Dad's face fell, "I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't know."
"It's fine."
"How'd she die?" He asked.
"Raiders killed her. I think they ate her afterwards too."
"Well, if she's still anything like the woman I married, they're gonna have a hell of a time chewing her!" He laughed.
"Anyhow, champ, what's in the past is in the past, and I'm back now. How about you forgive your old man and we can be a family again?"
I stared out the open door at the blasted, arid desert that our world had become.
"I'd like that."
"Anyway, what else did you get from your scavenging run?"
|
"You abandoned me is what happened!" the son quipped.
"What? I'd never! Just hear me out! I may be a little cloudy on the details, though..."
The father, easing into a recliner, sighed. "20 years ago, I left to get cigarettes, milk, and bread. You remember!"
The son nods curiously.
"On the way, I was assaulted by a group of thugs. They kidnapped me--"
"Back up for just one second; what? You expect me to believe this?"
"Let me finish, boy! They kidnapped me. I woke up tied to a chair in a small room. Luckily, the ropes were loose, so I was able to slip out."
The father took a drink of water from a bottle. "I escaped the room. I found myself in something that looked like medieval Europe--"
"Now that's bullshit!"
"I told you you'd never believe what happened! Now, listen, boy! A man who called himself Balgriff or something challenged me to a duel. He tossed me this sword (motions to sword)."
The father continued. "It was a long duel, but I had succeeded! He had declared himself beat, and offered me his finest steed. I left the city. From there, I traveled across the land, trying to find my way back home. After months of travel, I had found myself in a small village. They called it Woodriver, or something like that."
"Stop. This is sounding way too unbelievable."
"I'm sorry son, this is the truth! Please, pay attention! There, I met a metalsmith. His name was Alvard, or something. He offered me a place to stay. He even gave me training. Did you know I can forge a whole suit of armor now? Anyway, I continued my travels. I found myself in a city called Winterheld, or something similar. All the locals had problems, which I solved for them. After years of adventuring, I found a path to get here. Now, I come to your doorstep, asking for forgiveness for leaving."
"I'm not sure I can believe you, dad. It's been a long time."
"Please, son. I've been trying to return for twenty whole years! All I ask for is a place to stay."
"Okay, dad. Welcome home."
TL;DR I suck at writing while sleep-deprived.
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
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"Oh my goodness... Mom, look out the window!" i yell in disbelief as I peek through the side windows next to our front door.
My mother scampers over, moving her little feet as fast as possible. She begins to weep uncontrollably, a moan of relief bursts out of her. I was not certain who that stranger was walking to my door but I had a strong hunch. Now, looking at my mother overwhelmed with emotion, I know I was correct.
I unlock the top lock as fast as my fingers can move and fling the solid oak door with a force even the hinges may have trouble slowing down.
"Dad!" I screamed, tears bursting out of my eyes, as I run to give him a hug.
"Son! Mary!" he yells, dropping his belongings to the ground to embrace us.
I hug him tight, ignoring the putrid smell that is seeping out of his pores. His attire is something out of a movie. He's sporting a long tan leather coat, obviously cut from some animal but I have no idea the source. His jeans are black in color and feel coarse, almost metal like... Is he wearing armor? The most bizarre part of his wardrobe are these two beautiful golden daggers he has on his hips; they both sit elegantly in two knife holsters that appear to be diamond studded. The handles are engraved with relics and designs that look foreign to this world. The wood illuminates a blood red and gives off an aura that surrounds the golden blades in a perfect radius.
The situation turns a little bit... awkward? My mom slaps him with all the strength her frail hands can muster up, knocking his smiling face towards the neighbors house. My dad welcomed that pain, I could tell by the way he let his face linger in position from the slap. He was noticeably ashamed of what he had done but I could see in his face that his absence was much more complicated than anyone could have imagined. He had a twinkle of adventure beaming through his eyes, like he had seen more these last twenty years than any other person on earth.
"Why... why did you leave us John?" her voice is shaking with years worth of anger. I had not seen him since I was two.
"Milk, Bread and some shitty cigarettes? How in the hell does that turn into twenty years, John?" her face is so red, I am afraid she may pass out.
It's my turn to talk. I have years of pent-up emotion, mainly rage, that I could let loose on him. He missed out on so much of my life and I missed out on so much by not having him in my life. But oddly enough, I feel like his explanation will be sufficient for me.
"Dad, where have you been?" I ask calmly, my face serious, my tears now dry.
He's studying me from head to toe, taking in how much I have grown. I'm two inches taller than he and my physique has leaned up these past four years due to working out and eating right. I can tell he's proud of how I stand.
"Words cannot mend my heart, nor fix the lost time between us. The only reconciliation I offer myself was the duty that was imposed upon me was one of great importance. I promise I will get to everything over time and I will not hide anything from you two. All i can say for now, is that night, I was approached by two men... two time travelers. They spoke of our blood line and the responsibility we bear because of it. I had an opportunity that I could not refuse."
He's not joking. I keep waiting for a smile or maybe he'll start cackling like a lunatic. Nothing of the sort happens and his fearless eyes are piercing with all the seriousness that I don't need to see right now.
"Time travelers...?" my mother, saying it exactly how I was going to.
"Are you kidding me?"
His mouth turns upwards into a grand smile, all of his teeth showing, they are so white they look almost bleached. Given his hygiene, I don't think that's the case.
"Both of you, come here."
We stand still like we are stuck in concrete.
"Seriously, come here. I want to show you something."
We walk over and stand next to him. He puts his arms around us and brings us close. We are now inches away from each others face. He removes one of his golden daggers and gently lies it on both of his palms for us to see. He removes his hands from underneath the dagger. It floats there, defying gravity and still glowing like it has been the last ten minutes.
"Are you guys ready?" he says, voice full of excitement.
How could we possibly be ready? I can't decide if he's going to kill us or if he's playing a prank on us.
"Time, do your will!" He screams as loud as he can, his head angled towards the sky like he is praising a higher being.
The ground around us begins to shake violently and all of our surroundings dissipate into the sky. We are standing on a plain of white that stretches as far as the human eye can see. There's nothing around us; nothing above nor anything below. I don't even know how we are standing.
"Welcome my beloved son and beautiful wife!" His eyes now glowing the same deep red that his daggers have been emitting since we saw him.
"This is infinity!"
|
"You abandoned me is what happened!" the son quipped.
"What? I'd never! Just hear me out! I may be a little cloudy on the details, though..."
The father, easing into a recliner, sighed. "20 years ago, I left to get cigarettes, milk, and bread. You remember!"
The son nods curiously.
"On the way, I was assaulted by a group of thugs. They kidnapped me--"
"Back up for just one second; what? You expect me to believe this?"
"Let me finish, boy! They kidnapped me. I woke up tied to a chair in a small room. Luckily, the ropes were loose, so I was able to slip out."
The father took a drink of water from a bottle. "I escaped the room. I found myself in something that looked like medieval Europe--"
"Now that's bullshit!"
"I told you you'd never believe what happened! Now, listen, boy! A man who called himself Balgriff or something challenged me to a duel. He tossed me this sword (motions to sword)."
The father continued. "It was a long duel, but I had succeeded! He had declared himself beat, and offered me his finest steed. I left the city. From there, I traveled across the land, trying to find my way back home. After months of travel, I had found myself in a small village. They called it Woodriver, or something like that."
"Stop. This is sounding way too unbelievable."
"I'm sorry son, this is the truth! Please, pay attention! There, I met a metalsmith. His name was Alvard, or something. He offered me a place to stay. He even gave me training. Did you know I can forge a whole suit of armor now? Anyway, I continued my travels. I found myself in a city called Winterheld, or something similar. All the locals had problems, which I solved for them. After years of adventuring, I found a path to get here. Now, I come to your doorstep, asking for forgiveness for leaving."
"I'm not sure I can believe you, dad. It's been a long time."
"Please, son. I've been trying to return for twenty whole years! All I ask for is a place to stay."
"Okay, dad. Welcome home."
TL;DR I suck at writing while sleep-deprived.
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
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I say nothing and watch as his anticipation becomes impatience, which becomes disappointment and finally anger.
"You're not going to ask me what happened?" he asks. "Don't you even care?"
"20 years," I say, "I waited 20 years. You can barely wait 20 seconds."
"A wit! How wonderful!" he mutters, "You people are all the same: so caught up in your mundane little world with its mundane little problems. Can't handle reality as it really is. Would shake your common little worldview to the core. Thought you'd be different, being my son and all, but I see I was mistaken." He shakes is head, batting himself in the face with hair that hangs in long greying strands.
I do understand, though God knows I wish I didn't.
"Dad, why don't you come in and we can talk about it?" My voice sounds calm, controlled, as if visits from a wild-eyed man with a sword are an everyday occurrence at Casa de las Estrellarias. A brief moment of panic, because what if this does become an everyday occurrence, but he's grinning now and following me through the front door.
"I'm gonna take a leak," he exclaims, "Been so long since I've been able to go anywhere civilized." And I say a tiny prayer to the powers that be for making this that much easier. I don't have the doctor's number, but mom does. I pull out my cell and dial.
"Mom, *Dad's* here," I whisper, "I can't talk long because he's here and he's *armed*. I know. Yes, mom, I know. Yeah, I need you to call the hospital. I'll be safe. I do have experience dealing with these sorts of things you know. Just make sure..." But that's as far as I get because suddenly my father's behind me and he's got the sword pressed to my throat, and even though it's blunt, he's holding it close enough that I start to choke.
"Who got to you?" He growls.
_____
Once, when I was six, my father tried to throw me out a window. This was before the diagnosis, before anyone caught on that anything might be wrong. Mom was away for the weekend, a wedding or a funeral or something, and had left me at home with him as babysitter. I used to like it when dad babysat, because he basically gave me the run of the house while he sat around in the basement and "tinkered". Or he'd tell me about this elaborate fantasy land that only he and I could see, only I could never see it as clearly as he could. He told me that was completely normal - he'd only caught glimpses of it until he came into his powers at 19, and now he could see and do all kinds of things that normal people couldn't. I was sworn to secrecy, because of course if mom found out she'd just worry, because mom was always worrying about things she couldn't understand.
But back to the attempted defenestration. On this particular weekend, dad was in one of his chatty moods. He'd told me about how he'd seen a strange black cloud hanging over the neighbours' house this past week and was afraid this might indicate a demonic possession. I must be extra careful around the neighbours from now on, and never ever accept gifts or food from them because gift were the demon's way in. Dad's dream world had been getting increasingly dark of late but none of this seemed overly strange to a kid who was just discovering Dragonball Z and the joy of ripping grown men's arms out of their sockets.
As luck would have it, I had been given a couple of cookies that day and like any respectable six-year-old, I had scarfed them down. I can't actually remember my dad's face then, but I can imagine it going chalky and white and he grabbed me by the front of my shirt as carried me, kicking and screaming, up the stairs. I can imagine him explaining, calmly and logically, that the only thing to do now was to conduct a test. If I really was possessed, surely the demon would show itself at the first sign of real danger. Of course that's not how it would have gone though, because that would have given away the plan. What I remember is the terror and the confusion of being safe in my dad's lap one minute and hurling through my parents' bedroom door the next.
The window was closed. That's what saved me. He couldn't figure out how to get the window open without putting me down. The moment he let me go I scurried off to safety: locked myself in the bathroom and went from there out onto the roof where I stayed until he decided the magic had protected me.
"Sometimes your old man is a damned fool, you know that? No demon's a match for any son of mine!"
____
All this to say that had it been 20-some years earlier, and I still 6 and he still 35, I'd be totally screwed but he's 57, and has been institutionalized for two decades now. I force the sword down and away with all the advantage of youth, health, and superior height.
"It's mom," I say. "I'm calling mom to let her know you're all right. She wants to see you."
He looks dubious. "Your mother is a wonderful woman," he says, "But she'll never understand. Not like we understand."
There's truth in that for which I'm eternally grateful.
"Of course not," I say, aware that she can hear every word through the still active phone, "Because she doesn't have the magic. I got that from you, dad."
"So you did? I thought as much. Your mother told me you had some trouble towards your last year of college. Didn't say what it was, but I knew. What they got you on?" he asks, more reflex than question.
"Risperidone," I say with a sigh and guide him towards the living room.
|
"You abandoned me is what happened!" the son quipped.
"What? I'd never! Just hear me out! I may be a little cloudy on the details, though..."
The father, easing into a recliner, sighed. "20 years ago, I left to get cigarettes, milk, and bread. You remember!"
The son nods curiously.
"On the way, I was assaulted by a group of thugs. They kidnapped me--"
"Back up for just one second; what? You expect me to believe this?"
"Let me finish, boy! They kidnapped me. I woke up tied to a chair in a small room. Luckily, the ropes were loose, so I was able to slip out."
The father took a drink of water from a bottle. "I escaped the room. I found myself in something that looked like medieval Europe--"
"Now that's bullshit!"
"I told you you'd never believe what happened! Now, listen, boy! A man who called himself Balgriff or something challenged me to a duel. He tossed me this sword (motions to sword)."
The father continued. "It was a long duel, but I had succeeded! He had declared himself beat, and offered me his finest steed. I left the city. From there, I traveled across the land, trying to find my way back home. After months of travel, I had found myself in a small village. They called it Woodriver, or something like that."
"Stop. This is sounding way too unbelievable."
"I'm sorry son, this is the truth! Please, pay attention! There, I met a metalsmith. His name was Alvard, or something. He offered me a place to stay. He even gave me training. Did you know I can forge a whole suit of armor now? Anyway, I continued my travels. I found myself in a city called Winterheld, or something similar. All the locals had problems, which I solved for them. After years of adventuring, I found a path to get here. Now, I come to your doorstep, asking for forgiveness for leaving."
"I'm not sure I can believe you, dad. It's been a long time."
"Please, son. I've been trying to return for twenty whole years! All I ask for is a place to stay."
"Okay, dad. Welcome home."
TL;DR I suck at writing while sleep-deprived.
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
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"You're never going to believe what happened."
"You killed your brother in a bar fight and stowed away on one of Salar's ships and ended up enslaved I bet."
"Okay, then you will believe what happened."
"Dad, mom isn't so easy to fool."
"What do you mean?"
"She found your brother and beat him within an inch of his life until he'd wished he hadn't faked his death."
".....is he alive?"
"He's alive."
"...good."
"Did you think she didn't know?"
"She's a sharp one that one."
"She's been keeping tabs on you the entire time, quite an adventure you've been on, plenty scandalous nights in Jamaica or so the story goes."
"You mean, you all aren't mad at me?"
"We knew where you were, we could've picked you up at any point, but it was much more fun to set things in motion around you."
"Set things....IT WAS YOU!"
"Yeah"
"The blasted lot of you? But...I thought"
"That was us too."
"What about the raid in Barbados?"
"You really going to sit here and make me take credit for your entire career?"
"I'm a ..I'm a pirate legend, I escaped, I bled, I survived, my name will..be..in the history books."
"I admire your gumption, it took a lot of guts to do what you did, but you among all others should know that you never really get to leave the family of your own accord."
The man I called father sank to his knees, rapier clattering to the floor as the weight of the unveiling hit him all at once. I scooped it up and placed it on the nightstand where he used to tell me stories as a small lad, then placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Cheer up dad, try as you might you'll never escape the Queen of Pirates."
|
"You abandoned me is what happened!" the son quipped.
"What? I'd never! Just hear me out! I may be a little cloudy on the details, though..."
The father, easing into a recliner, sighed. "20 years ago, I left to get cigarettes, milk, and bread. You remember!"
The son nods curiously.
"On the way, I was assaulted by a group of thugs. They kidnapped me--"
"Back up for just one second; what? You expect me to believe this?"
"Let me finish, boy! They kidnapped me. I woke up tied to a chair in a small room. Luckily, the ropes were loose, so I was able to slip out."
The father took a drink of water from a bottle. "I escaped the room. I found myself in something that looked like medieval Europe--"
"Now that's bullshit!"
"I told you you'd never believe what happened! Now, listen, boy! A man who called himself Balgriff or something challenged me to a duel. He tossed me this sword (motions to sword)."
The father continued. "It was a long duel, but I had succeeded! He had declared himself beat, and offered me his finest steed. I left the city. From there, I traveled across the land, trying to find my way back home. After months of travel, I had found myself in a small village. They called it Woodriver, or something like that."
"Stop. This is sounding way too unbelievable."
"I'm sorry son, this is the truth! Please, pay attention! There, I met a metalsmith. His name was Alvard, or something. He offered me a place to stay. He even gave me training. Did you know I can forge a whole suit of armor now? Anyway, I continued my travels. I found myself in a city called Winterheld, or something similar. All the locals had problems, which I solved for them. After years of adventuring, I found a path to get here. Now, I come to your doorstep, asking for forgiveness for leaving."
"I'm not sure I can believe you, dad. It's been a long time."
"Please, son. I've been trying to return for twenty whole years! All I ask for is a place to stay."
"Okay, dad. Welcome home."
TL;DR I suck at writing while sleep-deprived.
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
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I loooked up at this tall, hardened figure.
"You'll never believe what happened," said the sword wielding, bearded man who claimed to be my father. The last time I had seen him was when he went out to get cigarettes, milk, and bread. I decided to listen to him.
"What happened?" I asked, curious.
"I got cigarettes, milk, and bread, that's what."
|
"You abandoned me is what happened!" the son quipped.
"What? I'd never! Just hear me out! I may be a little cloudy on the details, though..."
The father, easing into a recliner, sighed. "20 years ago, I left to get cigarettes, milk, and bread. You remember!"
The son nods curiously.
"On the way, I was assaulted by a group of thugs. They kidnapped me--"
"Back up for just one second; what? You expect me to believe this?"
"Let me finish, boy! They kidnapped me. I woke up tied to a chair in a small room. Luckily, the ropes were loose, so I was able to slip out."
The father took a drink of water from a bottle. "I escaped the room. I found myself in something that looked like medieval Europe--"
"Now that's bullshit!"
"I told you you'd never believe what happened! Now, listen, boy! A man who called himself Balgriff or something challenged me to a duel. He tossed me this sword (motions to sword)."
The father continued. "It was a long duel, but I had succeeded! He had declared himself beat, and offered me his finest steed. I left the city. From there, I traveled across the land, trying to find my way back home. After months of travel, I had found myself in a small village. They called it Woodriver, or something like that."
"Stop. This is sounding way too unbelievable."
"I'm sorry son, this is the truth! Please, pay attention! There, I met a metalsmith. His name was Alvard, or something. He offered me a place to stay. He even gave me training. Did you know I can forge a whole suit of armor now? Anyway, I continued my travels. I found myself in a city called Winterheld, or something similar. All the locals had problems, which I solved for them. After years of adventuring, I found a path to get here. Now, I come to your doorstep, asking for forgiveness for leaving."
"I'm not sure I can believe you, dad. It's been a long time."
"Please, son. I've been trying to return for twenty whole years! All I ask for is a place to stay."
"Okay, dad. Welcome home."
TL;DR I suck at writing while sleep-deprived.
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
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At first Emma thought he was an old tramp. She glanced at him, smelling the cheap whisky on his breath. Her instinct was to give him some food or a few dollars. It took a moment for the image of the father that sat in her mind to reconcile with this person that stood before her.
Twenty years changes a person. All these years she'd remembered him through old photos and long ago memories. A youthful twenty something, smiling, laughing, filled with energy.
Now he just looked old. Deep bags and wrinkles surrounded his eyes making him look like a tired dog. He'd put on weight and no longer stood proud and tall, his back instead stooped forward.
She considered pretending she didn't know him. If he had changed, surely she had too. But her face showed recognition and he noticed. "So it is you." he said. She nodded.
She had nothing to say. The last time she'd seen him, he'd read her a bedtime story, tucked her in to sleep. Part of her was still trapped back there, still an 8 year old in awe of her father. She found herself being pulled back to that time, acting like the little girl she was then. Curiosity overtook her, "What happened?" she asked, a grin appearing on her face.
He told her a story, he was always a great storyteller. She used to get excited before each bedtime, just waiting for his stories. His whole body straightened, the wrinkles faded, his body filled with energy. He was that young man again, telling her a tall tale.
On the way to the store he'd been kidnapped by pirates and taken aboard their ship. They branded his buttock with a hot iron, initiating him into their crew. He'd travelled to Asia with them, fought in a war in a far away magical land. He'd found treasures, fought evil villains and fallen in love, "But don't tell your mom." he said with a wink. She giggled.
As the story went on, she noticed his bedraggled hair was nothing but a bad wig. The sword on his hip - a cheap, plastic replica. More than ever she could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath. The illusion had been broken and again all she could see was an old tramp.
She tried to get angry with him, but she couldn't. She'd long since made peace with the fact he'd left. As a child she'd been heartbroken, but then life took over and he was more or less forgotten about. Now that he was standing on the step in front of her, she felt a yearning for him. Her father. She missed him now that he was here.
"...and that's how I escaped from the Evil Baron in Russia." He grinned and stopped to seek her approval. All she could do was stare in silence. His grin turned to a frown and he sighed, pulling the wig from his head to stare at the floor. "I'm sorry" he said. "I shouldn't have done what I did. I can't change that now. But I want to make it up to you." She stared at him and all she could feel was pity. This broken man in front of her. Even after all these years, he was still her father. She still loved him like a little girl.
She took the wig, placing it on his head, adjusting it so it was straight. He looked up at her as she sat down on the front step before him. She patted the step beside her. "Tell me what happened next pop! Did you defeat the Evil Baron?" He sat beside her and went back to his story, making her laugh, making her cry. And she never wanted it to end.
|
"You abandoned me is what happened!" the son quipped.
"What? I'd never! Just hear me out! I may be a little cloudy on the details, though..."
The father, easing into a recliner, sighed. "20 years ago, I left to get cigarettes, milk, and bread. You remember!"
The son nods curiously.
"On the way, I was assaulted by a group of thugs. They kidnapped me--"
"Back up for just one second; what? You expect me to believe this?"
"Let me finish, boy! They kidnapped me. I woke up tied to a chair in a small room. Luckily, the ropes were loose, so I was able to slip out."
The father took a drink of water from a bottle. "I escaped the room. I found myself in something that looked like medieval Europe--"
"Now that's bullshit!"
"I told you you'd never believe what happened! Now, listen, boy! A man who called himself Balgriff or something challenged me to a duel. He tossed me this sword (motions to sword)."
The father continued. "It was a long duel, but I had succeeded! He had declared himself beat, and offered me his finest steed. I left the city. From there, I traveled across the land, trying to find my way back home. After months of travel, I had found myself in a small village. They called it Woodriver, or something like that."
"Stop. This is sounding way too unbelievable."
"I'm sorry son, this is the truth! Please, pay attention! There, I met a metalsmith. His name was Alvard, or something. He offered me a place to stay. He even gave me training. Did you know I can forge a whole suit of armor now? Anyway, I continued my travels. I found myself in a city called Winterheld, or something similar. All the locals had problems, which I solved for them. After years of adventuring, I found a path to get here. Now, I come to your doorstep, asking for forgiveness for leaving."
"I'm not sure I can believe you, dad. It's been a long time."
"Please, son. I've been trying to return for twenty whole years! All I ask for is a place to stay."
"Okay, dad. Welcome home."
TL;DR I suck at writing while sleep-deprived.
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
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"You're right," I said. "I don't believe you."
The man - my father - sat across from me, his naked sword laid out across my kitchen table. It was dulled, and covered in scratches, nicks every few inches taken out of the edge of its blade. It looked like my father, his hair a dull steel grey, his face worn with lines. His hands looked even older than the rest of him, the skin spotted and creased over itself. He smiled at me with a mouth missing teeth, the ones left all yellowed and browned. Those were his teeth twenty years ago, I told myself, although the memory of him smiling down at me was distant. He'd been chain-smoking since he was a teenager. Not so much had changed, I told myself. Not so much at all.
"I figured," he said. He was still smiling down at the table, bemused, turning a glass of water in his hand. I wanted to snatch it up, smash it into his face. He'd reappeared just as abruptly as he'd disappeared from my life, and he still wasn't taking any of this seriously. "Y'don't believe in magic anymore, Jeanie? Used to - used to hunt the fairies with you in the flower bushes." His palm through the water glass took on the pink of a rose. "You believe in angels and the magic of a child's wish, don't you? Why not believe in goblins?"
"Don't do this," I told him. The summer sun shone through the blinds. My shirt was sticky against my skin. "Don't - don't insult me like this." It wasn't the heat, it was the humidity. It was the sense of suffocation. I should've shut the door in his face. I should've called the police. "Don't say, 'You're not going to believe this,' and then tell it to me anyway, okay? At least think up a good lie. At least pretend you goddamn give a fuck about the effect -" My voice wavered, but I got it under control. "-about the effect it's going to have on your goddamn daughter. At least think about that, huh?"
He sighed, the air rasping through his throat, and spread his hands out on the table. His fingernails were chipped and cracked. "Pretend it's true," he said. "Maybe not the goblins, sure. But pretend that whatever led to me leaving you and your mom - pretend it was completely out of my control." He looked up at me. "Now what?"
"Fuck you," I told him. "Fuck you for thinking you can just - just walk back into my life, twenty years later -" I stood up and started pacing around the kitchen. I needed to move, to burn off some of this energy. "Sure, sure, let's pretend it's true." I started talking faster, the words flying out of my lips. "You got shanghai'd by pirates or goblins or whatever. Fuck you for showing up at my house with a sword! Go to the police! Go - go to the FBI! You're a missing person! You walked through a gate into another world - so go tell the authorities about it! Let *them* call me! Don't walk into my house with a fucking sword and expect me to believe you!"
I leaned against the cabinets, running a hand over my face. It came away wet. "We're done, dad. It's been twenty years. Even if it wasn't your fault. We missed our chance. There's - there's nothing here." I waved my hand between the two of us, cutting through a skein of invisible threads. "Go tell the cops who kidnapped you twenty years ago, and then they can call me, and then I can process this like a human being!"
He looked at me solemnly and his grin was finally gone. A small black bug wandered drunkenly between us, the faint hum of its wings sounding.
"You're right," he said finally. Without the smile his whole face sunk in, became hollow. "I lied. You, your mom - it was like a vice around my neck. I was a coward, sure." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Your mom ever tell you how we met?"
"At the beach," I muttered. "You were living out by the dunes like some hobo. Her friends thought she was crazy for being interested in you." I looked up at the hobo in front of me. "She told me that a lot, y'know? Figured your inner vagrant kicked back in, and you were swept off by the breeze again."
He stared meditatively into his cup. "Your mother was a smart woman. So yeah. That's pretty much what happened." He pushed back his hair, rubbed his chin. "Let myself go wild. Piece of advice - don't tan, kid. It's not worth it. Your skin turns to leather in twenty years' time." The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. "So that's it. The truth. I just came back to - I don't know - pretend I wasn't such a piece of shit. I'm sorry." He shrugged. "That's the only useful thing I have to say. I'm sorry."
"And what's with the sword?" I said, despite myself.
He grinned. "Oh, that. Kid at heart, I guess. Ran into a guy who did blacksmithing in his spare time. He made a sword. I bought it." He picked up the blade and turned it over, letting it catch the light. "Not bad, huh?"
"Sure," I said. I was exhausted all of a sudden. "It's a sword. Can't believe it's legal to carry that around." He was so worn that even his skin was threadbare. I was looking through him. "It helps a little bit, I guess. I'm ... it's better that you came than if you didn't. I figured that was what happened to you, but - I guess it's nice to know for sure."
He struggled to his feet. His knees seemed to be creaking under him. "Yeah. And I did love the both of you, for what it's worth." He slid the sword back into his belt. "Just couldn't live up to it. You turned out okay without me, didn't you?"
"Yeah," I said. "Guess so. You piece of shit."
We smiled at each other from across the table, and then he opened the door and disappeared into the muggy air, and just like that, he was once again gone.
I pressed my back against the cabinets, letting them carry me, letting them slide me towards the ground, their handles bumping along my spine. My legs were boneless. It felt like I had been held up by my breath, and once I'd let it go my whole body collapsed beneath me. My dad. Gone twenty years, gone two seconds. I struggled to my feet, ran to the door.
He was gone, nowhere to be seen. "Dad!" I ran down the sidewalk, looking down the street. "Dad!" I ran past the closed doors, turned into the vacant lot three houses down, and stopped dead in my tracks.
In the overgrown grass, mist shone like spring. There was a horse, head bent, hoof tapping the earth, its wings folded gracefully behind it, white as snow. My dad had one boot in the stirrup, turning to look at me.
"Oh my god," I said. I put my hands to my mouth.
"Listen," he said, dismounting. The horse nickered at him and he distractedly patted it on the head. A diamond shone underneath his hand. "Jeanie. Calm down, okay? You were right, okay?" He took his first steps towards me. I couldn't think of anything to say.
He put his hands on my shoulders, steadying me, and then let them fall to take my hands. His palms were calloused, rough. "So it's magic," he said. "It's not much of a difference. I left, and I had twenty years to come back. I had twenty years to fight for it, for you and your mom. And I didn't. I decided there were things more important for me to fight for."
I was crying now, my head pressed against his chest, his arms gently surrounding me. "I was wrong," he said. "And I lived out my life, and you lived out yours. There are things we could've had, but didn't. That's gone now. We can't get them back." He put his hand under my chin to look me in the eye. "You don't regret a thing, all right? None of it was your fault. You think whatever you like about me, I deserve it."
I pulled away, sniffling, wiping the snot from my nose. He stood in front of the horse, thumbs tucked into his belt, an old and gallant knight. "What's it like?" I said. "What are you doing back there?"
"Ah," he said. "I'm being swept away by the breeze. That's the thing about these goddamn magical realms. Not one of them makes a lick of sense. You wake up, and there's a brand new bright adventure." He guided the horse closer, mounting it. "I'm sorry I never got to see your mom again, before she died."
"She'd have sued you for every penny you had," I told him. "You goddamn deadbeat."
"Heck," he grinned. "You're welcome to it! Nothing I own's worth a damn in the real world." He fumbled in his horse's saddle bag and came up with a small pouch. He tossed it to me and it jingled heavily in my cupped hands. "Fairy gold! See what you can do with it!"
I watched my father - this stranger - jab his heels against his horse's sides and guide it forward, wings outstretched. He twisted around to look at me, raising his hand in greeting, and disappeared through an invisible gateway, bordered in light. A world through it shone bright, and then just as quickly faded.
I stood alone in the vacant lot, breathing in the unmistakable scent of spring, and looked down at my hands full of flowers.
|
"You abandoned me is what happened!" the son quipped.
"What? I'd never! Just hear me out! I may be a little cloudy on the details, though..."
The father, easing into a recliner, sighed. "20 years ago, I left to get cigarettes, milk, and bread. You remember!"
The son nods curiously.
"On the way, I was assaulted by a group of thugs. They kidnapped me--"
"Back up for just one second; what? You expect me to believe this?"
"Let me finish, boy! They kidnapped me. I woke up tied to a chair in a small room. Luckily, the ropes were loose, so I was able to slip out."
The father took a drink of water from a bottle. "I escaped the room. I found myself in something that looked like medieval Europe--"
"Now that's bullshit!"
"I told you you'd never believe what happened! Now, listen, boy! A man who called himself Balgriff or something challenged me to a duel. He tossed me this sword (motions to sword)."
The father continued. "It was a long duel, but I had succeeded! He had declared himself beat, and offered me his finest steed. I left the city. From there, I traveled across the land, trying to find my way back home. After months of travel, I had found myself in a small village. They called it Woodriver, or something like that."
"Stop. This is sounding way too unbelievable."
"I'm sorry son, this is the truth! Please, pay attention! There, I met a metalsmith. His name was Alvard, or something. He offered me a place to stay. He even gave me training. Did you know I can forge a whole suit of armor now? Anyway, I continued my travels. I found myself in a city called Winterheld, or something similar. All the locals had problems, which I solved for them. After years of adventuring, I found a path to get here. Now, I come to your doorstep, asking for forgiveness for leaving."
"I'm not sure I can believe you, dad. It's been a long time."
"Please, son. I've been trying to return for twenty whole years! All I ask for is a place to stay."
"Okay, dad. Welcome home."
TL;DR I suck at writing while sleep-deprived.
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
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"Oh my goodness... Mom, look out the window!" i yell in disbelief as I peek through the side windows next to our front door.
My mother scampers over, moving her little feet as fast as possible. She begins to weep uncontrollably, a moan of relief bursts out of her. I was not certain who that stranger was walking to my door but I had a strong hunch. Now, looking at my mother overwhelmed with emotion, I know I was correct.
I unlock the top lock as fast as my fingers can move and fling the solid oak door with a force even the hinges may have trouble slowing down.
"Dad!" I screamed, tears bursting out of my eyes, as I run to give him a hug.
"Son! Mary!" he yells, dropping his belongings to the ground to embrace us.
I hug him tight, ignoring the putrid smell that is seeping out of his pores. His attire is something out of a movie. He's sporting a long tan leather coat, obviously cut from some animal but I have no idea the source. His jeans are black in color and feel coarse, almost metal like... Is he wearing armor? The most bizarre part of his wardrobe are these two beautiful golden daggers he has on his hips; they both sit elegantly in two knife holsters that appear to be diamond studded. The handles are engraved with relics and designs that look foreign to this world. The wood illuminates a blood red and gives off an aura that surrounds the golden blades in a perfect radius.
The situation turns a little bit... awkward? My mom slaps him with all the strength her frail hands can muster up, knocking his smiling face towards the neighbors house. My dad welcomed that pain, I could tell by the way he let his face linger in position from the slap. He was noticeably ashamed of what he had done but I could see in his face that his absence was much more complicated than anyone could have imagined. He had a twinkle of adventure beaming through his eyes, like he had seen more these last twenty years than any other person on earth.
"Why... why did you leave us John?" her voice is shaking with years worth of anger. I had not seen him since I was two.
"Milk, Bread and some shitty cigarettes? How in the hell does that turn into twenty years, John?" her face is so red, I am afraid she may pass out.
It's my turn to talk. I have years of pent-up emotion, mainly rage, that I could let loose on him. He missed out on so much of my life and I missed out on so much by not having him in my life. But oddly enough, I feel like his explanation will be sufficient for me.
"Dad, where have you been?" I ask calmly, my face serious, my tears now dry.
He's studying me from head to toe, taking in how much I have grown. I'm two inches taller than he and my physique has leaned up these past four years due to working out and eating right. I can tell he's proud of how I stand.
"Words cannot mend my heart, nor fix the lost time between us. The only reconciliation I offer myself was the duty that was imposed upon me was one of great importance. I promise I will get to everything over time and I will not hide anything from you two. All i can say for now, is that night, I was approached by two men... two time travelers. They spoke of our blood line and the responsibility we bear because of it. I had an opportunity that I could not refuse."
He's not joking. I keep waiting for a smile or maybe he'll start cackling like a lunatic. Nothing of the sort happens and his fearless eyes are piercing with all the seriousness that I don't need to see right now.
"Time travelers...?" my mother, saying it exactly how I was going to.
"Are you kidding me?"
His mouth turns upwards into a grand smile, all of his teeth showing, they are so white they look almost bleached. Given his hygiene, I don't think that's the case.
"Both of you, come here."
We stand still like we are stuck in concrete.
"Seriously, come here. I want to show you something."
We walk over and stand next to him. He puts his arms around us and brings us close. We are now inches away from each others face. He removes one of his golden daggers and gently lies it on both of his palms for us to see. He removes his hands from underneath the dagger. It floats there, defying gravity and still glowing like it has been the last ten minutes.
"Are you guys ready?" he says, voice full of excitement.
How could we possibly be ready? I can't decide if he's going to kill us or if he's playing a prank on us.
"Time, do your will!" He screams as loud as he can, his head angled towards the sky like he is praising a higher being.
The ground around us begins to shake violently and all of our surroundings dissipate into the sky. We are standing on a plain of white that stretches as far as the human eye can see. There's nothing around us; nothing above nor anything below. I don't even know how we are standing.
"Welcome my beloved son and beautiful wife!" His eyes now glowing the same deep red that his daggers have been emitting since we saw him.
"This is infinity!"
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"Rioting continues over water shortages as what's left of the government scrambles to--"
There was a knock on the door. I shut off the tv and headed over to see who it was.
"Dad?!?"
There he was, looking more haggard and old than he did when he left me and my mom over twenty years ago, carrying a beat-up burlap sack, but there he was.
"How ya doin', kiddo? You got taller." He said with a grin spreading across his face.
"You've been gone twenty years! Mom said you were dead!"
"Well, your mother says a lot of things, not all of which are true." He replied, still grinning his sly smile. "Anyway, I'm back. With all the stuff I said I'd bring back!"
He pulled out a loaf of squished bread, slightly moldy on the edges, a yellowing jug of milk that sounded like only solid curds instead, and one crumpled, dog-eared carton of cigarettes. He picked one out of the box and lit it with a match.
"Sorry it took so long for me to come back, things are just complicated, yknow?" He said as he puffed on the cigarette.
I nodded unconvincingly.
"Anyway, where's your mother? I haven't seen her around."
"She-- she died." I replied, looking downwards.
Dad's face fell, "I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't know."
"It's fine."
"How'd she die?" He asked.
"Raiders killed her. I think they ate her afterwards too."
"Well, if she's still anything like the woman I married, they're gonna have a hell of a time chewing her!" He laughed.
"Anyhow, champ, what's in the past is in the past, and I'm back now. How about you forgive your old man and we can be a family again?"
I stared out the open door at the blasted, arid desert that our world had become.
"I'd like that."
"Anyway, what else did you get from your scavenging run?"
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
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I say nothing and watch as his anticipation becomes impatience, which becomes disappointment and finally anger.
"You're not going to ask me what happened?" he asks. "Don't you even care?"
"20 years," I say, "I waited 20 years. You can barely wait 20 seconds."
"A wit! How wonderful!" he mutters, "You people are all the same: so caught up in your mundane little world with its mundane little problems. Can't handle reality as it really is. Would shake your common little worldview to the core. Thought you'd be different, being my son and all, but I see I was mistaken." He shakes is head, batting himself in the face with hair that hangs in long greying strands.
I do understand, though God knows I wish I didn't.
"Dad, why don't you come in and we can talk about it?" My voice sounds calm, controlled, as if visits from a wild-eyed man with a sword are an everyday occurrence at Casa de las Estrellarias. A brief moment of panic, because what if this does become an everyday occurrence, but he's grinning now and following me through the front door.
"I'm gonna take a leak," he exclaims, "Been so long since I've been able to go anywhere civilized." And I say a tiny prayer to the powers that be for making this that much easier. I don't have the doctor's number, but mom does. I pull out my cell and dial.
"Mom, *Dad's* here," I whisper, "I can't talk long because he's here and he's *armed*. I know. Yes, mom, I know. Yeah, I need you to call the hospital. I'll be safe. I do have experience dealing with these sorts of things you know. Just make sure..." But that's as far as I get because suddenly my father's behind me and he's got the sword pressed to my throat, and even though it's blunt, he's holding it close enough that I start to choke.
"Who got to you?" He growls.
_____
Once, when I was six, my father tried to throw me out a window. This was before the diagnosis, before anyone caught on that anything might be wrong. Mom was away for the weekend, a wedding or a funeral or something, and had left me at home with him as babysitter. I used to like it when dad babysat, because he basically gave me the run of the house while he sat around in the basement and "tinkered". Or he'd tell me about this elaborate fantasy land that only he and I could see, only I could never see it as clearly as he could. He told me that was completely normal - he'd only caught glimpses of it until he came into his powers at 19, and now he could see and do all kinds of things that normal people couldn't. I was sworn to secrecy, because of course if mom found out she'd just worry, because mom was always worrying about things she couldn't understand.
But back to the attempted defenestration. On this particular weekend, dad was in one of his chatty moods. He'd told me about how he'd seen a strange black cloud hanging over the neighbours' house this past week and was afraid this might indicate a demonic possession. I must be extra careful around the neighbours from now on, and never ever accept gifts or food from them because gift were the demon's way in. Dad's dream world had been getting increasingly dark of late but none of this seemed overly strange to a kid who was just discovering Dragonball Z and the joy of ripping grown men's arms out of their sockets.
As luck would have it, I had been given a couple of cookies that day and like any respectable six-year-old, I had scarfed them down. I can't actually remember my dad's face then, but I can imagine it going chalky and white and he grabbed me by the front of my shirt as carried me, kicking and screaming, up the stairs. I can imagine him explaining, calmly and logically, that the only thing to do now was to conduct a test. If I really was possessed, surely the demon would show itself at the first sign of real danger. Of course that's not how it would have gone though, because that would have given away the plan. What I remember is the terror and the confusion of being safe in my dad's lap one minute and hurling through my parents' bedroom door the next.
The window was closed. That's what saved me. He couldn't figure out how to get the window open without putting me down. The moment he let me go I scurried off to safety: locked myself in the bathroom and went from there out onto the roof where I stayed until he decided the magic had protected me.
"Sometimes your old man is a damned fool, you know that? No demon's a match for any son of mine!"
____
All this to say that had it been 20-some years earlier, and I still 6 and he still 35, I'd be totally screwed but he's 57, and has been institutionalized for two decades now. I force the sword down and away with all the advantage of youth, health, and superior height.
"It's mom," I say. "I'm calling mom to let her know you're all right. She wants to see you."
He looks dubious. "Your mother is a wonderful woman," he says, "But she'll never understand. Not like we understand."
There's truth in that for which I'm eternally grateful.
"Of course not," I say, aware that she can hear every word through the still active phone, "Because she doesn't have the magic. I got that from you, dad."
"So you did? I thought as much. Your mother told me you had some trouble towards your last year of college. Didn't say what it was, but I knew. What they got you on?" he asks, more reflex than question.
"Risperidone," I say with a sigh and guide him towards the living room.
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"Rioting continues over water shortages as what's left of the government scrambles to--"
There was a knock on the door. I shut off the tv and headed over to see who it was.
"Dad?!?"
There he was, looking more haggard and old than he did when he left me and my mom over twenty years ago, carrying a beat-up burlap sack, but there he was.
"How ya doin', kiddo? You got taller." He said with a grin spreading across his face.
"You've been gone twenty years! Mom said you were dead!"
"Well, your mother says a lot of things, not all of which are true." He replied, still grinning his sly smile. "Anyway, I'm back. With all the stuff I said I'd bring back!"
He pulled out a loaf of squished bread, slightly moldy on the edges, a yellowing jug of milk that sounded like only solid curds instead, and one crumpled, dog-eared carton of cigarettes. He picked one out of the box and lit it with a match.
"Sorry it took so long for me to come back, things are just complicated, yknow?" He said as he puffed on the cigarette.
I nodded unconvincingly.
"Anyway, where's your mother? I haven't seen her around."
"She-- she died." I replied, looking downwards.
Dad's face fell, "I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't know."
"It's fine."
"How'd she die?" He asked.
"Raiders killed her. I think they ate her afterwards too."
"Well, if she's still anything like the woman I married, they're gonna have a hell of a time chewing her!" He laughed.
"Anyhow, champ, what's in the past is in the past, and I'm back now. How about you forgive your old man and we can be a family again?"
I stared out the open door at the blasted, arid desert that our world had become.
"I'd like that."
"Anyway, what else did you get from your scavenging run?"
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
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"You're never going to believe what happened."
"You killed your brother in a bar fight and stowed away on one of Salar's ships and ended up enslaved I bet."
"Okay, then you will believe what happened."
"Dad, mom isn't so easy to fool."
"What do you mean?"
"She found your brother and beat him within an inch of his life until he'd wished he hadn't faked his death."
".....is he alive?"
"He's alive."
"...good."
"Did you think she didn't know?"
"She's a sharp one that one."
"She's been keeping tabs on you the entire time, quite an adventure you've been on, plenty scandalous nights in Jamaica or so the story goes."
"You mean, you all aren't mad at me?"
"We knew where you were, we could've picked you up at any point, but it was much more fun to set things in motion around you."
"Set things....IT WAS YOU!"
"Yeah"
"The blasted lot of you? But...I thought"
"That was us too."
"What about the raid in Barbados?"
"You really going to sit here and make me take credit for your entire career?"
"I'm a ..I'm a pirate legend, I escaped, I bled, I survived, my name will..be..in the history books."
"I admire your gumption, it took a lot of guts to do what you did, but you among all others should know that you never really get to leave the family of your own accord."
The man I called father sank to his knees, rapier clattering to the floor as the weight of the unveiling hit him all at once. I scooped it up and placed it on the nightstand where he used to tell me stories as a small lad, then placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Cheer up dad, try as you might you'll never escape the Queen of Pirates."
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"Rioting continues over water shortages as what's left of the government scrambles to--"
There was a knock on the door. I shut off the tv and headed over to see who it was.
"Dad?!?"
There he was, looking more haggard and old than he did when he left me and my mom over twenty years ago, carrying a beat-up burlap sack, but there he was.
"How ya doin', kiddo? You got taller." He said with a grin spreading across his face.
"You've been gone twenty years! Mom said you were dead!"
"Well, your mother says a lot of things, not all of which are true." He replied, still grinning his sly smile. "Anyway, I'm back. With all the stuff I said I'd bring back!"
He pulled out a loaf of squished bread, slightly moldy on the edges, a yellowing jug of milk that sounded like only solid curds instead, and one crumpled, dog-eared carton of cigarettes. He picked one out of the box and lit it with a match.
"Sorry it took so long for me to come back, things are just complicated, yknow?" He said as he puffed on the cigarette.
I nodded unconvincingly.
"Anyway, where's your mother? I haven't seen her around."
"She-- she died." I replied, looking downwards.
Dad's face fell, "I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't know."
"It's fine."
"How'd she die?" He asked.
"Raiders killed her. I think they ate her afterwards too."
"Well, if she's still anything like the woman I married, they're gonna have a hell of a time chewing her!" He laughed.
"Anyhow, champ, what's in the past is in the past, and I'm back now. How about you forgive your old man and we can be a family again?"
I stared out the open door at the blasted, arid desert that our world had become.
"I'd like that."
"Anyway, what else did you get from your scavenging run?"
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
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I loooked up at this tall, hardened figure.
"You'll never believe what happened," said the sword wielding, bearded man who claimed to be my father. The last time I had seen him was when he went out to get cigarettes, milk, and bread. I decided to listen to him.
"What happened?" I asked, curious.
"I got cigarettes, milk, and bread, that's what."
|
"Rioting continues over water shortages as what's left of the government scrambles to--"
There was a knock on the door. I shut off the tv and headed over to see who it was.
"Dad?!?"
There he was, looking more haggard and old than he did when he left me and my mom over twenty years ago, carrying a beat-up burlap sack, but there he was.
"How ya doin', kiddo? You got taller." He said with a grin spreading across his face.
"You've been gone twenty years! Mom said you were dead!"
"Well, your mother says a lot of things, not all of which are true." He replied, still grinning his sly smile. "Anyway, I'm back. With all the stuff I said I'd bring back!"
He pulled out a loaf of squished bread, slightly moldy on the edges, a yellowing jug of milk that sounded like only solid curds instead, and one crumpled, dog-eared carton of cigarettes. He picked one out of the box and lit it with a match.
"Sorry it took so long for me to come back, things are just complicated, yknow?" He said as he puffed on the cigarette.
I nodded unconvincingly.
"Anyway, where's your mother? I haven't seen her around."
"She-- she died." I replied, looking downwards.
Dad's face fell, "I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't know."
"It's fine."
"How'd she die?" He asked.
"Raiders killed her. I think they ate her afterwards too."
"Well, if she's still anything like the woman I married, they're gonna have a hell of a time chewing her!" He laughed.
"Anyhow, champ, what's in the past is in the past, and I'm back now. How about you forgive your old man and we can be a family again?"
I stared out the open door at the blasted, arid desert that our world had become.
"I'd like that."
"Anyway, what else did you get from your scavenging run?"
|
|
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
At first Emma thought he was an old tramp. She glanced at him, smelling the cheap whisky on his breath. Her instinct was to give him some food or a few dollars. It took a moment for the image of the father that sat in her mind to reconcile with this person that stood before her.
Twenty years changes a person. All these years she'd remembered him through old photos and long ago memories. A youthful twenty something, smiling, laughing, filled with energy.
Now he just looked old. Deep bags and wrinkles surrounded his eyes making him look like a tired dog. He'd put on weight and no longer stood proud and tall, his back instead stooped forward.
She considered pretending she didn't know him. If he had changed, surely she had too. But her face showed recognition and he noticed. "So it is you." he said. She nodded.
She had nothing to say. The last time she'd seen him, he'd read her a bedtime story, tucked her in to sleep. Part of her was still trapped back there, still an 8 year old in awe of her father. She found herself being pulled back to that time, acting like the little girl she was then. Curiosity overtook her, "What happened?" she asked, a grin appearing on her face.
He told her a story, he was always a great storyteller. She used to get excited before each bedtime, just waiting for his stories. His whole body straightened, the wrinkles faded, his body filled with energy. He was that young man again, telling her a tall tale.
On the way to the store he'd been kidnapped by pirates and taken aboard their ship. They branded his buttock with a hot iron, initiating him into their crew. He'd travelled to Asia with them, fought in a war in a far away magical land. He'd found treasures, fought evil villains and fallen in love, "But don't tell your mom." he said with a wink. She giggled.
As the story went on, she noticed his bedraggled hair was nothing but a bad wig. The sword on his hip - a cheap, plastic replica. More than ever she could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath. The illusion had been broken and again all she could see was an old tramp.
She tried to get angry with him, but she couldn't. She'd long since made peace with the fact he'd left. As a child she'd been heartbroken, but then life took over and he was more or less forgotten about. Now that he was standing on the step in front of her, she felt a yearning for him. Her father. She missed him now that he was here.
"...and that's how I escaped from the Evil Baron in Russia." He grinned and stopped to seek her approval. All she could do was stare in silence. His grin turned to a frown and he sighed, pulling the wig from his head to stare at the floor. "I'm sorry" he said. "I shouldn't have done what I did. I can't change that now. But I want to make it up to you." She stared at him and all she could feel was pity. This broken man in front of her. Even after all these years, he was still her father. She still loved him like a little girl.
She took the wig, placing it on his head, adjusting it so it was straight. He looked up at her as she sat down on the front step before him. She patted the step beside her. "Tell me what happened next pop! Did you defeat the Evil Baron?" He sat beside her and went back to his story, making her laugh, making her cry. And she never wanted it to end.
|
"Rioting continues over water shortages as what's left of the government scrambles to--"
There was a knock on the door. I shut off the tv and headed over to see who it was.
"Dad?!?"
There he was, looking more haggard and old than he did when he left me and my mom over twenty years ago, carrying a beat-up burlap sack, but there he was.
"How ya doin', kiddo? You got taller." He said with a grin spreading across his face.
"You've been gone twenty years! Mom said you were dead!"
"Well, your mother says a lot of things, not all of which are true." He replied, still grinning his sly smile. "Anyway, I'm back. With all the stuff I said I'd bring back!"
He pulled out a loaf of squished bread, slightly moldy on the edges, a yellowing jug of milk that sounded like only solid curds instead, and one crumpled, dog-eared carton of cigarettes. He picked one out of the box and lit it with a match.
"Sorry it took so long for me to come back, things are just complicated, yknow?" He said as he puffed on the cigarette.
I nodded unconvincingly.
"Anyway, where's your mother? I haven't seen her around."
"She-- she died." I replied, looking downwards.
Dad's face fell, "I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't know."
"It's fine."
"How'd she die?" He asked.
"Raiders killed her. I think they ate her afterwards too."
"Well, if she's still anything like the woman I married, they're gonna have a hell of a time chewing her!" He laughed.
"Anyhow, champ, what's in the past is in the past, and I'm back now. How about you forgive your old man and we can be a family again?"
I stared out the open door at the blasted, arid desert that our world had become.
"I'd like that."
"Anyway, what else did you get from your scavenging run?"
|
|
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
I say nothing and watch as his anticipation becomes impatience, which becomes disappointment and finally anger.
"You're not going to ask me what happened?" he asks. "Don't you even care?"
"20 years," I say, "I waited 20 years. You can barely wait 20 seconds."
"A wit! How wonderful!" he mutters, "You people are all the same: so caught up in your mundane little world with its mundane little problems. Can't handle reality as it really is. Would shake your common little worldview to the core. Thought you'd be different, being my son and all, but I see I was mistaken." He shakes is head, batting himself in the face with hair that hangs in long greying strands.
I do understand, though God knows I wish I didn't.
"Dad, why don't you come in and we can talk about it?" My voice sounds calm, controlled, as if visits from a wild-eyed man with a sword are an everyday occurrence at Casa de las Estrellarias. A brief moment of panic, because what if this does become an everyday occurrence, but he's grinning now and following me through the front door.
"I'm gonna take a leak," he exclaims, "Been so long since I've been able to go anywhere civilized." And I say a tiny prayer to the powers that be for making this that much easier. I don't have the doctor's number, but mom does. I pull out my cell and dial.
"Mom, *Dad's* here," I whisper, "I can't talk long because he's here and he's *armed*. I know. Yes, mom, I know. Yeah, I need you to call the hospital. I'll be safe. I do have experience dealing with these sorts of things you know. Just make sure..." But that's as far as I get because suddenly my father's behind me and he's got the sword pressed to my throat, and even though it's blunt, he's holding it close enough that I start to choke.
"Who got to you?" He growls.
_____
Once, when I was six, my father tried to throw me out a window. This was before the diagnosis, before anyone caught on that anything might be wrong. Mom was away for the weekend, a wedding or a funeral or something, and had left me at home with him as babysitter. I used to like it when dad babysat, because he basically gave me the run of the house while he sat around in the basement and "tinkered". Or he'd tell me about this elaborate fantasy land that only he and I could see, only I could never see it as clearly as he could. He told me that was completely normal - he'd only caught glimpses of it until he came into his powers at 19, and now he could see and do all kinds of things that normal people couldn't. I was sworn to secrecy, because of course if mom found out she'd just worry, because mom was always worrying about things she couldn't understand.
But back to the attempted defenestration. On this particular weekend, dad was in one of his chatty moods. He'd told me about how he'd seen a strange black cloud hanging over the neighbours' house this past week and was afraid this might indicate a demonic possession. I must be extra careful around the neighbours from now on, and never ever accept gifts or food from them because gift were the demon's way in. Dad's dream world had been getting increasingly dark of late but none of this seemed overly strange to a kid who was just discovering Dragonball Z and the joy of ripping grown men's arms out of their sockets.
As luck would have it, I had been given a couple of cookies that day and like any respectable six-year-old, I had scarfed them down. I can't actually remember my dad's face then, but I can imagine it going chalky and white and he grabbed me by the front of my shirt as carried me, kicking and screaming, up the stairs. I can imagine him explaining, calmly and logically, that the only thing to do now was to conduct a test. If I really was possessed, surely the demon would show itself at the first sign of real danger. Of course that's not how it would have gone though, because that would have given away the plan. What I remember is the terror and the confusion of being safe in my dad's lap one minute and hurling through my parents' bedroom door the next.
The window was closed. That's what saved me. He couldn't figure out how to get the window open without putting me down. The moment he let me go I scurried off to safety: locked myself in the bathroom and went from there out onto the roof where I stayed until he decided the magic had protected me.
"Sometimes your old man is a damned fool, you know that? No demon's a match for any son of mine!"
____
All this to say that had it been 20-some years earlier, and I still 6 and he still 35, I'd be totally screwed but he's 57, and has been institutionalized for two decades now. I force the sword down and away with all the advantage of youth, health, and superior height.
"It's mom," I say. "I'm calling mom to let her know you're all right. She wants to see you."
He looks dubious. "Your mother is a wonderful woman," he says, "But she'll never understand. Not like we understand."
There's truth in that for which I'm eternally grateful.
"Of course not," I say, aware that she can hear every word through the still active phone, "Because she doesn't have the magic. I got that from you, dad."
"So you did? I thought as much. Your mother told me you had some trouble towards your last year of college. Didn't say what it was, but I knew. What they got you on?" he asks, more reflex than question.
"Risperidone," I say with a sigh and guide him towards the living room.
|
"Oh my goodness... Mom, look out the window!" i yell in disbelief as I peek through the side windows next to our front door.
My mother scampers over, moving her little feet as fast as possible. She begins to weep uncontrollably, a moan of relief bursts out of her. I was not certain who that stranger was walking to my door but I had a strong hunch. Now, looking at my mother overwhelmed with emotion, I know I was correct.
I unlock the top lock as fast as my fingers can move and fling the solid oak door with a force even the hinges may have trouble slowing down.
"Dad!" I screamed, tears bursting out of my eyes, as I run to give him a hug.
"Son! Mary!" he yells, dropping his belongings to the ground to embrace us.
I hug him tight, ignoring the putrid smell that is seeping out of his pores. His attire is something out of a movie. He's sporting a long tan leather coat, obviously cut from some animal but I have no idea the source. His jeans are black in color and feel coarse, almost metal like... Is he wearing armor? The most bizarre part of his wardrobe are these two beautiful golden daggers he has on his hips; they both sit elegantly in two knife holsters that appear to be diamond studded. The handles are engraved with relics and designs that look foreign to this world. The wood illuminates a blood red and gives off an aura that surrounds the golden blades in a perfect radius.
The situation turns a little bit... awkward? My mom slaps him with all the strength her frail hands can muster up, knocking his smiling face towards the neighbors house. My dad welcomed that pain, I could tell by the way he let his face linger in position from the slap. He was noticeably ashamed of what he had done but I could see in his face that his absence was much more complicated than anyone could have imagined. He had a twinkle of adventure beaming through his eyes, like he had seen more these last twenty years than any other person on earth.
"Why... why did you leave us John?" her voice is shaking with years worth of anger. I had not seen him since I was two.
"Milk, Bread and some shitty cigarettes? How in the hell does that turn into twenty years, John?" her face is so red, I am afraid she may pass out.
It's my turn to talk. I have years of pent-up emotion, mainly rage, that I could let loose on him. He missed out on so much of my life and I missed out on so much by not having him in my life. But oddly enough, I feel like his explanation will be sufficient for me.
"Dad, where have you been?" I ask calmly, my face serious, my tears now dry.
He's studying me from head to toe, taking in how much I have grown. I'm two inches taller than he and my physique has leaned up these past four years due to working out and eating right. I can tell he's proud of how I stand.
"Words cannot mend my heart, nor fix the lost time between us. The only reconciliation I offer myself was the duty that was imposed upon me was one of great importance. I promise I will get to everything over time and I will not hide anything from you two. All i can say for now, is that night, I was approached by two men... two time travelers. They spoke of our blood line and the responsibility we bear because of it. I had an opportunity that I could not refuse."
He's not joking. I keep waiting for a smile or maybe he'll start cackling like a lunatic. Nothing of the sort happens and his fearless eyes are piercing with all the seriousness that I don't need to see right now.
"Time travelers...?" my mother, saying it exactly how I was going to.
"Are you kidding me?"
His mouth turns upwards into a grand smile, all of his teeth showing, they are so white they look almost bleached. Given his hygiene, I don't think that's the case.
"Both of you, come here."
We stand still like we are stuck in concrete.
"Seriously, come here. I want to show you something."
We walk over and stand next to him. He puts his arms around us and brings us close. We are now inches away from each others face. He removes one of his golden daggers and gently lies it on both of his palms for us to see. He removes his hands from underneath the dagger. It floats there, defying gravity and still glowing like it has been the last ten minutes.
"Are you guys ready?" he says, voice full of excitement.
How could we possibly be ready? I can't decide if he's going to kill us or if he's playing a prank on us.
"Time, do your will!" He screams as loud as he can, his head angled towards the sky like he is praising a higher being.
The ground around us begins to shake violently and all of our surroundings dissipate into the sky. We are standing on a plain of white that stretches as far as the human eye can see. There's nothing around us; nothing above nor anything below. I don't even know how we are standing.
"Welcome my beloved son and beautiful wife!" His eyes now glowing the same deep red that his daggers have been emitting since we saw him.
"This is infinity!"
|
|
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
"You're never going to believe what happened."
"You killed your brother in a bar fight and stowed away on one of Salar's ships and ended up enslaved I bet."
"Okay, then you will believe what happened."
"Dad, mom isn't so easy to fool."
"What do you mean?"
"She found your brother and beat him within an inch of his life until he'd wished he hadn't faked his death."
".....is he alive?"
"He's alive."
"...good."
"Did you think she didn't know?"
"She's a sharp one that one."
"She's been keeping tabs on you the entire time, quite an adventure you've been on, plenty scandalous nights in Jamaica or so the story goes."
"You mean, you all aren't mad at me?"
"We knew where you were, we could've picked you up at any point, but it was much more fun to set things in motion around you."
"Set things....IT WAS YOU!"
"Yeah"
"The blasted lot of you? But...I thought"
"That was us too."
"What about the raid in Barbados?"
"You really going to sit here and make me take credit for your entire career?"
"I'm a ..I'm a pirate legend, I escaped, I bled, I survived, my name will..be..in the history books."
"I admire your gumption, it took a lot of guts to do what you did, but you among all others should know that you never really get to leave the family of your own accord."
The man I called father sank to his knees, rapier clattering to the floor as the weight of the unveiling hit him all at once. I scooped it up and placed it on the nightstand where he used to tell me stories as a small lad, then placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Cheer up dad, try as you might you'll never escape the Queen of Pirates."
|
"Oh my goodness... Mom, look out the window!" i yell in disbelief as I peek through the side windows next to our front door.
My mother scampers over, moving her little feet as fast as possible. She begins to weep uncontrollably, a moan of relief bursts out of her. I was not certain who that stranger was walking to my door but I had a strong hunch. Now, looking at my mother overwhelmed with emotion, I know I was correct.
I unlock the top lock as fast as my fingers can move and fling the solid oak door with a force even the hinges may have trouble slowing down.
"Dad!" I screamed, tears bursting out of my eyes, as I run to give him a hug.
"Son! Mary!" he yells, dropping his belongings to the ground to embrace us.
I hug him tight, ignoring the putrid smell that is seeping out of his pores. His attire is something out of a movie. He's sporting a long tan leather coat, obviously cut from some animal but I have no idea the source. His jeans are black in color and feel coarse, almost metal like... Is he wearing armor? The most bizarre part of his wardrobe are these two beautiful golden daggers he has on his hips; they both sit elegantly in two knife holsters that appear to be diamond studded. The handles are engraved with relics and designs that look foreign to this world. The wood illuminates a blood red and gives off an aura that surrounds the golden blades in a perfect radius.
The situation turns a little bit... awkward? My mom slaps him with all the strength her frail hands can muster up, knocking his smiling face towards the neighbors house. My dad welcomed that pain, I could tell by the way he let his face linger in position from the slap. He was noticeably ashamed of what he had done but I could see in his face that his absence was much more complicated than anyone could have imagined. He had a twinkle of adventure beaming through his eyes, like he had seen more these last twenty years than any other person on earth.
"Why... why did you leave us John?" her voice is shaking with years worth of anger. I had not seen him since I was two.
"Milk, Bread and some shitty cigarettes? How in the hell does that turn into twenty years, John?" her face is so red, I am afraid she may pass out.
It's my turn to talk. I have years of pent-up emotion, mainly rage, that I could let loose on him. He missed out on so much of my life and I missed out on so much by not having him in my life. But oddly enough, I feel like his explanation will be sufficient for me.
"Dad, where have you been?" I ask calmly, my face serious, my tears now dry.
He's studying me from head to toe, taking in how much I have grown. I'm two inches taller than he and my physique has leaned up these past four years due to working out and eating right. I can tell he's proud of how I stand.
"Words cannot mend my heart, nor fix the lost time between us. The only reconciliation I offer myself was the duty that was imposed upon me was one of great importance. I promise I will get to everything over time and I will not hide anything from you two. All i can say for now, is that night, I was approached by two men... two time travelers. They spoke of our blood line and the responsibility we bear because of it. I had an opportunity that I could not refuse."
He's not joking. I keep waiting for a smile or maybe he'll start cackling like a lunatic. Nothing of the sort happens and his fearless eyes are piercing with all the seriousness that I don't need to see right now.
"Time travelers...?" my mother, saying it exactly how I was going to.
"Are you kidding me?"
His mouth turns upwards into a grand smile, all of his teeth showing, they are so white they look almost bleached. Given his hygiene, I don't think that's the case.
"Both of you, come here."
We stand still like we are stuck in concrete.
"Seriously, come here. I want to show you something."
We walk over and stand next to him. He puts his arms around us and brings us close. We are now inches away from each others face. He removes one of his golden daggers and gently lies it on both of his palms for us to see. He removes his hands from underneath the dagger. It floats there, defying gravity and still glowing like it has been the last ten minutes.
"Are you guys ready?" he says, voice full of excitement.
How could we possibly be ready? I can't decide if he's going to kill us or if he's playing a prank on us.
"Time, do your will!" He screams as loud as he can, his head angled towards the sky like he is praising a higher being.
The ground around us begins to shake violently and all of our surroundings dissipate into the sky. We are standing on a plain of white that stretches as far as the human eye can see. There's nothing around us; nothing above nor anything below. I don't even know how we are standing.
"Welcome my beloved son and beautiful wife!" His eyes now glowing the same deep red that his daggers have been emitting since we saw him.
"This is infinity!"
|
|
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
I loooked up at this tall, hardened figure.
"You'll never believe what happened," said the sword wielding, bearded man who claimed to be my father. The last time I had seen him was when he went out to get cigarettes, milk, and bread. I decided to listen to him.
"What happened?" I asked, curious.
"I got cigarettes, milk, and bread, that's what."
|
"Oh my goodness... Mom, look out the window!" i yell in disbelief as I peek through the side windows next to our front door.
My mother scampers over, moving her little feet as fast as possible. She begins to weep uncontrollably, a moan of relief bursts out of her. I was not certain who that stranger was walking to my door but I had a strong hunch. Now, looking at my mother overwhelmed with emotion, I know I was correct.
I unlock the top lock as fast as my fingers can move and fling the solid oak door with a force even the hinges may have trouble slowing down.
"Dad!" I screamed, tears bursting out of my eyes, as I run to give him a hug.
"Son! Mary!" he yells, dropping his belongings to the ground to embrace us.
I hug him tight, ignoring the putrid smell that is seeping out of his pores. His attire is something out of a movie. He's sporting a long tan leather coat, obviously cut from some animal but I have no idea the source. His jeans are black in color and feel coarse, almost metal like... Is he wearing armor? The most bizarre part of his wardrobe are these two beautiful golden daggers he has on his hips; they both sit elegantly in two knife holsters that appear to be diamond studded. The handles are engraved with relics and designs that look foreign to this world. The wood illuminates a blood red and gives off an aura that surrounds the golden blades in a perfect radius.
The situation turns a little bit... awkward? My mom slaps him with all the strength her frail hands can muster up, knocking his smiling face towards the neighbors house. My dad welcomed that pain, I could tell by the way he let his face linger in position from the slap. He was noticeably ashamed of what he had done but I could see in his face that his absence was much more complicated than anyone could have imagined. He had a twinkle of adventure beaming through his eyes, like he had seen more these last twenty years than any other person on earth.
"Why... why did you leave us John?" her voice is shaking with years worth of anger. I had not seen him since I was two.
"Milk, Bread and some shitty cigarettes? How in the hell does that turn into twenty years, John?" her face is so red, I am afraid she may pass out.
It's my turn to talk. I have years of pent-up emotion, mainly rage, that I could let loose on him. He missed out on so much of my life and I missed out on so much by not having him in my life. But oddly enough, I feel like his explanation will be sufficient for me.
"Dad, where have you been?" I ask calmly, my face serious, my tears now dry.
He's studying me from head to toe, taking in how much I have grown. I'm two inches taller than he and my physique has leaned up these past four years due to working out and eating right. I can tell he's proud of how I stand.
"Words cannot mend my heart, nor fix the lost time between us. The only reconciliation I offer myself was the duty that was imposed upon me was one of great importance. I promise I will get to everything over time and I will not hide anything from you two. All i can say for now, is that night, I was approached by two men... two time travelers. They spoke of our blood line and the responsibility we bear because of it. I had an opportunity that I could not refuse."
He's not joking. I keep waiting for a smile or maybe he'll start cackling like a lunatic. Nothing of the sort happens and his fearless eyes are piercing with all the seriousness that I don't need to see right now.
"Time travelers...?" my mother, saying it exactly how I was going to.
"Are you kidding me?"
His mouth turns upwards into a grand smile, all of his teeth showing, they are so white they look almost bleached. Given his hygiene, I don't think that's the case.
"Both of you, come here."
We stand still like we are stuck in concrete.
"Seriously, come here. I want to show you something."
We walk over and stand next to him. He puts his arms around us and brings us close. We are now inches away from each others face. He removes one of his golden daggers and gently lies it on both of his palms for us to see. He removes his hands from underneath the dagger. It floats there, defying gravity and still glowing like it has been the last ten minutes.
"Are you guys ready?" he says, voice full of excitement.
How could we possibly be ready? I can't decide if he's going to kill us or if he's playing a prank on us.
"Time, do your will!" He screams as loud as he can, his head angled towards the sky like he is praising a higher being.
The ground around us begins to shake violently and all of our surroundings dissipate into the sky. We are standing on a plain of white that stretches as far as the human eye can see. There's nothing around us; nothing above nor anything below. I don't even know how we are standing.
"Welcome my beloved son and beautiful wife!" His eyes now glowing the same deep red that his daggers have been emitting since we saw him.
"This is infinity!"
|
|
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
"You're never going to believe what happened."
"You killed your brother in a bar fight and stowed away on one of Salar's ships and ended up enslaved I bet."
"Okay, then you will believe what happened."
"Dad, mom isn't so easy to fool."
"What do you mean?"
"She found your brother and beat him within an inch of his life until he'd wished he hadn't faked his death."
".....is he alive?"
"He's alive."
"...good."
"Did you think she didn't know?"
"She's a sharp one that one."
"She's been keeping tabs on you the entire time, quite an adventure you've been on, plenty scandalous nights in Jamaica or so the story goes."
"You mean, you all aren't mad at me?"
"We knew where you were, we could've picked you up at any point, but it was much more fun to set things in motion around you."
"Set things....IT WAS YOU!"
"Yeah"
"The blasted lot of you? But...I thought"
"That was us too."
"What about the raid in Barbados?"
"You really going to sit here and make me take credit for your entire career?"
"I'm a ..I'm a pirate legend, I escaped, I bled, I survived, my name will..be..in the history books."
"I admire your gumption, it took a lot of guts to do what you did, but you among all others should know that you never really get to leave the family of your own accord."
The man I called father sank to his knees, rapier clattering to the floor as the weight of the unveiling hit him all at once. I scooped it up and placed it on the nightstand where he used to tell me stories as a small lad, then placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Cheer up dad, try as you might you'll never escape the Queen of Pirates."
|
I say nothing and watch as his anticipation becomes impatience, which becomes disappointment and finally anger.
"You're not going to ask me what happened?" he asks. "Don't you even care?"
"20 years," I say, "I waited 20 years. You can barely wait 20 seconds."
"A wit! How wonderful!" he mutters, "You people are all the same: so caught up in your mundane little world with its mundane little problems. Can't handle reality as it really is. Would shake your common little worldview to the core. Thought you'd be different, being my son and all, but I see I was mistaken." He shakes is head, batting himself in the face with hair that hangs in long greying strands.
I do understand, though God knows I wish I didn't.
"Dad, why don't you come in and we can talk about it?" My voice sounds calm, controlled, as if visits from a wild-eyed man with a sword are an everyday occurrence at Casa de las Estrellarias. A brief moment of panic, because what if this does become an everyday occurrence, but he's grinning now and following me through the front door.
"I'm gonna take a leak," he exclaims, "Been so long since I've been able to go anywhere civilized." And I say a tiny prayer to the powers that be for making this that much easier. I don't have the doctor's number, but mom does. I pull out my cell and dial.
"Mom, *Dad's* here," I whisper, "I can't talk long because he's here and he's *armed*. I know. Yes, mom, I know. Yeah, I need you to call the hospital. I'll be safe. I do have experience dealing with these sorts of things you know. Just make sure..." But that's as far as I get because suddenly my father's behind me and he's got the sword pressed to my throat, and even though it's blunt, he's holding it close enough that I start to choke.
"Who got to you?" He growls.
_____
Once, when I was six, my father tried to throw me out a window. This was before the diagnosis, before anyone caught on that anything might be wrong. Mom was away for the weekend, a wedding or a funeral or something, and had left me at home with him as babysitter. I used to like it when dad babysat, because he basically gave me the run of the house while he sat around in the basement and "tinkered". Or he'd tell me about this elaborate fantasy land that only he and I could see, only I could never see it as clearly as he could. He told me that was completely normal - he'd only caught glimpses of it until he came into his powers at 19, and now he could see and do all kinds of things that normal people couldn't. I was sworn to secrecy, because of course if mom found out she'd just worry, because mom was always worrying about things she couldn't understand.
But back to the attempted defenestration. On this particular weekend, dad was in one of his chatty moods. He'd told me about how he'd seen a strange black cloud hanging over the neighbours' house this past week and was afraid this might indicate a demonic possession. I must be extra careful around the neighbours from now on, and never ever accept gifts or food from them because gift were the demon's way in. Dad's dream world had been getting increasingly dark of late but none of this seemed overly strange to a kid who was just discovering Dragonball Z and the joy of ripping grown men's arms out of their sockets.
As luck would have it, I had been given a couple of cookies that day and like any respectable six-year-old, I had scarfed them down. I can't actually remember my dad's face then, but I can imagine it going chalky and white and he grabbed me by the front of my shirt as carried me, kicking and screaming, up the stairs. I can imagine him explaining, calmly and logically, that the only thing to do now was to conduct a test. If I really was possessed, surely the demon would show itself at the first sign of real danger. Of course that's not how it would have gone though, because that would have given away the plan. What I remember is the terror and the confusion of being safe in my dad's lap one minute and hurling through my parents' bedroom door the next.
The window was closed. That's what saved me. He couldn't figure out how to get the window open without putting me down. The moment he let me go I scurried off to safety: locked myself in the bathroom and went from there out onto the roof where I stayed until he decided the magic had protected me.
"Sometimes your old man is a damned fool, you know that? No demon's a match for any son of mine!"
____
All this to say that had it been 20-some years earlier, and I still 6 and he still 35, I'd be totally screwed but he's 57, and has been institutionalized for two decades now. I force the sword down and away with all the advantage of youth, health, and superior height.
"It's mom," I say. "I'm calling mom to let her know you're all right. She wants to see you."
He looks dubious. "Your mother is a wonderful woman," he says, "But she'll never understand. Not like we understand."
There's truth in that for which I'm eternally grateful.
"Of course not," I say, aware that she can hear every word through the still active phone, "Because she doesn't have the magic. I got that from you, dad."
"So you did? I thought as much. Your mother told me you had some trouble towards your last year of college. Didn't say what it was, but I knew. What they got you on?" he asks, more reflex than question.
"Risperidone," I say with a sigh and guide him towards the living room.
|
|
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
I loooked up at this tall, hardened figure.
"You'll never believe what happened," said the sword wielding, bearded man who claimed to be my father. The last time I had seen him was when he went out to get cigarettes, milk, and bread. I decided to listen to him.
"What happened?" I asked, curious.
"I got cigarettes, milk, and bread, that's what."
|
I say nothing and watch as his anticipation becomes impatience, which becomes disappointment and finally anger.
"You're not going to ask me what happened?" he asks. "Don't you even care?"
"20 years," I say, "I waited 20 years. You can barely wait 20 seconds."
"A wit! How wonderful!" he mutters, "You people are all the same: so caught up in your mundane little world with its mundane little problems. Can't handle reality as it really is. Would shake your common little worldview to the core. Thought you'd be different, being my son and all, but I see I was mistaken." He shakes is head, batting himself in the face with hair that hangs in long greying strands.
I do understand, though God knows I wish I didn't.
"Dad, why don't you come in and we can talk about it?" My voice sounds calm, controlled, as if visits from a wild-eyed man with a sword are an everyday occurrence at Casa de las Estrellarias. A brief moment of panic, because what if this does become an everyday occurrence, but he's grinning now and following me through the front door.
"I'm gonna take a leak," he exclaims, "Been so long since I've been able to go anywhere civilized." And I say a tiny prayer to the powers that be for making this that much easier. I don't have the doctor's number, but mom does. I pull out my cell and dial.
"Mom, *Dad's* here," I whisper, "I can't talk long because he's here and he's *armed*. I know. Yes, mom, I know. Yeah, I need you to call the hospital. I'll be safe. I do have experience dealing with these sorts of things you know. Just make sure..." But that's as far as I get because suddenly my father's behind me and he's got the sword pressed to my throat, and even though it's blunt, he's holding it close enough that I start to choke.
"Who got to you?" He growls.
_____
Once, when I was six, my father tried to throw me out a window. This was before the diagnosis, before anyone caught on that anything might be wrong. Mom was away for the weekend, a wedding or a funeral or something, and had left me at home with him as babysitter. I used to like it when dad babysat, because he basically gave me the run of the house while he sat around in the basement and "tinkered". Or he'd tell me about this elaborate fantasy land that only he and I could see, only I could never see it as clearly as he could. He told me that was completely normal - he'd only caught glimpses of it until he came into his powers at 19, and now he could see and do all kinds of things that normal people couldn't. I was sworn to secrecy, because of course if mom found out she'd just worry, because mom was always worrying about things she couldn't understand.
But back to the attempted defenestration. On this particular weekend, dad was in one of his chatty moods. He'd told me about how he'd seen a strange black cloud hanging over the neighbours' house this past week and was afraid this might indicate a demonic possession. I must be extra careful around the neighbours from now on, and never ever accept gifts or food from them because gift were the demon's way in. Dad's dream world had been getting increasingly dark of late but none of this seemed overly strange to a kid who was just discovering Dragonball Z and the joy of ripping grown men's arms out of their sockets.
As luck would have it, I had been given a couple of cookies that day and like any respectable six-year-old, I had scarfed them down. I can't actually remember my dad's face then, but I can imagine it going chalky and white and he grabbed me by the front of my shirt as carried me, kicking and screaming, up the stairs. I can imagine him explaining, calmly and logically, that the only thing to do now was to conduct a test. If I really was possessed, surely the demon would show itself at the first sign of real danger. Of course that's not how it would have gone though, because that would have given away the plan. What I remember is the terror and the confusion of being safe in my dad's lap one minute and hurling through my parents' bedroom door the next.
The window was closed. That's what saved me. He couldn't figure out how to get the window open without putting me down. The moment he let me go I scurried off to safety: locked myself in the bathroom and went from there out onto the roof where I stayed until he decided the magic had protected me.
"Sometimes your old man is a damned fool, you know that? No demon's a match for any son of mine!"
____
All this to say that had it been 20-some years earlier, and I still 6 and he still 35, I'd be totally screwed but he's 57, and has been institutionalized for two decades now. I force the sword down and away with all the advantage of youth, health, and superior height.
"It's mom," I say. "I'm calling mom to let her know you're all right. She wants to see you."
He looks dubious. "Your mother is a wonderful woman," he says, "But she'll never understand. Not like we understand."
There's truth in that for which I'm eternally grateful.
"Of course not," I say, aware that she can hear every word through the still active phone, "Because she doesn't have the magic. I got that from you, dad."
"So you did? I thought as much. Your mother told me you had some trouble towards your last year of college. Didn't say what it was, but I knew. What they got you on?" he asks, more reflex than question.
"Risperidone," I say with a sigh and guide him towards the living room.
|
|
[WP] Offworld colonists, departing a ruined Earth, are chosen by lottery. A religious leader is the only one in his congregation selected.
|
    Reverend Marcus Sands had always considered himself a good man, and somewhat to his shame, he was proud of himself. It was a sin to be proud, but it was something he could not help, and did his best not to let his pride blind him to the needs of his flock.
    His congregation loved him, he knew. He led them well, and wisely, saving them from sin, and aiding them in living lives as happily as they could in their crumbling world. Through careful husbanding of resources, they survived and to a limited degree, even thrived.
    Even with the ticket in his hand, his thoughts were on his congregation. He looked up at the messenger then shook his head. "Thank you," he said, "But I cannot accept this. I am needed here. All I love and hold dear is here."
    The messenger shrugged, "Then your seat will remain empty until someone comes with your ticket to claim it."
    Marcus nodded, then rose from the chair, and guided the messenger out of the church. His congregation watched the tiny procession, knowing exactly what it meant. They were surprised when the Reverend returned with ticket in hand and headed towards his pulpit ready to begin a sermon. Business as usual.
    But the people of the assemblage were scarcely paying attention, for the first time in a very long time. They exchanged heated whispers, finally one rose from the congregation, Johnathan Tiller, and he took a circuitous route to the pulpit, trying to avoid the notice of the Reverend. "Forgive me, Father," he said.
    Marcus turned to face John, confused, "Of course I forgive you. But what have you done?"
    Then John struck Marcus, and unconsciousness took him.
***
    Marcus slowly came to. The room was dark, and a deep thumping noise permeated all. The first thing he noticed was that he was strapped down to some sort of cot, and couldn't move very much. That, and a splitting headache. One does not take a knockout punch without suffering a headache. The straps were loose enough that he began working his arms free, only to hear the sound of crumbling paper. There was a piece of paper, a letter. He took the letter in hand, worked his way out of the straps, and found a clasp, which he lifted, causing the straps to retract and release him.
    He soon found a light switch, and winced at the sudden bright light. Once his eyes adjusted to the light he looked around, the walls were a uniform gray. There appeared to be a door, but he could not see a latch, and opposite that, a window, but no light was shining in. He must have been out for hours. The pastor shook his head, then remembered the note that had been taped to him.
>Reverend,
    I'm sorry it came to this but it was the only choice. I couldn't let that ticket go to waste.
    Marcus dropped the letter, shaken, and it floated gently onto the ground. If John wanted the ticket that badly, all he had to do was ask, Marcus thought mournfully. He wandered over to the window, to see if he could figure out where he was. The sight made his blood run cold. His headache forgotten, he dropped to his knees. What he saw was a sea of stars, and a small blue planet floating among them. He looked back at the note, which had flipped several times as it fluttered to the floor, and saw there was more written on the other side.
>We all love you, Reverend, but they **need** you. Do your best for them as you did for us.
    John
***
I hope this meets with approval, and I welcome constructive critiques.
|
"It is true, I have been chosen!" exclaimed the preacher to his frenzied congregation. The church erupted into a chorus of *Hallelujah's* and *Amen's*.
Father Damien's eyes were open wide and his head manically twitched as he looked over the occupants of the wooden chairs.
"The horseman has rung his bell! This sinful planet and it's corrupted occupants have little time left. Judgement day is upon us!"
Another huge cheer broke out. People stood and fists were thrown into the air.
"But there are sad tidings too my children, even on this special day. You cannot come with me. I must make this journey alone."
The congregation took a collective sigh. A lady in black began to weep.
"Do not cry my child. You must have faith! You must **all** have faith. I would not leave you here, to suffer the fate of the unfaithful!"
The crying stopped.
"You cannot come with me how you *are*. But there *is* still a way. I can still take you to HIM!"
The loudest cheer yet resounded out, and it echoed in a deafening cacophony around the small brick building. The preacher began to clean the plain metal chalice that lay on the table in front of him. He poured the wine. He sprinkled in white powder from his brown pouch. He stirred it with a wooden spoon.
"It is ready! Who will be brave and join me on this journey! WHO WILL JOIN ME? I WILL TAKE YOU TO HIM!"
A couple of unsure glances were exchanged between the less certain, but the faith of the others overwhelmed even them and it soon calmed their fears. The queue began. One by one they sipped. One by one they staggered into the small chapel at the side of the alter. It was in the chapel that their souls were set free.
The last of the congregation fell silent. The preacher caught her soul just as he had caught all the others. He would soon feast on them. A grin formed on his devilish lips.
|
|
Edit: You guys are freaking great.
|
[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.
|
They made me go on the evening news when it was discovered. They made me sit in stifling lights in face-powder and ponder on the fate of the World. How I thought it was going to happen. Even though I'm a car mechanic, for Christ's sake.
An asteroid, I said the first time. An asteroid crashes into Earth while I'm on one of my holidays, and I just happen to be on a far flung part of the planet and I am the last to go.
Illness, I said the second time. I've always been pretty hardy. I had bird flu once, and swine flu. I'll just cling onto my fever one day more than everyone else.
I don't know, I said the third time. I had become bored of being hauled in front of cameras by then.
And I don't know. But I'm sat here on my porch, watching my children playing under the apple tree in the dying light of Autumn, and it's niggling on my mind again. I am a good man. I say thank you when I take my paper from the man outside the station in the morning, I look him in the eye. I stood up to a racist on the bus once. I tell shopkeepers they can keep the change. But if you were told that you were going to outlive everyone, wouldn't you think that maybe, just maybe... you kill them all?
|
Of *course* it was me to go last.
My biggest connection is that to society, the people I love and care for.
My wife, my children, my parents.
When the date came out, my job at NASA officially ended.
Everybody just sort of... gave up? I mean, no work happened. People even covered the countdown timer just to not be reminded.
When they announced a plan to use a black hole to slingshot around, I was first in line, mostly because of my experience, and by that, I mean 20 years of pushing a mop.
Turns out, black holes make time run slower. Currently stuck in limbo for.... 27 days? The ship says that they've already died on earth, but the math is a bit.. wonky.
See you on the other side I guess.
|
Edit: You guys are freaking great.
|
[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.
|
"Follow me through"
Here we go again. I'm going to receive the same set of questions I normally do when somebody finds out that my cut-off date is always after theirs, as if I know the fucking answer.
I proceed through a ceramic stone doorway into a long, empty and eerie hall.
"The door to your left, he'll be waiting. You might want to tuck your shirt in too.."
She leaves promptly, not allowing me to ask any questions. I hear her murmur something about the afterlife.
Fuck her, like she can dictate how I live my life, especially in circumstances like these.
I keep my shirt untucked.
There's two doors on the left side, one slightly ajar and the other fully closed. Normally if the world wasn't going to shit I'd be a bit more careful but in this case the worst outcome is walking into a secret government gang-bang.
As I walk into one of the room I see a large collection of books, along the walls, each with dates on them, ranging in various sizes and spanning throughout the room. I also see a sign plastered on the centrepiece
"Sleep, in the morning all will be clear."
I have nothing else better to do, tomorrow is my cut off day and I don't know why I'm being told to sleep. The plan was to meet "somebody" who wanted to talk to me about my cut off date, but how can I when I'm the last person alive?
I sleep.
Waking up, it's quiet, yet still lively. I can hear the birds and the wind, just like a normal day. Except this day will be anything but normal.
I notice that the books abruptly stop and I pick the last one up, I see my name printed on the front.
I don't want to open it.
I put it back and leave it there, wondering when I'll be speaking to someone, maybe someone who has the same day as me.
I collapse, heart pounding, eyes swelling and lungs heaving.
"Morherfuckers" I whisper under my breath.
"Hello, it's nice to see you."
I open my eyes to be greeted by a white man in a robe standing before me. I try to get up but to no avail.
"God?"
"Hah, I wish, just his servant. I analyse if people can do what their told and think clearly before letting them into heaven."
I'm about to reply when he walks over to me and tugs on
my shirt. "Why didn't you tuck your shirt in?" He asks me.
I can't say that she's a bitch so I leave it and just stare at him.
"Selfish, you turned the other way when someone was looking out for you."
His wings elegantly fly outward, and he counts all numbers from 1-26, mentioning that these are pure numbers and are the amount of feathers on an Angels wings.
He counts up to 27 and says "If you want that explanation, Satan will send a disciple of his to take you soon".
|
Of *course* it was me to go last.
My biggest connection is that to society, the people I love and care for.
My wife, my children, my parents.
When the date came out, my job at NASA officially ended.
Everybody just sort of... gave up? I mean, no work happened. People even covered the countdown timer just to not be reminded.
When they announced a plan to use a black hole to slingshot around, I was first in line, mostly because of my experience, and by that, I mean 20 years of pushing a mop.
Turns out, black holes make time run slower. Currently stuck in limbo for.... 27 days? The ship says that they've already died on earth, but the math is a bit.. wonky.
See you on the other side I guess.
|
Edit: You guys are freaking great.
|
[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.
|
The world was going to end on August 26th, 2025. Thanks to the death clocks, this had been known for years. Everyone got tested. Everyone had their clock. The world was going to end and that was that. One day, I had noticed something strange. I had one more day than everyone else. I was going to spend my last day alive alone on this planet. That's what I had 9 years to reconcile, but it was also the worst kept secret on the planet.
People made plans to stay with me. Everyone else wanted one more day. Everyone. The attention was frustrating. Celebrities and politicians contacted me. I became estranged from family and friends as others with power and money wanted one more day. It didn't bother them that humanity was dead. It was just their strive for survival, but I turned everyone down, all of the offers.
It didn't end there though. A group of people started to follow me. I was the chosen one or the survivor or the last great hope for humanity. As the years passed, the followers stopped following, and I became a hermit. I lived in the wilderness and found a cave. That's how I coped with this supposedly fantastic news.
As the day approached, it was clear an asteroid was going to hit Earth. Scientists found it with four years to spare. The world mounted a defense, but every effort to stop it failed. The impact date was August 27th, 2025, my day and not everyone else's and that was the problem. All hope was lost, there was nothing left for the world to lose. Why not kill all your of your enemies? As I hid in a cave, bombs flew. I lived through it apparently the lone survivor, but I doubt anyone was jealous of my day spent crying in a cave waiting for an asteroid to hit.
I had eschewed technology long ago, except for the death clock. Followers had abandoned me as had the rich and powerful hoping for one more day. As the asteroid approached, I watched it in the sky. I remember reading about the death clocks. That's what I thought about as death approached, and I watched it countdown to 0, an article about the death clocks. They were incredibly accurate to 0.00001%. It made me wonder though if they determined destiny rather than predicting it. If we made our fate to match the predetermined outcome. And, I watched the asteroid pass close to the Earth. It disappeared. I did not see the impact, but I waited. And I waited for something that never came.
Then, I looked at my watch. I remembered something unusual about it. It only counted down for 1000 years, ten lifetimes to most people. As it switched to August 28th, I saw 00yr 00mt 00ds 00hr 00sc turn over to 999yr 11mt 30ds 23hr 59sc. At first, I was destroyed. I knew there was pain to come, but there was also a world to rebuild which meant there was hope. Then, I smiled a weak little smile. That fact alone made today already better than yesterday.
***
If you like this, I've started to write a Batman/Superman story set 30+ years in the future: [Part I](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4phzj3/batman_superman_and_the_aliens_part_i_the_superman/)
|
Of *course* it was me to go last.
My biggest connection is that to society, the people I love and care for.
My wife, my children, my parents.
When the date came out, my job at NASA officially ended.
Everybody just sort of... gave up? I mean, no work happened. People even covered the countdown timer just to not be reminded.
When they announced a plan to use a black hole to slingshot around, I was first in line, mostly because of my experience, and by that, I mean 20 years of pushing a mop.
Turns out, black holes make time run slower. Currently stuck in limbo for.... 27 days? The ship says that they've already died on earth, but the math is a bit.. wonky.
See you on the other side I guess.
|
Edit: You guys are freaking great.
|
[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.
|
    When every child is born, they're given a MorteMuetes Inc. Death Detector chip, which is injected into the nape of the neck and uses nanites to merge with the baby's nervous system, and using a predictive algorithm, projects their date of death. It updates itself daily, taking into account current health, genetic pre-dispositions, even geographic crime rates. There is a margin for error, of course, as random chance can always affect when someone dies, but the closer to the date of death you are, the more accurate it is.
    People have even been using them as indicators of when they were really ill. If someone's counter suddenly dropped from 60 years to 2 months, they would go to the doctor to find out what exactly was wrong with them, and how they could fix it. That is another benefit of the chips; death from preventable diseases has disappeared almost entirely. Doctors could interact with the chips to get an accurate diagnosis of their patients, and get immediate feedback on the effectiveness of treatment.
    I was one of MorteMuerte Inc.'s technicians, and today I was dealing with a major glitch in the system. Everyone's chip was locked into a date of death of August 26th, 2025, except mine, which was on the 27th The issue was the current date was April 7th, 2192, and back in 2025, the DD chips hadn't even been invented yet. They were invented 2041, and the current error was unprecedented.
    I was at my wit's end, too. I had no idea what was causing the error. All the feedback data I got indicated that the chips were all functioning properly, yet somehow, all reached the same conclusion; people who were alive today were supposed to die before they were born. There weren't quite riots in the streets but people were nervous.
    At this point I decided to talk with the guys at the TachyonTech subdivision, to see if they have any ideas what was causing this error. One of the scientists went really pale, made a call to another part of the facility, and practically shouted into the phone, saying "Shut it down now!"
    After that, my death date changed to July 7th, 2253. I was quickly ushered out of the lab and admonished to keep my mouth shut about the cause of the glitch. I considered reporting the truth, but then my death date changed to April 7th, 2192, and decided to make something up.
***
As always, constructive critiques are welcome. Also, I wanted to subvert the intended apocalypse.
|
Of *course* it was me to go last.
My biggest connection is that to society, the people I love and care for.
My wife, my children, my parents.
When the date came out, my job at NASA officially ended.
Everybody just sort of... gave up? I mean, no work happened. People even covered the countdown timer just to not be reminded.
When they announced a plan to use a black hole to slingshot around, I was first in line, mostly because of my experience, and by that, I mean 20 years of pushing a mop.
Turns out, black holes make time run slower. Currently stuck in limbo for.... 27 days? The ship says that they've already died on earth, but the math is a bit.. wonky.
See you on the other side I guess.
|
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