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[WP] Whenever a child is born to Earth, God appoints a Guardian Angel to follow that child until his/her soul arrives in Heaven. You are one such Angel, and you have just arrived to your new assignment, only to find a 5 years old boy who had 10 previous Guardian Angels before you.
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“Oh, God....” muttered through cigarette-fumbling teeth, “...damn it,” I finish, the curse punctuated by the spark of the striker.
The young boy isn’t yet aware of my presence. He sits alone, quietly on the floor of his group home, playing with his toys.
I take a long draw on the cigarette, wondering to myself, “what is it with these boys? They burn through guardians like I do cancer sticks.”
The boy pauses, looking around momentarily with his nose twitching. Like he can almost smell my cigarette. The kids are always more keen on our tricks than the adults ever could be. Something about the way the Big Man made them.
I want to reveal myself, but I can learn more about my new assignment this way first. Some assignments, it’s better if they never knew you were there at all.
His attention returns to the toys.
“Tractors,” I observe, “rural kid, most likely.”
I hear other children just in the other room, talking and playing, but evidently he would rather keep to himself. Sometimes that’s ok. Sometimes it’s not a good sign.
I decide to take a listen, focusing on the voices just beyond his earshot.
“...I heard that his daddy didn’t like him,” the eldest little girl in the room explains to a group of younger kids, “And I heard that he’s crazy, too. He said he saw a ghost his first night here, and...”
I immediately tuned the rest out and refocused on the room surrounding me. My fears were confirmed. This child was likely abused. This made him susceptible to becoming the prey of an Oni, the demons of old that feed upon the souls of lost children. And my predecessors were likely consumed in the struggle for his defense.
To draw the demon out, I had to reveal myself.
The world around the boy sounded like it was shattering, but only to him. He looked at me, nearly paralyzed in disbelief and awe mixed in with the most subtle hint of fear. He’d experienced this before.
“I”m your guardian angel,” I announced awkwardly. I never was good with kids.
“But you just look like some guy,” the boy replied, the shock of my booming entrance already fading.
I sighed. I was dealing with a child here, after all.
I unfolded my wings of brilliant white light, letting them shine at their fullest for a quick moment.
His face lit up.
“You really are!” He leapt up to hug me but I quickly evaded his advance, and cut straight to the chase.
“Kid look I don’t have time for the regular thing. I’m not the usual guardian angel. I’m your last resort. Not exactly the ‘number one guy,’ here. You’re in danger.”
He gave me a knowing look, and his face became grave with concern.
“Ive seen it. The monster. It got my last friend,” he whispered.
“Does it scare you? Does it chase you in the dark?” I asked with menacing intent.
He looked taken aback at the idea that I would intentionally instill fear in him. I needed this to draw the Oni out of hiding. It would smell his fear. Prey on it. Try to drain his soul further.
“Y-yes. It’s very scary. His eyes....”
A cold and howling shriek echoed throughout the home, shaking the walls.
The children in the next room screamed, and then it appeared before me and the boy.
A starved, partially translucent man with rotten flesh revealing his bones stood in the shadowed corner of the room, his teeth chattering in anticipation of the meal.
“Run!” I commanded the boy.
The demon ignored me in favor of it’s ancient hunger, but it was too slow.
My heavenly weapons were drawn and I was firing.
Struck by the first two bullets, the demon howled in rage and anger, turning his attention to me.
The boy escaped the room.
The demon still focused on me, I finished him off.
“All in an hour’s work,” I grinned.
I saw the boy peering around the doorway.
“What is it?” I asked.
“That wasn’t it,” he said, his face pale.
I sighed a heavy sigh and took another cigarette from its place in my coat.
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“Beln!” The voice boomed loudly in the lush clouds, “You are now a Guardian Angel for the child Felix Barker, I must say it’s not an ordinary sorta thing. We need you to help him with a problem of somehow killing his previous Guardian Angels.”
“Angels can die?” I asked worried.
“Only to great evil, now hurry!”
Without another word I flew downwards towards the town of Jacksonville, a small child was in need and was a very rare person. I quickly found the abode of which Felix Barker was staying I watched over him and for the first day I couldn’t understand how he could kill angels.
“Hello? Who’s there?” Felix Barker asked as I was kneeling over his bed.
“Wait... you can see me?” I was growing even more confused this child had the kindest family and he was always willing to share. He had other Guardian Angels and somehow killed them, and now he can see me.
“Of course I can dumbo. What am I a child?” He chuckled as he spoke.
“You are Felix Barker, I am Beln your Guardian Angel”
“Cut it with that bullshit Beln. You get how this works right? I’m a demon, well sorta.” His face grew solemn after he said this.
“Beln! Help me. We have to do this!” The child spoke but it wasn’t his other voice this one was more high pitched and feminine.
“Do what?!” I was starting to panic. This child is not what he or they seem.
“Kill me... free the soul. Kill the demon, kill the Angels” the child spoke in a softer voice, like an actual child. “Please sir. I don’t like them in here. I just want to be free.”
I put it all together, as quick as a flash I did what was needed. I grabbed my sword bestowed to me and cut the child in half. I wretched at the sight. I was in trouble but I saved a soul. I flew back to heaven. A small child ran up and gave me a hug.
“Thank you sir!” He said in that same voice I just heard.
“BELN!” The voice boomed, “You killed a child, a demon, and 10 Angels! You are no longer allowed to be an Angel I refuse to have it! Your wings are no longer yours to bare and your sword is no longer clean. Be gone from my presence!” I felt a stab in the gut and I started to fall down to earth. I looked up to the boy with a wicked smile on his face as he waved to me.
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[WP] Whenever a child is born to Earth, God appoints a Guardian Angel to follow that child until his/her soul arrives in Heaven. You are one such Angel, and you have just arrived to your new assignment, only to find a 5 years old boy who had 10 previous Guardian Angels before you.
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Sometimes you have to call in a professional.
A crash louder than any thunder ever heard nearly deafened Timothy, his little child eyes wide and full of terror as the debris from the hole in the ceiling covered every inch of the room.
Sometimes a guardian isn’t enough.
The feeble child whimpers starting to spread my gleaming metal wings and raised my hands knitting the damage to the ceiling back together.
Sometimes a problem is solved with a hammer.
Words universally understandable in a tumultuous cascade pour forth from my maw “Timothy, child, being, life, if you do it again, repeat, replicate, it will be the last time. You will be damned.” Whimpers turn to sobs.
Sometimes.
Timothy’s eleventh attempt at suicide after the death of both of his parents was successful, no angel died that day to save him.
Sometimes love is not enough, but fear is never the answer.
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“Beln!” The voice boomed loudly in the lush clouds, “You are now a Guardian Angel for the child Felix Barker, I must say it’s not an ordinary sorta thing. We need you to help him with a problem of somehow killing his previous Guardian Angels.”
“Angels can die?” I asked worried.
“Only to great evil, now hurry!”
Without another word I flew downwards towards the town of Jacksonville, a small child was in need and was a very rare person. I quickly found the abode of which Felix Barker was staying I watched over him and for the first day I couldn’t understand how he could kill angels.
“Hello? Who’s there?” Felix Barker asked as I was kneeling over his bed.
“Wait... you can see me?” I was growing even more confused this child had the kindest family and he was always willing to share. He had other Guardian Angels and somehow killed them, and now he can see me.
“Of course I can dumbo. What am I a child?” He chuckled as he spoke.
“You are Felix Barker, I am Beln your Guardian Angel”
“Cut it with that bullshit Beln. You get how this works right? I’m a demon, well sorta.” His face grew solemn after he said this.
“Beln! Help me. We have to do this!” The child spoke but it wasn’t his other voice this one was more high pitched and feminine.
“Do what?!” I was starting to panic. This child is not what he or they seem.
“Kill me... free the soul. Kill the demon, kill the Angels” the child spoke in a softer voice, like an actual child. “Please sir. I don’t like them in here. I just want to be free.”
I put it all together, as quick as a flash I did what was needed. I grabbed my sword bestowed to me and cut the child in half. I wretched at the sight. I was in trouble but I saved a soul. I flew back to heaven. A small child ran up and gave me a hug.
“Thank you sir!” He said in that same voice I just heard.
“BELN!” The voice boomed, “You killed a child, a demon, and 10 Angels! You are no longer allowed to be an Angel I refuse to have it! Your wings are no longer yours to bare and your sword is no longer clean. Be gone from my presence!” I felt a stab in the gut and I started to fall down to earth. I looked up to the boy with a wicked smile on his face as he waved to me.
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[WP] Every time you turn forty your life resets. You are born again, but with all your memories from the previous resets. Your latest life you did everything you could to make the world a better place. Now, just as your life is reset, you hear, “You have reached level two.”
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"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear..."
James' heart stopped beating. His eyes cocked backward and foam spilled from his mouth. The world vanished in a fraction of a second and the clouds came rolling in as they had 40 years before. A tumultuous descent from the couch he had previously been sitting on amidst the celebration of his life -- tumbling into darkness as if he were a ragdoll. Above him he could see the window of his prior existence quickly fading as he fell through clouds.
A faint, whimsical whisper emanated from the void "Congratulations, James. You have reached level 2."
Where did he know that voice from? It sounded vaguely familiar but he couldn't place it, after all it had been 40 years since the last cycle concluded and he took a similar descent. But this voice was closer, there had to be some connection to his self beyond the reset. Had it been somebody whom had graced him in only the past several days, weeks? From wherever they may be, it was somebody that connected to his soul, not simply the latest rendition of his flesh .
The thought was forced aside as he began to shrivel in upon himself. Every bone of his body collapsing and giving way to the new shell he was about to enter. It was his 7th cycle, but nobody was ever prepared for the sensation of instantaneous reverse growth pangs. Sharp, fierce, hot, and suddenly cold, wet. James' violent screams filled the darkness as he was pushed forth from the womb.
"Congratulations, it's a boy."
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
James leapt backwards away from the knife.
"Give me all you got, man." The scraggly man in his late 20s said, gesturing the knife in a menacing manner. "I ain't messing around!"
James dug into his pockets, reaching for any loose change he may have before settling on taking out the few wadded bills.
"It's not much, but it's all I have." James said, pulling a 10, two 5s, and a single 1 with "Where's George?" stamped on it's face. "Payday isn't for another week and I can't get forwarded any cash now."
The scraggly man snatched the money from James' hands, simultaneously making eye contact.
"Rodney..." James said hesitantly.
"What's it to you?" The man snarked back, defensive.
*James had once shared responsibility as caretaker of this boy. At age 4, Rodney had been cast into foster care after his father came home drunk and took it out on the family, resulting in the mother's death. Rodney had witnessed the whole thing while cowering under the kitchen table. Over the next several months Rodney acted out, but seldom in violent ways. By his 5th birthday, Rodney had transitioned to another home, out of James' loving care and guidance; to a home again rife with -- this time hidden -- abuse.*
"Nothing, lucky guess. Take the money and help yourself, okay?"
Mutters responded as Rodney stepped back around the fence line and into the evicted neighborhood, fidgeting the knife back into it's closed format.
It was true, payday wasn't for another week; not that a teenager working at Pizza Hut made much anyway. James kept walking, tapping his now empty pocket and thinking back to his former life.
\*\*\*
He had been happily married for 17 years at the time of reset. His wife and children had been the beacon that kept him guided through life. Penny, his youngest and only daughter had contracted an illness in infancy which confined her to a wheelchair. Her bones were like glass and even the slightest impact could have devastating repercussions. James made it his life's goal to make the world a better place for her and everybody else in similar situations by being one of the minds behind the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA). He strived for the 7 years of Penny's life to make it easier for her to get around, even beyond her premature passing. Her memory is what was pushed him to help others.
His wife, Tess, had been devastated at the loss of Penny. She had always wanted a girl, and though Harry and Layne had been two of the best children she could have wished for, Penny held that closest spot to her maternal heart. The only daughter, and delicate as a flower. Tess faced the darkest days shortly after the funeral, but came through with his support and joined by James' side in spearheading the campaign which would make life better for everyone afflicted by physical incapacitations.
\*\*\*
James stepped into his home, placing the bookbag on the floor by his desk. He opened it up and pulled out Michael Newton's "Journey of Souls" to begin his English homework
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I hope you enjoyed my first contribution to the group. I love writing but seldom find the time to be able to sit down and have word therapy. Hopefully this will be a good jumping point to commit more time towards it. I am continuing this story (if nothing else but for my own enjoyment) and may post follow-ups in the future. Please leave any feedback, positive or negative, as I'd love to hear it!
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I came across this community on the popular page and was inspired to write for the first time in many years. I have not written for pleasure in a very long time, so I decided to create an account to do just that. This is my first post on the first prompt I came across that made me want to reply. That said, feedback is of course appreciated, but please be gentle! Thank you for reading.
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It always felt as though someone was watching me from just beyond the darkness in the seemingly timeless period before each new life. The presence I sensed was completely forgotten during my time living, but it dominated my thoughts between each death and rebirth. Many, many centuries ago, I was born to the first of my lives where I found only two certainties existed - I could not live past the age of 40, and I would be born again after dying.
I recall little of my first attempts at living, but the knowledge from each life never leaves me. Perennial life without a purpose left me to simply seek basic fulfillment. In that endeavor, I used my immense repository of knowledge and experience for many selfish purposes, and for a long period, that was enough. There was essentially no limit to what I could achieve in the interest of my own desires, and yet, my feelings of malcontent grew with each death. Each life felt like an unaimed arrow launched from a bow, speeding through its course only to land with a anticlimactic *thunk*, nowhere near its target.
Eventually, my efforts naturally shifted to more spiritual and emotional practices. Slowly, at first, and with painstaking effort, I discovered the happiness of sacrificing some of my own time and comfort for the benefit of others. I discovered both the difference and the importance of selflessness toward strangers compared with selflessness toward the ones I loved. Century after century of volunteering, teaching, and helping others shifted my perception of the world. With each new life, the desire to help others and make the world better grew inside me until, finally, I devoted the entirety of my latest life to making the world a better place.
When I again felt the strange presence in the darkness, I immediately knew something was different. It was the first time I thought about my previous life before being born again. Without warning, a metallic, inhuman voice speaking a language I never heard but somehow understood pronounced, "*Deity Training Program, Level One complete. Initiating Deity Training Program, Level Two.*"
The words' meaning had barely settled in my mind for the smallest fraction of a comprehensible moment before I was born again, the shocking message forgotten just as the distant presence was forgotten in previous reincarnations. After innumerable lives repeating the same cycle of birth, growth, and death, I was very familiar with the process and could *feel* something different in my body. Though each time was slightly different, I usually opened my eyes conscious of who I was for the first time at the age when toddlers normally begin to speak. This time, I looked down at the body of an adult. I sat up in an unrecognizable room, slowly taking in my surroundings. For a moment, I thought of being thirsty and to my utter and complete astonishment, a full glass of cool, clear water suddenly appeared in my hand!
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[WP] A booming voice gives humanity the news: God's 10,000 year term is up, and a universal election is in place to see who gets voted in to gain His position and powers. Screw it, you think. Why not throw your hat in the ring?
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VOTE DENNIS PILOT FOR GOD!
Dennis Pilot, an independent candidate to the office of God, promises:
* To legalize magic on macro level;
* To abolish Heaven and Hell and organize up to 28 afterlives sorting people by their preferred lifestyle, none of them involving torment;
* To legalize immortality and reincarnation for those who believe that any kind of afterlife is not to their taste;
* To abolish the speed of light limit in the universe and bless the scientific endeavour to develop a functional Faster than Light Spaceship;
* To amend all existing holy books and remove any and all ancient and irrelevant shit concerning stoning, condemning homosexuality, subjugating women and so on;
* To create Monsters such as Dragons, Basilisks, Gelatinous Cubes, Gremlins and Beholders, to make life more fun and provide meaningful and legitimate employment for those desiring a life of adventure;
* To remove the possibility of Artificial Intelligence from physical laws, so you no longer have to fear a machine rebellion;
* To remove the possibility of Nuclear Chain Reactions from physical laws, so you no longer have to fear a nuclear war;
* To amend the Periodic Table of Elements, remove such harmful elements as Polonium, Cadmium and Mercury from the universe, and replace them with fun elements such as Cheesium, Flubber and Ohmygodium;
* To introduce a procedure of Divine Impeachment, in which the clergy will have the right to remove a God who becomes jealous, demands unreasonable rituals, works no useful miracles and insists that all other supernatural forces are evil demons.
Vote DENNIS PILOT to make the Universe more just and interesting!
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I knew that loads of people would like the idea of being God, but I definitely didn’t expect that this many would volunteer for the position.
Crowds upon crowds gathered in rows before the towering stone structure that had emerged from the sea overnight. God, a glowing white figure, sat at the top of a pillar. It was hard to see what they were thinking (they didn’t have a face), but somehow, it felt as if they were looking right at me.
When the last few candidates joined us, God clapped their hands. Instantly, huge walls surrounded us, rising from the ground. Those at the fringes of our small group tried to run off, but the walls rose too fast, trapping us all.
There was a long silence. God leapt off their platform. They floated in the air, looming over us, sending chills down my spine.
“Hello, everyone. Thank you for joining us today,” God said. He pointed at the human closest to him. “Now, can you tell me why you chose to apply?”
They went down the rows, asking us one by one. Some had applied out of the goodness of their hearts, wishing to make a difference. Others had done so out of a desire for more power, a sentiment that wasn’t quite expressed as it was shown, through clothes and gestures, through the way they carried themselves. Finally, there were people like me, who’d simply applied on a whim. When God pointed at me, I told the truth as well. Something about them suggested that any lies would soon be uncovered, and would certainly not be forgiven.
When the last person finished speaking, God snapped their fingers. A few individuals floated into the air, their mouths agape in amazement. The rest of us simply waited, tendrils of dread building in our chests.
“Do you know what sin I hate the most?” God asked. “Let me tell you. The sin I hate the most is pride.”
“Imagine being so self-obsessed, so arrogant that you think you have the right to be God. Who are you to rule over the rest of humanity? Those I have chosen to save applied due to their compassion. The rest of you have lost your humanity, the very thing I created all of you for. And for that, you deserve to die.”
With a final, lethal snap of their fingers, God overwhelmed our vicinity with white light. The last thing I felt was the glaring heat searing my skin, surely a taste of what was to come.
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[WP] A booming voice gives humanity the news: God's 10,000 year term is up, and a universal election is in place to see who gets voted in to gain His position and powers. Screw it, you think. Why not throw your hat in the ring?
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“Welcome God.”
I stepped onto the cloud, and prayed I didn’t fall through. But it appeared to hold my weight.
“My name is Jack.”
“You’ve been elected and sworn in, you have to use the title.”
Would take some getting use to. “So what is that I do here? There wasn’t really any info describing what holding the position meant.”
The angel sat on the desk, my desk I presumed. “But you read the job requirement when you ran for God.”
“It was a pamphlet that said, and I quote, “God. Everything.” I’m still surprised I made it this far.”
The angel raised both hands. “Well earth does have a higher population than the other systems combined.”
“Other systems.”
“God, uh, kind of forgot about you guys. And his attention to the other planets made us realize he does way too much punishing. You’re lucky because I’d think he would have struck earth with a meteor.”
“There are other planets besides earth with life on them?”
“There are multiple species that will worship you. As duty of God you are to enforce your dominance and commandments upon every civilization.”
(Will be expanded)
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I knew that loads of people would like the idea of being God, but I definitely didn’t expect that this many would volunteer for the position.
Crowds upon crowds gathered in rows before the towering stone structure that had emerged from the sea overnight. God, a glowing white figure, sat at the top of a pillar. It was hard to see what they were thinking (they didn’t have a face), but somehow, it felt as if they were looking right at me.
When the last few candidates joined us, God clapped their hands. Instantly, huge walls surrounded us, rising from the ground. Those at the fringes of our small group tried to run off, but the walls rose too fast, trapping us all.
There was a long silence. God leapt off their platform. They floated in the air, looming over us, sending chills down my spine.
“Hello, everyone. Thank you for joining us today,” God said. He pointed at the human closest to him. “Now, can you tell me why you chose to apply?”
They went down the rows, asking us one by one. Some had applied out of the goodness of their hearts, wishing to make a difference. Others had done so out of a desire for more power, a sentiment that wasn’t quite expressed as it was shown, through clothes and gestures, through the way they carried themselves. Finally, there were people like me, who’d simply applied on a whim. When God pointed at me, I told the truth as well. Something about them suggested that any lies would soon be uncovered, and would certainly not be forgiven.
When the last person finished speaking, God snapped their fingers. A few individuals floated into the air, their mouths agape in amazement. The rest of us simply waited, tendrils of dread building in our chests.
“Do you know what sin I hate the most?” God asked. “Let me tell you. The sin I hate the most is pride.”
“Imagine being so self-obsessed, so arrogant that you think you have the right to be God. Who are you to rule over the rest of humanity? Those I have chosen to save applied due to their compassion. The rest of you have lost your humanity, the very thing I created all of you for. And for that, you deserve to die.”
With a final, lethal snap of their fingers, God overwhelmed our vicinity with white light. The last thing I felt was the glaring heat searing my skin, surely a taste of what was to come.
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[WP] A booming voice gives humanity the news: God's 10,000 year term is up, and a universal election is in place to see who gets voted in to gain His position and powers. Screw it, you think. Why not throw your hat in the ring?
|
VOTE DENNIS PILOT FOR GOD!
Dennis Pilot, an independent candidate to the office of God, promises:
* To legalize magic on macro level;
* To abolish Heaven and Hell and organize up to 28 afterlives sorting people by their preferred lifestyle, none of them involving torment;
* To legalize immortality and reincarnation for those who believe that any kind of afterlife is not to their taste;
* To abolish the speed of light limit in the universe and bless the scientific endeavour to develop a functional Faster than Light Spaceship;
* To amend all existing holy books and remove any and all ancient and irrelevant shit concerning stoning, condemning homosexuality, subjugating women and so on;
* To create Monsters such as Dragons, Basilisks, Gelatinous Cubes, Gremlins and Beholders, to make life more fun and provide meaningful and legitimate employment for those desiring a life of adventure;
* To remove the possibility of Artificial Intelligence from physical laws, so you no longer have to fear a machine rebellion;
* To remove the possibility of Nuclear Chain Reactions from physical laws, so you no longer have to fear a nuclear war;
* To amend the Periodic Table of Elements, remove such harmful elements as Polonium, Cadmium and Mercury from the universe, and replace them with fun elements such as Cheesium, Flubber and Ohmygodium;
* To introduce a procedure of Divine Impeachment, in which the clergy will have the right to remove a God who becomes jealous, demands unreasonable rituals, works no useful miracles and insists that all other supernatural forces are evil demons.
Vote DENNIS PILOT to make the Universe more just and interesting!
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\#GODISDEAD has been trending on my twitter feed for the past week now. But you know, I think I might have a chance.
Nobody can agree on who or how to get elected the big G-O-D. Lord knows the world is on the brink of getting itself all dead and gone now that we know there "was" a God, and most everybody was wrong about him.
I think maybe to get elected it has something to do with "faith" or "belief" in someone and then poof, they're God.
Let's see, I have 80,000 loyal --to a fault-- twitter followers. They seem to like the content I put out there: loving my dog, giving money to homeless, ranting about everything. Even though it's all staged, I love their love.
"They" think there's some good in me. Well, maybe I can do some good.
\#IAMGOD
There. Six little letters sent out on my twitter. And lookie here, already 20 likes. 40. 70. 100.
Well I need a nap anyway. Let's see how much my flock "really" loves me.
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[WP] "In this job, you get one a year. Once you hit 5, you get no more until you use them" said your new boss. "But what are they for?" you ask. He just winks and walks away.
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"In this job, you get one a year. Once you hit 5, you get no more until you use them."
"But what are they for?"
My voice had come stumbling out, half unsure of what I held in my hand and half sure that somehow i'd get an answer. In the end, my boss just winked and walked away while I stared at the glowing device now warmly sitting in my palm.
In my first year of work, I realized I had received a time travel device that allows the user to return to a certain time for one single minute before returning to the present.
Every day we lowered caskets into the ground, every day we watched tearful goodbyes and heard the silence of acceptance.
For awhile I hadn't used my device, but then I got curious about what the dinosaurs looked like... that was pretty cool actually. By the fifth year I burned through my devices without realizing what my old boss had told me all those years ago.
It was a quiet September night years after that I remembered that my last device still remained hidden away in my closet. I dialed it and transported myself back to the previous August, the cold floor of the hospital replacing the hardwood of my home almost immediately. Before I could shake off the effects of time travel, I was already moving to the room I had spent so much time in without ever realizing that one of those times would have been the last.
345
346
Her room was 347.
"Jack, is that you?"
"Yeah, it's me mom."
"Come here, give your mom a hug for god's sake. You look tired, you should get some food here even though its pretty gross."
She laughed but it came out quieter than usual.
Her body had become so frail but underneath that all was the woman who had taught me to love life, to slowdown and appreciate its end and everything in between.
"I'm so glad you came tonight honey."
I held back tears.
"Anytime mom, just call me and i'll be here."
For one whole minute, I was able to talk to her again.
For one whole minute, I smiled.
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You'll never forget or get used to the smell of a person's lifeless body. Entering the home of someone who either just killed themselves or have been murdered is always makes you feel sick, but it has to be done. Disposing and cleaning up dead bodies was my thing the hours were good and the paycheck I got was astonishing.
Sitting in the board room waiting for my manager to come in and give me my first yearly performance review. "He must be the first to last this long since you entered the program John" said in a low voice coming from behind me. "He's good at what he does and never complains," John said politely. I never have seen John my manager talk so politely to someone he's usually blunt and rude with people. Spinning around in my chair and standing up to shake their hands and exchange pleasantries. I finally got a good look at who John was talking to he was as wide as the door and had a cigar in his right hand. John sat down across from us while this person just stood in the doorway filling up the room with puffs of smokes from his cigar. The meeting felt like it went on forever but, it was no longer than 10 minutes. The meeting went as expected nothing out of the ordinary until the end when John excused himself for a moment. John squeezed by the big guy while he waddled over towards me stopping about 2 feet from my seat. I was unsure of what to say but I had to say something it was too awkward but before I could speak this man raised his left hand and flipped a gold coin into the air. The coin hit the desk with force did not bounce you could tell that the coin was heavy by the sound that echoed across the room. "What is this for" I asked sheepishly being intimidated by his presence. Letting out a plume of smoke he just smiled and winked at me then slowly waddled off.
I was left staring at this quickly picking the coin up and examining it to figure out what it's used for. The coin was solid gold with no markings it was just a plane gold coin. Before I could inspect the coin further my phone started buzzing. It was John it was time for another cleanup job making sure I put the coin into the ring pocket in my jeans I quickly gathered my cleaning equipment to be loaded into the van. "What on earth is this gold coin for" I asked John while climbing into the van. John just looked at me and winked.
So that was that we went and did the job as usual and I lived my life like any other 23-year-old would when not working. For the next four years, I continued cleaning up dead bodies, getting paid and receiving a gold coin a year. On my 6th year working for this company, I did not receive a gold coin.
Being fed up with all the secrecy about these gold coins I gathered the five I had and brought them to the local jewelers to get them priced. The jeweler was an old man bent over on a stool sitting behind his desk greeting me as I entered the shop. "Hi, I was wondering if you could give me a fair price for these gold coins I have" I said while putting them one by one on the glass table peace the jeweler was sitting at. The jewelers face suddenly turned pale and the welcoming smile vanished off his face. "Get out! get out of my shop now!" he shouted at me. Being startled at the tone the jeweler suddenly took with me I just stood there in shock. "What?" I said while looking around with a confused. "Just get out! you're too young to have a gold coin a matter of fact your too young to have FIVE of them!" he said more loudly and angrily. "NO" I shouted back I never shout this took me as a surprise as I never shout at anyone, but I needed answers. "I'm not leaving until you tell me what these coins are". The old man looked around himself nervously and quickly pulled out a yellow sticky note and quickly wrote something onto it. "Can you please leave now this is all I can tell you!" he said angrily while handing me the note. I took my coins and the note and left the shop. The old man's handwriting was almost impossible to read but I could just make it out. 'Trinity College Library: The book of people who clean up after the dead'.
Feeling more confused and frustrated that the old man would not answer my questions but left me with more questions. I hailed a taxi and instructed the driver that I wanted to go to the trinity college library. The taxi ride took some time so I decided to Google the book but could find nothing. Finally arriving at the library, I asked the librarian for the book while showing here the piece of paper. Nodding in agreement "follow me" she said ever so softly. I waited until she came out from behind her desk and followed her between big bookcases that seemed to stretch for miles. I was brought into a small dimly lighted room only enough to hold one person it reminded me of a confession box. The librarian stepped out and closed the door locking me in this room. A rumbling voice spoke "present the gold coin and speak the persons name " fumbling around with my bag of gold coins I picked one out and looked around in the dimly lit box for a coin slot or something to put the coin into. A glint of silver caught my attention on the ground I knelt and picked up what was a small plate that was just big enough to hold the gold coin. "I officially lost my mind" I thought to myself. "NAME!" echoed across the box. Panicking I blurted out my name "James Miller".
"James Miller to be disposed of within 24 hours" the box began to shake lights went off and I got pushed out of the box into the library.
I stood there in shock and awe of what just happened. It slowly dawned on me what I just did I'm going to be killed! Running looking for the library at her desk knowing she might be able to help me, but it was closed with a metal shutter the only open door was the exit. not knowing what to do next I rang John. "John! I messed up I spoke my name in the box! I'm going to be disposed of" I said loudly as soon as john answered the not giving him time to speak. "I know it's my duty now to fulfil that request" John said firmly. "I didn't mean to say my name John I panicked I didn't know what I was doing. Please help me" I cried desperately into the phone. John hung up the phone not knowing what to do next I turned around and ran back to the box and put all my coins onto the plate and shouted "Body remover incorporated" I screamed. My whole body tensed up and I felt a strong sharp pain hit me in the back of the head before everything went black.
Slowly waking up to someone poking me with their foot “Sir Sir would you mind moving off the steps please" covering my eyes with my hands from the bright glaring sun I shuffled up into a sitting position. I was cold, damp and my head hurt "what's going on" I asked the person kicking me "Sir if you don't get off these premises, I will call the police". So, I picked myself up and walked to the curb and sat down where the road met the pavement. I realized that I have been out cold for hours hopping what just happened was just a dream I decided to try to ring John back but there was no contact in my phone called John. Thinking to myself it must have worked I got to my feet and got a taxi to my work offices. To my astonishment, there was just an empty lot with car spaces there was no sign of a building or anything it was just like it vanished. Being in shock of all of what just happened I headed home. As soon as I opened my front door there was a chest sitting in my hall. Being careful I opened the chest slowly and was greeted with what must have been thousands of gold coins. I thought to myself I could build an empire with this...
The End
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[WP] You found a man beside the road that was deathly injured and nurse him back to health. He tells you he made you immortal. That was 1000 years ago. Humanity has now spread across the stars. You aren't sure you like how things have turned out. Today you meet that man again.
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"It's me, Mary". The man in the black hat said.
What he said startled me and chilled me to the bone. He sounded and looked exactly as he did that fateful night- that night that I found him beside the road.
It occured during the night, and I was heading home from my stupid dead end job. I must have been a girl of about 23, oh how time flies. I was in a beat up car, still in my McFlonald's outfit when I heard a sharp scream of pain.
I stopped the car, completely concerned for whoever jade that sound. I looked around the road, half hoping that I didn't find anything when suddenly I heard a loud groan of pain right near where I was standing.
While looking around for whoever made that sound, I stopped dead in my tracks. It was a man, encroached on the ground holding his stomach in pain. I crouched down to where he was standing, and put pressure on his wound.
"What is your name?" I said, while putting pressure on what appeared to be a stab wound.
"Jac-Jack Davis". The man exclaimed, extremely nervous.
"What happened here Jack?"
"I-I was walking down the road", Jack stammered, "I was right along the dirt path, but someone stopped me and demanded my shoes. I refused, so the woman took out a knife and stabbed me with it. I-I honestly don't know why it happened, it all happened so fast I-I." Jack was crying heavily at this point.
He appeared to be a man no older than I was. The man was wearing a green jacket, over a dirty ragged shirt. Jack was also wearing what appeared to be black denim pants, and his shoes were missing.
"Don't worry Jack", I exclaimed. "My roomate is a nurse. I'll be sure to bring you to her as soon as possible. She isn't far."
Jack nodded, clearly looking out of it. I looked around, and thankfully the apartment where me and Doris lived was right around the block.
With no time to lose, I grabbed him, and carried him while sprinting straight towards my apartment. I contemplated with calling the police, but I knew that they probably wouldn't make it in time due to the riots going on in the city.
I opened the door to my apartment. I put him down on the living room couch as I looked everywhere for Doris. As I headed towards her room I found that there was a note on her door. It stated that she was out shopping, and that she wouldn't be back until 1am.
"Goddamnit Doris!", I thought, "Why do you never tell me when you're going out? Especially when you're shopping?"
I sighed, and I threw the note to the floor.
(The Man on the Side Of The Road, Part 1)
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You hear a voice from behind you. "Need a hand?" You look at your fallen appendage as it writhes across the darkened dirt. Humor. As you bend to retrieve your fallen hand, your legs give out and you fall face first into the dirt. The ground beneath you shakes as the voice approaches. "You haven't been taking care of yourself." You're flipped over, and you are greeted by a giant of a man. He pokes at your chest until a voice echoes from inside you.
*System failure in 5*
"You've gone through a lot," You would sigh if you could. You shouldn't have saved him. Karma was supposed to pay up, but things never go the way you want it to. Not long after you saved this man you were kidnapped. Some unsavory character needed a life saving surgery, and apparently you were the best. You complied of course, only to lose your life after you completed the surgery. At least that's what you've been able to piece together.
*System failure in 4*
The trail went cold hundreds of years ago, but you had nothing but time. Same memories, same face, same skills, but not the same life. Your apartment had a new tenant, your belongings long gone, the hospital had replaced you with another surgeon. Your friends and family were ecstatic to see you, but there were years that were completely unaccounted for.
*System failure in 3*
You decided to dig, and dig and dig, and you found your treasure. You found out why you died, where your body was disposed of, and those who were responsible. You systematically killed them, but as each name was crossed from the list, two more took their place.But you've finally reached the last name.
*System failure in 2*
"How many times have we gotten here?"
"Too many times"
"I will kill you for what you've done to us"
"Bugs to be fixed for the newest version"
He points the gun at your head,your dismembered hand digs into his foot, his pain distracts him, your gunshot echoes throughout the room.
*System failure in 1*
I hope I don't wake up ever again.
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[deleted]
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[WP] Alien civilization sents an undercover agent to study earth. The problem is that this agent is not very subtle about getting information. Not only that, but he's also oblivious to sarcasm and most jokes. He asks people weird and intrusive questions and believes any answer he hears.
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"I'm not sure I understand."
"It's an expression! What are you doing?"
"I am...trying to 'wrap my head around it,' as you have suggested."
"Jesus Christ--can you stop that? Get down from there. People are staring."
"Have I offended you?"
"No, I'm not offended. I just...you've really never heard that expression before?"
"I have not."
"What country are you from again?"
"...Canada."
"Okaaay. Do they not have idioms in Canada?"
"We do. But they are in...french."
"Right. Well. How long are you staying here?"
"My observation period is to be no longer than fourteen of your axial rotations. What would be called, in your language, 'a fortnight.'"
"Huh? Like the video game?"
"Video games. Yes, I am to understand that your kind often prefers leisurely activities that involve cerebral degeneration such as video games and reality television, is this true?"
"*My kind*?"
"Yes."
"What do you mean by my kind?"
"Why, your species, of course...which I am apart of...obviously."
"Uh huh. Well, don't say things like 'your kind.' It's rude. And if I didn't know any better, I would have sworn that you just called me dumb."
"Not at all. In fact, I find you all quite fascinating and am eager to learn and participate in your peculiar customs."
"I'm sure they don't differ much from Canada's. You guys celebrate Christmas and stuff right?"
"Err, yes. Although, perhaps you can explain to me why it is that you celebrate the birth of an ideological and fantastical figurehead?"
"Are you asking me why do we celebrate Jesus?"
"Precisely. It is my understanding, that a human being, in the sense that he is regarded by the laws and nature of your world, simply cannot exist."
"I'm sorry...what?"
"This is not to say that Jesus, himself, did not exist. There is actual empirical and historical evidence that supports the existence of a being called Jesus of Nazareth. However, due to the physiology of your species, it is highly improbable that this Jesus, who after perishing at the hands of the Romans, thus regained life and 'ascended to the heavens.' The main issue being that your kin--sort lacks the physical requirements necessary for flight."
"Yeah, I'm not even Christian but this sounds like a lot of blasphemous talk to me."
"My deepest apologies. I did not mean to offend."
"It's fine. You seem pretty sheltered so I'll take it with a grain of a salt."
"I was not aware you had a craving for sodium chloride. Perhaps this is an indication of a deficiency in your diet."
"What? No. It's another expression."
"Ah. I will have to wary of your idioms. They seem to escape me."
"Do they? Couldn't tell."
"Thank you. This means my attempts to acclimate into your culture will not be as difficult as originally anticipated."
"Riiight. Anyway, you ever had a hotdog? They have those in Canada?"
"It is my understanding that there are many variants of the genus Canis. Many of which, different breeds are indigenous to different parts of the world, including Canada which is home to several arctic breeds. However, I have yet to encounter one whose body temperature grossly exceeds that of it's canine peers. If I had, I certainly would have kept it for observation."
"What part of Canada are you from?"
"...Quebec."
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“Hey Matthew, did you see the new student today?” I said to my friend Matthew. The new kid was in like all of my classes so far. He sits next to me all the time, and he asks weird questions. “Why?” replied Matthew wondering who I meant. “You know… the one introduced in third. He was wearing a suit and he was pretty tall.”
“Oh right, that one. Yeah, he was a bit overdressed, maybe he came from some rich private school?”
Well I don’t know about the kids past, but he was obviously overdressed. The teachers wear white t-shirts. “You think?” I said to Matthew, approaching my next classroom. I turn left to my cube locker where I hold my books. I grab the one labeled “Calculus. I shut the locker and turn the combo lock a bit.
“Matt, I don’t know but you better be careful of that kid, he seems a bit off”, which was then replied with “You are over thinkin’ it man, just finish class and go home, no need to worry” he said in a sarcastic tone, as if I was going to obsess over the issue.
I enter my classroom laughing while saying “Hello” to the teacher completely ignoring her response, if there was any. I was too focused on the fact the kid was standing right next to the door way, as if he was waiting for someone. He starts walking and he sits to the right of me.
“Okay, what’s your name,” I say not even looking at him. “Magnarto,” he replied.
“Well okay ‘Magnarto’, why are you following me?”, to which he said “Following you, we are friends buddy!”
“What?? I haven’t even talked to you for more than 5 minutes!”
“That’s fine, I’ll still be your friend, by the way where do you live?” I was very annoyed before this and now I was confused. He seemed to be oblivious to the fact I don’t like him, which should have been obvious. After he said that, I have no idea what he is talking about. “My address?”
“Yeah? Why do you not tell that to your friends?” I was dumb founded. I told him I ain’t his friend! “Okay dude you be you, I want to get through class”
“Okay fine, by the way whos skin are you wearing?”
“Wait. my skin? I am wearing my skin!”
His smile increases ten-fold, “Yes, but who owns the head”
The teacher seemed to pause in the moment staring at us as if he wanted us to stop, I just ignored him now, but he continues asking me, and ignoring the teacher.
The teacher finally says, “Who are you, what are you doing in my class”, to which he says “I am following my friend, he’s fine with it. You can continue the lesson”
“I am not continuing anything. Leave my room at this moment, or you can listen,” The teacher remarks at his smile as if he was being sarcastic.
Now I am done with it. I tell the teacher he is following me and she understands somehow. She tells the new kid to get up and go to the office.
I continue the rest of my day til the end of school, finally I think to myself “This kid will never bother me again.” As to my surprise, he ended up being there every day onward.
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[deleted]
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[WP] Alien civilization sents an undercover agent to study earth. The problem is that this agent is not very subtle about getting information. Not only that, but he's also oblivious to sarcasm and most jokes. He asks people weird and intrusive questions and believes any answer he hears.
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"Wait, what did he tell you?"
I watched as Joe Human covertly reached up to their glasses and touched the rim, and a brief image flickered across the glass.
"Mr. Ander advised that it would be acceptable for me to walk around without clothes if I was comfortable with being a nudist. Since nudist is a term for someone who does not wear clothes, his circular logic didn't change my desire to shed my garments."
I sighed, and leaned back in my seat, taking my glasses off and setting them aside. Joe was new to the office, and I should have known things would get weird from the beginning, when he introduced himself as "a human just like you, but without ovaries, mammaries, or other secondary sexual characteristics typically attributed to females."
I was hoping he was just awkward around women, but it seemed more that he was awkward around humans.
"I've disappointed you," he said, voice taking on a tone of unending sorrow.
Shaking my head, I leaned forward and held out a hand. He took it and I held it tight.
"No, Joe. You didn't disappoint me. You're just... Learning, and I wish I could make Mr. Ander and the others understand how to help you learn. Being naked, without clothes, it's not a bad thing on it's own. But we have a lot of things we assume about being naked. That it means sexual interest or privacy, at least in this country. In other countries it's not as concerning. But here, we wear clothes almost all of the time."
"Even if they are uncomfortable," he added, looking a little concerned.
"Yes, but..."
I looked him over, and realized that he wasn't wearing the right clothes at all. Not just because they didn't look good on him, but they were all too tight or loose.
"But there's things we can do to make you comfortable," I said with new energy. "Let's go shopping, and I'll help you get comfortable in your skin."
"Who else's skin would I be wearing?"
I almost laughed, almost, but managed to hold it in.
"Well, noone. But your own skin can be uncomfortable, if you feel uncomfortable all the time."
"So... If my skin felt too tight..." He proposed nervously as I stood and got ready to leave.
"Well, go ahead and unzip it--" I chuckled as I turned away, only to hear a distinct unzipping sound, and I stopped.
I absolutely refused to turn around.
"Joe, I'm not supposed to know you're an alien, right?" I asked casually.
"Correct, absolutely should not know that, at all," he agreed, voice sounding hollow and resonant.
"Then go ahead and put your skin back on," I pleaded, far too weary for being a simple HR manager.
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"Report in Yergal. What's the situation down there?
...
"Yergal, this is Commander Tyreg. Respond immediately."
"Sorry, Commander. I'm currently stuck in the middle of something down here."
"Just give me a brief report. The other agents haven't been optimistic about the Enlightening. What's your position on it? Are the humans ready?"
"...Sir, with all due respect, I think they've long since passed us."
"Say that again, agent, your communicator must have scrambled."
"You heard me correctly, Commander. The humans culture is barbaric, but their technology has long since surpassed our own."
"That's not possible. Preliminary scans reported they'd only just achieved nuclear flight. The body you took over indicated that they're a predatory species and-"
"Commander, the scans were wrong. It is true that individually, they are weaker than what we expect out of a predatory species, but make no mistake, they are vastly beyond mere nuclear flight."
"That's impossible, agent. We would have-"
"Commander, please let me deliver my report without interruption. I have very little time."
\*sigh\* "Go ahead."
"The stories they tell indicate incredible marvels hidden below the surface of their planet. Their governments conduct tests down there, and have birthed some unnatural phenomena. A man who can break mountains with his fists, a soldier designed to be leagues above the rest, and a man who constructed a metal army with a box of scraps. These alone are much too dangerous for us to risk contacting. And that doesn't cover the others who got here before us."
"Others, agent? What others?"
"According to the locals, they've had several different interactions with foreign species. Whether the species were invasive or peaceful, they were all far more advanced than anything we've come across either. The humans have to be hiding incredible technology and biological marvels in fear of them being stolen."
"You mention that they've interacted with peaceful foreign species before, agent. What happened with that?"
"The locals say those foreign species were all inevitably greater than these humans, but even still, the humans killed these foreign species without any qualms, sir."
"So, what do you think would happen if we were to contact them and ask them to teach us?"
"We'd likely be hunted down and destroyed, sir."
"Hm...High Command won't like this. Good work, agent, I'll contact you again soon."
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[WP] After a grueling exorcism, the child is safe at last "Foolish mortal," the demon shrieks as you banish it "I was the only thing keeping you safe." The child's laugh of relief turns sinister and the light starts flickering.
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The fiends words echoed throughout my skull as the remnants of its power faded from this plane.
I had been told that this girl had been possessed for many years now and that the keepers of this sanitarium had only recently realized just how out of their depths they were.
Now as this small child began to giggle and the lights began to flicker, I too felt that I was out of my depth. Never had I felt such a malicious nature as the one being filling the room right now.
The restrains holding the girl snapped. The asylim shook, there was a scream of tearing metal and the shattering of glass as the room was filled with darkness.
I sat for a long moment on the ground waiting for something. Anything. I admit I wondered for a moment if I myself was dead.
Slowly, with my Bible gripped tightly in one arm, I found a match within my pocket and attempted to find one of the candles. I drew blood as my hand fumbled across the glass shards now covering the floor.
Finally I was able to find and light a candle. Its faint light was barely enough for me to inspect the room. The bed now laid empty and destroyed, it's coiled metal springs pertruding from the walls and floor. Its a small miracle that none of them, nor the shards of glass littering the room had injured.
My assistant, a young clergyman supervising his first exorcism was not so lucky. A single jagged spring had lodged itself into his eye cavity. At least he likely felt no pain before he met our Lord.
Finally, there was the stone wall. Or rather, lack thereof. The stone barrier separating us from the cold night outside had been reduced to rubble, and there was absolutely no trace of the girl.
"What have I done..."
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“The power of Christ compels you!” Screamed the exorcist, as he threw holy water on the child strapped to the bed in front of us. She screamed in pain, while the demon inside her roared his last words.
“Foolish Mortal! I was the only thing keeping you safe!” It yelled.
The child stopped levitating, and dropped straight down onto the bed. Her eyes turned from that striking white back to her blue irises. Finally, they started to show again.
As soon As I saw this, I had gathered myself and climbed out of the corner I was cowering in. I walked over to the bed, waiting for instructions from the exorcist from what to do.
“Untie her arms.” He said.
I complied. I started with the girls left hand while he started with her right.
I was relieved that she was ok, but still haunted by the words of the demon. Did he mean a bigger demon was coming? What was the threat he was protecting us from?
The little girl sat up and started to giggle. I started laughing too, because I was relieved and I thought the situation was comical in its way. I mean I almost pissed myself like a baby. That was funny.
But then her giggle turned from sweet to sadistic. The lights started to flicker on and off. She started to disappear and reappear and different places.
That’s when I realized, the biggest threat was her.
The room we were in started to violently shake. Her stuffed animals for the bed started to float. Each one of them taking on a much scarier face rather than their sweet lovable faces.
She started to defy gravity.
I thought of cowering in the corner again but my fight or flight response triggered. Of course I chose flight. We couldn’t tie her to the bed now, and all of our holy water was gone.
I ran through her room door screaming in terror. As I turned I found myself in the hallway of the house.
The hallway started to spin and turn colors. It felt like I was running for years before I reached the door.
As soon as I reached for the door knob, I felt a burning sensation in my hand. I yelped in pain.
I heard a familiar voice in my head. It was her.
“Your not going Anywhere!” She exclaimed.
I had to get out of there. I used my other hand to reach for the knob. It wouldn’t budge. No matter how hard I tried to turn the knob, it just wouldn’t turn.
I quickly ran to the kitchen and looked in the Cupboards. “Ah Yes! An axe.” I exclaimed in my head.
I grabbed it quickly, almost tripping while running. I wielded the Axe and slung it at the front door. I continued to bludgeon the door until a hole large enough for me to go through appeared. I stepped through it. I ran out to look at that house for the last time. I had looked over to the far side of the house.
The exorcist had jumped out of the window.
Terrified by what I saw, I ran down the street screaming. The neighbors opened their windows at the ruckus going on outside.
“Hunny What is that noise?!” Screamed one of them at their husband, who was looking out the open window.
“It’s another baby sitter running from the smiths house again.” He responded.
“Another one?! That’s the 5th one this week!” She yelled.
“Yea. You would think they would just get rid of that child already. I told John not to make that deal with the devil. He could’ve just gotten a surgery to make his d*ck bigger. That ass.” Said the husband, while shaking his head and closing the window.
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[WP] You are in hell and your dog keeps breaking out of heaven to be with you. The demons and angels have no idea what to do.
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Hell isn't all that bad; it's definitely better than people make it out to be on the other side.
For most people, it's the loneliness that gets them. Hell is just so vast and empty most of the time, and even when you can see someone on the distance, they never seem to get any closer. Your voice thins out and turns to dust in hell's chaotic winds. I miss voices. I miss real, human voices. I can almost remember what the sound of laughter was like; I can feel what it felt like to hear a good laugh. I just can't remember the sound.
Maybe that's the true torture of hell, being haunted by transient specters of the joy you once knew. The fire isn't much fun either, but you get used to that. Honestly, the fire is better for keeping things out than for tormenting the usual residence. Occasionally, the anguished screams of the recently deceased with rip through the air, but eventually the burning becomes more of a mild, chronic irritation than anything.
My first day was jarring, but it wasn't a surprise. I didn't believe in hell or God or whatever, but it doesn't matter if you do or don't. None of the religions (that I had heard) got everything exactly right, but I'm not really allowed to talk about that at length. Basically, if you are supposed to go downstairs, you will wind up downstairs. It's just how things are. Try not to stress about it too much.
By and large, our days are spent wandering through smoldering ash and toxic marshes of steaming who-knows-what. Some of us have special assignments. Heck, some of us even get to leave for short stints. I'm hiding though, running from something. Every day is another game of existential hide and seek for me.
Every day (if days were a thing here), I try to hide, and every day I fail. I see him first as a cloud of steam in the distance. He picks up speed, and I run. I don't know why I run. He always catches me, but I still run. When he gets close enough, I scream for him to leave.
"Go back!" Every syllable hits the air just beyond my mouth and disappears.
He pursues until the last bit of moisture sizzles from his fur.
Then he starts to burn. His gait slows once he catches up to me, and he drops to the broken shale below his paws in exhaustion. Every time.
Every time I kneel by him, because he doesn't understand. He's just a dog. He's trying to save me, just like in the river. The dumb son of a bitch didn't know he was going to die too. He jumped in and got sucked under before my own head was pulled below the rapids. His fur burns like pine needles, and I don't know if it hurts him.
"You have to go back," I whisper, "You can't keep coming here."
I scratch behind his ears like he likes. His breaths are heavy and uneven.
I don't know how he gets out or how he gets in. He's clever like that, always has been. Too clever for his own good, because he is dumb as a sack of rocks. He's a good dog. I hate to see him like that, but at the same time in a dark, selfish corner of my damned soul, I want him to find me.
His head is always the last thing to go. He's burnt down to the bones, still resting easy on the searing brimstone. The charred pieces of him turn into silver glitter that floats up above our heads and into the storms above. The clouds eat it up, and I have no earthly idea what happens to those pieces after that. Maybe they reform. Maybe he just pops back into existence up there. Maybe no one even knows when he is gone.
Eventually, he is nothing but that glimmering ash. His collar drops to my lap, and the dog tags jingle against each other. I can't hear them, but I can almost remember what it sounds like.
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“Hey girl”
Laika cocks her head. The voice is familiar. It’s the man’s appearance that is strange. Her tail wags, slowly at first, then faster as she sniffs the air. No dog ever forgets the smell of her master. Not even sulphur is strong enough to dim the memories she associates with him. She lets out a bark of delight as she launches herself towards him. His laugh fills her ears as he catches her in his strong hands. She pauses as she feels wet tears in her soft fur.
“You can’t stay.” He says. He grips her tighter in spite of himself. “I’m the reason you’re here in the first place”. Laika’s ears prick up as she registers the sudden change in his tone. She places a hesitant lick to his nose. He laughs again as she curls her nose ago the strange taste on his skin. She leans into his chest. He sighs. “We knew you weren’t ever going to come back. We knew you’d burn up in re-entry. None of it was your fault. You were just unlucky”. Laika blinks up at him and whines softly. She knows what comes next.
He takes her face in one of his broad hands. “I sent so many creatures to their deaths.” He murmurs. “Your death was the only one I regretted. That’s why I’m here and why you’ve got a soft bed and endless treats upstairs”. Laika growls as he hands her over to the waiting angel at the gates. He smiles in spite of himself once more.
“Rest well, Comrade. I think they need your help
hanging more stars up there”
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[WP] You are in hell and your dog keeps breaking out of heaven to be with you. The demons and angels have no idea what to do.
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Hell isn't all that bad; it's definitely better than people make it out to be on the other side.
For most people, it's the loneliness that gets them. Hell is just so vast and empty most of the time, and even when you can see someone on the distance, they never seem to get any closer. Your voice thins out and turns to dust in hell's chaotic winds. I miss voices. I miss real, human voices. I can almost remember what the sound of laughter was like; I can feel what it felt like to hear a good laugh. I just can't remember the sound.
Maybe that's the true torture of hell, being haunted by transient specters of the joy you once knew. The fire isn't much fun either, but you get used to that. Honestly, the fire is better for keeping things out than for tormenting the usual residence. Occasionally, the anguished screams of the recently deceased with rip through the air, but eventually the burning becomes more of a mild, chronic irritation than anything.
My first day was jarring, but it wasn't a surprise. I didn't believe in hell or God or whatever, but it doesn't matter if you do or don't. None of the religions (that I had heard) got everything exactly right, but I'm not really allowed to talk about that at length. Basically, if you are supposed to go downstairs, you will wind up downstairs. It's just how things are. Try not to stress about it too much.
By and large, our days are spent wandering through smoldering ash and toxic marshes of steaming who-knows-what. Some of us have special assignments. Heck, some of us even get to leave for short stints. I'm hiding though, running from something. Every day is another game of existential hide and seek for me.
Every day (if days were a thing here), I try to hide, and every day I fail. I see him first as a cloud of steam in the distance. He picks up speed, and I run. I don't know why I run. He always catches me, but I still run. When he gets close enough, I scream for him to leave.
"Go back!" Every syllable hits the air just beyond my mouth and disappears.
He pursues until the last bit of moisture sizzles from his fur.
Then he starts to burn. His gait slows once he catches up to me, and he drops to the broken shale below his paws in exhaustion. Every time.
Every time I kneel by him, because he doesn't understand. He's just a dog. He's trying to save me, just like in the river. The dumb son of a bitch didn't know he was going to die too. He jumped in and got sucked under before my own head was pulled below the rapids. His fur burns like pine needles, and I don't know if it hurts him.
"You have to go back," I whisper, "You can't keep coming here."
I scratch behind his ears like he likes. His breaths are heavy and uneven.
I don't know how he gets out or how he gets in. He's clever like that, always has been. Too clever for his own good, because he is dumb as a sack of rocks. He's a good dog. I hate to see him like that, but at the same time in a dark, selfish corner of my damned soul, I want him to find me.
His head is always the last thing to go. He's burnt down to the bones, still resting easy on the searing brimstone. The charred pieces of him turn into silver glitter that floats up above our heads and into the storms above. The clouds eat it up, and I have no earthly idea what happens to those pieces after that. Maybe they reform. Maybe he just pops back into existence up there. Maybe no one even knows when he is gone.
Eventually, he is nothing but that glimmering ash. His collar drops to my lap, and the dog tags jingle against each other. I can't hear them, but I can almost remember what it sounds like.
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The dog door swung open. A dog's head appeared, sniffing the air. Then, two more followed. Their googly eyes took in the whole house.
"Derp, derp, derp!". Each mouth barked in joy, seeing me, their owner. [I stopped rinsing my burned fingers in the kitchen sink](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/d1jhz6/wp_you_have_made_a_large_ouija_board_on_the_floor/ezmr8zo/).
Cerberus jumped up and down for joy. He circled around the kitchen, then started for the living room, hoping to sit beside the fireplace like we once did. He yelped and turned around as he saw the Roomba and cowered behind my legs. I patted him on the center head.
"Intimidating, eh, boy?"
"Derp!" The middle head was in agreement, but the other two looked frightened.
"Lucy, Honey, breakfast is ready!"
My wife came down the stairs. I looked appreciatively at her shoes. It was Prada, of course.
"Oh sweetie, you made pancakes -- ?" She stopped short, cold, seeing Cerberus.
"_What is this dog doing here?!_" She whispered.
Just then, Alexa intoned: "Incoming call from Cowhead!".
"Accept call on speakerphone". She sighed. A call from her lieutenant in the morning only meant trouble at the office.
"Happy Mooooooooooooonday!" Cowhead was unusually cheerful, which was a sign something was seriously wrong.
"**Ok cut it out!**" The temperature in the room got hotter. I looked at my wife amorously. It was always so sexy when she used _the voice_.
"There are some angels here demanding Cerberus to be returned to them."
They're on to us, I mouthed to her.
No shit! she mouthed back.
"Try to stall them. Pursuant to section 666 of our treaty we have 24 hour to return any ...possession... which dropped out of Heaven for a while".
"They're not very happy, M'am. They need the dog to put the fear of hell into people on Earth". I scratched the ears of Cerberus' left head while patting the right, then changing the motions on each hand. It was a trick I've managed, a difficult one like rubbing my tummy and patting my head, since getting here 5 centuries ago. Cerberus was really a good dog that belonged to Lucy but after she was unfairly treated during the negotiation treaty we had to cede Cerberus to Heaven's PR department for their propaganda.
"And the other demons, they don't like it very much when the angels come by. All the angels do is complain all day about how warm it is, it's really grating."
"You and Horseface stall them a little, capiche?" My wife was just so hot when she ordered people around. "Tell them we'll give Cerberus back in time. Oh, by the way, how did he break out this time?"
There was a quiet but telling pause. "He ate the gates of Heaven. And then ours. The captive souls are running free".
"**WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!**" Hell shook as my wife screamed.
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[WP] You have always had the power to read minds. One day while stuck in traffic you look to your left and read the mind of the person in the car next to you. You hear them think ”I can’t wait for my fleet to destroy this miserable planet so I can finally get home.”
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That’s the thing about mind reading. People think mind readers can only read the minds of people that speak the same language as them but they’re wrong. Minds are curious. They’re like radios and I have the master dial that allows me to connect to any persons “radio station” and understand what they’re saying. I can’t quite put it in words but I know for fact that what I read wasn’t of this planet.
“I can’t wait for my fleet to destroy this miserable planet so I can finally get home.”
I looked around me but I couldn’t see anyone unnatural. They obviously must have a way of blending in. Whoever they are, they’ve been here long enough to loathe the place. The flashes of anger and the images of a strange looking place kept popping in and out of their mind, and mine, like the popcorn machine at the movie theater.
I was sitting at a booth by myself, per usual, with my headphones in and my coloring book and utensils strewn across the table. I find, if I work on one simple task for long enough, I can tune my own internal static out and better understand the thoughts of others. Coloring is my meditation.
“Ugh look at this place. It’s all so rudimentary.”
I looked around the family restaurant I was in. It was only 3:26 so the restaurant was mostly empty; perfect to help with focus. A blank faced waitress fluttered past me with a scalding hot plate as she repeated “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” in her head.
“The food is shitty. The inhabitants are shitty. This place deserves what’s coming.”
I watched the waitress place the food in front of an older man. He was bald on top with cropped gray hair on the sides. His large, meaty hands holding a newspaper and his sweeping, gray mustache wiggled gently as he mouthed the words he was reading. He folded the paper and smiled as the waitress placed his plate in front of him.
I had ordered lunch at noon so I would be finished eating by the time the rest of those dining would be gone. I had been sitting for 3 hours and needed to stretch my legs and this mystery person, or thing, had peaked my curiosity. I got up and weaved in and out of the aisles to get to the bathroom in the back. I cut a corner too sharp and almost ran into the same waitress that had dropped the food off for the old man.
“Prime example of the planet’s inhabitant’s stupidity. It wasn’t even looking when I....”
The altercation with the waitress caused me to lose focus and the voice cut out. I searched and searched for the mind in the restaurant but it had gone silent. The waitress had grabbed my arm to keep us from colliding and in my earnest attempt to find the mind I didn’t even recognize how the waitress was looking at me.
“Oh! Sorry bout that!” I said with a pathetic smile. “Just lost in my thoughts and not paying attention.”
She studied me for a few seconds and I studied her. She was short, maybe five feet, with brown hair tied back in a bun. Her grip on my arm tightened.
“Funny how similar our thoughts are. Seems your thoughts don’t belong to you.”
Suddenly the voice came back but I hadn’t been looking for it. It had found me and it screamed in my head until my temples pounded, my sight faded, and I passed out.
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Probably a crazy person. It’s best to ignore these. People have crazy thoughts all the time. It’s really not that surprising, as I’ve had my fair share of crazy thoughts but no one hears them. I hear all of them, and we are all just a little crazy.
I turn my attention to the car next to me, and I hear it again “I can’t wait for my fleet to destroy this miserable planet so I can finally get home.”
That’s weird. I’m hearing them in stereo. It doesn’t sound like a meme or anything. Those sound different. More distinct. This sounded like the same individual thought coming from two different people.
I checked the car ahead of me. “I can’t wait for my fleet to destroy this miserable planet so I can finally get home.”
The car behind me. “I can’t wait for my fleet to destroy this miserable planet so I can finally get home.” It’s everyone on the freeway (at least within range).
And then I thought “I can’t wait for my fleet to destroy this miserable planet so I can finally get home.”
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[WP] While flying your personal plane you got hit by a freak lightning storm. You crash and when you wake you’re in s post apocalyptic future. A group of people saved you, you look around and try to read an old sign. “San Diego” you read. They’re shocked you can read these ancient symbols.
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“It’s…it’s just cursive?” I said, still extremely on the out-of-it side of things.
“No one reads Brush Calligraphy anymore, man, that’s like deep retro,” said one of my rescuers.
“I know a little Chancery Hand,” added a guy who looked like a Steve.
“Oh my *god* shut *up*, Steve,” said the woman next to him.
“Well anyhow,” said my main rescuer, who had LIFEGUARD painted across his chest in what looked a lot like woad, “I’m still counting you as ayoh one. I figure if a dude has to read a sign it doesn’t count.”
“Is everyone going to keep ignoring the plane, because I kind of care about which the fuck colony is making planes again,” said Steve.
“I’ve read about 182 in the Disaster Records,” said the lifeguard, who was well-practiced at ignoring Steve, “so I mean, tee bee aitch, kinda expected worse there. I’ll get Steve and Maria to haul you over to Tiffany. She’s our healer, she’ll get you back on your feet in no time.”
Steve patted me comfortingly on the head.
“Ow.”
“Sorry.”
“Look,” I said, very nearly succeeding at sitting up, “I’m still a little not sure about this whole situation. The realness, you know. Of this whole Baywatch on the Wild Shore thing—” they just looked at me blankly, while also spinning slowly clockwise. “You know what, Tiffany sounds great.”
“I have so many fucking questions” said Steve. “I have *every* question.”
“You and me both, dude. You and me both.”
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*This is not as interesting as other promp-written works, but I love this topic and wanted to tackle it from a different perspective*
​
The group gasped at the same time, and started to speak between themselves.
​
"Jyu kum xum it?" said one
"Im simz" another one said. That language sounds oddly familiar, but I can't really tell what they're saying.
"Koul Braym" said a third
"Jez" said the first.
I tried to get up, but one of them aimed at me and yelled "flou to!" I think he wants me to stay on the floor. I quietly sit down again and wait. A few moments later, the one that left came back with another guy. I can't really describe the cloth he's wearing, it looks like an improvised armor, yet he's wearing glasses.
​
"Ok... As my warmates telled me, you can read these drawings, right?"
"Wait, you speak English!"
"Not much, that language died a really long time ago. I have learned it by myself as a historical language, through various audiobooks"
"Wait, historical language? English dying? But our language is eternal!"
"Oh no, my friend, no it was not. No language is eternal. Languages, just like people, born, evolve and die. English getted his time about four hundreds of years ago. Well, to what we are interested in: these drawings, these symbols, scirpts, whatever you want to call it, can you read them?"
"Yeah, that's the alphabet"
"...Alfabet?"
"No, "alphabet", what we use to write"
"This language has not seen an "alphabet" in centuries, I have very few ideas of what you are talking about" the man stopped for a second and extended his hand for a handshake "By its way, my name is Brayan, or Braym as my friends call me." after saying that, the guy pulls out an old paper with some text. "Can you read it?"
"Yeah, it's a child's story about a girl with a red hoodie that goes into a forest". When I said that, he turned to the other guys and nodded. The next thing I remember is that I blacked out.
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[WP] While flying your personal plane you got hit by a freak lightning storm. You crash and when you wake you’re in s post apocalyptic future. A group of people saved you, you look around and try to read an old sign. “San Diego” you read. They’re shocked you can read these ancient symbols.
|
"Hey. Hey scavenger! Wake up!"
"I think he's dead."
"Hes not dead, see." Pokes chest with sharpened stick, and the body jerks. "Hes still breathin."
"Well now what do we do? Hes got nothin but this shiney flat brick that glows. Could we eat him?"
"No we can't eat him you fool, hes one of us just... shiney, and newer. See. Hes got no dirt on him really."
Slowly my eyes beging to open to a bright sun light. It's hot, my mouth is dry. I need water.
"Wha... where am I?" I slowly sit up.
"Oi!! Holly shit, hes alive!!"
"Of course I'm alive, do you have water?" I asked one of the silhouettes. My eyes were still adjusting to the sunlight. Funny though, I must have been out for a while, I was flying at night.
"Water? Where you been with that fancy shit. Oi, give him some 'go juice' yeah?"
I didn't really hear him, but I took the bottle and gulped down what ever it was, and it was bad. I spit it up and threw up. Head in the sand. "What the fuck!?!? What is that?"
"Its 'go juice' bud, what else would it be? It's made of any animal blood and what's left ground up into a pulp and well.... me own stuff if ya get my drift. What have you been living under a rock?"
"He doesn't know what 'go juice' is, I don't think hes from here."
Finally my eyes adjusted, the two men before me, gaunt but oddly muscular, dawned in plastic armor. It was like something out of movie. One had a mohawk, the other long dreds. Both had goggles on. "Where the fuck am I?" I asked looking around and getting up, stumbling to regain my senses.
"Bud, your in the big nothing. You cant be from around here if ya don't know, then again... theres no where else for you to be from."
"What do you mean?" I asked looking at the one with the mohawk who spoke last.
"I mean after theres nothing, just this." He gestures to the horizon. "Call this place the meat grinder. On account of the 'go juice' it's where we live, and where we make it."
Just as he gestured to the horizon, something in the sand shined and caught my eye so I ran over.
"Wheres he going?"
"I think he found some metal!"
I dug in the sand and uncovered a sign "Welcome To San Diego.... omg!" I read it aloud.
"Wait, you can read that scribble scratch?"
"Of course I can, its english, what happened here?" I asked while turning around to address the two raiders.
"Well I think we should bring you to MaMa, she knows more."
"Whose MaMa?" I asked.
"She'll tell you everything shiney, dont you worry your pretty groomed head."
Next thing I knew I was being lead to their "home" or at least that's what they called it. A canyon with large metal doors. Just outside the city.
"Oi, were bringing you to MaMa, to her throne room. She'll know what to do with you."
"Haha and we might get a reward!!"
Great, now I'm a bounty for these two degenerates, in a place that I don't even know if it's real or all in my head. Last thing I remember was flying at night from Washington State, then a flash of light. That's it.
"Shiney, you wait here. MaMa will be out soon." The two scampered off back outside.
I'm left in a large room, must have been an old Amazon warehouse. With a large metal chair up makeshift stairs infront of me. When a womans oddly booming voice rings out.
"Who are you traveler?" My ears rang with the noise, so I blocked them and winced in pain.
"Oh my god!! That's loud. Yeah, uh.... I'm Derek, my friends call me Dak. My plane got caught in a storm I think. I was flying from Washington State, then there was a flash of light. Then those two.... people? Found me." There was a long pause of silence. "Hello!?!? Anyone there!?!?" I shouted.
From behind a piece of sheet metal stepped out an old woman, long gray hair, hunched over. "Oh well dear, I already know your not from around here." She replied in a sweet soothing old woman like voice. "Oh no, quite frankly, I don't think your form 'here' at all." She looked at me with her bright blue eyes, one clouded with cataracts.
"No ma'am.... um, where is here excitly?" I asked.
"Sorry about the noise, it makes them piss them selves so they know whose boss, kind of funny ever since I was a young girl. See my parents tought me about the beginning. Before the.... darkness." She went over to a large basin. "Water? Since I know you wont like 'go juice' it might kill you to be honest."
I haven't drank water so fast in my life. I was dehydrated, and she knew that, but knew I wasn't from.... whenever this was. "What.... what happened if this is San Diego?"
"Well you and I are the only known ones who can read the old hyroglyphics that dot the Big Nothing." She started with. "First, the water was poisoned. Don't worry it's okay now. Then people started to fight for it. Then bombs dropped and people hid in the ground to escape the burning atmosphere. I was born in a fallout shelter. Not far from here. My mother and father started this colony, and now I run it. Been a long time since I've seen someone from the before." She looked at me with those eyes, like she knew me for a lifetime.
"What year is it?" I asked.
"Oh well.... it was 2022 when water ran out. 2024 when the bombs dropped. Oh I'd say.... give or take.... 2098? Maybe? Then again, I don't keep track." She mentally calculated out loud.
"How are you.... ya know...?"
"Alive?" She asked. "Well that's something I'm going to have to ask the big man when I get there haha." She laughed and grabbed my arm to direct me to a balcony. "All this is mine, and one day yours."
"Wait, no. I can't. I have to go back, I have a family." I said to her.
"Listen Dak, your the only one who can read that language, you can read all my books, and all my records, and to be honest, I dont trust these mongoloids to run this place. They will have heads on pikes in a matter of hours!" She joked but underlying was serious.
"You don't know me, how do you know theres no way back." I pleaded with her.
"Because Dak, I had a vision of a man falling from the sky, given by the Gods. To keep order to the chaos of the Big Nothing. That was last night. Then this morning, those two loons bring you to me instead of killing you. So now you tell me that isn't some bloody divine intervention bull shit or not."
"So I'm just supposed to accept that I'm stuck in a future I know nothing about, and lead people who have no idea who I am?" I asked.
"They know what I tell them, and to them.... your a 'God' among men, a leader.... like me." She gestured to a crude painting on a piece of metal hanging from the wall.
It was a picture of me, what I was wearing, my flight suite. I was infront of the San Diego sign and it looked like this painting was here for a long time.
"See Dak, look." She pointed to a scratched name on the bottom. It said Dak, my name. "You take over, and see" she pointed to a picture of her with her name Daisy, but she was asleep, holding flowers being carried to a pire. "Then I can finally rest after all this time, the Gods have answered."
I couldn't believe it. It was fate, a plan, divine fucking intervention, or I entered a parallel universe made for me. I cant explain it, or even fathom it let alone believe it my self. So that's my story, Dak the leader of the last civilization known to mankind. Conqueror of the Big Nothing, God among men, fallen from the sky to lead these.... people to better lives. One day, hopefully this will make sense, one day the Gods will send a leader my way so I may rest as well when the time comes. One day is all it took for my "normal" life to turn into.... into this. One day to become a King.
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"what happened ?" i ask puzzled and still a bit dazed from the crash
The group of wastelanders point and stutter " Your sky bird fell; the..\*rattly cough\* the ancient ones told of this day, the falling of the sky bird \*excitely\* the day has come we thought today would never... \*speaks word that sound almost alien\*"
"okay... im confused, what are you talking about?" proclaiming my frustraion with their vague nonsense, I gaze around observing the desolate ruins of gas station, puzzled I point to the building
"No we no go there mattabooboos live there..." says the wastelander who seems to be leading the trio interjecting I quiery "mattabooboo? whats a mattabooboo"
The wastelanders barely able to keep their lauging in reply "nothing Yogi"
I let out an audible sigh "Now im really confused you guys know a joke about a tv show but dont know how to read, can you tell me whats going on?"
The leader of the group tells the other two to settle down "in gas station is a Larkin, its a creature that the size of the yellow ground bird"
"you mean a bus, okay we will give that a pass, can you please tell me why everything looks like its been hit by a yellow ground bird?"
"hmmm you funny sky bird man, we explain at kluswell it not far" gesturing behind me and thhe wreckage of my plane
"what are we waiting for? lets go" I enthuasiastically say, finally feeling like I'm going to get some answers
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[WP] While flying your personal plane you got hit by a freak lightning storm. You crash and when you wake you’re in s post apocalyptic future. A group of people saved you, you look around and try to read an old sign. “San Diego” you read. They’re shocked you can read these ancient symbols.
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I awaken to find three eyes staring at me. Which is odd because they belong to one person. Snapping to, I look around. Looking (and I use the term loosely) back at me are three strange creatures, one of whom is leaning over me.
They kind of look like action figures that have been left out in the sun too long. Still vaguely humanoid, but melted and saggy. The one closest to me has three eyes and a vertical mouth while the other two have one eye each, along with a multipurpose looking nose/mouth and... yep I'm pretty sure the small one doesn't have any face at all, just one huge eye and a belly button it's currently sucking air though. That's alright, I've been to the deep south before, I just don't know how I got here from D.C.
All around me the buildings are blackened and crumbling, overgrown with nasty-looking kudzu and sun-bleached with age. A single road sign, still miraculously readable despite the liberal coating of icky slime it's been recently coated with, says... this can't be right...
“I'm in San Diego?” I say out loud.
The three subhumans stagger back in surprise and all speak at the same time. “It can read the scripture!/It knows of the Sandy Ago!/Words of the before-time!”.
Something is starting to feel kind of wrong here, but I can't put my finger on it.
My name is Chuck Heston (not that one) and I'm a life coach and exercise guru. You probably know my face from the cover of Men's Health, December 2014? No? Well, you missed out. The article was all about how to get along when life throws your curveballs. I borrowed the motto of the U.S. Marine Biology Corps: “Improvise, adapt, overcome”. Whatever happened to this place and people, I'm just gonna roll with the punches.
“What are your names?” I ask of the, uh, people.
Each makes a sort of gurgling noise followed by an explosive fart from the middle one.
“Well that won't do. Names have power, and we need to call you something besides squeedlyspooch 1, 2 and 3.” I point to each in turn. “Moe, Larry, Curly.” Curly lets out something like a squeak/belch of glee. Again they all speak at the same time “It names us!/It wants us to follow!/It knows secret things!”
I answer them all. “Yes I do. Come on troglodytes, we've got civilization to find!” We start off on our merry way through the ruined and crumbling buildings. Judging by the slick trail that Larry's leaving behind him, I know who slimed all over the sign.
\* \* \*
“Come forward this way!/You follow us now!/This one must go!” they cry in unison.
I'm getting pretty good at understanding all three of them now, I just wish they'd take turns. “Where are we going?” “You must hear him/He is our guide/He knows many things.” Oh good, finally somebody I can talk to. Moe, Larry and Curly have an annoying habit of all talking at the same time, none of which makes any sense, separate or together. Plus this city is in terrible shape and I have no idea what could have happened to it. Probably something to do with fracking.
They lead me to the ruins of an old amphitheater, crumbling and wracked by holes, but judging by the slime trails everywhere still well-used. Off to the side is a large bank of solar panels, still in pretty good shape and with fat black cables running to the side of the building. Stroke of luck for these little guys, this is the probably the only place around that's still got electricity.
As Larry/Curly open the front doors I'm blasted by a wall of noise and the horrible smell of what I'd guess is rotting Jell-o, which I wasn't aware was even possible. Filling the stands are thousands of slimy sub-humans just like my three amigos, conversing with each other in a deafening din of squeaks, whistles and farts. Moe/Larry/Curly lead me inside to a speaking podium in the middle of the auditorium, indicating that I should stand in the center stage.
Moe grabs the microphone off it's stand with one rubbery tentacle, and brings it to their mouths (and/or rough equivalent) and they speak. “This one knows of the Before Time!/He posesses many secrets!/He can read the texts!” A hushed surprise sweeps across the stands as the importance of who I am sinks in. Now this is more like it, the rapt attention of an audience, I'm right at home.
“We must sing him the song!/He must know we are faithful!/Our words will show him our love!” cry Moe/Larry/Curly and they launch into a song I haven't heard in a long, long time, sung three bars at a time:
**Reading Rainbow!/Butterfly in the sky/I can go twice as high**
**Take a look/it's in a book/A Reading Rainbow!**
**I can go anywhere/Friends to know/and ways to grow**
**I can be anything!/A Reading Rainbow!/A Reading Raaaaainboowwwwwww**
**Take a look/it's in a book/A Reading Rainbow!**
Someone somewhere hits a button and a familiar smiling face fills every television screen in the theater.
“Hello friends!” says Levar Burton “Are you ready to read today?” The sounds of inhuman cries of adulation and religious ecstasy fill the theater.
\* \* \*
After the most boring show in the world was over, I did some investigating. Turns out the world ended in nuclear fire about 100 years ago, that freak electrical storm I flew into was some sort of time rip or something. I'm no scientist (nobody is anymore) but I can't help thinking that maybe it was providence bringing me where I was needed.
You see while they *had* figured out how to push the play button, none of the creatures knew how to change a DVD, so they've been watching the same episode of Reading Rainbow for the last 100 years. In fact there was a huge rack of DVDs just sitting right by the player, covered in dust, soot and neglect. Luckily for them I **do** know how to change a DVD.
Turns out they had this prophecy. That one from the before-time would come who could read the holy scriptures and would share with them secret worlds. So far I've only shown them a tiny fraction of what was in that DVD rack, and they've given me the title of \* squeakfartwarblesqueakfart \* which means “Revealer of hidden mysteries”. They really liked Escape from L.A. for some reason, half the little slugs born this month have been named "Snake".
It's not so bad really. Ever since becoming the slime-people messiah my life has gotten back on track. I've taught them the benefits of diet and exercise for one. Well, exercise anyways. Diet around here is limited to creeping radvine, peat moss, and the occasional six legged mutant deer for protein. Still, I've managed to have my congregation get together a bunch of blenders, and I've gotten pretty close to a smoothie that doesn't taste half bad, and has about 10,000% your daily value of fiber per cup. Cutting carbs has been a trick though.
But the biggest light of hope happened yesterday, when my scavenger parties excitedly brought back something truly amazing. A book, covered in bright gold foil and with the shining face of yours truly on the cover. There's a warehouse downtown filled with pallets of my never-released book “Don't be a Quitter, You're Worth It , Do Some Goddamn Crunches”. In accordance with the will of the holy prophet Burton, I've been teaching the slime people how to read. And by this time tomorrow, I'm gonna give them a new bible.
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[Part 1]
"It's a lovely day, ain't it Noonan?"
I looked over at the tall man sitting next to me and smiled. It certainly was a beautiful day. The sky was clear and bright blue, and the just as blue ocean beneath the vast expanse of sky sparkled brightly, reflecting off the sun rays. He grunted a gruff reply, and although the sparkling waters were reflected in his eyes, it was clear he wasn't really seeing them.
"Oh come now, what's the matter?" I asked him cheerfully. "Why so grumpy on such a nice day?"
Out of the corner of my eye I saw him shift uncomfortably in his seat.
"Nothing." He muttered.
I glanced over at him again. His usually immaculate hair was slightly frazzled and he wasn't his usual clean-shaven self. It was definitely a state I would have never imagined seeing him in just a couple weeks back. Unable to suppress myself, a snort of laughter escaped me.
"What?" He snapped.
I rubbed my nose,"No, just never really thought I'd see you like this." I felt him shift in his seat, and I knew he was giving me his characteristic glare.
"You're so....." I paused and turned my head to add effect to my words. "...unlike how you *usually* are....if you catch my drift..." I trailed off feeling my lips tip up in a smile. He was usually so uptight, I just couldn't possibly pass up on this opportunity to tease him a little. He narrowed his eyes in reply before shifting his attention back to the view through the windshield, seemingly deep in thought.
"You know, maybe Manning was right." I heard him say.
Instantly, I felt my mood plummet.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I tried not to sound offended, but my voice rose several notches.
"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to do this flight. At least, not until after you've had some more experience with this plane."
I gripped the console tightly.
"I told you it wasn't an error on my part Noonan. The landing gear *collapsed!"* Why can't you understand that?" My voice got a little higher.
"Well I know but--"
"**Enough**, you've ruined my mood for the day. Don't bring up Manning anymore unless you want off this flight too. Like I said before, I'm *more* than capable of handling this flight on my own." I cut him off, and turned my attention back to the instruments before me. It was frustrating to say the least. Why didn't either of them understand? Okay *maybe* I was a little unused to the Electra and it's systems, but the crash back at Luke Field wasn't my fault! And did Manning *have* to pull out of the voyage just cause of that? Couldn't he see just how **much** this meant to me? I rolled my eyes and huffed a little.
And that was when it suddenly hit.
There was a jerk, a bright flash of light and all of a sudden, it felt like a large whirlpool was trying to suck the Electra into something. I slammed my hand against the panel dashboard, unable to do anything besides keeping my head from getting forced face first into my instruments.
"Hey! What's the matter?!" Through the lung crushing pressure I heard Noonan cry out from beside me. Strangely, he sounded very far away. It felt like I was in a vacuum, and I gasped like a goldfish, my lungs feeling as though they were unable to expand. Almost as though someone had turned out the lights, darkness suddenly flooded my vision. Forcing my head upright, I tried to look through the windshield, hoping to make some sense of what was happening. Almost instantly, there was a bright flash of light. So bright, I instinctively cowered and closed my eyes, letting go of the console. It was followed by a loud sound that shook me to my core, and vibrated all throughout my body, threatening to deafen me.
Lightning...? Somewhere in my disoriented state of mind, I managed to recognise the sights and sounds battering my poor senses as a thunderstorm. But how was that possible? Just a moment ago the sky was so clear, not a single cloud was in sight! Let alone a cloud that could cause a lightning storm like **this**?!
I thrust my hands out, grasping blindly for the console. I hadn't even touched it when another large force came from the right of the Electra and forced me against the window. I felt the hard plastic slam against my forearm and gritted my teeth. I was going to be very bruised and sore when I get out of this. ***If*** I get out this. I thought grimly to myself.
Bracing myself against the window, I reached for the throttle. I would have to somehow bring the Electra above this cloud that brought this freak lightning storm if I was going to have any hope of touching down to ground in one piece. Yanking it back, or at least attempting to, I realised, to my great horror, that I was unable to. My pulse quickened as I tried to pull the other levers for the instruments. Nothing. They all refused to budge, almost as if they were made of stone.
"*Shit!*" I cursed, yanking desperately at the throttle and the control for the wing flaps. The only damn thing I could do was dial ground control while I kept trying and hope that either the controls gave, or the storm ends. Both of which are looking highly unlikely.
"Noonan!!" I yelled "Can you try to reach over and help me pull the throttle back?"
No response.
"**NOONAN!!**" I bellowed again.
Still no response.
Shit*shit****shit******SHIT***. This was all going to hell. Maybe he had been knocked out by the force of the first blow. This was definitely **not** good at all. I chanced a glance over, hoping to see what had become of him, but it was too dark to tell what had happened to his prone form. I reached over to the radio, hoping to alert someone to our plight. Before I could, a third blow, this time, from the front. I felt my head throw back, and a blinding pain erupted from the back of my head, causing me to cry out. The last thing I saw before I passed out was a blinding white enveloping the Electra.
...
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[WP] While flying your personal plane you got hit by a freak lightning storm. You crash and when you wake you’re in s post apocalyptic future. A group of people saved you, you look around and try to read an old sign. “San Diego” you read. They’re shocked you can read these ancient symbols.
|
I feel pounding on my chest, as I cough up the remaining water in my lungs and gasp at my first breath in, what it seems to be, years. How did I get here?
I feel scrambled, no memories of how I got here, but I see the remnants of a machine sinking in the water next to me.
I sink my hands into the warm sand and I’m brought back. The last memory I have, being with my family on a beach, I look up at my father who seems to be yelling at me. “Jimmy, give me the god damn waffle” my dad yells as I run away from him.
They chase me along the beach as I waddle around with a floppy waffle covered in seawater and sand. My mother laughs as I try to escape my fathers grasp. I begin to smile...
I feel a slap to the face.
I try to speak, but only Jibberish comes out, the figures around me look confused.
My eyes open and I find it hard to focus. I see a green sign, I can’t make out the words... I look below the sign and see a circular outline. My eyes focus on that circular figure until I can make it out. The figures start walking away from me, they lost hope. My eyes widen... “sandy...Eggo, Sandy Eggo!!!” I yelled, rejoicing at the familiarity. One of the figures whips its head around and points at me, “ how the hell does he know where we are?”
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[Part 1]
"It's a lovely day, ain't it Noonan?"
I looked over at the tall man sitting next to me and smiled. It certainly was a beautiful day. The sky was clear and bright blue, and the just as blue ocean beneath the vast expanse of sky sparkled brightly, reflecting off the sun rays. He grunted a gruff reply, and although the sparkling waters were reflected in his eyes, it was clear he wasn't really seeing them.
"Oh come now, what's the matter?" I asked him cheerfully. "Why so grumpy on such a nice day?"
Out of the corner of my eye I saw him shift uncomfortably in his seat.
"Nothing." He muttered.
I glanced over at him again. His usually immaculate hair was slightly frazzled and he wasn't his usual clean-shaven self. It was definitely a state I would have never imagined seeing him in just a couple weeks back. Unable to suppress myself, a snort of laughter escaped me.
"What?" He snapped.
I rubbed my nose,"No, just never really thought I'd see you like this." I felt him shift in his seat, and I knew he was giving me his characteristic glare.
"You're so....." I paused and turned my head to add effect to my words. "...unlike how you *usually* are....if you catch my drift..." I trailed off feeling my lips tip up in a smile. He was usually so uptight, I just couldn't possibly pass up on this opportunity to tease him a little. He narrowed his eyes in reply before shifting his attention back to the view through the windshield, seemingly deep in thought.
"You know, maybe Manning was right." I heard him say.
Instantly, I felt my mood plummet.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I tried not to sound offended, but my voice rose several notches.
"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to do this flight. At least, not until after you've had some more experience with this plane."
I gripped the console tightly.
"I told you it wasn't an error on my part Noonan. The landing gear *collapsed!"* Why can't you understand that?" My voice got a little higher.
"Well I know but--"
"**Enough**, you've ruined my mood for the day. Don't bring up Manning anymore unless you want off this flight too. Like I said before, I'm *more* than capable of handling this flight on my own." I cut him off, and turned my attention back to the instruments before me. It was frustrating to say the least. Why didn't either of them understand? Okay *maybe* I was a little unused to the Electra and it's systems, but the crash back at Luke Field wasn't my fault! And did Manning *have* to pull out of the voyage just cause of that? Couldn't he see just how **much** this meant to me? I rolled my eyes and huffed a little.
And that was when it suddenly hit.
There was a jerk, a bright flash of light and all of a sudden, it felt like a large whirlpool was trying to suck the Electra into something. I slammed my hand against the panel dashboard, unable to do anything besides keeping my head from getting forced face first into my instruments.
"Hey! What's the matter?!" Through the lung crushing pressure I heard Noonan cry out from beside me. Strangely, he sounded very far away. It felt like I was in a vacuum, and I gasped like a goldfish, my lungs feeling as though they were unable to expand. Almost as though someone had turned out the lights, darkness suddenly flooded my vision. Forcing my head upright, I tried to look through the windshield, hoping to make some sense of what was happening. Almost instantly, there was a bright flash of light. So bright, I instinctively cowered and closed my eyes, letting go of the console. It was followed by a loud sound that shook me to my core, and vibrated all throughout my body, threatening to deafen me.
Lightning...? Somewhere in my disoriented state of mind, I managed to recognise the sights and sounds battering my poor senses as a thunderstorm. But how was that possible? Just a moment ago the sky was so clear, not a single cloud was in sight! Let alone a cloud that could cause a lightning storm like **this**?!
I thrust my hands out, grasping blindly for the console. I hadn't even touched it when another large force came from the right of the Electra and forced me against the window. I felt the hard plastic slam against my forearm and gritted my teeth. I was going to be very bruised and sore when I get out of this. ***If*** I get out this. I thought grimly to myself.
Bracing myself against the window, I reached for the throttle. I would have to somehow bring the Electra above this cloud that brought this freak lightning storm if I was going to have any hope of touching down to ground in one piece. Yanking it back, or at least attempting to, I realised, to my great horror, that I was unable to. My pulse quickened as I tried to pull the other levers for the instruments. Nothing. They all refused to budge, almost as if they were made of stone.
"*Shit!*" I cursed, yanking desperately at the throttle and the control for the wing flaps. The only damn thing I could do was dial ground control while I kept trying and hope that either the controls gave, or the storm ends. Both of which are looking highly unlikely.
"Noonan!!" I yelled "Can you try to reach over and help me pull the throttle back?"
No response.
"**NOONAN!!**" I bellowed again.
Still no response.
Shit*shit****shit******SHIT***. This was all going to hell. Maybe he had been knocked out by the force of the first blow. This was definitely **not** good at all. I chanced a glance over, hoping to see what had become of him, but it was too dark to tell what had happened to his prone form. I reached over to the radio, hoping to alert someone to our plight. Before I could, a third blow, this time, from the front. I felt my head throw back, and a blinding pain erupted from the back of my head, causing me to cry out. The last thing I saw before I passed out was a blinding white enveloping the Electra.
...
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[WP] While flying your personal plane you got hit by a freak lightning storm. You crash and when you wake you’re in s post apocalyptic future. A group of people saved you, you look around and try to read an old sign. “San Diego” you read. They’re shocked you can read these ancient symbols.
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"Hey. Hey scavenger! Wake up!"
"I think he's dead."
"Hes not dead, see." Pokes chest with sharpened stick, and the body jerks. "Hes still breathin."
"Well now what do we do? Hes got nothin but this shiney flat brick that glows. Could we eat him?"
"No we can't eat him you fool, hes one of us just... shiney, and newer. See. Hes got no dirt on him really."
Slowly my eyes beging to open to a bright sun light. It's hot, my mouth is dry. I need water.
"Wha... where am I?" I slowly sit up.
"Oi!! Holly shit, hes alive!!"
"Of course I'm alive, do you have water?" I asked one of the silhouettes. My eyes were still adjusting to the sunlight. Funny though, I must have been out for a while, I was flying at night.
"Water? Where you been with that fancy shit. Oi, give him some 'go juice' yeah?"
I didn't really hear him, but I took the bottle and gulped down what ever it was, and it was bad. I spit it up and threw up. Head in the sand. "What the fuck!?!? What is that?"
"Its 'go juice' bud, what else would it be? It's made of any animal blood and what's left ground up into a pulp and well.... me own stuff if ya get my drift. What have you been living under a rock?"
"He doesn't know what 'go juice' is, I don't think hes from here."
Finally my eyes adjusted, the two men before me, gaunt but oddly muscular, dawned in plastic armor. It was like something out of movie. One had a mohawk, the other long dreds. Both had goggles on. "Where the fuck am I?" I asked looking around and getting up, stumbling to regain my senses.
"Bud, your in the big nothing. You cant be from around here if ya don't know, then again... theres no where else for you to be from."
"What do you mean?" I asked looking at the one with the mohawk who spoke last.
"I mean after theres nothing, just this." He gestures to the horizon. "Call this place the meat grinder. On account of the 'go juice' it's where we live, and where we make it."
Just as he gestured to the horizon, something in the sand shined and caught my eye so I ran over.
"Wheres he going?"
"I think he found some metal!"
I dug in the sand and uncovered a sign "Welcome To San Diego.... omg!" I read it aloud.
"Wait, you can read that scribble scratch?"
"Of course I can, its english, what happened here?" I asked while turning around to address the two raiders.
"Well I think we should bring you to MaMa, she knows more."
"Whose MaMa?" I asked.
"She'll tell you everything shiney, dont you worry your pretty groomed head."
Next thing I knew I was being lead to their "home" or at least that's what they called it. A canyon with large metal doors. Just outside the city.
"Oi, were bringing you to MaMa, to her throne room. She'll know what to do with you."
"Haha and we might get a reward!!"
Great, now I'm a bounty for these two degenerates, in a place that I don't even know if it's real or all in my head. Last thing I remember was flying at night from Washington State, then a flash of light. That's it.
"Shiney, you wait here. MaMa will be out soon." The two scampered off back outside.
I'm left in a large room, must have been an old Amazon warehouse. With a large metal chair up makeshift stairs infront of me. When a womans oddly booming voice rings out.
"Who are you traveler?" My ears rang with the noise, so I blocked them and winced in pain.
"Oh my god!! That's loud. Yeah, uh.... I'm Derek, my friends call me Dak. My plane got caught in a storm I think. I was flying from Washington State, then there was a flash of light. Then those two.... people? Found me." There was a long pause of silence. "Hello!?!? Anyone there!?!?" I shouted.
From behind a piece of sheet metal stepped out an old woman, long gray hair, hunched over. "Oh well dear, I already know your not from around here." She replied in a sweet soothing old woman like voice. "Oh no, quite frankly, I don't think your form 'here' at all." She looked at me with her bright blue eyes, one clouded with cataracts.
"No ma'am.... um, where is here excitly?" I asked.
"Sorry about the noise, it makes them piss them selves so they know whose boss, kind of funny ever since I was a young girl. See my parents tought me about the beginning. Before the.... darkness." She went over to a large basin. "Water? Since I know you wont like 'go juice' it might kill you to be honest."
I haven't drank water so fast in my life. I was dehydrated, and she knew that, but knew I wasn't from.... whenever this was. "What.... what happened if this is San Diego?"
"Well you and I are the only known ones who can read the old hyroglyphics that dot the Big Nothing." She started with. "First, the water was poisoned. Don't worry it's okay now. Then people started to fight for it. Then bombs dropped and people hid in the ground to escape the burning atmosphere. I was born in a fallout shelter. Not far from here. My mother and father started this colony, and now I run it. Been a long time since I've seen someone from the before." She looked at me with those eyes, like she knew me for a lifetime.
"What year is it?" I asked.
"Oh well.... it was 2022 when water ran out. 2024 when the bombs dropped. Oh I'd say.... give or take.... 2098? Maybe? Then again, I don't keep track." She mentally calculated out loud.
"How are you.... ya know...?"
"Alive?" She asked. "Well that's something I'm going to have to ask the big man when I get there haha." She laughed and grabbed my arm to direct me to a balcony. "All this is mine, and one day yours."
"Wait, no. I can't. I have to go back, I have a family." I said to her.
"Listen Dak, your the only one who can read that language, you can read all my books, and all my records, and to be honest, I dont trust these mongoloids to run this place. They will have heads on pikes in a matter of hours!" She joked but underlying was serious.
"You don't know me, how do you know theres no way back." I pleaded with her.
"Because Dak, I had a vision of a man falling from the sky, given by the Gods. To keep order to the chaos of the Big Nothing. That was last night. Then this morning, those two loons bring you to me instead of killing you. So now you tell me that isn't some bloody divine intervention bull shit or not."
"So I'm just supposed to accept that I'm stuck in a future I know nothing about, and lead people who have no idea who I am?" I asked.
"They know what I tell them, and to them.... your a 'God' among men, a leader.... like me." She gestured to a crude painting on a piece of metal hanging from the wall.
It was a picture of me, what I was wearing, my flight suite. I was infront of the San Diego sign and it looked like this painting was here for a long time.
"See Dak, look." She pointed to a scratched name on the bottom. It said Dak, my name. "You take over, and see" she pointed to a picture of her with her name Daisy, but she was asleep, holding flowers being carried to a pire. "Then I can finally rest after all this time, the Gods have answered."
I couldn't believe it. It was fate, a plan, divine fucking intervention, or I entered a parallel universe made for me. I cant explain it, or even fathom it let alone believe it my self. So that's my story, Dak the leader of the last civilization known to mankind. Conqueror of the Big Nothing, God among men, fallen from the sky to lead these.... people to better lives. One day, hopefully this will make sense, one day the Gods will send a leader my way so I may rest as well when the time comes. One day is all it took for my "normal" life to turn into.... into this. One day to become a King.
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[Part 1]
"It's a lovely day, ain't it Noonan?"
I looked over at the tall man sitting next to me and smiled. It certainly was a beautiful day. The sky was clear and bright blue, and the just as blue ocean beneath the vast expanse of sky sparkled brightly, reflecting off the sun rays. He grunted a gruff reply, and although the sparkling waters were reflected in his eyes, it was clear he wasn't really seeing them.
"Oh come now, what's the matter?" I asked him cheerfully. "Why so grumpy on such a nice day?"
Out of the corner of my eye I saw him shift uncomfortably in his seat.
"Nothing." He muttered.
I glanced over at him again. His usually immaculate hair was slightly frazzled and he wasn't his usual clean-shaven self. It was definitely a state I would have never imagined seeing him in just a couple weeks back. Unable to suppress myself, a snort of laughter escaped me.
"What?" He snapped.
I rubbed my nose,"No, just never really thought I'd see you like this." I felt him shift in his seat, and I knew he was giving me his characteristic glare.
"You're so....." I paused and turned my head to add effect to my words. "...unlike how you *usually* are....if you catch my drift..." I trailed off feeling my lips tip up in a smile. He was usually so uptight, I just couldn't possibly pass up on this opportunity to tease him a little. He narrowed his eyes in reply before shifting his attention back to the view through the windshield, seemingly deep in thought.
"You know, maybe Manning was right." I heard him say.
Instantly, I felt my mood plummet.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I tried not to sound offended, but my voice rose several notches.
"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to do this flight. At least, not until after you've had some more experience with this plane."
I gripped the console tightly.
"I told you it wasn't an error on my part Noonan. The landing gear *collapsed!"* Why can't you understand that?" My voice got a little higher.
"Well I know but--"
"**Enough**, you've ruined my mood for the day. Don't bring up Manning anymore unless you want off this flight too. Like I said before, I'm *more* than capable of handling this flight on my own." I cut him off, and turned my attention back to the instruments before me. It was frustrating to say the least. Why didn't either of them understand? Okay *maybe* I was a little unused to the Electra and it's systems, but the crash back at Luke Field wasn't my fault! And did Manning *have* to pull out of the voyage just cause of that? Couldn't he see just how **much** this meant to me? I rolled my eyes and huffed a little.
And that was when it suddenly hit.
There was a jerk, a bright flash of light and all of a sudden, it felt like a large whirlpool was trying to suck the Electra into something. I slammed my hand against the panel dashboard, unable to do anything besides keeping my head from getting forced face first into my instruments.
"Hey! What's the matter?!" Through the lung crushing pressure I heard Noonan cry out from beside me. Strangely, he sounded very far away. It felt like I was in a vacuum, and I gasped like a goldfish, my lungs feeling as though they were unable to expand. Almost as though someone had turned out the lights, darkness suddenly flooded my vision. Forcing my head upright, I tried to look through the windshield, hoping to make some sense of what was happening. Almost instantly, there was a bright flash of light. So bright, I instinctively cowered and closed my eyes, letting go of the console. It was followed by a loud sound that shook me to my core, and vibrated all throughout my body, threatening to deafen me.
Lightning...? Somewhere in my disoriented state of mind, I managed to recognise the sights and sounds battering my poor senses as a thunderstorm. But how was that possible? Just a moment ago the sky was so clear, not a single cloud was in sight! Let alone a cloud that could cause a lightning storm like **this**?!
I thrust my hands out, grasping blindly for the console. I hadn't even touched it when another large force came from the right of the Electra and forced me against the window. I felt the hard plastic slam against my forearm and gritted my teeth. I was going to be very bruised and sore when I get out of this. ***If*** I get out this. I thought grimly to myself.
Bracing myself against the window, I reached for the throttle. I would have to somehow bring the Electra above this cloud that brought this freak lightning storm if I was going to have any hope of touching down to ground in one piece. Yanking it back, or at least attempting to, I realised, to my great horror, that I was unable to. My pulse quickened as I tried to pull the other levers for the instruments. Nothing. They all refused to budge, almost as if they were made of stone.
"*Shit!*" I cursed, yanking desperately at the throttle and the control for the wing flaps. The only damn thing I could do was dial ground control while I kept trying and hope that either the controls gave, or the storm ends. Both of which are looking highly unlikely.
"Noonan!!" I yelled "Can you try to reach over and help me pull the throttle back?"
No response.
"**NOONAN!!**" I bellowed again.
Still no response.
Shit*shit****shit******SHIT***. This was all going to hell. Maybe he had been knocked out by the force of the first blow. This was definitely **not** good at all. I chanced a glance over, hoping to see what had become of him, but it was too dark to tell what had happened to his prone form. I reached over to the radio, hoping to alert someone to our plight. Before I could, a third blow, this time, from the front. I felt my head throw back, and a blinding pain erupted from the back of my head, causing me to cry out. The last thing I saw before I passed out was a blinding white enveloping the Electra.
...
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[WP] While flying your personal plane you got hit by a freak lightning storm. You crash and when you wake you’re in s post apocalyptic future. A group of people saved you, you look around and try to read an old sign. “San Diego” you read. They’re shocked you can read these ancient symbols.
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The Forbes article claimed “*Fifteen Billion,”* but that couldn’t be correct; InvesCorp was worth an easy sixteen. I had buyers waiting like lions stalking an elephant. The first, one Chen Santiago, waited for me in Macau. I thought him rather pretentious—completely incapable of handling such a sale—but the drinks were free, the women wild, and the casino floor cleared out for my arrival.
I only had to sit back and sip brandy for fifteen hours.
I tossed the magazine down on the small, mahogany table. The Learjet was packed plush with leopard fur and ivory; I reclined on memory foam and warthog leather. I wished it was white rhino. It was a real pity that mankind drove that species to extinction long ago.
I reached into the cooler next to me and popped the very finest of in-flight beverages. The airplane shuttered a bit. Bud Light spilled down the side of the bottle.
I pinged the intercom. “Is there a problem?”
There *was* a problem. I had spilled beer on my favorite table, and the gold-plated napkin holder was on the other side so that I had to *get up and reach for it*. There was definitely a problem.
“Just a little turbulence, sir,” my pilot replied. “Completely unavoidable.”
*What was I paying him for, anyway?* “I don’t care. Go around it.”
“Yes, sir.”
He wasn’t going to change course and I knew it. I guess I didn’t care too much—part of me knew there was nothing I could do—but it was my sole purpose in life to try and change the inevitable. It’s why I needed to sell off InvesCorp. It’s why I needed to schmooze with politicians and fusion tycoons and space agencies worldwide. I was going to die in two years from the tumor lodged in my brain unless I could halt its growth. And would you know? This tumor wouldn’t grow in space.
So, to space I was headed—one way or another—and if I could make a few billion mining asteroids along the way, well that would be just lovely.
The jet hit another rough patch and dropped. This time, the half-empty bottle lifted and spilled over, clunking and clattering on cashmere carpet. I cursed and reached down to grab it. As I did, another patch of turbulence shook and sputtered the jet and bumped me out of my seat.
“Sir, I apologize,” the pilot started. “We appear to be flying into a storm that didn’t show up on our radar.”
He was getting fired for this. I stood up fully, stretching, and tossed the beer bottle into the recycle bin. But that didn’t make any sense—the equipment was top-notch—and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
I tapped the intercom. “What storm? It looks clear to me.”
“Yes sir, that’s why we didn’t detect it. Atmospheric disturbances with no clouds.”
“What? How is that even possible?”
“I’m not sure, Sir.”
“Where are we?”
“Flying over California, Sir.”
I looked out the wide portholes, trying to get a glimpse of the ground below. In the rising summer heat, the brown Rockies swirled below like creamer in coffee. White tips of snow still covered the tallest peaks, and a glimmer of light reflected off the steam rising from powerplant stacks.
“Is that the new fusion plant?” I asked.
I head a murmur over the radio. My copilot clacked away at his keyboard, and after a few seconds of discussion, responded.
“Yes, sir. It just opened last week. We’re probably one of the first flights to see it from this angle.”
A pit of unease wormed in my stomach. It was a sinking feeling I had experienced only a few times before: when I found my high-school sweethearts pregnancy test in the garbage, the first and second times I wrecked my father’s Bentley, and now—with a stomach half full of beer—flying ten-thousand feet above the fusion plant.
The jet shook and trembled and a buzzing static filled the intercom. I stumbled towards the front of the jet. It rocked and bucked at me like a bull; my jet! I had to use the tables and recliners and stripper pole to steady myself.
The plane vibrated. This was a constant up-and-down motion like a cheap massage chair, far almost too orderly to be standard turbulence.
“What the hell is going on!” I shouted.
I reached the front cockpit and slammed my fist against the metal door, demanding an explanation.
A searing crack of green light filled my vision as it surged through me. The pain was intense, blinding, and made every hair on my body stand on end. My skin prickled. My lungs filled with steel-wool fire at every breath. I passed in and out of consciousness until I felt pressure forcing down on my body.
I curled my fingers through course sand. My lungs sucked warm, dry air that left a bitter, metallic taste. It smelled like singed ozone and electricity. As my vision refocused, I tilted my head, staring in awe at the highway sign that rusted in front of me. I couldn’t believe it.
“San Diego? What the hell?”
This felt like the worst hangover. One moment I was on a plane, and the next? Well—I wasn’t completely sure. Was I still even alive? Was I dreaming? With the hot sun bearing down on my back, sweating through my Armani suit, it certainly felt real to me.
Boots shuffled behind me. I tried to stand up, but I couldn’t feel my legs. My eyes grew wide. My pulse raced as I tried to move the rest of my body; my lower half wouldn’t respond.
“Help! Help me!” I croaked.
I struggled up on my arms and twisted around. Four men stood around me—at least, I guessed they were men—because they covered their faces with patterned niqabs. They carried long, heavy rifles. Without hesitation, they all aimed towards me.
One of them shouted in a language I didn’t understand. Another bent down mechanically and grabbed my shoulder with an ironclad grasp. I could still feel pain—and one more thing—the cold steel of a gun barrel pressed against my forehead.
​
***
Please critique this! I'd love to hear your thoughts on the protagonist's character.
More, better short stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH!
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[Part 1]
"It's a lovely day, ain't it Noonan?"
I looked over at the tall man sitting next to me and smiled. It certainly was a beautiful day. The sky was clear and bright blue, and the just as blue ocean beneath the vast expanse of sky sparkled brightly, reflecting off the sun rays. He grunted a gruff reply, and although the sparkling waters were reflected in his eyes, it was clear he wasn't really seeing them.
"Oh come now, what's the matter?" I asked him cheerfully. "Why so grumpy on such a nice day?"
Out of the corner of my eye I saw him shift uncomfortably in his seat.
"Nothing." He muttered.
I glanced over at him again. His usually immaculate hair was slightly frazzled and he wasn't his usual clean-shaven self. It was definitely a state I would have never imagined seeing him in just a couple weeks back. Unable to suppress myself, a snort of laughter escaped me.
"What?" He snapped.
I rubbed my nose,"No, just never really thought I'd see you like this." I felt him shift in his seat, and I knew he was giving me his characteristic glare.
"You're so....." I paused and turned my head to add effect to my words. "...unlike how you *usually* are....if you catch my drift..." I trailed off feeling my lips tip up in a smile. He was usually so uptight, I just couldn't possibly pass up on this opportunity to tease him a little. He narrowed his eyes in reply before shifting his attention back to the view through the windshield, seemingly deep in thought.
"You know, maybe Manning was right." I heard him say.
Instantly, I felt my mood plummet.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I tried not to sound offended, but my voice rose several notches.
"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to do this flight. At least, not until after you've had some more experience with this plane."
I gripped the console tightly.
"I told you it wasn't an error on my part Noonan. The landing gear *collapsed!"* Why can't you understand that?" My voice got a little higher.
"Well I know but--"
"**Enough**, you've ruined my mood for the day. Don't bring up Manning anymore unless you want off this flight too. Like I said before, I'm *more* than capable of handling this flight on my own." I cut him off, and turned my attention back to the instruments before me. It was frustrating to say the least. Why didn't either of them understand? Okay *maybe* I was a little unused to the Electra and it's systems, but the crash back at Luke Field wasn't my fault! And did Manning *have* to pull out of the voyage just cause of that? Couldn't he see just how **much** this meant to me? I rolled my eyes and huffed a little.
And that was when it suddenly hit.
There was a jerk, a bright flash of light and all of a sudden, it felt like a large whirlpool was trying to suck the Electra into something. I slammed my hand against the panel dashboard, unable to do anything besides keeping my head from getting forced face first into my instruments.
"Hey! What's the matter?!" Through the lung crushing pressure I heard Noonan cry out from beside me. Strangely, he sounded very far away. It felt like I was in a vacuum, and I gasped like a goldfish, my lungs feeling as though they were unable to expand. Almost as though someone had turned out the lights, darkness suddenly flooded my vision. Forcing my head upright, I tried to look through the windshield, hoping to make some sense of what was happening. Almost instantly, there was a bright flash of light. So bright, I instinctively cowered and closed my eyes, letting go of the console. It was followed by a loud sound that shook me to my core, and vibrated all throughout my body, threatening to deafen me.
Lightning...? Somewhere in my disoriented state of mind, I managed to recognise the sights and sounds battering my poor senses as a thunderstorm. But how was that possible? Just a moment ago the sky was so clear, not a single cloud was in sight! Let alone a cloud that could cause a lightning storm like **this**?!
I thrust my hands out, grasping blindly for the console. I hadn't even touched it when another large force came from the right of the Electra and forced me against the window. I felt the hard plastic slam against my forearm and gritted my teeth. I was going to be very bruised and sore when I get out of this. ***If*** I get out this. I thought grimly to myself.
Bracing myself against the window, I reached for the throttle. I would have to somehow bring the Electra above this cloud that brought this freak lightning storm if I was going to have any hope of touching down to ground in one piece. Yanking it back, or at least attempting to, I realised, to my great horror, that I was unable to. My pulse quickened as I tried to pull the other levers for the instruments. Nothing. They all refused to budge, almost as if they were made of stone.
"*Shit!*" I cursed, yanking desperately at the throttle and the control for the wing flaps. The only damn thing I could do was dial ground control while I kept trying and hope that either the controls gave, or the storm ends. Both of which are looking highly unlikely.
"Noonan!!" I yelled "Can you try to reach over and help me pull the throttle back?"
No response.
"**NOONAN!!**" I bellowed again.
Still no response.
Shit*shit****shit******SHIT***. This was all going to hell. Maybe he had been knocked out by the force of the first blow. This was definitely **not** good at all. I chanced a glance over, hoping to see what had become of him, but it was too dark to tell what had happened to his prone form. I reached over to the radio, hoping to alert someone to our plight. Before I could, a third blow, this time, from the front. I felt my head throw back, and a blinding pain erupted from the back of my head, causing me to cry out. The last thing I saw before I passed out was a blinding white enveloping the Electra.
...
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[WP] While flying your personal plane you got hit by a freak lightning storm. You crash and when you wake you’re in s post apocalyptic future. A group of people saved you, you look around and try to read an old sign. “San Diego” you read. They’re shocked you can read these ancient symbols.
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"Hey. Hey scavenger! Wake up!"
"I think he's dead."
"Hes not dead, see." Pokes chest with sharpened stick, and the body jerks. "Hes still breathin."
"Well now what do we do? Hes got nothin but this shiney flat brick that glows. Could we eat him?"
"No we can't eat him you fool, hes one of us just... shiney, and newer. See. Hes got no dirt on him really."
Slowly my eyes beging to open to a bright sun light. It's hot, my mouth is dry. I need water.
"Wha... where am I?" I slowly sit up.
"Oi!! Holly shit, hes alive!!"
"Of course I'm alive, do you have water?" I asked one of the silhouettes. My eyes were still adjusting to the sunlight. Funny though, I must have been out for a while, I was flying at night.
"Water? Where you been with that fancy shit. Oi, give him some 'go juice' yeah?"
I didn't really hear him, but I took the bottle and gulped down what ever it was, and it was bad. I spit it up and threw up. Head in the sand. "What the fuck!?!? What is that?"
"Its 'go juice' bud, what else would it be? It's made of any animal blood and what's left ground up into a pulp and well.... me own stuff if ya get my drift. What have you been living under a rock?"
"He doesn't know what 'go juice' is, I don't think hes from here."
Finally my eyes adjusted, the two men before me, gaunt but oddly muscular, dawned in plastic armor. It was like something out of movie. One had a mohawk, the other long dreds. Both had goggles on. "Where the fuck am I?" I asked looking around and getting up, stumbling to regain my senses.
"Bud, your in the big nothing. You cant be from around here if ya don't know, then again... theres no where else for you to be from."
"What do you mean?" I asked looking at the one with the mohawk who spoke last.
"I mean after theres nothing, just this." He gestures to the horizon. "Call this place the meat grinder. On account of the 'go juice' it's where we live, and where we make it."
Just as he gestured to the horizon, something in the sand shined and caught my eye so I ran over.
"Wheres he going?"
"I think he found some metal!"
I dug in the sand and uncovered a sign "Welcome To San Diego.... omg!" I read it aloud.
"Wait, you can read that scribble scratch?"
"Of course I can, its english, what happened here?" I asked while turning around to address the two raiders.
"Well I think we should bring you to MaMa, she knows more."
"Whose MaMa?" I asked.
"She'll tell you everything shiney, dont you worry your pretty groomed head."
Next thing I knew I was being lead to their "home" or at least that's what they called it. A canyon with large metal doors. Just outside the city.
"Oi, were bringing you to MaMa, to her throne room. She'll know what to do with you."
"Haha and we might get a reward!!"
Great, now I'm a bounty for these two degenerates, in a place that I don't even know if it's real or all in my head. Last thing I remember was flying at night from Washington State, then a flash of light. That's it.
"Shiney, you wait here. MaMa will be out soon." The two scampered off back outside.
I'm left in a large room, must have been an old Amazon warehouse. With a large metal chair up makeshift stairs infront of me. When a womans oddly booming voice rings out.
"Who are you traveler?" My ears rang with the noise, so I blocked them and winced in pain.
"Oh my god!! That's loud. Yeah, uh.... I'm Derek, my friends call me Dak. My plane got caught in a storm I think. I was flying from Washington State, then there was a flash of light. Then those two.... people? Found me." There was a long pause of silence. "Hello!?!? Anyone there!?!?" I shouted.
From behind a piece of sheet metal stepped out an old woman, long gray hair, hunched over. "Oh well dear, I already know your not from around here." She replied in a sweet soothing old woman like voice. "Oh no, quite frankly, I don't think your form 'here' at all." She looked at me with her bright blue eyes, one clouded with cataracts.
"No ma'am.... um, where is here excitly?" I asked.
"Sorry about the noise, it makes them piss them selves so they know whose boss, kind of funny ever since I was a young girl. See my parents tought me about the beginning. Before the.... darkness." She went over to a large basin. "Water? Since I know you wont like 'go juice' it might kill you to be honest."
I haven't drank water so fast in my life. I was dehydrated, and she knew that, but knew I wasn't from.... whenever this was. "What.... what happened if this is San Diego?"
"Well you and I are the only known ones who can read the old hyroglyphics that dot the Big Nothing." She started with. "First, the water was poisoned. Don't worry it's okay now. Then people started to fight for it. Then bombs dropped and people hid in the ground to escape the burning atmosphere. I was born in a fallout shelter. Not far from here. My mother and father started this colony, and now I run it. Been a long time since I've seen someone from the before." She looked at me with those eyes, like she knew me for a lifetime.
"What year is it?" I asked.
"Oh well.... it was 2022 when water ran out. 2024 when the bombs dropped. Oh I'd say.... give or take.... 2098? Maybe? Then again, I don't keep track." She mentally calculated out loud.
"How are you.... ya know...?"
"Alive?" She asked. "Well that's something I'm going to have to ask the big man when I get there haha." She laughed and grabbed my arm to direct me to a balcony. "All this is mine, and one day yours."
"Wait, no. I can't. I have to go back, I have a family." I said to her.
"Listen Dak, your the only one who can read that language, you can read all my books, and all my records, and to be honest, I dont trust these mongoloids to run this place. They will have heads on pikes in a matter of hours!" She joked but underlying was serious.
"You don't know me, how do you know theres no way back." I pleaded with her.
"Because Dak, I had a vision of a man falling from the sky, given by the Gods. To keep order to the chaos of the Big Nothing. That was last night. Then this morning, those two loons bring you to me instead of killing you. So now you tell me that isn't some bloody divine intervention bull shit or not."
"So I'm just supposed to accept that I'm stuck in a future I know nothing about, and lead people who have no idea who I am?" I asked.
"They know what I tell them, and to them.... your a 'God' among men, a leader.... like me." She gestured to a crude painting on a piece of metal hanging from the wall.
It was a picture of me, what I was wearing, my flight suite. I was infront of the San Diego sign and it looked like this painting was here for a long time.
"See Dak, look." She pointed to a scratched name on the bottom. It said Dak, my name. "You take over, and see" she pointed to a picture of her with her name Daisy, but she was asleep, holding flowers being carried to a pire. "Then I can finally rest after all this time, the Gods have answered."
I couldn't believe it. It was fate, a plan, divine fucking intervention, or I entered a parallel universe made for me. I cant explain it, or even fathom it let alone believe it my self. So that's my story, Dak the leader of the last civilization known to mankind. Conqueror of the Big Nothing, God among men, fallen from the sky to lead these.... people to better lives. One day, hopefully this will make sense, one day the Gods will send a leader my way so I may rest as well when the time comes. One day is all it took for my "normal" life to turn into.... into this. One day to become a King.
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I awaken to find three eyes staring at me. Which is odd because they belong to one person. Snapping to, I look around. Looking (and I use the term loosely) back at me are three strange creatures, one of whom is leaning over me.
They kind of look like action figures that have been left out in the sun too long. Still vaguely humanoid, but melted and saggy. The one closest to me has three eyes and a vertical mouth while the other two have one eye each, along with a multipurpose looking nose/mouth and... yep I'm pretty sure the small one doesn't have any face at all, just one huge eye and a belly button it's currently sucking air though. That's alright, I've been to the deep south before, I just don't know how I got here from D.C.
All around me the buildings are blackened and crumbling, overgrown with nasty-looking kudzu and sun-bleached with age. A single road sign, still miraculously readable despite the liberal coating of icky slime it's been recently coated with, says... this can't be right...
“I'm in San Diego?” I say out loud.
The three subhumans stagger back in surprise and all speak at the same time. “It can read the scripture!/It knows of the Sandy Ago!/Words of the before-time!”.
Something is starting to feel kind of wrong here, but I can't put my finger on it.
My name is Chuck Heston (not that one) and I'm a life coach and exercise guru. You probably know my face from the cover of Men's Health, December 2014? No? Well, you missed out. The article was all about how to get along when life throws your curveballs. I borrowed the motto of the U.S. Marine Biology Corps: “Improvise, adapt, overcome”. Whatever happened to this place and people, I'm just gonna roll with the punches.
“What are your names?” I ask of the, uh, people.
Each makes a sort of gurgling noise followed by an explosive fart from the middle one.
“Well that won't do. Names have power, and we need to call you something besides squeedlyspooch 1, 2 and 3.” I point to each in turn. “Moe, Larry, Curly.” Curly lets out something like a squeak/belch of glee. Again they all speak at the same time “It names us!/It wants us to follow!/It knows secret things!”
I answer them all. “Yes I do. Come on troglodytes, we've got civilization to find!” We start off on our merry way through the ruined and crumbling buildings. Judging by the slick trail that Larry's leaving behind him, I know who slimed all over the sign.
\* \* \*
“Come forward this way!/You follow us now!/This one must go!” they cry in unison.
I'm getting pretty good at understanding all three of them now, I just wish they'd take turns. “Where are we going?” “You must hear him/He is our guide/He knows many things.” Oh good, finally somebody I can talk to. Moe, Larry and Curly have an annoying habit of all talking at the same time, none of which makes any sense, separate or together. Plus this city is in terrible shape and I have no idea what could have happened to it. Probably something to do with fracking.
They lead me to the ruins of an old amphitheater, crumbling and wracked by holes, but judging by the slime trails everywhere still well-used. Off to the side is a large bank of solar panels, still in pretty good shape and with fat black cables running to the side of the building. Stroke of luck for these little guys, this is the probably the only place around that's still got electricity.
As Larry/Curly open the front doors I'm blasted by a wall of noise and the horrible smell of what I'd guess is rotting Jell-o, which I wasn't aware was even possible. Filling the stands are thousands of slimy sub-humans just like my three amigos, conversing with each other in a deafening din of squeaks, whistles and farts. Moe/Larry/Curly lead me inside to a speaking podium in the middle of the auditorium, indicating that I should stand in the center stage.
Moe grabs the microphone off it's stand with one rubbery tentacle, and brings it to their mouths (and/or rough equivalent) and they speak. “This one knows of the Before Time!/He posesses many secrets!/He can read the texts!” A hushed surprise sweeps across the stands as the importance of who I am sinks in. Now this is more like it, the rapt attention of an audience, I'm right at home.
“We must sing him the song!/He must know we are faithful!/Our words will show him our love!” cry Moe/Larry/Curly and they launch into a song I haven't heard in a long, long time, sung three bars at a time:
**Reading Rainbow!/Butterfly in the sky/I can go twice as high**
**Take a look/it's in a book/A Reading Rainbow!**
**I can go anywhere/Friends to know/and ways to grow**
**I can be anything!/A Reading Rainbow!/A Reading Raaaaainboowwwwwww**
**Take a look/it's in a book/A Reading Rainbow!**
Someone somewhere hits a button and a familiar smiling face fills every television screen in the theater.
“Hello friends!” says Levar Burton “Are you ready to read today?” The sounds of inhuman cries of adulation and religious ecstasy fill the theater.
\* \* \*
After the most boring show in the world was over, I did some investigating. Turns out the world ended in nuclear fire about 100 years ago, that freak electrical storm I flew into was some sort of time rip or something. I'm no scientist (nobody is anymore) but I can't help thinking that maybe it was providence bringing me where I was needed.
You see while they *had* figured out how to push the play button, none of the creatures knew how to change a DVD, so they've been watching the same episode of Reading Rainbow for the last 100 years. In fact there was a huge rack of DVDs just sitting right by the player, covered in dust, soot and neglect. Luckily for them I **do** know how to change a DVD.
Turns out they had this prophecy. That one from the before-time would come who could read the holy scriptures and would share with them secret worlds. So far I've only shown them a tiny fraction of what was in that DVD rack, and they've given me the title of \* squeakfartwarblesqueakfart \* which means “Revealer of hidden mysteries”. They really liked Escape from L.A. for some reason, half the little slugs born this month have been named "Snake".
It's not so bad really. Ever since becoming the slime-people messiah my life has gotten back on track. I've taught them the benefits of diet and exercise for one. Well, exercise anyways. Diet around here is limited to creeping radvine, peat moss, and the occasional six legged mutant deer for protein. Still, I've managed to have my congregation get together a bunch of blenders, and I've gotten pretty close to a smoothie that doesn't taste half bad, and has about 10,000% your daily value of fiber per cup. Cutting carbs has been a trick though.
But the biggest light of hope happened yesterday, when my scavenger parties excitedly brought back something truly amazing. A book, covered in bright gold foil and with the shining face of yours truly on the cover. There's a warehouse downtown filled with pallets of my never-released book “Don't be a Quitter, You're Worth It , Do Some Goddamn Crunches”. In accordance with the will of the holy prophet Burton, I've been teaching the slime people how to read. And by this time tomorrow, I'm gonna give them a new bible.
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[WP] While flying your personal plane you got hit by a freak lightning storm. You crash and when you wake you’re in s post apocalyptic future. A group of people saved you, you look around and try to read an old sign. “San Diego” you read. They’re shocked you can read these ancient symbols.
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"Hey. Hey scavenger! Wake up!"
"I think he's dead."
"Hes not dead, see." Pokes chest with sharpened stick, and the body jerks. "Hes still breathin."
"Well now what do we do? Hes got nothin but this shiney flat brick that glows. Could we eat him?"
"No we can't eat him you fool, hes one of us just... shiney, and newer. See. Hes got no dirt on him really."
Slowly my eyes beging to open to a bright sun light. It's hot, my mouth is dry. I need water.
"Wha... where am I?" I slowly sit up.
"Oi!! Holly shit, hes alive!!"
"Of course I'm alive, do you have water?" I asked one of the silhouettes. My eyes were still adjusting to the sunlight. Funny though, I must have been out for a while, I was flying at night.
"Water? Where you been with that fancy shit. Oi, give him some 'go juice' yeah?"
I didn't really hear him, but I took the bottle and gulped down what ever it was, and it was bad. I spit it up and threw up. Head in the sand. "What the fuck!?!? What is that?"
"Its 'go juice' bud, what else would it be? It's made of any animal blood and what's left ground up into a pulp and well.... me own stuff if ya get my drift. What have you been living under a rock?"
"He doesn't know what 'go juice' is, I don't think hes from here."
Finally my eyes adjusted, the two men before me, gaunt but oddly muscular, dawned in plastic armor. It was like something out of movie. One had a mohawk, the other long dreds. Both had goggles on. "Where the fuck am I?" I asked looking around and getting up, stumbling to regain my senses.
"Bud, your in the big nothing. You cant be from around here if ya don't know, then again... theres no where else for you to be from."
"What do you mean?" I asked looking at the one with the mohawk who spoke last.
"I mean after theres nothing, just this." He gestures to the horizon. "Call this place the meat grinder. On account of the 'go juice' it's where we live, and where we make it."
Just as he gestured to the horizon, something in the sand shined and caught my eye so I ran over.
"Wheres he going?"
"I think he found some metal!"
I dug in the sand and uncovered a sign "Welcome To San Diego.... omg!" I read it aloud.
"Wait, you can read that scribble scratch?"
"Of course I can, its english, what happened here?" I asked while turning around to address the two raiders.
"Well I think we should bring you to MaMa, she knows more."
"Whose MaMa?" I asked.
"She'll tell you everything shiney, dont you worry your pretty groomed head."
Next thing I knew I was being lead to their "home" or at least that's what they called it. A canyon with large metal doors. Just outside the city.
"Oi, were bringing you to MaMa, to her throne room. She'll know what to do with you."
"Haha and we might get a reward!!"
Great, now I'm a bounty for these two degenerates, in a place that I don't even know if it's real or all in my head. Last thing I remember was flying at night from Washington State, then a flash of light. That's it.
"Shiney, you wait here. MaMa will be out soon." The two scampered off back outside.
I'm left in a large room, must have been an old Amazon warehouse. With a large metal chair up makeshift stairs infront of me. When a womans oddly booming voice rings out.
"Who are you traveler?" My ears rang with the noise, so I blocked them and winced in pain.
"Oh my god!! That's loud. Yeah, uh.... I'm Derek, my friends call me Dak. My plane got caught in a storm I think. I was flying from Washington State, then there was a flash of light. Then those two.... people? Found me." There was a long pause of silence. "Hello!?!? Anyone there!?!?" I shouted.
From behind a piece of sheet metal stepped out an old woman, long gray hair, hunched over. "Oh well dear, I already know your not from around here." She replied in a sweet soothing old woman like voice. "Oh no, quite frankly, I don't think your form 'here' at all." She looked at me with her bright blue eyes, one clouded with cataracts.
"No ma'am.... um, where is here excitly?" I asked.
"Sorry about the noise, it makes them piss them selves so they know whose boss, kind of funny ever since I was a young girl. See my parents tought me about the beginning. Before the.... darkness." She went over to a large basin. "Water? Since I know you wont like 'go juice' it might kill you to be honest."
I haven't drank water so fast in my life. I was dehydrated, and she knew that, but knew I wasn't from.... whenever this was. "What.... what happened if this is San Diego?"
"Well you and I are the only known ones who can read the old hyroglyphics that dot the Big Nothing." She started with. "First, the water was poisoned. Don't worry it's okay now. Then people started to fight for it. Then bombs dropped and people hid in the ground to escape the burning atmosphere. I was born in a fallout shelter. Not far from here. My mother and father started this colony, and now I run it. Been a long time since I've seen someone from the before." She looked at me with those eyes, like she knew me for a lifetime.
"What year is it?" I asked.
"Oh well.... it was 2022 when water ran out. 2024 when the bombs dropped. Oh I'd say.... give or take.... 2098? Maybe? Then again, I don't keep track." She mentally calculated out loud.
"How are you.... ya know...?"
"Alive?" She asked. "Well that's something I'm going to have to ask the big man when I get there haha." She laughed and grabbed my arm to direct me to a balcony. "All this is mine, and one day yours."
"Wait, no. I can't. I have to go back, I have a family." I said to her.
"Listen Dak, your the only one who can read that language, you can read all my books, and all my records, and to be honest, I dont trust these mongoloids to run this place. They will have heads on pikes in a matter of hours!" She joked but underlying was serious.
"You don't know me, how do you know theres no way back." I pleaded with her.
"Because Dak, I had a vision of a man falling from the sky, given by the Gods. To keep order to the chaos of the Big Nothing. That was last night. Then this morning, those two loons bring you to me instead of killing you. So now you tell me that isn't some bloody divine intervention bull shit or not."
"So I'm just supposed to accept that I'm stuck in a future I know nothing about, and lead people who have no idea who I am?" I asked.
"They know what I tell them, and to them.... your a 'God' among men, a leader.... like me." She gestured to a crude painting on a piece of metal hanging from the wall.
It was a picture of me, what I was wearing, my flight suite. I was infront of the San Diego sign and it looked like this painting was here for a long time.
"See Dak, look." She pointed to a scratched name on the bottom. It said Dak, my name. "You take over, and see" she pointed to a picture of her with her name Daisy, but she was asleep, holding flowers being carried to a pire. "Then I can finally rest after all this time, the Gods have answered."
I couldn't believe it. It was fate, a plan, divine fucking intervention, or I entered a parallel universe made for me. I cant explain it, or even fathom it let alone believe it my self. So that's my story, Dak the leader of the last civilization known to mankind. Conqueror of the Big Nothing, God among men, fallen from the sky to lead these.... people to better lives. One day, hopefully this will make sense, one day the Gods will send a leader my way so I may rest as well when the time comes. One day is all it took for my "normal" life to turn into.... into this. One day to become a King.
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I feel pounding on my chest, as I cough up the remaining water in my lungs and gasp at my first breath in, what it seems to be, years. How did I get here?
I feel scrambled, no memories of how I got here, but I see the remnants of a machine sinking in the water next to me.
I sink my hands into the warm sand and I’m brought back. The last memory I have, being with my family on a beach, I look up at my father who seems to be yelling at me. “Jimmy, give me the god damn waffle” my dad yells as I run away from him.
They chase me along the beach as I waddle around with a floppy waffle covered in seawater and sand. My mother laughs as I try to escape my fathers grasp. I begin to smile...
I feel a slap to the face.
I try to speak, but only Jibberish comes out, the figures around me look confused.
My eyes open and I find it hard to focus. I see a green sign, I can’t make out the words... I look below the sign and see a circular outline. My eyes focus on that circular figure until I can make it out. The figures start walking away from me, they lost hope. My eyes widen... “sandy...Eggo, Sandy Eggo!!!” I yelled, rejoicing at the familiarity. One of the figures whips its head around and points at me, “ how the hell does he know where we are?”
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[WP] While flying your personal plane you got hit by a freak lightning storm. You crash and when you wake you’re in s post apocalyptic future. A group of people saved you, you look around and try to read an old sign. “San Diego” you read. They’re shocked you can read these ancient symbols.
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"You can read the Heretic's script?" the man says to me in Spanish.
I spit out blood from my mouth and press a hand against my ribs. I am sure I have broken at least one. "The Heretic's script? It is English," I tell them.
A brooding silence passes over them. I can see concern writ over the faces of a few. The tallest of them steps forward. His eyes are olive green, his skin is bronze; he has delicately sculpted cheekbones carved into an arresting face. "Señor, you seriously do not know? Can you tell what year it is?"
A splitting headache is throwing everything into disarray. I haven't spoken Spanish in ages, and trying to put the words together causes my headaches to worsen. "It's 2020." I manage.
*Madre Mia,* someone says. A few audible gasps escape the lips of many.
"Señor, it is 2914. You are in the Provincia of Sant Diego de Alcalá, the original name for the name you just pronounced. The Heretic's tongue is outlawed. Not many people speak it anymore, and the ones who do are burnt in the streets. The Spanish Kingdom rules the four seas. The other three belong to the Heretics."
For some odd reason, I laugh. As if God has played a cruel joke and I'm in the center of it. "That can't be true... How did Spain manage to capture the whole of America?"
His olive green eyes twinkle and a sneer crosses his face. "El Rey, our king... has mastered the two most powerful arts. He is a physician whose healing powers have inspired the faith and goodwill of many. And he is a writer unlike any; it is as if the words spilled from his ink can manipulate the wills of men and Gods."
I shake my head in disbelief. "But... How did one man manage to conquer half the world?"
He leans closer to me. I can feel his ragged warm breath on my face. "Señor, that's because no one expects the Spanish Ink-Physician."
-------------
Thanks for reading, please don't kill me and read better stories at r/whiteshadowthebook
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"Ancient?" I questioned. "I don't understand, I was just flying my plane... then..."
"Plane?" The taller one of the group said, he had a large messy beard with a scary amount of scars on his left cheek.
"Yes. A plane. You know, the thing with wings you pulled me out off."
My saviours looked at each other confused, every one of them seemed to act like I was speaking French or something. A girl though kept eye contact, she didn't join the group discussion but instead kept studying me.
"You can read that sign?" She interrupted the group discussion.
"Well, of course, it's in bloody English! We are speaking it, are we not?"
My glasses may have been cracked and scratched up from the crash, but I could still make out the tremble in her lip. A couple of the group started pacing backwards."
"Nobody has spoken English in a thousand years, not since the great lights. What's your name, stranger!"
"Lights?" I whispered to myself, I was starting to panic now. Where was I. When was I.
"um... I'm John. And that's impossible, you're speaking English now" I replied hastily.
"We're speaking Untatsh, the language of Western Zones." The large bearded man said. Meanwhile, the girl's eye's widened as she processed my sentence.
Before I could question it, the girl grabbed my hand violently and demanded I follow her. I had no choice.
As we made our way, my leg throbbed from the pain of the crash. I tried numerous times to communicate with my saviours, but I was hushed and ignored into silence.
We walked for what seemed like just over an hour, deeper into what was once San Diego. Its buildings crumbling and pathways cracked.
Finally, we made our way into a large open space between the old buildings. As myself and the group got close to the centre I noticed the ground falling away. There was a large crater in the middle.
Surrounding it was more people, dressed in funny robes and garments. A few of them shot inquisitive looks as I was lead by.
Eventually, I was near enough that I could finally peer over the edge into the hole. I saw that there was a large metallic cylinder impaled into the ground. It was covered in dirt and rubble, but there was no denying what the message printed on the top said.
"Time Capsule. John, please open after you've crashed."
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[WP] You are in Hell. Satan offers you a second chance at life on the condition that you beat him in a contest of your choosing. Without thinking you decide to have a singing competition with him, only to remember that Satan is a fallen angel and has the voice of one too.
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In the movies, they always show maniacal laughter. The villain hurls his head back and laughs so loudly and his minions join in.
It's amusing or ominous depending on the film's set-pieces.
For me it was ominous, extremely ominous, you see because I am in a position I never once imagined.
I lived a life for myself, never bothered with the church, or even thinking about God. I amassed a good amount of wealth, never gave it to charity, even in death I left all of my riches to a close business partner I had, as I really didn't have any family. There's no room for such things when you're climbing the ladder to success, after all.
Discovering that when a supercar hits a tree at 250km an hour, there's no safety equipment in the world to save you is another matter. All the money in the world, want for nothing, and here I am, dead at thirty. Worse yet? I'm staring down the prince of darkness, Lucifer.
He offered me a second chance at life, however, and so why not? I went with my strengths. I'm the lead singer of my band, so, why not? "A singing contest!" I blurted out.
The laughter that echoed from the dark throne was loud, so loud that I think it echoed throughout the halls of hell and whatever massive throne room I was in. "Of course!" an amused voice echoed from the dark shadows on the throne towering before me, "I accept!"
I'm more used to images of the devil as some goat-like demon you know? Big, red, horns, all that jazz. An evil wicked voice or some soft-spoken wretch covered in soot. The image of 'Satan' from *South Park* is what I am really thinking of.
What slowly descended from the throne, however, was anything but.
Alabaster skin with a flawless complexion, long flowing hair, huge white wings, and a towering physique. If I were a chick, I'd be on my knees sucking the guy off. I'm a straight dude and all, but the guy before me was "Mr. Steal your girl, your mom, and your sister" levels of good looking.
He wore tarnished white armor, with a red set of chains across the main breastplate. His eyes were black, sans for a set of violet swirls of smoke which acted like his iris's. "I must admit, I'm unsurprised. Only the truly prideful land upon my doorstep and you are an example to all." he laughed again, his voice echoing flawlessly through the halls of the throne room.
More stereotypical demonic creatures and imps snickers and squeak along with him.
I cleared my throat, "I mean... it's kind of the only thing I'm good at." I straightened up, "lay to your strengths, right?"
Lucifer smiled a flawless smile full of perfect teeth, "You did not pay much attention in church, did you?"
"I... did not really go to church or anything."
"Clearly," Lucifer chortled, "I am a fallen angel, but an angel all the same. Singing was all we used to do in the halls of heaven." He grinned, "Thus a choir of angels."
I winced, oh man did I fuck up!
" As a handicap," Lucifer offered, "I'll play to your best strength, you can choose the genera of the song."
A silver lining! If he was part of some choir he definitely would be more inclined to classical music and hymns! That shit was nothing compared to what I belted out, and if we were judging on my strength, then I was going to rock! "Fine then, Metal."
Lucifer's smile didn't wavier, it grew stronger, "Not a fan of *Tenacious D* are you?"
"I... what?"
Lucifer laughed again, "Very well, you can begin!"
I figured I'd be best to go with a classic, something I'd done a cover of, just to try and make it so that I'm not picking a song of mine that might not be as good as I think it is. Also, I decided to hit with something a little ironic.
"*I left alone, my mind was blank!"* as I started to sing a guitar riff was coming from somewhere unknown, matching the song I was singing, I decided not to bother with wondering where it came from, and I continued regardless, "*I needed time to think, to get the memories from my mind!*" I had to admit, it was my best performance, and I felt pretty awesome busting out Iron Maidain's "*The Number Of The Beast*" in front of the Prince of Hell.
When I was done, Lucifer started to give me a slow clap, "my my my, know your audience, yes? Very well done."
I smiled wide.
"You were a bit harsh on a few of the higher notes," he critiqued, "Bruce's voice is difficult to duplicate but you made up for your lack of range with a commitment to the chords, well done."
My blood ran a little cold because that's what I always did when my falsetto wouldn't reach those high notes.
"Now then, I believe it's my turn?" Lucifer said, grinning.
Before I could prepare myself in any way, Lucifer began.
"*Faith and creed and my belief, Will make you carry on these wings of trust you will fly away!"* the voice was powerful, loud, full, and pitch-perfect.
Behind him, there were a series of back-up voices filling in a powerful downbeat. The sound of his voice pushed me back and even sounded as if there were more than one person singing.
"*Just hold on and you'll succeed, remember you're the one day one will speak of you as the light of the day*!" Lucifer's wings spread wide as he continued. His voice was clear, flawless, and sounded like it was dipped in honey and gold all at the same time.
I fell to my knees in awe as he continued the song I didn't know, holding notes out in beautifully powerful chords and belting out passionate verse after verse.
"*Take to the sky, look back from high above, I am on target for something beyond!"* his voice rose to a commanding finish, "*take to the sky, grounded on Mother Earth, thankful for strong wings to fly - I will take to the sky!"*
My hands moved to clap as the music ended the second his voice stopped. I couldn't stop myself, it was the most flawless music I ever heard, his voice was perfect in every way, and I realized, as I was there on my knees, there wasn't a hope for my immortal soul.
"So..." Lucifer said, grinning wickedly, "Did you like the [song](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Guardian_Temple/)?"
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An infernal jukebox rose from the obsidian shoreline, neon tubing and sculpted marble somehow meshing together into a tasteful piece. Pierce's ghostly nose twitched at the smell of sulfur coming off the control panel. He eyed the blue digital display;
> <Bing: Music>
>
> PLEASE INPUT YOUR QUERY:
"Yeah, figured as much." He muttered to himself.
Pierce ran through all the songs he knew looking for anything that might give him a fighting chance. Eminem was out; the Morningstar was probably on a first-name basis with Slim Shady. A Country song might be funny, but he was pretty sure that Lucifer's deep baritones would nail *She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy*. Rock-and-Roll, Hip Hop, Rap, and Pop were all the devil's music by general consensus.
Then an idea, insidious as anything the Enemy had ever thought, snaked its way into Pierce's mind.
"Maybe I don't have to win. Maybe we both need to lose."
> SEARCH ARTIST: HATSUNE MIKU
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[WP] You just took a DNA test. Turns out, you're 100%...
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My sister Alexis had been begging to me to get a DNA test done for weeks to prove that I was adopted into our family because of how unlike everyone else I was. I looked completely different and I'd never gotten along with my family and had been treated like an outcast for my slight anger issues.
Since I can remember I've had a problem with controlling a bit of rage, which isn't really even that bad. When I was 4 I was playing with the neighbor kid Carlos and when he pushed me off our backyard swing and I skinned my knee on a rock I took the rock and allegedly slammed it into his head a couple times. I don't remember the story that way, but that's what Carlos's mom claims. She says that's why Carlos had to spend a month in the hospital. I think it's because he caught the flu, but whatever. When I was 10 I purposefully crashed my dad's car into the police station after he went to bed to see how much quicker the police would respond when you were already there after my dad had been bitching at me all week about cleaning my room. It turns out they respond pretty fast.
And when my sister asked me to get the DNA test done for the fifth time, I slammed her head into the fridge and shoved her down the stairs and into the basement and kept her there while I performed the test using a small at-home kit she bought for me. I'd made Alexis bleed more times than I could count but she never complained. She always let me do it. Whether she enjoyed it or not I never asked, but she always smiled through the tears.
It took a week, but when I finally got the results back I had to use some online app to see what exactly it said. Alexis sat with me as I put in my information and waited for the app to load my results. She peered curiously over my shoulder as the app continued to whirl and load for several minutes.
"Maybe the internet's busted," she said. I shrugged. I was getting a little impatient, but it wasn't like I had any doubts I was related to her. And if I wasn't, I wouldn't have to feel any shame about throwing her down the stairs before.
Finally, the app loaded.
"Huh," she said. "It says you're not related to us. You're adopted. Looks like you're German. We aren't any part German..." she reflected, taking a step away from me. I stared at her with blank eyes for a moment before clicking the ancestry tab. It flashed red for a few moments with a warning messaging appearing.
"Results found may be incomplete or inaccurate. Do you wish to continue?"
I skimmed the message, tapping continue while Alexis began to jitter her leg up and down. Moments later, the results loaded. Right above my name were two blank spots. Nothing for my parents. But above that, my grandfather. And then, my great grandfather.
"Oh, shit..." Alexis said.
We both stared blankly at the DNA test. She turned to look at me, her jaw dropping. "Oh, SHIT! Y-you've got fucked up DNA, dude..." she said. "We've got to tell mom and dad, like, now," she panicked, grabbing her phone and unlocking it. I took the phone from her hand and calmly set it down.
"Just because my great grandfather is a horrible person doesn't mean I am, Alexis." I told her. "You're my family. Right? And he died in 1979. You don't have to worry about him anymore," I told her, stroking her cheek softly with my fingertips. "And if you tell them, I'll make sure you die, too." I chuckled, pulling her close to me by her chin and kissing her forehead. "I love you, Alexis." I told her, staring her into her misty eyes.
"I love you too, big brother," she choked out.
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[Poem]
Last week I took a DNA test
The results were prolonged so I decided to rest
After a week of pure speculation
On what my genetic code could reveal
I heard a knock on the door
A mailman had delivered my results
And once I opened , the results had confirmed
That I’m 100% that bitch
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[WP]Humans have an innate ability to shortly access what is known as a God Moment. In such a state, one becomes a being dedicated to a single task and cannot die. The task can be anything from fighting in war, to painting, to driving a 2009 Nissan Murano. Whatever it is, it is done perfectly.
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"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!!" I shouted at the stationary car in front of me, the last word flying from my mouth with a spray of spittle smattering the dash above the steering wheel. The light had gone green at least four seconds ago and this moron just sat there, foot still firmly on the brake, the bright red lights above the bumper mocked me unblinking. Headlights from the traffic coming at me the opposite direction silhouetted the driver seat in the car in front of me.
The seat appeared empty, impossible. Probably some little old lady headed home from her church group, crumpled by old age, no rush to get home to her lonely evening. That thought cooled my anger, only for a second , a flash of Sebastian's furious face, actual murder in his Romanian eyes, reminded me what was on the line. Instead of screaming more profanities I bumped the horn lightly. A polite, 'Hey there friend, seems you didn't notice the light had changed so here's a quick reminder that the world doesn't revolve around you even though some of us are stuck behind you.'
Blessedly the brake lights flickered twice and finally the car crawled forward. The clock on the dash rolled over another minute just as I glanced down, less than 12 minutes left. 'Shit, shit, shit.' I wasn't going to make it, this was the end of an otherwise good run.
For a moment a wild thought played out in my mind as I looked at the package in the passenger seat. Skip it and run. How long before they found me? Two weeks? Maybe even three if I played it smart and laid low. In the end they would find me and when they did it would not be pleasant. I was on my last strike and no amount of wordsmithery was going to save me this time. Running wasn't an option, I needed to drive.
Amazingly, the old lady who had just began to pick up speed hit her brake and proceeded to make an illegal right hand turn, crossing over the turn lane she should have been in all along. Furious I mashed the gas and the horn at the same time as he burned around her, missing her left bumper by inches, no longer feeling bad for offending her little old lady sensibilities.
The clock read the same, not a minute had passed at the intersection behind the infuriating old bitch. How many seconds had slipped away? This was going to come down to seconds. I can't do it, it was impossible. I know these streets like a lover. I had spent years walking and driving them, growing up on them. I was 15 minutes away, even if I hit every light on the route. I never should have stopped, only a fool risks it all for five minutes with some girl he only just met. It hadn't been five minutes though, five had turned to ten and when I finally left at 14 I was certain I was screwed, adding the old lady created the worlds worst threesome.
I stood on the gas pedal, like actually raised my ass from the seat and forced the Nissan to give all it had. The road ahead curved right and the car and I leaned into it together and something clicked. Suddenly I was aware not of the steering wheel, but the tires on the road. I could feel the rubber grabbing the pavement and throwing it behind us. Through the sole of my foot each piston in the engine pulsed in cadence with my own heart beat. The revolutions rose and I could have told you, down to the piston, when the transmission was about to shift, and then it did.
My eyes ahead pulled in the world in a clarity I had never experienced. The cars ahead of me and the ones coming at me slowed to a crawl and a path through them seemed obvious. The Nissan shifted again as I eased into the lane of oncoming traffic, flicking the turn signal on and off almost instantly as I came back into my own lane ahead of a mom in a mini van. Kids in the back seats watched an episode of Blues Clues, cheering Steve on as he solved the mystery.
Ahead, a light turned yellow and even though I knew I wouldn't make it before it flipped to red stopping seemed silly. Not because of my looming deadline, that no longer mattered. I would make it on time now and I knew it. Stopping seemed foolish because it was unnecessary. I kept my foot on the gas and pulled into the turn lane as the light came up red and shot through the intersection between two bewildered drivers who both slammed on their breaks although unnecessarily. I missed them both by a foot and a half, splitting the difference perfectly.
For the next 10 minutes I calmly piloted my mother's car like it was an extension of myself. Weaving in and out of traffic as smoothly as that old lady knitted yarn into winter caps for her grandchildren. Effortlessly, almost without thought. At one point I whisked past the back bumper of a turning cop car, cruising at a smooth 95 mph. I was long gone by the time he tried to turn around in pursuit and that truck was about to pull into his path and slow him substantially. It did, and it did. By the time he was underway I had made three deft turns into a residential neighborhood and was invisible to him. "You'll never catch me copper!" I sneered in a gangster voice and laughed taking the final turn, tires squealing into the dusky neighborhood.
Pulling the car to a smooth stop I jumped out with just a touch over a minute to spare. Opening the passenger door I hitched the warm package onto my hip and flipped the door closed with my foot. I took the walk path in five brisk steps and rang the doorbell. The door opened and a blonde head poked out, bright blue eyes excited to see me. "Hot and fresh in 30 minutes or less!" I recited.
She smiled good humoredly and took the pizza, handing me cash. "Thank you and keep the change."
Back in the car I opened the bills, not a bad tip. Better be for this neighborhood. I pulled out my phone and started a text to Sebastian. 'Hung up in traffic but made it on time, headed back to the shop now.' "You miserable Romanian prick" I added out loud and hit send.
I'm not sure what happened, but I had made it just in time. The feeling of absolute mastery was fading and felt like a distant memory. Sebastian was fine for the moment, my pathetic job secure for one more day. My parole officer and more importantly my mother would never know how close I had been to losing the only job keeping me from three to five in the county clink. On top of it all Angela had done things with her fingers I didn't know were possible.
Totally worth it.
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“Mr President”
Trump looked uninterested
“I understand you have other concerns, but while you continue to escalate tensions with China, we need to acknowledge the very real threat that they currently represent domestically”
A faint glimmer of recognition washed over his face, gone as quick as it came he nodded.
“US customs has logged record numbers of Chinese immigrants, most of them specified as FC-071. I don’t think I need to illustrate to you that—“
“What significance does that even have right now, director?”
Gina sighed, “ Well, Mr. President, as a reminder FC-071 individuals are individuals that specify that they have not specifically used or stated their ascendant purpose.”
“Which means what exactly?” Donald countered.
Gina roller her eyes, tired of his preference to be spoon fed, “Donald—“
“I’m your president Gina, you should address me that way.”
“*Mr. President*,” Gina continued, “These individuals *could* present a significant security risk. The numbers are wholly unclear, but if even 5% were to use the their ascendency on destabilizing the local or federal governments, or even start and fight a ‘domestic rebellion’ this could cripple our ability to prepare for a war that looks like its looming on the horizon.”
Trump nodded, puckering his lips slightly.
“Which means,” she sighed, familiar with this form of request for additional information, “that if worse comes to worst, we could be fighting a war on two fronts.”
“But we have military superiority, and we can just kick the immigrants out—“
Gina interrupted, “with all due respect, *Mr. President*, it’s 2022, and you’ve been pushing that rhetoric since 2016, and haven’t made realistic progress. While it could be a viable security measure, IF, you could gain traction; it seems unlikely as the public doesn’t support it. Additionally, China would react as it would be seen as a move on their interests.”
Trump shook his head, “Well what about our network, you told me 2 years ago that we should establish a network of people like this over there”
“Do you understand an order of magnitude, Mr. President?”
“Excuse me?”
“China has more than an order of magnitude more people than we do. That number could translate to everything: Soldiers, workers, doctors, students, and in this case espionage assets. It’s a real accumulated advantage, that short of pulling some very fascist shit, we have no counter for. With this network in place we would be at a significant strategic disadvantage if we were to declare war on them.”
“What is your realistic assessment on the size of this terrorist cell?”
“It’s not necessarily a terrorist cell—“
“If Jinping wants to strut spies into America, I’m gonna give him problems. I appreciate your work, and I want you to know that none of it will go to waste, this is, practical data and I should be able to get people upset enough to be able to act soon.”
Trump looked her in the eye, rapped his knuckles on his desk and quipped “thank you for your time director, I think I’ve heard everything I need.”
Gina stood and looked Trump in the eye. Trump
Extended his hand and she grasped it.
“whatever you think is going to work, won’t. She said,”I just want to be clear, the people haven’t been responding well to xenophobia”
“Gina, leave the polling to me, or I’ll find a replacement for you. Thanks for stopping by.”
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[WP]Humans have an innate ability to shortly access what is known as a God Moment. In such a state, one becomes a being dedicated to a single task and cannot die. The task can be anything from fighting in war, to painting, to driving a 2009 Nissan Murano. Whatever it is, it is done perfectly.
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The narrow streets surrounded by high rise buildings reflected the sounds of the thunderous engines that roared below, thirsty for their chance to to be unleashed upon the flawless, hot tarmac. Desperate to conquer the meandering curves and bends of the legendary track before them.
Spectators looked on, expectant. From the richest in their lavish boxes, to the poorer travelling masses crammed like sardines into the stands, all knew that this race was special. That is always delivered. Little did they know how special this particular day would be.
It was 1988, Monaco. Qualifying.
A classic red and white car left the pits. The crowd roared with excitement. They knew who it was. Through the explosion of sound from the engine and the screams of the crowd, a name could be heard swelling through the ranks.
"Senna! Senna! Senna!"
It was Ayrton Senna. The legendary driver, in his legendary car, once again on the magical monaco track he loved so dearly.
He had a challenge laid before him. That of his team mate, Alain Prost, managing an incredible time of 1 minute and 26 seconds in a car identical to his own.
He completed his flying lap with practised precision and skill, warming the tyres and introducing himself once again to his old snake like nemesis that was the course.
Now was the time to show them all who he was. To prove his worth.
As soon as the lap began he started to feel it. More than just the subtle negotiation of the corners and hairpins, more than the marriage between the tyres and the ground, more than the skill in which he flicked through the gears and caressed the metal beast down its path.
There was something else. A feeling deep within, erupting through him.
A religious man before all else, he knew the feeling well. It was like a beam of light shining down upon him from the heavens, connecting his very spirit and soul with everything around him. Driving through his determination to win and incredible focus on his craft, it became something else. It was God himself.
His reactions began to increase in speed. The car began to feel as if an extension of his own body, like a limb he could control effortlessly. He felt his conscious mind slipping away, his very being taking control of the wheel along with everything that made up every single part of him, combined with a divine power of limitless potential.
1 minute 24.4 seconds.
1 minute 23.9 seconds.
The seconds and milli-seconds just kept giving way as the track before him seemed to disappear. To him, it appeared as if he were driving down a tunnel, increasing pace constantly. The more he let go, the more he let the feeling run through him, the faster he went.
The crowd were stunned into a revered silence. This they had not expected. No one had.
Aryton Senna was nearly 2 seconds ahead of the fastest car, and unbelievably, going *faster.*
Senna broke the 2 second lead barrier, and doubt began to seep into the blissful state he had been riding. The feeling was too strong, the pace too fast, the power coursing through his veins like liquid gold. The thrill begged him to continue, to surpass the human, to surpass the machine. It pleaded him to show a spectacle so undoubtedly god-like that it would prove the existence of a high power, acting through him.
But at what cost? His life?
He felt the balance tipping. He knew what it meant.
Knowing that he had come as close as he ever would to God, he said a small prayer, and pulled into the pits.
The crowd exploded with rapturous applause. Never again would they witness such divinity on the course, such perfection.
Senna removed his helmet and climbed out of the car, watching the sun begin to set behind the tall buildings that over looked the track and marina.
Running his hand through his dark curly hair filled with sweat from his toil, he breathed deeply.
He had managed to hold himself back this time, to pull back from the edge of heaven. Such a feeling though, should it ever come again...would he be able to resist once more?
(If you haven't heard of the driver, this all actually happened! Check it out!)
Ode to a legend.
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“Mr President”
Trump looked uninterested
“I understand you have other concerns, but while you continue to escalate tensions with China, we need to acknowledge the very real threat that they currently represent domestically”
A faint glimmer of recognition washed over his face, gone as quick as it came he nodded.
“US customs has logged record numbers of Chinese immigrants, most of them specified as FC-071. I don’t think I need to illustrate to you that—“
“What significance does that even have right now, director?”
Gina sighed, “ Well, Mr. President, as a reminder FC-071 individuals are individuals that specify that they have not specifically used or stated their ascendant purpose.”
“Which means what exactly?” Donald countered.
Gina roller her eyes, tired of his preference to be spoon fed, “Donald—“
“I’m your president Gina, you should address me that way.”
“*Mr. President*,” Gina continued, “These individuals *could* present a significant security risk. The numbers are wholly unclear, but if even 5% were to use the their ascendency on destabilizing the local or federal governments, or even start and fight a ‘domestic rebellion’ this could cripple our ability to prepare for a war that looks like its looming on the horizon.”
Trump nodded, puckering his lips slightly.
“Which means,” she sighed, familiar with this form of request for additional information, “that if worse comes to worst, we could be fighting a war on two fronts.”
“But we have military superiority, and we can just kick the immigrants out—“
Gina interrupted, “with all due respect, *Mr. President*, it’s 2022, and you’ve been pushing that rhetoric since 2016, and haven’t made realistic progress. While it could be a viable security measure, IF, you could gain traction; it seems unlikely as the public doesn’t support it. Additionally, China would react as it would be seen as a move on their interests.”
Trump shook his head, “Well what about our network, you told me 2 years ago that we should establish a network of people like this over there”
“Do you understand an order of magnitude, Mr. President?”
“Excuse me?”
“China has more than an order of magnitude more people than we do. That number could translate to everything: Soldiers, workers, doctors, students, and in this case espionage assets. It’s a real accumulated advantage, that short of pulling some very fascist shit, we have no counter for. With this network in place we would be at a significant strategic disadvantage if we were to declare war on them.”
“What is your realistic assessment on the size of this terrorist cell?”
“It’s not necessarily a terrorist cell—“
“If Jinping wants to strut spies into America, I’m gonna give him problems. I appreciate your work, and I want you to know that none of it will go to waste, this is, practical data and I should be able to get people upset enough to be able to act soon.”
Trump looked her in the eye, rapped his knuckles on his desk and quipped “thank you for your time director, I think I’ve heard everything I need.”
Gina stood and looked Trump in the eye. Trump
Extended his hand and she grasped it.
“whatever you think is going to work, won’t. She said,”I just want to be clear, the people haven’t been responding well to xenophobia”
“Gina, leave the polling to me, or I’ll find a replacement for you. Thanks for stopping by.”
|
|
[WP]Humans have an innate ability to shortly access what is known as a God Moment. In such a state, one becomes a being dedicated to a single task and cannot die. The task can be anything from fighting in war, to painting, to driving a 2009 Nissan Murano. Whatever it is, it is done perfectly.
|
"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!!" I shouted at the stationary car in front of me, the last word flying from my mouth with a spray of spittle smattering the dash above the steering wheel. The light had gone green at least four seconds ago and this moron just sat there, foot still firmly on the brake, the bright red lights above the bumper mocked me unblinking. Headlights from the traffic coming at me the opposite direction silhouetted the driver seat in the car in front of me.
The seat appeared empty, impossible. Probably some little old lady headed home from her church group, crumpled by old age, no rush to get home to her lonely evening. That thought cooled my anger, only for a second , a flash of Sebastian's furious face, actual murder in his Romanian eyes, reminded me what was on the line. Instead of screaming more profanities I bumped the horn lightly. A polite, 'Hey there friend, seems you didn't notice the light had changed so here's a quick reminder that the world doesn't revolve around you even though some of us are stuck behind you.'
Blessedly the brake lights flickered twice and finally the car crawled forward. The clock on the dash rolled over another minute just as I glanced down, less than 12 minutes left. 'Shit, shit, shit.' I wasn't going to make it, this was the end of an otherwise good run.
For a moment a wild thought played out in my mind as I looked at the package in the passenger seat. Skip it and run. How long before they found me? Two weeks? Maybe even three if I played it smart and laid low. In the end they would find me and when they did it would not be pleasant. I was on my last strike and no amount of wordsmithery was going to save me this time. Running wasn't an option, I needed to drive.
Amazingly, the old lady who had just began to pick up speed hit her brake and proceeded to make an illegal right hand turn, crossing over the turn lane she should have been in all along. Furious I mashed the gas and the horn at the same time as he burned around her, missing her left bumper by inches, no longer feeling bad for offending her little old lady sensibilities.
The clock read the same, not a minute had passed at the intersection behind the infuriating old bitch. How many seconds had slipped away? This was going to come down to seconds. I can't do it, it was impossible. I know these streets like a lover. I had spent years walking and driving them, growing up on them. I was 15 minutes away, even if I hit every light on the route. I never should have stopped, only a fool risks it all for five minutes with some girl he only just met. It hadn't been five minutes though, five had turned to ten and when I finally left at 14 I was certain I was screwed, adding the old lady created the worlds worst threesome.
I stood on the gas pedal, like actually raised my ass from the seat and forced the Nissan to give all it had. The road ahead curved right and the car and I leaned into it together and something clicked. Suddenly I was aware not of the steering wheel, but the tires on the road. I could feel the rubber grabbing the pavement and throwing it behind us. Through the sole of my foot each piston in the engine pulsed in cadence with my own heart beat. The revolutions rose and I could have told you, down to the piston, when the transmission was about to shift, and then it did.
My eyes ahead pulled in the world in a clarity I had never experienced. The cars ahead of me and the ones coming at me slowed to a crawl and a path through them seemed obvious. The Nissan shifted again as I eased into the lane of oncoming traffic, flicking the turn signal on and off almost instantly as I came back into my own lane ahead of a mom in a mini van. Kids in the back seats watched an episode of Blues Clues, cheering Steve on as he solved the mystery.
Ahead, a light turned yellow and even though I knew I wouldn't make it before it flipped to red stopping seemed silly. Not because of my looming deadline, that no longer mattered. I would make it on time now and I knew it. Stopping seemed foolish because it was unnecessary. I kept my foot on the gas and pulled into the turn lane as the light came up red and shot through the intersection between two bewildered drivers who both slammed on their breaks although unnecessarily. I missed them both by a foot and a half, splitting the difference perfectly.
For the next 10 minutes I calmly piloted my mother's car like it was an extension of myself. Weaving in and out of traffic as smoothly as that old lady knitted yarn into winter caps for her grandchildren. Effortlessly, almost without thought. At one point I whisked past the back bumper of a turning cop car, cruising at a smooth 95 mph. I was long gone by the time he tried to turn around in pursuit and that truck was about to pull into his path and slow him substantially. It did, and it did. By the time he was underway I had made three deft turns into a residential neighborhood and was invisible to him. "You'll never catch me copper!" I sneered in a gangster voice and laughed taking the final turn, tires squealing into the dusky neighborhood.
Pulling the car to a smooth stop I jumped out with just a touch over a minute to spare. Opening the passenger door I hitched the warm package onto my hip and flipped the door closed with my foot. I took the walk path in five brisk steps and rang the doorbell. The door opened and a blonde head poked out, bright blue eyes excited to see me. "Hot and fresh in 30 minutes or less!" I recited.
She smiled good humoredly and took the pizza, handing me cash. "Thank you and keep the change."
Back in the car I opened the bills, not a bad tip. Better be for this neighborhood. I pulled out my phone and started a text to Sebastian. 'Hung up in traffic but made it on time, headed back to the shop now.' "You miserable Romanian prick" I added out loud and hit send.
I'm not sure what happened, but I had made it just in time. The feeling of absolute mastery was fading and felt like a distant memory. Sebastian was fine for the moment, my pathetic job secure for one more day. My parole officer and more importantly my mother would never know how close I had been to losing the only job keeping me from three to five in the county clink. On top of it all Angela had done things with her fingers I didn't know were possible.
Totally worth it.
|
We have stories of him, this being who is locked away for our safety. Transmissions from his kind come to him at times, we do not know how to stop them, but he hasn't woken up yet. Every passing day the fear that he will break free grows larger.
Yesterday was different, we were told to set up heavier defenses. Runes were placed around his tomb but I knew he could break them. They do not care if we die, only if he is delayed for even a moment longer.
Today specialists came in, they were examining the stone he is sealed in when the radio those things use crackled to life. A single phrase came out before I ran, and I'm lucky I was the first to run, as it seems I will be the last to die.
"*Rip and tear until it is done*"
"**Rip and tear**"
|
|
[WP]Humans have an innate ability to shortly access what is known as a God Moment. In such a state, one becomes a being dedicated to a single task and cannot die. The task can be anything from fighting in war, to painting, to driving a 2009 Nissan Murano. Whatever it is, it is done perfectly.
|
The narrow streets surrounded by high rise buildings reflected the sounds of the thunderous engines that roared below, thirsty for their chance to to be unleashed upon the flawless, hot tarmac. Desperate to conquer the meandering curves and bends of the legendary track before them.
Spectators looked on, expectant. From the richest in their lavish boxes, to the poorer travelling masses crammed like sardines into the stands, all knew that this race was special. That is always delivered. Little did they know how special this particular day would be.
It was 1988, Monaco. Qualifying.
A classic red and white car left the pits. The crowd roared with excitement. They knew who it was. Through the explosion of sound from the engine and the screams of the crowd, a name could be heard swelling through the ranks.
"Senna! Senna! Senna!"
It was Ayrton Senna. The legendary driver, in his legendary car, once again on the magical monaco track he loved so dearly.
He had a challenge laid before him. That of his team mate, Alain Prost, managing an incredible time of 1 minute and 26 seconds in a car identical to his own.
He completed his flying lap with practised precision and skill, warming the tyres and introducing himself once again to his old snake like nemesis that was the course.
Now was the time to show them all who he was. To prove his worth.
As soon as the lap began he started to feel it. More than just the subtle negotiation of the corners and hairpins, more than the marriage between the tyres and the ground, more than the skill in which he flicked through the gears and caressed the metal beast down its path.
There was something else. A feeling deep within, erupting through him.
A religious man before all else, he knew the feeling well. It was like a beam of light shining down upon him from the heavens, connecting his very spirit and soul with everything around him. Driving through his determination to win and incredible focus on his craft, it became something else. It was God himself.
His reactions began to increase in speed. The car began to feel as if an extension of his own body, like a limb he could control effortlessly. He felt his conscious mind slipping away, his very being taking control of the wheel along with everything that made up every single part of him, combined with a divine power of limitless potential.
1 minute 24.4 seconds.
1 minute 23.9 seconds.
The seconds and milli-seconds just kept giving way as the track before him seemed to disappear. To him, it appeared as if he were driving down a tunnel, increasing pace constantly. The more he let go, the more he let the feeling run through him, the faster he went.
The crowd were stunned into a revered silence. This they had not expected. No one had.
Aryton Senna was nearly 2 seconds ahead of the fastest car, and unbelievably, going *faster.*
Senna broke the 2 second lead barrier, and doubt began to seep into the blissful state he had been riding. The feeling was too strong, the pace too fast, the power coursing through his veins like liquid gold. The thrill begged him to continue, to surpass the human, to surpass the machine. It pleaded him to show a spectacle so undoubtedly god-like that it would prove the existence of a high power, acting through him.
But at what cost? His life?
He felt the balance tipping. He knew what it meant.
Knowing that he had come as close as he ever would to God, he said a small prayer, and pulled into the pits.
The crowd exploded with rapturous applause. Never again would they witness such divinity on the course, such perfection.
Senna removed his helmet and climbed out of the car, watching the sun begin to set behind the tall buildings that over looked the track and marina.
Running his hand through his dark curly hair filled with sweat from his toil, he breathed deeply.
He had managed to hold himself back this time, to pull back from the edge of heaven. Such a feeling though, should it ever come again...would he be able to resist once more?
(If you haven't heard of the driver, this all actually happened! Check it out!)
Ode to a legend.
|
We have stories of him, this being who is locked away for our safety. Transmissions from his kind come to him at times, we do not know how to stop them, but he hasn't woken up yet. Every passing day the fear that he will break free grows larger.
Yesterday was different, we were told to set up heavier defenses. Runes were placed around his tomb but I knew he could break them. They do not care if we die, only if he is delayed for even a moment longer.
Today specialists came in, they were examining the stone he is sealed in when the radio those things use crackled to life. A single phrase came out before I ran, and I'm lucky I was the first to run, as it seems I will be the last to die.
"*Rip and tear until it is done*"
"**Rip and tear**"
|
|
[WP]Humans have an innate ability to shortly access what is known as a God Moment. In such a state, one becomes a being dedicated to a single task and cannot die. The task can be anything from fighting in war, to painting, to driving a 2009 Nissan Murano. Whatever it is, it is done perfectly.
|
The narrow streets surrounded by high rise buildings reflected the sounds of the thunderous engines that roared below, thirsty for their chance to to be unleashed upon the flawless, hot tarmac. Desperate to conquer the meandering curves and bends of the legendary track before them.
Spectators looked on, expectant. From the richest in their lavish boxes, to the poorer travelling masses crammed like sardines into the stands, all knew that this race was special. That is always delivered. Little did they know how special this particular day would be.
It was 1988, Monaco. Qualifying.
A classic red and white car left the pits. The crowd roared with excitement. They knew who it was. Through the explosion of sound from the engine and the screams of the crowd, a name could be heard swelling through the ranks.
"Senna! Senna! Senna!"
It was Ayrton Senna. The legendary driver, in his legendary car, once again on the magical monaco track he loved so dearly.
He had a challenge laid before him. That of his team mate, Alain Prost, managing an incredible time of 1 minute and 26 seconds in a car identical to his own.
He completed his flying lap with practised precision and skill, warming the tyres and introducing himself once again to his old snake like nemesis that was the course.
Now was the time to show them all who he was. To prove his worth.
As soon as the lap began he started to feel it. More than just the subtle negotiation of the corners and hairpins, more than the marriage between the tyres and the ground, more than the skill in which he flicked through the gears and caressed the metal beast down its path.
There was something else. A feeling deep within, erupting through him.
A religious man before all else, he knew the feeling well. It was like a beam of light shining down upon him from the heavens, connecting his very spirit and soul with everything around him. Driving through his determination to win and incredible focus on his craft, it became something else. It was God himself.
His reactions began to increase in speed. The car began to feel as if an extension of his own body, like a limb he could control effortlessly. He felt his conscious mind slipping away, his very being taking control of the wheel along with everything that made up every single part of him, combined with a divine power of limitless potential.
1 minute 24.4 seconds.
1 minute 23.9 seconds.
The seconds and milli-seconds just kept giving way as the track before him seemed to disappear. To him, it appeared as if he were driving down a tunnel, increasing pace constantly. The more he let go, the more he let the feeling run through him, the faster he went.
The crowd were stunned into a revered silence. This they had not expected. No one had.
Aryton Senna was nearly 2 seconds ahead of the fastest car, and unbelievably, going *faster.*
Senna broke the 2 second lead barrier, and doubt began to seep into the blissful state he had been riding. The feeling was too strong, the pace too fast, the power coursing through his veins like liquid gold. The thrill begged him to continue, to surpass the human, to surpass the machine. It pleaded him to show a spectacle so undoubtedly god-like that it would prove the existence of a high power, acting through him.
But at what cost? His life?
He felt the balance tipping. He knew what it meant.
Knowing that he had come as close as he ever would to God, he said a small prayer, and pulled into the pits.
The crowd exploded with rapturous applause. Never again would they witness such divinity on the course, such perfection.
Senna removed his helmet and climbed out of the car, watching the sun begin to set behind the tall buildings that over looked the track and marina.
Running his hand through his dark curly hair filled with sweat from his toil, he breathed deeply.
He had managed to hold himself back this time, to pull back from the edge of heaven. Such a feeling though, should it ever come again...would he be able to resist once more?
(If you haven't heard of the driver, this all actually happened! Check it out!)
Ode to a legend.
|
Breaking news about "God moments" were broadcasted 3 minutes ago. Old couple sit quietly on faded sofa.
"What now? What will we do with it?" woman asked.
"Wait for the end of the world, of course." man confidently answers.
"What?! Why?! What do you mean by that?" nervous laughter abruptly left her mouth.
"It's pretty simple. I'm sure there are at least one aloof human, who are hateful or bored enough to do that." - his eyes tenaciously looked at the rusty clock on the wall.
"But we all have this power! We definetly can stop this!" woman almost cried.
"Sure. But good intentions never come, until the situation is dangerous enough. And if it will be executed perfectly..."
He never finished. It was 4 minutes after the broadcast.
|
|
[WP]Humans have an innate ability to shortly access what is known as a God Moment. In such a state, one becomes a being dedicated to a single task and cannot die. The task can be anything from fighting in war, to painting, to driving a 2009 Nissan Murano. Whatever it is, it is done perfectly.
|
Hiro realized there was one last hope. He could redeem the shame he had brought upon his clan, and still reclaim honor. He had one task to complete. Focusing the whole of his being, and years of meditation, he unsheathed his sword. He turned the blade towards his side,
“I, Hiro, dedicate myself to death.”
The blade sliced effortlessly across his abdomen, with a sharp turn and short upward stroke at the end. Blood poured forth. Hiro’s eyes narrowed as he concentrated... as if to push the blood out through sheer force of will.
Those who witnessed this spectacle expected Hiro to collapse, and expected to tell of his redemptive seppuku. Instead, they witnessed his perfect self execution with enlightened determination. Then, shocked and amazed, they watched all the blood drain from his body while he remained standing, motionless and focused.
As he turned ghostly pale, his gaze finally lifted. His actions were both flawless and futile, so perfect that he had achieved an enlightened state of purpose, and could not die. Instead he became dedicated to everlasting death.
Hiro looked up at the horrified witnesses. The last drops of blood drained from his body, and he felt... Thirst...
*thus was born the first Samurai-vampire... includes a few edits for grammar &c. Comments and feedback are welcome and valued*
|
Breaking news about "God moments" were broadcasted 3 minutes ago. Old couple sit quietly on faded sofa.
"What now? What will we do with it?" woman asked.
"Wait for the end of the world, of course." man confidently answers.
"What?! Why?! What do you mean by that?" nervous laughter abruptly left her mouth.
"It's pretty simple. I'm sure there are at least one aloof human, who are hateful or bored enough to do that." - his eyes tenaciously looked at the rusty clock on the wall.
"But we all have this power! We definetly can stop this!" woman almost cried.
"Sure. But good intentions never come, until the situation is dangerous enough. And if it will be executed perfectly..."
He never finished. It was 4 minutes after the broadcast.
|
|
[WP]Humans have an innate ability to shortly access what is known as a God Moment. In such a state, one becomes a being dedicated to a single task and cannot die. The task can be anything from fighting in war, to painting, to driving a 2009 Nissan Murano. Whatever it is, it is done perfectly.
|
The narrow streets surrounded by high rise buildings reflected the sounds of the thunderous engines that roared below, thirsty for their chance to to be unleashed upon the flawless, hot tarmac. Desperate to conquer the meandering curves and bends of the legendary track before them.
Spectators looked on, expectant. From the richest in their lavish boxes, to the poorer travelling masses crammed like sardines into the stands, all knew that this race was special. That is always delivered. Little did they know how special this particular day would be.
It was 1988, Monaco. Qualifying.
A classic red and white car left the pits. The crowd roared with excitement. They knew who it was. Through the explosion of sound from the engine and the screams of the crowd, a name could be heard swelling through the ranks.
"Senna! Senna! Senna!"
It was Ayrton Senna. The legendary driver, in his legendary car, once again on the magical monaco track he loved so dearly.
He had a challenge laid before him. That of his team mate, Alain Prost, managing an incredible time of 1 minute and 26 seconds in a car identical to his own.
He completed his flying lap with practised precision and skill, warming the tyres and introducing himself once again to his old snake like nemesis that was the course.
Now was the time to show them all who he was. To prove his worth.
As soon as the lap began he started to feel it. More than just the subtle negotiation of the corners and hairpins, more than the marriage between the tyres and the ground, more than the skill in which he flicked through the gears and caressed the metal beast down its path.
There was something else. A feeling deep within, erupting through him.
A religious man before all else, he knew the feeling well. It was like a beam of light shining down upon him from the heavens, connecting his very spirit and soul with everything around him. Driving through his determination to win and incredible focus on his craft, it became something else. It was God himself.
His reactions began to increase in speed. The car began to feel as if an extension of his own body, like a limb he could control effortlessly. He felt his conscious mind slipping away, his very being taking control of the wheel along with everything that made up every single part of him, combined with a divine power of limitless potential.
1 minute 24.4 seconds.
1 minute 23.9 seconds.
The seconds and milli-seconds just kept giving way as the track before him seemed to disappear. To him, it appeared as if he were driving down a tunnel, increasing pace constantly. The more he let go, the more he let the feeling run through him, the faster he went.
The crowd were stunned into a revered silence. This they had not expected. No one had.
Aryton Senna was nearly 2 seconds ahead of the fastest car, and unbelievably, going *faster.*
Senna broke the 2 second lead barrier, and doubt began to seep into the blissful state he had been riding. The feeling was too strong, the pace too fast, the power coursing through his veins like liquid gold. The thrill begged him to continue, to surpass the human, to surpass the machine. It pleaded him to show a spectacle so undoubtedly god-like that it would prove the existence of a high power, acting through him.
But at what cost? His life?
He felt the balance tipping. He knew what it meant.
Knowing that he had come as close as he ever would to God, he said a small prayer, and pulled into the pits.
The crowd exploded with rapturous applause. Never again would they witness such divinity on the course, such perfection.
Senna removed his helmet and climbed out of the car, watching the sun begin to set behind the tall buildings that over looked the track and marina.
Running his hand through his dark curly hair filled with sweat from his toil, he breathed deeply.
He had managed to hold himself back this time, to pull back from the edge of heaven. Such a feeling though, should it ever come again...would he be able to resist once more?
(If you haven't heard of the driver, this all actually happened! Check it out!)
Ode to a legend.
|
I'm pretty sure I've had my god moment. I was on the freeway and a semi to my left and jist slightly ahead of me, and an SUV to my right and just slightly behind me decided they both needed to be in my lane and started going over on me at the exact same time. I was able to keep the car in the lane while swerving enough to avoid each of them while leaning on the horn until they noticed me. It all happened in slow motion, and I got such a rush of adrenaline I had to pull over and barf.
|
|
[WP]Humans have an innate ability to shortly access what is known as a God Moment. In such a state, one becomes a being dedicated to a single task and cannot die. The task can be anything from fighting in war, to painting, to driving a 2009 Nissan Murano. Whatever it is, it is done perfectly.
|
Hiro realized there was one last hope. He could redeem the shame he had brought upon his clan, and still reclaim honor. He had one task to complete. Focusing the whole of his being, and years of meditation, he unsheathed his sword. He turned the blade towards his side,
“I, Hiro, dedicate myself to death.”
The blade sliced effortlessly across his abdomen, with a sharp turn and short upward stroke at the end. Blood poured forth. Hiro’s eyes narrowed as he concentrated... as if to push the blood out through sheer force of will.
Those who witnessed this spectacle expected Hiro to collapse, and expected to tell of his redemptive seppuku. Instead, they witnessed his perfect self execution with enlightened determination. Then, shocked and amazed, they watched all the blood drain from his body while he remained standing, motionless and focused.
As he turned ghostly pale, his gaze finally lifted. His actions were both flawless and futile, so perfect that he had achieved an enlightened state of purpose, and could not die. Instead he became dedicated to everlasting death.
Hiro looked up at the horrified witnesses. The last drops of blood drained from his body, and he felt... Thirst...
*thus was born the first Samurai-vampire... includes a few edits for grammar &c. Comments and feedback are welcome and valued*
|
I'm pretty sure I've had my god moment. I was on the freeway and a semi to my left and jist slightly ahead of me, and an SUV to my right and just slightly behind me decided they both needed to be in my lane and started going over on me at the exact same time. I was able to keep the car in the lane while swerving enough to avoid each of them while leaning on the horn until they noticed me. It all happened in slow motion, and I got such a rush of adrenaline I had to pull over and barf.
|
|
[WP]Humans have an innate ability to shortly access what is known as a God Moment. In such a state, one becomes a being dedicated to a single task and cannot die. The task can be anything from fighting in war, to painting, to driving a 2009 Nissan Murano. Whatever it is, it is done perfectly.
|
The narrow streets surrounded by high rise buildings reflected the sounds of the thunderous engines that roared below, thirsty for their chance to to be unleashed upon the flawless, hot tarmac. Desperate to conquer the meandering curves and bends of the legendary track before them.
Spectators looked on, expectant. From the richest in their lavish boxes, to the poorer travelling masses crammed like sardines into the stands, all knew that this race was special. That is always delivered. Little did they know how special this particular day would be.
It was 1988, Monaco. Qualifying.
A classic red and white car left the pits. The crowd roared with excitement. They knew who it was. Through the explosion of sound from the engine and the screams of the crowd, a name could be heard swelling through the ranks.
"Senna! Senna! Senna!"
It was Ayrton Senna. The legendary driver, in his legendary car, once again on the magical monaco track he loved so dearly.
He had a challenge laid before him. That of his team mate, Alain Prost, managing an incredible time of 1 minute and 26 seconds in a car identical to his own.
He completed his flying lap with practised precision and skill, warming the tyres and introducing himself once again to his old snake like nemesis that was the course.
Now was the time to show them all who he was. To prove his worth.
As soon as the lap began he started to feel it. More than just the subtle negotiation of the corners and hairpins, more than the marriage between the tyres and the ground, more than the skill in which he flicked through the gears and caressed the metal beast down its path.
There was something else. A feeling deep within, erupting through him.
A religious man before all else, he knew the feeling well. It was like a beam of light shining down upon him from the heavens, connecting his very spirit and soul with everything around him. Driving through his determination to win and incredible focus on his craft, it became something else. It was God himself.
His reactions began to increase in speed. The car began to feel as if an extension of his own body, like a limb he could control effortlessly. He felt his conscious mind slipping away, his very being taking control of the wheel along with everything that made up every single part of him, combined with a divine power of limitless potential.
1 minute 24.4 seconds.
1 minute 23.9 seconds.
The seconds and milli-seconds just kept giving way as the track before him seemed to disappear. To him, it appeared as if he were driving down a tunnel, increasing pace constantly. The more he let go, the more he let the feeling run through him, the faster he went.
The crowd were stunned into a revered silence. This they had not expected. No one had.
Aryton Senna was nearly 2 seconds ahead of the fastest car, and unbelievably, going *faster.*
Senna broke the 2 second lead barrier, and doubt began to seep into the blissful state he had been riding. The feeling was too strong, the pace too fast, the power coursing through his veins like liquid gold. The thrill begged him to continue, to surpass the human, to surpass the machine. It pleaded him to show a spectacle so undoubtedly god-like that it would prove the existence of a high power, acting through him.
But at what cost? His life?
He felt the balance tipping. He knew what it meant.
Knowing that he had come as close as he ever would to God, he said a small prayer, and pulled into the pits.
The crowd exploded with rapturous applause. Never again would they witness such divinity on the course, such perfection.
Senna removed his helmet and climbed out of the car, watching the sun begin to set behind the tall buildings that over looked the track and marina.
Running his hand through his dark curly hair filled with sweat from his toil, he breathed deeply.
He had managed to hold himself back this time, to pull back from the edge of heaven. Such a feeling though, should it ever come again...would he be able to resist once more?
(If you haven't heard of the driver, this all actually happened! Check it out!)
Ode to a legend.
|
"Maybe I could achieve my dream, finally. An incredible and famous writer. Would it be just one book? ....Could I ever do another one as good?"
I stared at the ceiling unblinking, considering the opportunities. It was the height of noon and the sun was beating down outside, so I simply closed my window and binds and turned in the AC for some peace. I'd been thinking about this for quite a while and needed the space.
I throw a small ball upwards, catching it once it bounces off the ceiling.
"I mean, I can't just have it be forever, I wouldn't be living, just become a writing being or something. Maybe...Work out until I reach peak physical abilities? Then I could keep the results afterwards....No, I'd just do it while in God form...Hnrg."
I threw the ball again, frustrated.
"Wait, I know. Pick a research subject. I could dedicate my moment to finding the cure for cancer or..."
I let the words die halfway as I grimly remembered that there were already many people who did just that, many before I was even born. Many still toiling away at their labs
Undying and hyperfocused, hyper efficient, but removed from the rest of the world.
I threw the ball again but didn't catch it, instead just letting it fall and hit me in the forehead with a soft "bonk". It was frustrating. It was maddening. I could not pick something.
"God damn it," I cursed under my breath, covering my eyes with one hand. "Why is this so hard? I could do something amazing, but why can't I think of something? I don't WANT to just leave everything behind for decades but everything worthwhile takes so long, even if I can't die..."
My thoughts went to my family. My friends. My girlfriend.
I wanted to make something out of myself, but I didn't want to leave what I already had behind. My mind just wasn't good or creative enough to come up with the perfect use for my one God Moment. I could die tomorrow in some freak accident, and bam. Wasted. I should use it as soon as possible. I should already be ready. I should just do it. I should do something with myself instead of being so useless. I have to achieve something. I have to...
"Hey, are you okay?"
Her voice took me out of my downwards spiral. I removed my hand from my face and looked at her, leaning over me with a worried look in her eyes. She reached for my face and wiped my tears away from my eyes.
"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked very softly. I shook my head negatively and she just nodded before joining me on the bed and giving me a silent hug. I squeezed her back, and let out a long, long sigh. The thoughts were still there but they were more distant, now. Mumblings of coulda woulda shouldas in the back of my mind that were driving me crazy before, but couldn't find their way back to the here and now. Not anymore.
"Thanks. I needed this," I mumbled in her hair. In response she just nuzzled her head against mez getting comfortable.
I should do many things.
But right now I'm alright with putting them off.
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[WP]Humans have an innate ability to shortly access what is known as a God Moment. In such a state, one becomes a being dedicated to a single task and cannot die. The task can be anything from fighting in war, to painting, to driving a 2009 Nissan Murano. Whatever it is, it is done perfectly.
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Hiro realized there was one last hope. He could redeem the shame he had brought upon his clan, and still reclaim honor. He had one task to complete. Focusing the whole of his being, and years of meditation, he unsheathed his sword. He turned the blade towards his side,
“I, Hiro, dedicate myself to death.”
The blade sliced effortlessly across his abdomen, with a sharp turn and short upward stroke at the end. Blood poured forth. Hiro’s eyes narrowed as he concentrated... as if to push the blood out through sheer force of will.
Those who witnessed this spectacle expected Hiro to collapse, and expected to tell of his redemptive seppuku. Instead, they witnessed his perfect self execution with enlightened determination. Then, shocked and amazed, they watched all the blood drain from his body while he remained standing, motionless and focused.
As he turned ghostly pale, his gaze finally lifted. His actions were both flawless and futile, so perfect that he had achieved an enlightened state of purpose, and could not die. Instead he became dedicated to everlasting death.
Hiro looked up at the horrified witnesses. The last drops of blood drained from his body, and he felt... Thirst...
*thus was born the first Samurai-vampire... includes a few edits for grammar &c. Comments and feedback are welcome and valued*
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"Maybe I could achieve my dream, finally. An incredible and famous writer. Would it be just one book? ....Could I ever do another one as good?"
I stared at the ceiling unblinking, considering the opportunities. It was the height of noon and the sun was beating down outside, so I simply closed my window and binds and turned in the AC for some peace. I'd been thinking about this for quite a while and needed the space.
I throw a small ball upwards, catching it once it bounces off the ceiling.
"I mean, I can't just have it be forever, I wouldn't be living, just become a writing being or something. Maybe...Work out until I reach peak physical abilities? Then I could keep the results afterwards....No, I'd just do it while in God form...Hnrg."
I threw the ball again, frustrated.
"Wait, I know. Pick a research subject. I could dedicate my moment to finding the cure for cancer or..."
I let the words die halfway as I grimly remembered that there were already many people who did just that, many before I was even born. Many still toiling away at their labs
Undying and hyperfocused, hyper efficient, but removed from the rest of the world.
I threw the ball again but didn't catch it, instead just letting it fall and hit me in the forehead with a soft "bonk". It was frustrating. It was maddening. I could not pick something.
"God damn it," I cursed under my breath, covering my eyes with one hand. "Why is this so hard? I could do something amazing, but why can't I think of something? I don't WANT to just leave everything behind for decades but everything worthwhile takes so long, even if I can't die..."
My thoughts went to my family. My friends. My girlfriend.
I wanted to make something out of myself, but I didn't want to leave what I already had behind. My mind just wasn't good or creative enough to come up with the perfect use for my one God Moment. I could die tomorrow in some freak accident, and bam. Wasted. I should use it as soon as possible. I should already be ready. I should just do it. I should do something with myself instead of being so useless. I have to achieve something. I have to...
"Hey, are you okay?"
Her voice took me out of my downwards spiral. I removed my hand from my face and looked at her, leaning over me with a worried look in her eyes. She reached for my face and wiped my tears away from my eyes.
"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked very softly. I shook my head negatively and she just nodded before joining me on the bed and giving me a silent hug. I squeezed her back, and let out a long, long sigh. The thoughts were still there but they were more distant, now. Mumblings of coulda woulda shouldas in the back of my mind that were driving me crazy before, but couldn't find their way back to the here and now. Not anymore.
"Thanks. I needed this," I mumbled in her hair. In response she just nuzzled her head against mez getting comfortable.
I should do many things.
But right now I'm alright with putting them off.
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[WP]Humans have an innate ability to shortly access what is known as a God Moment. In such a state, one becomes a being dedicated to a single task and cannot die. The task can be anything from fighting in war, to painting, to driving a 2009 Nissan Murano. Whatever it is, it is done perfectly.
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The narrow streets surrounded by high rise buildings reflected the sounds of the thunderous engines that roared below, thirsty for their chance to to be unleashed upon the flawless, hot tarmac. Desperate to conquer the meandering curves and bends of the legendary track before them.
Spectators looked on, expectant. From the richest in their lavish boxes, to the poorer travelling masses crammed like sardines into the stands, all knew that this race was special. That is always delivered. Little did they know how special this particular day would be.
It was 1988, Monaco. Qualifying.
A classic red and white car left the pits. The crowd roared with excitement. They knew who it was. Through the explosion of sound from the engine and the screams of the crowd, a name could be heard swelling through the ranks.
"Senna! Senna! Senna!"
It was Ayrton Senna. The legendary driver, in his legendary car, once again on the magical monaco track he loved so dearly.
He had a challenge laid before him. That of his team mate, Alain Prost, managing an incredible time of 1 minute and 26 seconds in a car identical to his own.
He completed his flying lap with practised precision and skill, warming the tyres and introducing himself once again to his old snake like nemesis that was the course.
Now was the time to show them all who he was. To prove his worth.
As soon as the lap began he started to feel it. More than just the subtle negotiation of the corners and hairpins, more than the marriage between the tyres and the ground, more than the skill in which he flicked through the gears and caressed the metal beast down its path.
There was something else. A feeling deep within, erupting through him.
A religious man before all else, he knew the feeling well. It was like a beam of light shining down upon him from the heavens, connecting his very spirit and soul with everything around him. Driving through his determination to win and incredible focus on his craft, it became something else. It was God himself.
His reactions began to increase in speed. The car began to feel as if an extension of his own body, like a limb he could control effortlessly. He felt his conscious mind slipping away, his very being taking control of the wheel along with everything that made up every single part of him, combined with a divine power of limitless potential.
1 minute 24.4 seconds.
1 minute 23.9 seconds.
The seconds and milli-seconds just kept giving way as the track before him seemed to disappear. To him, it appeared as if he were driving down a tunnel, increasing pace constantly. The more he let go, the more he let the feeling run through him, the faster he went.
The crowd were stunned into a revered silence. This they had not expected. No one had.
Aryton Senna was nearly 2 seconds ahead of the fastest car, and unbelievably, going *faster.*
Senna broke the 2 second lead barrier, and doubt began to seep into the blissful state he had been riding. The feeling was too strong, the pace too fast, the power coursing through his veins like liquid gold. The thrill begged him to continue, to surpass the human, to surpass the machine. It pleaded him to show a spectacle so undoubtedly god-like that it would prove the existence of a high power, acting through him.
But at what cost? His life?
He felt the balance tipping. He knew what it meant.
Knowing that he had come as close as he ever would to God, he said a small prayer, and pulled into the pits.
The crowd exploded with rapturous applause. Never again would they witness such divinity on the course, such perfection.
Senna removed his helmet and climbed out of the car, watching the sun begin to set behind the tall buildings that over looked the track and marina.
Running his hand through his dark curly hair filled with sweat from his toil, he breathed deeply.
He had managed to hold himself back this time, to pull back from the edge of heaven. Such a feeling though, should it ever come again...would he be able to resist once more?
(If you haven't heard of the driver, this all actually happened! Check it out!)
Ode to a legend.
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"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!!" I shouted at the stationary car in front of me, the last word flying from my mouth with a spray of spittle smattering the dash above the steering wheel. The light had gone green at least four seconds ago and this moron just sat there, foot still firmly on the brake, the bright red lights above the bumper mocked me unblinking. Headlights from the traffic coming at me the opposite direction silhouetted the driver seat in the car in front of me.
The seat appeared empty, impossible. Probably some little old lady headed home from her church group, crumpled by old age, no rush to get home to her lonely evening. That thought cooled my anger, only for a second , a flash of Sebastian's furious face, actual murder in his Romanian eyes, reminded me what was on the line. Instead of screaming more profanities I bumped the horn lightly. A polite, 'Hey there friend, seems you didn't notice the light had changed so here's a quick reminder that the world doesn't revolve around you even though some of us are stuck behind you.'
Blessedly the brake lights flickered twice and finally the car crawled forward. The clock on the dash rolled over another minute just as I glanced down, less than 12 minutes left. 'Shit, shit, shit.' I wasn't going to make it, this was the end of an otherwise good run.
For a moment a wild thought played out in my mind as I looked at the package in the passenger seat. Skip it and run. How long before they found me? Two weeks? Maybe even three if I played it smart and laid low. In the end they would find me and when they did it would not be pleasant. I was on my last strike and no amount of wordsmithery was going to save me this time. Running wasn't an option, I needed to drive.
Amazingly, the old lady who had just began to pick up speed hit her brake and proceeded to make an illegal right hand turn, crossing over the turn lane she should have been in all along. Furious I mashed the gas and the horn at the same time as he burned around her, missing her left bumper by inches, no longer feeling bad for offending her little old lady sensibilities.
The clock read the same, not a minute had passed at the intersection behind the infuriating old bitch. How many seconds had slipped away? This was going to come down to seconds. I can't do it, it was impossible. I know these streets like a lover. I had spent years walking and driving them, growing up on them. I was 15 minutes away, even if I hit every light on the route. I never should have stopped, only a fool risks it all for five minutes with some girl he only just met. It hadn't been five minutes though, five had turned to ten and when I finally left at 14 I was certain I was screwed, adding the old lady created the worlds worst threesome.
I stood on the gas pedal, like actually raised my ass from the seat and forced the Nissan to give all it had. The road ahead curved right and the car and I leaned into it together and something clicked. Suddenly I was aware not of the steering wheel, but the tires on the road. I could feel the rubber grabbing the pavement and throwing it behind us. Through the sole of my foot each piston in the engine pulsed in cadence with my own heart beat. The revolutions rose and I could have told you, down to the piston, when the transmission was about to shift, and then it did.
My eyes ahead pulled in the world in a clarity I had never experienced. The cars ahead of me and the ones coming at me slowed to a crawl and a path through them seemed obvious. The Nissan shifted again as I eased into the lane of oncoming traffic, flicking the turn signal on and off almost instantly as I came back into my own lane ahead of a mom in a mini van. Kids in the back seats watched an episode of Blues Clues, cheering Steve on as he solved the mystery.
Ahead, a light turned yellow and even though I knew I wouldn't make it before it flipped to red stopping seemed silly. Not because of my looming deadline, that no longer mattered. I would make it on time now and I knew it. Stopping seemed foolish because it was unnecessary. I kept my foot on the gas and pulled into the turn lane as the light came up red and shot through the intersection between two bewildered drivers who both slammed on their breaks although unnecessarily. I missed them both by a foot and a half, splitting the difference perfectly.
For the next 10 minutes I calmly piloted my mother's car like it was an extension of myself. Weaving in and out of traffic as smoothly as that old lady knitted yarn into winter caps for her grandchildren. Effortlessly, almost without thought. At one point I whisked past the back bumper of a turning cop car, cruising at a smooth 95 mph. I was long gone by the time he tried to turn around in pursuit and that truck was about to pull into his path and slow him substantially. It did, and it did. By the time he was underway I had made three deft turns into a residential neighborhood and was invisible to him. "You'll never catch me copper!" I sneered in a gangster voice and laughed taking the final turn, tires squealing into the dusky neighborhood.
Pulling the car to a smooth stop I jumped out with just a touch over a minute to spare. Opening the passenger door I hitched the warm package onto my hip and flipped the door closed with my foot. I took the walk path in five brisk steps and rang the doorbell. The door opened and a blonde head poked out, bright blue eyes excited to see me. "Hot and fresh in 30 minutes or less!" I recited.
She smiled good humoredly and took the pizza, handing me cash. "Thank you and keep the change."
Back in the car I opened the bills, not a bad tip. Better be for this neighborhood. I pulled out my phone and started a text to Sebastian. 'Hung up in traffic but made it on time, headed back to the shop now.' "You miserable Romanian prick" I added out loud and hit send.
I'm not sure what happened, but I had made it just in time. The feeling of absolute mastery was fading and felt like a distant memory. Sebastian was fine for the moment, my pathetic job secure for one more day. My parole officer and more importantly my mother would never know how close I had been to losing the only job keeping me from three to five in the county clink. On top of it all Angela had done things with her fingers I didn't know were possible.
Totally worth it.
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[WP]Humans have an innate ability to shortly access what is known as a God Moment. In such a state, one becomes a being dedicated to a single task and cannot die. The task can be anything from fighting in war, to painting, to driving a 2009 Nissan Murano. Whatever it is, it is done perfectly.
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Hiro realized there was one last hope. He could redeem the shame he had brought upon his clan, and still reclaim honor. He had one task to complete. Focusing the whole of his being, and years of meditation, he unsheathed his sword. He turned the blade towards his side,
“I, Hiro, dedicate myself to death.”
The blade sliced effortlessly across his abdomen, with a sharp turn and short upward stroke at the end. Blood poured forth. Hiro’s eyes narrowed as he concentrated... as if to push the blood out through sheer force of will.
Those who witnessed this spectacle expected Hiro to collapse, and expected to tell of his redemptive seppuku. Instead, they witnessed his perfect self execution with enlightened determination. Then, shocked and amazed, they watched all the blood drain from his body while he remained standing, motionless and focused.
As he turned ghostly pale, his gaze finally lifted. His actions were both flawless and futile, so perfect that he had achieved an enlightened state of purpose, and could not die. Instead he became dedicated to everlasting death.
Hiro looked up at the horrified witnesses. The last drops of blood drained from his body, and he felt... Thirst...
*thus was born the first Samurai-vampire... includes a few edits for grammar &c. Comments and feedback are welcome and valued*
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It was that time of day again. Time to use the Power.
Shuddering with excitement, I ran through my mental checklist.
Front door, locked. Wife at work. Not expecting any packages to be delivered. Phone to silent.
Nipping nto the bedroom for a moment, I grabbed the moisturiser bottle that was on the side. That's my wifes too. And the box of tissues.
I closed the blinds, there was enough light from my computer for what I needed. I don't need the extra distractions.
Quickly, I tugged down my pajamas.
Nearly ready now.
Opening up a web browser, I typed into the browser. The site appeared.
I clicked play on the video.
And time passed. I didn't notice. I was in the moment. The glorious moment. Power. The world could have ended around me, I wouldn't have had any awareness. I can't describe the moment I finished, in simple words.
The slight sheen of sweat glistened on my brow.
Looking down, I saw that I'd repaired the seam in my pajamas, perfectly. One serged seam, by hand, something that shouldn't be possible.
Grabbing a tissue, I wiped my forehead. Then I moisurised my hands. Returned the bottle back to it's place, opened the blinds. I then shut down the computer, no need to leave evidence.
Tomorrow, I think, darn it, a sock.
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[WP]Humans have an innate ability to shortly access what is known as a God Moment. In such a state, one becomes a being dedicated to a single task and cannot die. The task can be anything from fighting in war, to painting, to driving a 2009 Nissan Murano. Whatever it is, it is done perfectly.
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Hiro realized there was one last hope. He could redeem the shame he had brought upon his clan, and still reclaim honor. He had one task to complete. Focusing the whole of his being, and years of meditation, he unsheathed his sword. He turned the blade towards his side,
“I, Hiro, dedicate myself to death.”
The blade sliced effortlessly across his abdomen, with a sharp turn and short upward stroke at the end. Blood poured forth. Hiro’s eyes narrowed as he concentrated... as if to push the blood out through sheer force of will.
Those who witnessed this spectacle expected Hiro to collapse, and expected to tell of his redemptive seppuku. Instead, they witnessed his perfect self execution with enlightened determination. Then, shocked and amazed, they watched all the blood drain from his body while he remained standing, motionless and focused.
As he turned ghostly pale, his gaze finally lifted. His actions were both flawless and futile, so perfect that he had achieved an enlightened state of purpose, and could not die. Instead he became dedicated to everlasting death.
Hiro looked up at the horrified witnesses. The last drops of blood drained from his body, and he felt... Thirst...
*thus was born the first Samurai-vampire... includes a few edits for grammar &c. Comments and feedback are welcome and valued*
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"It's called a God Moment. The one time even you could be worth something."
It's been 17 years since I heard those words, disdain dripping from them as they poisoned my ears. Who knew such hurtful words could come from a friend? I suppose it wasn't really the words that hurt; it was more that despite the disdain that could be heard so clearly, it was as if they were merely stating an unusual fact. There was no malice, no anger or offense. Just truth. I'm 34 years old now and I'm yet to have my Moment. Everyone I know has had theirs, has gained fame or riches and live comfortably in their perfect lives. The 'friend' I mentioned earlier? A successful lawyer, best in the country last I heard.
"Screw this!" I scream, my voice immediately disappearing into the empty air around me. "Who wants to be a God anyway!?"
I shout until my throat is hoarse and still I shout. Frustration, jealousy, hopelessness, it all pours out in my voice.
"For once - just once! - **I** want to be the one they're jealous of, the one people look to and want to be, the one people would **kill** to be friends with. Just once, I'd like to be told I'm special!"
Exhausted and empty, I crumple to the ground, holding my head. My pulse echoes through it, beating against my skull. *Bu-bump. Bu-bump. Bu-bump.* Louder and louder. *Bu-Bump! Bu-Bump! Bu-Bump!* It's all I can hear now, the sound punching through my head time and time again until it feels like my head will burst. BU-BUMP. BU-BUMP. BU-BUMP-
It stopped. I lift my head and look around me. Everything seems clearer, sharper somehow. I breathe in and marvel at the taste of the air. I remember hearing that heightened senses is a symptom of having a God Moment... Could it be?
This is it all right: my Moment. I smirk, flexing my hands by my sides. Time to take over the world.
&#x200B;
I hope you liked my short piece! Please let me know if you have any feedback / suggestions :)
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[WP]Humans have an innate ability to shortly access what is known as a God Moment. In such a state, one becomes a being dedicated to a single task and cannot die. The task can be anything from fighting in war, to painting, to driving a 2009 Nissan Murano. Whatever it is, it is done perfectly.
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Hiro realized there was one last hope. He could redeem the shame he had brought upon his clan, and still reclaim honor. He had one task to complete. Focusing the whole of his being, and years of meditation, he unsheathed his sword. He turned the blade towards his side,
“I, Hiro, dedicate myself to death.”
The blade sliced effortlessly across his abdomen, with a sharp turn and short upward stroke at the end. Blood poured forth. Hiro’s eyes narrowed as he concentrated... as if to push the blood out through sheer force of will.
Those who witnessed this spectacle expected Hiro to collapse, and expected to tell of his redemptive seppuku. Instead, they witnessed his perfect self execution with enlightened determination. Then, shocked and amazed, they watched all the blood drain from his body while he remained standing, motionless and focused.
As he turned ghostly pale, his gaze finally lifted. His actions were both flawless and futile, so perfect that he had achieved an enlightened state of purpose, and could not die. Instead he became dedicated to everlasting death.
Hiro looked up at the horrified witnesses. The last drops of blood drained from his body, and he felt... Thirst...
*thus was born the first Samurai-vampire... includes a few edits for grammar &c. Comments and feedback are welcome and valued*
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Everyone gets one. All started 78 years ago. I was 16. My mother got her moment when she was making a really special homemade dinner. She did it flawlessly. Earlier she told me she forgot ingredients, yet I saw them, right there, almost like they appeared out of nowhere. It was the best meal I had in my long life. At 28, my sister had hers when she was... uhh actually, lets not talk about that... anyways, she got her moment and (from what I've heard, be aware) it was the best her girlfriend ever felt. This was all about 70 years ago. Now, enough about them. I'm 98, and on my death bed. I've never had my moment. "I guess I'll never know" I said to my wife. "I dont get it," she starts. "I dont get how you've never had it." I try to tell her "Dont worry. Maybe my god moment will be god himself. Haha...ha....ha.." My laughter got slower as my breathing got worse. "It's soon my love. I will see you in the next life," I assured her. I slowly closed my eyes, as she cried. Before my final breath left, I felt a power rising. Before I knew it, I opened my eyes and saw my wife's shocked face. Looking in the mirror on our dresser, I saw my eyes glow with a bright, soft light. I realized what was happening. This was my moment. I soon realized I was floating. Looking around, I finally lock eyes with my wife. "REALLY?! DYING IS WHAT I'M SUPPOSED TO BE BEST AT?!" I yelled. I noticed that she's crying even harder now. My life has always been full of twists, but this one. This one. This is the reason I hate cruel fate.
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[WP]Humans have an innate ability to shortly access what is known as a God Moment. In such a state, one becomes a being dedicated to a single task and cannot die. The task can be anything from fighting in war, to painting, to driving a 2009 Nissan Murano. Whatever it is, it is done perfectly.
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I did not know what it was called until I was much older: A God Moment. A moment in time where one's body stops following it's brain and starts to follow a deeper, more solitary idea. You could liken it to a salmon swimming upstream. A biological code deeply ingrained; a fixed action pattern that, when the moment comes, the response is guaranteed. A clandestine response protocol completely unknown to the consciousness of the animal. Only, a God Moment has one important difference: perfection. Not only is the action fixed, but the execution is a sublime act of the human form. Allegedly.
As with the invisible man, it is far easier to be invisible when nobody is actually watching. Few God Moments in the history of human kind have been witnessed by another, at least until a year or two ago. Most seem to have been laughed off as the rambling of drunkards or pushed onto the pedastles of genius; either forgotten or praised as something different entirely. It wasnt until a young forensic scientist by the name of Sebastian Saag began detailing a specific case, dubbed "The God Syndrome," some 20 years ago that these God Moments started to move from fantasy into reality. Some ten years prior to my own foray into the cosmic.
It happened when I was 16, while sitting in a cramped room of my parent's small condominium that smelled of piss and strangely, flowers. I hated that old place. Worse yet, I hated the other people who lived in it with me: my brother Robert, who loved nothing and hated everything, but most especially me; my mother, the term used as a sarcastic epithet or cognomen earned through birthright rather than any benevolent action of her own towards me; and a half-dead cat named Reubarb that refused to follow the light -- a monsterous feline that I secretely believed some form of demon still tethered to its's mortal body by a cruel want to ruin my day. I'd come home early from school that day, a necessity given the circumstance, and found myself alone in the small building of silver bean cans and asbestos. The quiet was odd. Usually someone was making me miserable while I sat in a my corner of the room; someone was pestering me through the bathroom door for when I would be done, my visit simply to sequester myself away from the living detritus that growled, yelled, and meowed.
Alone, the house felt more quaint than confined, and I didn't wholly hate the strips of pasted bus routes on the walls or the chipped table and its unmatching chairs. Looking back the thought was merely the mirage of a broken child, but in that moment there was a form of serenity.
Sitting in my favorite room, I thought of nothing and my mind wandered. To the windows and out them; through the foliage of the decrepit white fence that lazily wrapped itself around the spoiled brown and green patches of dirt my mother called our yard -- a cruel doppelganger of the American dream : "here is your white picket fence and your green grass." My thoughts flashed to my mother wishing on a monkey paw and the whole building erupting from the ground beneagh her as she sobbed. She always sobbed. Deeper still I thought as I clenched and concentrated: to the school yard and it's bullies who harassed me, to the town and it's streets that ignored me, to the more nebulous state (a geographic horror as if drawn by a four-year-old cartographer), and then further. Deeper and deeper I thought, until my mind pierced the clouds and finally failed to feel vapor. All that surrounded me was the visage of the stars and the space and its endless pitch and globular bodies....and then it happened -- my God Moment.
The most perfect, spiraling trail began to release as my mind went blank. A minute later, or slightly less, I awoke as if from a euphoric dream. Reaching for the toilet paper I realized I didn't need it. My feces had slithered from my end as easy as a snake floats down a river in a storm. My God Moment was to drop the perfect stool. To excrete the most heaveny log. Were god to come down from on high and squeeze a bun-brick into the sink next to me, I dare say they would be identical. When I tossed the TP into the trash bin, not wanting to obscure my godly droppings, I turned to view my work: the perfect swirl. In the history of soft serve confectionary treats ghere may have been a God Moment or two when a server at McDonalds squeezed out a perfectly symmetrical swirl of vanilla or chocolate, but outside such unknown outliers, my toilet bowel held the most proportionat poop likely to ever plop into a tub of liquid. Circle on circle it piled upward, as if to reach up to the gates of heaven -- it's privelage and birfhright.
I dared not flush, least the book of Guinness come to enshrine it in some fancy hall far away from my dilapidated domain, so I left it there. I picked up my book bags and packed, not even washing my hands, least the act displease the eminence of the bathroom sea king. In a daze, not fully understanding what had happened, i closed the door behind me and just ...walked. For hours I roamed like some lost ronin that had left his master's care, unknowing to what end I walked and unfazed by the uncertainty of it. Some hours later, I came back to a cocophany of complaints and meows that reminded me of home, and it was gone. Not even a trail of brown smeared the bowl. The perfect poop.
Over the years, before God Moments became a more accepted scientific fact of the world, I told my story to the laughs and cries of idiots. They didn't believe me, or just thought me daft. Looking back, I pity them. They simply didn't know; They never had the luck to be bestowed with a look into the cosmos the way I had that day. It didn't matter, not to me anyway, that my epiphany came as I squeezed burrito day feces into the dirty blue water of a home I called "my prison." It helped me to see that the world reached far wider than what my little eyes could see. Far wider than the smell of urine that pervaded my senses or the hellish house and its unpleasant patrons.
I got out when I was 18, eight years ago to the day. I told them I loved them, but at the time I didn't mean it. Looking back I know I didnt, but I think I love them now. They didn't mean to hurt me the way they did. They never left bruises or scars on my body, even if my mind looked like a cat post and my soul like flayed chicken. We haven't talked since. I wonder sometimes if they too had a God Moment and were better for it. I actively hope they did.
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A lot of nonfiction stories are riddled with embellishments. Regardless of who’s saying what, pure fact is hard to come by simply because it has to be filtered through humans, and our species loves bias. That’s human nature. Now most people can accept this and go on about their day, however, I’m what some people call /particular/. Nice people. Nice people call me particular when they don’t wanna call me a fucking robot without compassion or empathy but I’ll have you know that there have been at least 3 times in my life where I’ve given others money for nothing in return and only once it was forced. I’ll admit it, emotions don’t come natural to me, nothing comes natural to me. I don’t connect with nature as a concept. Tradition, honor, love, going to concerts, raising a family, leading a nation, etc; none of that appeals to me. The only thing I want is to seek the truth. And that’s why I’m here.
I’m Nory, and I just discovered a fundamental human ability that had been kept secret for millennia. What if I told you that, for a brief period of time, whenever you’d like, you’d be able to become extremely focused and practically be invincible. Sounds like a drug come true right? Well it just so happens I know the way to get there. It’s called, historically, a God Moment. Accessible through sheer force of will mixed with a little bit of gusto that only those who want it most can muster. Sounds fun right? Sounds useful? Sounds..... pricey?
That’s what I thought too, originally.
The marketability of this concept would be something the world has never seen before, I could become part of the elite. But, that doesn’t interest me. I’m for the people, and that amount of power in the already too powerful is a guaranteed demise of the planet in 12 years tops.
No, you see, I want everybody to be able to use this. And that’s where you come in.
When I was transcribing the texts detailing God Moments, I found that none of them were quite complete. There’d be pages and pages describing the process and the activation of what’s called a Divination Sequence, the precursor to the God Moment, in which one is still hyper focused and cannot die, however, they’ve not unlocked the complete potential that is a God Moment. It’s like the start of a lawnmower before it catches. Anyone can get in this state, and it lasts a good while (according to the texts anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour depending on how much you can get the engine of a God Moment running), however as with any lawnmower there’s a catch. If you cannot get to a god moment after your Divination Sequence, that’s it. You will never be able to attempt it again. The latch breaks off and you gotta wait for the next life.
Well how do you assure this doesn’t happen to you? Good question, one problem, I don’t know.
I searched and searched and searched but unfortunately there was no more information after that.
In any page.
Of any book.
Nothing.
A whole process described in great detail to prepare one for godlike ascension, with no follow up recorded in human history.
That just, doesn’t sound natural.
Someone, or something, was hiding this knowledge from the rest of the world, and with the potential chaos that I knew could ensue at any moment, I knew my time was limited. So I searched, tirelessly, for the better part of the last 5 years to find the location of the missing texts.
And I wouldn’t be writing this if I hadn’t found it, would I?
Locked behind governmental barricades and heavily guarded, this information is not going to be easy to retrieve. That’s why I’m asking you. All of you. To join me, tomorrow. I can relay the information of a Divination Sequence to all of us, and with invincibility and numbers we can storm the gates and take back the information that is rightfully ours, and who knows what we’ll find out among the way. So to all of you, for your chance to be the first to access the part of humanity you’ve been missing out on, join me as we raid in the quest for knowledge. Join me as we rise together, join me as we storm
Area 51
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[WP] The dark sorceress has been forced into hiding as she recovers from her injuries. Playing the part of a traveller, she collapses in a small village and is taken in by the blacksmith. She falls for him, but the situation is complex...hes an army vet who lost 2 brothers and a leg to her legion
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The spell was succesfull. She could tell since nobody stared. In contrary they didn't even take a glimpse. They deemed it not worth their time. Life of peasants is rough. Especially since the war, they didn't have the time for strangers nor the resources. So they left her. Left her to die in the streets.
*Will they bother to move my corpse?* , Gytha pondered while leaning helplessly against a building. *Maybe my body will give them the plague, in fact I could cast a spell.*
Gytha sighed, as she knew that she couldn't. Her last bit of mana was used on the illusion spell and mana was a resource that isn't easily replenished.
&nbsp;
"At least stop that annoying knocking!", a frustrated shout escaped her swollen lips. There was a steady knocking pestering her since hours. At first Gytha thought it was just her beaten up head that ached like a hammer hitting on metal. But indeed it seemed to be a hammer that hit on metal.
&nbsp;
"Someone there? You gotta shout louder I'm working," rumbled a deep raspy voice from inside the shop.
&nbsp;
"Yeah, there is no way someone wouldn't realize," she replied snarky. There wasn't much left in the tank that operated her brain so instinct took over. *It seems underneath it all I'm quite grumpy ... What am I even thinking...*
&nbsp;
"Oh someone there? Didn't see you down there."
&nbsp;
The sound of the creaking hinges of the halfdoor right next to her felt like somebody was slowly drilling a hole with a hand drill into her ear. A sorrowful whimper escaped her throat and she lost consciousness.
&nbsp;
The strong scent of a stew beeing heated over the fire sneaked into Gythas nostrils. The fierce smell of spices beckoned her brain into a twilight state between beeing asleep and awake. She sighed and rolled unwillingly over. The pain shooting through her body as well as her rumbling belly tipped the scale in favor of awaking imediately although her brain was still complaining.
&nbsp;
"Look at you, you must have fallen quite deeply," a concerned voice muttered while a wet feeling creeped down her left leg.
&nbsp;
Gythe rubbed her eyes to banish the obnoxious blurriness away, then tried to sit up. *Ugh... not a good idea* she winced in pain.
&nbsp;
"Easy lady, slow down will you. Don't fancy to stitch you up again. I'm not some sort of knitting granny. It's quite hard with these thick fingers of mine," the man chuckled and continued wiping her other leg with a wet rag.
&nbsp;
*He's quite gentle for how his body is built*
"Yeah quite heavily so," she finally managed to get up. "Thanks."
*What am I blushing for?*
&nbsp;
"Eh? Quite heavily what?" He put a bowl with stew and a wooden spoon in front of her.
&nbsp;
"Th..chmpf...e ... mpf... Fa...mmpfm...lling mmpf hu... pa...chmpf...art," Gytha slurped her words out between chewing like the starving dog she currently was.
*Did he realize who I am? ... Can you kill a man with a spoon? Maybe the pointy end through his eye... but look at those huge arms of his... there's no way in my current...*
&nbsp;
"Easy lady, easy. I won't hurt you," he said while taking a step back to give some space.
&nbsp;
*Huh, look at this brawny one legged chap. Did he notice me tensing up? Isn't he a bit too... too delicate?*
"Hey Brawny, you make a good housewife."
*W...what? What?! Dark sorceress Gytha what did you just let yourself say. You uttering cute little nicknames now? The Crimson Storm of Death they called you. Crimson Storm ... Crimson as in a sea of blood. Gytha the Crimson Storm...*
&nbsp;
"A...Anyways you should rest some more. I got work tomorrow so I need to sleep early," brawny replied slightly baffled.
&nbsp;
*Did you just blush on me? You don't get to blush... you hunk of meat.*
"Really? This obnoxiously loud hammering again ugh," Gytha replied rudely.
&nbsp;
"Yeah well, since leaving the war with my two brothers. I gotta do the work of three. Should have come back as trio aswell, I suppose." he answered with a steadily lowering voice and left the room.
&nbsp;
****
The days Gytha spent recovering were full of joy for her, despite the physical pain that sometimes overcame her. Brawny nursed Gytha like the mother she never had and Gytha filled the hole Brawnys brothers left. She talked with him when he was sad and tired, she cleaned the shop and even put the occasional useful spell with her recovering mana. Really wood normally wouldn't burn as long nor would the swords get as sharp with simple whetting.
The time flied and a full recovery was approaching rapidly.
****
&nbsp;
"Hey Brawny, thanks to you I feel completely healed again. Next to a good housewife you really are a good nurse aswell," Gytha teased the blacksmith she passionately called Brawny. In fact his customers started to call him that aswell, though he really gets angry with them when they do. Only she seems to be allowed to.
&nbsp;
"Gytha, you do realize that you are belitteling me like a child? I'm a fully grown man. I do manly things aswell. You're just an exception."
&nbsp;
"yeah^but you didn't touch me once," she whispered almost inaudibly and started to slightly blush.
&nbsp;
"Huh? Did you say something? You know my ears aren't the best anymore. You know all the hammering."
&nbsp;
"Hmm hammering. Maybe I should turn into an ingot," a slight quiet giggle escaped her control and she turned really red.
"Nah, nah nothing Brawny-less."
&nbsp;
"What are you turning red for? Better go and get some ingredients for dinner if you want to eat."
&nbsp;
"I'm not turning red in the slightest," Gytha pouted and took the basket on the table while turning on her heel.
&nbsp;
"Totally red. Crimson red infact."
&nbsp;
Gytha froze. "Crimson you say?"
&nbsp;
"Yeah Crimson. It suits you."
&nbsp;
"You... you know?" Gytha asked reluctantly.
&nbsp;
"Yeah."
&nbsp;
"You know and... and you host me? Si...since when?" She turned around again and stared into his eyes deeply to see if he would tell the truth.
&nbsp;
"Since the beginning," he said and sustained eye contact, then smiled wryly.
&nbsp;
"B-But your brothers ... your leg... don't you seek revenge?"
&nbsp;
"Oh, I thought about it. In fact my hammer was swinging down on your head outside the shop when we first met. However you didn't react ... so I did. Afterall I couldn't become what you were. You had fallen to the bottom. Why not try and lift you up and see. What reason did I have left to live and pound away at hard cold iron. What was my purpose? So I tried to plant a seed and watch it grow, maybe the plant would become a beautiful flower, afterall I could cut it's roots anytime if it would go awry."
&nbsp;
"... Seems like you're a good farmer aswell," Gytha mumbled while trying to figure out the implications of what was said to her.
&nbsp;
"Also... do you really think a blacksmith wouldn't notice when wood that gives heat for an hour suddenly lasts for half a day? Should have started calling you Brainy a while ago, well it's never too late to change something, I suppose," he laughed while still returning her stare.
&nbsp;
"Never too late huh? Is it really ok, though?" She said, while he watched tears trickling down her cheeks.
&nbsp;
"Hey Brainy," Brawny joked while seeming to be quite pleased with himself and then continued seriously. "You know it's gonna be harder on you to forgive yourself than it's for me."
&nbsp;
"..."
&nbsp;
"Also you put a spell on my hearing remember?" he paused and watched how realization hit her face. "Indeed, Crimson suits you. Mmhm. Hey Brainy I don't go out with ingots, they don't ask for a date."
&nbsp;
"You're really telling a girl to ask you out? Maybe I planted a seed in you too. So cruel, Brawny-less is so cruel."
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A strong man who had lost it all, by any measure, but had never lost his values, the darkness within him pounded out with each strike of metal in the heat and sparks of his burning forge.
He was a master blacksmith, able to both bend the metal as if it were soft and fresh dough, as well as enchant and withstand the forces of magically imbued weapons with the sheer will of his mind alone. Rippling muscles that bulged through the scarred flesh of his arms leading to dark and giant hands also helped, of course.
The sight of the man in his element, eyes shining with the embers of the flame, bits catching in his dark beard and hair as he pounded the anvil relentlessy, was a sight to behold. A sight to capture a heart, even one as dark and cold as her own.
They were the hands that had scooped her up from the dying masses of soldiers, picking her out while searching for good scrap metal for the forge. He had laid down half the metal, cutting his losses, and carried her over one shoulder, his remaining fare on the other.
With a tenderness one would never imagine of such a man, he had cared for her, not only healing her wounds, but healing her heart.
They fell deeply in love. Bernard the blacksmith, and Lucia, the Dark Sorceress of the South.
But like the forge in which the man toiled, the burning fire of evil inside her was all consuming. It was a constant battle for her to hold back the darkness, to stop it destroying her new found joy and chance at a real life.
Before it did, she decided to tell all. Expecting Bernard to avenge his brothers, avenge the loss of his leg, avenge all those who had suffered and died in the battle against her.
"I love you Lucia, and that is all the matters" were the words that left his mouth after a long silence.
"If only it were that simple, Bernard" Lucia replied meekly, tears forming.
Bernard did not answer, but instead pulled from the depths of his forge a large sword, a sword only a man the likes of Bernard could even hold, let alone wield in battle.
"This sword is made from pure Gernodium, the rarest of metals deep in the Dwarven mines. When you destroyed them, I was there to scavenge the metals, and come across this. Gernodium is renowned for its ability to handle.."
"The darkest of magics" Lucia interrupted, looking Bernard dead in the eye, " I know what you are thinking, but you will not survive the enchantment. My darkness can not be taken and contained in such a weapon"
"That it can, and that it will. If it takes my life in the process, so be it. But you shall be free of this evil, Lucia. You shall be free"
After tortuous days trying to dissuade him, she relented. He would not take no for an answer, insisting he would rather die than see her leave.
They stood before the forge, Bernard holding the sword deep within the fires, Lucia standing next to him, her hand on the hilt, next to his.
"I love you Bernard" she whispered, looking deep into his deep brown eyes.
"and I you , Lucia. Forever and always"
"Forever" she repeated.
"Now Lucia, let it go. I am ready"
Like the rumble of a Tsunami careening towards a shore she felt the surge of her limitless power, born of darkness and raised on blood. Her barriers fell against the onslaught easily, she was not resisting for the first time in her life, rather, she pushed it, willing the flow.
Screams and howls of demons and spirits burst forth from her mouth, her eyes and ears pouring black this smoke. As purple energy streamed into the sword and threatened to spill from it, Bernard pounded the metal with his hammer, screaming and shouting words of the Forgotten smiths of Eldor, words of his Fathers before him, words of power.
Bernards eyes glowed as the fire grew, his very hands turning molten red themselves as his pace increased, matching the screams of Lucia and the darkness that would not stop.
Pieces of flesh began to peel from his hands, his face, his beard lighting and burning.
Through her screams Lucia begged him to stop.
"Bernard, no! It is too much"
"Do. Not. Stop!!!!!" he screamed with such force that the walls began to shake and crumble.
With one last surge of power he heaved his hammer high as bone began to show through his fingers, and slammed it down upon the blade, one final time.
A distant scream screeched across the lands, booming out from Bernard's forge. It was a sad, scared scream, the crying of a trapped soul, a caged evil.
The blade glowed purple in the forge. Lucia opened her eyes, the weight of evil lifting from her soul.
Bernard collapsed.
It was now her turn to save him.
It took weeks for him to awaken, months for him to stand, and a full year till he was almost back to being the man he was, mentally at least. She never left his side.
He was frail and thin, and able to wield his hammer in the forge no longer. Scarred and tainted black, his hands were numb and useless, his arms devoid of the power they had once possessed.
The sword had been left in the forge as it had been on that fateful day, untouched and locked away.
That is until, out of sheer desperation and despair Bernard returned to the forge, to lay eyes upon the weapon to which he had lost everything. Yes, he had gained love, and for that he was grateful she knew, but the loss of his life's work hurt deeply.
She was there with him, despite being wary and afraid of the sword that held her evil magic. Bernard stretched out his hand hesitantly to touch it, leaving it to hang a hair's width away for a moment, and then as best as he could, he grabbed the hilt.
The sword exploded in purple light, a scream echoing in the forge.
"Master!" a voice hissed.
Bernard's body was quickly surrounded by the bright light from the sword, covering and entering every part, every orifice, wrapping and flowing around him. As it did, he began to grow, his muscles returning with sudden heaves and contractions.
A few seconds later, the power returned to the sword. Bernard looked across to Lucia, completely healed.
"Bernard? Is it still you?" she asked, scared of what the answer would be.
"Yes my love, it is I. The sword answers to me it seems...I am its master" he said, his eyes disbelieving.
Lucia ran to him, embracing him with her arms wrapped around his now thick neck.
"Then let us use the powers that once served for evil, for good, Bernard. Let us right all the wrongs it caused"
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[WP] As the Dark Lord continues to cleave through the helpless army of the light, after having defeated the Hero of Light, nothing could ever stand in his way again, victory was finally his... So why is he having so much trouble killing a simple no named soldier.
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“He fell......How could he fall? The fate of the country rested on him. We gave him everything he could need to fulfill his holy mission. How could he just fall? He was supposed to save us. He was chosen by the gods. Where did we go wrong?”
Suddenly a blaring horn could be heard in the distance. We were being ordered to retreat. But retreat where? This was the final stronghold...the final border. A shout arises, “Cover the retreat!” As that’s said I thrust the spear forward into another foul creature. A hear it’s guttural moan as I pull the spear from its chest. Then, a yell “Walls Up!” I rush to formation, pulling my shield up just in time to feel another beating of arrows hitting my shield. Groans come from beside me, but I still stand. We still hold the line, push back wave after wave of creatures. I’ve come to call them husks, as once slain their forms wither away, as if the life is pulled out of them by the gods themselves. I had been a healer before the war. My days were spent studying the human physiology and ensuring the survival of others. Once the war started, I was pulled away from my plants and home; too large to simply be healing from the background, I was forced to the front lines. How I long for my garden back home, now overgrown I’m sure. I must prepare to harvest and work with the garden again.
A crack pulls me back to reality. I see the front of my spear pull back from a husk, now without it’s metal tip. Before I can react, a husk thrusts itself upon me. Then a shield slams down on top of mine, shattering the skull of the husk in two. I pull out my sword and hear the most dreaded thing imaginable.
“FORWARD!” Yells the captain. “Push these monstrosities back to whatever crag they crawled out of!”
Bit optimistic if you ask me. But he’s a thoroughbred soldier, fifth generation leading men to battle. He only knows orders. And so, we begin to push forward, cutting down whatever beasts stand in our way. We felt as if the tides were finally turning. Then...we saw it. The body of the “great hero” as they called him. “The man who would lead us to victory!” How wrong they were. Then, a thundering erupts causing the ground to shake. We look up to see what must have been an elephant, now black...now a husk itself, charging towards us.
The men panic. I panic. The captain, cut down in the most recent push, no longer shouting orders. His optimism leaving the crew as his soul left his body. But then I see it: The Blessed Javelin, fired as the first shot of the battle. Simply going through the motions, I grab the weapon, and thrusting how it was shown in training, I launch the weapon with all the force I could muster and...it missed. My heart sinks, forcing myself to fall to my knees, while the men around me are being cut down by evil itself.
But then, at my knees...a seedling, sprouting from the decay around it. My mind shifts back to the garden, back to the healing work I had been doing. And I remember what I was protecting. I remember what was left. So I grab a spear from a friend, now allowed to sail the great ocean with his ancestors, and I stand. Then I walk, and then run, straight towards the great beast that had bested me. Before it can hit me, I slide, and thrust the spear into the neck of the creature, jamming it deep, until I could no longer thrust. The beast fell to its knees, letting out a great cry that could be heard for miles around. With its last breath, it swings its great tusks at me, narrowly missing my chest by a feather’s length. I dislodge the spear, looking back to my allies. Their faces now aglow with pride, they charge to meet me, as we once again face down the enemy together. Getting back into formation, we continue to hold the line, fulfilling our commitment to the great hall behind.
Then, I hear a volley of arrows loosed. The company quickly develops a shield wall, to protect what few of us are left. But there is not the usual pounding of arrows. No beating of fists on the shield. Our enemies begin to fall on the way to us, their determination unwavering. They fall nonetheless. I turn to see archers from different units suddenly launching arrows at will. And soldiers of all shapes and sizes rushing to meet us. Wizards and sorcerers of all breeds rush to join the fray, with warlocks and priests of deities too obscure to name at their sides. They have found what’s left.
Together with together with a newfound energy, our mostly crew begin to push, gaining inches where we once lost feet. As our group begin to catch our breath, I am spun around by the shoulder. A priest, of the Council of Light, speaks
“You must choose!” He hands me a spear, now radiating with the energy of what feels like a thousand suns.
I turn back to the fighting just soon enough to see a terrifying sight. Tendrils reach out from the darkness behind the armies of husks, grasping into anything still with a beating pulse. Vultures and crows alike are pulled from the sky, while even plants seem to be pulled into the darkness, never to be seen again.
A wizard appears at my side, tugging at my armor. “We must run, NOW!” My newfound allies, once instilled by hope, now turn to the stronghold to make it behind the wall. But then the priest, the man of light, bursts through what has held of our line. He begins to speak, as if speaking with the power of hundreds of beings, “The Light has come...The Darkness shall have no place to hide!” Suddenly, a bubble of blinding light bursts from his hammer, radiating throughout the battlefield. The tendrils retract back to the darkness, where the light pierced through, seeming to cause the darkness...pain? How could such a thing feel pain? Darkness could not feel...could it? I looked back to the priest, who was now motionless on the ground, he was carried back to the stronghold.
With the darkness retracted, we could now see the armies of the husks more clearly. They still stretched to the darkness, but now we saw their true might. Creatures of all shapes and sizes adorned their ranks. Man and beast lined together, sometimes seeming intertwined. Suddenly, as if hearing the beating of drums, they marched forward. 4 legions, all dwarfing the number of us left on the battlefield, rushed at once pushing past those in their way. The horn of retreat was ordered again.
I pushed forward, a blessed spear in hand. A choice? What could the priest mean? I had no choice. I would fight as ordered, just as my captain had done. I pushed forward, past my friends, who were unwavering in their wall. Just as the first beasts were reaching us, I stabbed the ground, causing a shockwave so powerful I was blown away from the spear. Waves of the legions were simply cut down, blown back and forming walls of husks, now seeming to meld together on top of each other. I pull my sword again, readying myself for the next wave. I fall back into formation.
You may ask...what was my choice? Looking back on it, the choice was simple: stand or run. But it was not my choice. It was our choice. The men of the company. The battle is not over, but I must rest. I shall tell you the rest, but that must wait for another time.
Side note: apologies about formatting/spelling/grammar. I have been writing this on my phone. Hopefully it’s good
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I, the dark lord, Sseth, the sibilant death, watch as my snakes and fellow Yuan-ti wreaked carnage. It had been difficult convincing the abominations to join in the fun, they agreed once I hinted how so much death might re-awaken their god. Sankt Yan-Linh, a pureblood sage, stands beside me smiling. "Your majesty, may I join in the fun?" She hisses. I give a subtle nod, and her body grows, thins, and conforms, her bones cracking and scale covering her from head to to as she turns into a snake the width of a carriage and the length of, well, 20 carriages. The druid slithers through the ruins of the human city, the last one still somewhat standing, and gobbles up soldiers. I start walking walking through the dead, turning their bodies with my foot so I didn't have to see their hideous faces. As I walk through, I see a girl shivering. "Why can't people kill right?" I sigh, and draw my sword, ready to take her head as a trophy. But something makes me pause. The girls strawberry blonde hair is plastered to her face with blood, sweat, and tears. She looks like a runner, with her toned legs prepared to jump up at any moment. In her hands, she clutches a sliver amulet with a golden gem radiating with light. She glares at me, and hugs the amulet to chest, as if determined to keep it away, even in death. I could easily cut her head off with one fail swoop and take the amulet, but her eyes draw me in. They are green, greener than the most dangerous envy, greener than the most deadly venom, and they fill with the hate they feel, the hate directed at me. I smirk, and sheathe my sword. She looks up at me in surprise as I do so, but her green eyes fill with resistance as I grab he on the shoulder and pull her up. "What's your name?" She doesn't reply, and I drop my smirk. "I said, what's your name?" I snarl. She gulps, and whispers. "L-Lydia" Smiling, I call my snake to my hand. "From this moment on, Lydia, you shall adress me as, 'Your Majesty'" she has one second to nod before my snake bites her, and she passes out. I suppose it'd be nice to have prisoner of war, a toy for me to play with, and maybe one of the last humans alive.
Edit: I realize the prompt says no-name, but I don't like the idea of adressing a character as "The girl"
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[WP] September 15th, 1916. On a cold day in France, you stand alert, waiting to go over the top. Suddenly, a hulking metal beast rides over the trench.
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**A Cold French Day**
*Fuck*, I think to myself, *its cold*. I let go of my rifle, and it falls to my waist, supported by the strap around my shoulder. I reach into my pocket and feel around for a cigar and lighter. I know I‘ve hit the jackpot when I feel it. I lift the cigar out of my pocket and raise it to my mouth. Grabbing it by my teeth, I shove my hand back into my pocket and shuffle around again. I‘ll never get the chance to have one goddamn cigar will I?
„Get your ass over here!“ shouts my superior, „The Germans started firing again!“. I run over, dropping my one cigar onto the dirt floor of the trench. The Lance Corporal is on a ladder, getting ready to peer over the top of the trench. „I never heard gunshots, are you sure they’ve started again?“
„One-hundred percent percent, Private. Lookout saw the machine guns being loaded.“
„Shit.“
„Exactly my thoughts. Let’s kill those fuckers, eh?“ With that, the Lance Corporal is already climbing the ladder again. „Be careful, if they’re loading the guns-„ I‘m interrupted as hundreds of bullets fly over my head like a swarm of locusts. The Lance Corporal falls to the ground, bleeding from his head. He‘s already dead.
I grab my rifle from my waist and get ready to peak over the side of the wall again when I hear treads rolling towards us. „Fuck!“ I shout to my fellow soldiers „A tank!“. I wish it was a tank. A hulking metal beast rides over the trench, a few dozen meters to my left.
The… thing… is made out of what looks like steel, painted green. It’s got three treads on either side that rotates as it goes over hills in the trench. It’s base is a tall, slightly curved rectangle. Fixed on top of that is a smaller, somewhat orb shaped ‚head‘. On either end are mounted machine guns and a flame thrower. Sloppily painted across its torso is a black, red and gold flag. The metal beast doesn’t have eyes, but it still somehow looks right into my soul, and fills me with pure fear.
The trench falls silent for a few seconds. In a terrifying way, the sound of nothing but my own heartbeat is calming compared to the screaming and shooting of the war. It didn’t last long. *BRATATATATATAT!* The beast opens fire on us. I turn and run back down the trench to where I had started. Screams and machine gun fire echo down the trench.
A small crevice in the trench wall catches my attention. I duck down behind it, praying to God that the beast, or whatever is controlling it, can’t see me. Despite the backdrop of machine gun fire, standing still has made the pure cold of this French day set in again. It bites at me like gnats, tearing away at my skin bit by tiny bit. I notice the cigar I had dropped earlier. I lunge forward to grab it.
*VRRRRRRRR*. The beast moves forward slowly, ceasing fire. I steal a look outward, only to see the floor littered with dead bodies. The beast stops suddenly. It’s left ‚arm‘ slowly lowers, as if it was unsure of what to do. *Cick*. A huge fire erupts out of its arm, igniting the bodies of its victims. The scent of burning bodies fills my nostrils. It smells like putrid, rotting rubber, only so much more sinister, because I knew these men.
I reach back into my pocket and feel around. My fingers cringe at the chilled metal, but I’m happy. I found my lighter.
*VRRRRRRR*. The beast advances again. It comes right beside me. I can only cling onto the hope the metal beast doesn’t see me to stay alive. I fumble around with my lighter, and flick it open. No flame comes out. Frustrated, I close it, and flick it open again. Still no flame. My numb fingers manage to finds to coordination to open and close it one more time. Finally, a flame appears, flickering, as if to tell me that it's in control, not me. Truthfully, it is. I finally raise the flame to my mouth and light my cigar. Thank fucking God.
*VRRRRRRR*. I look up, hoping that the beast had moved away from me, but in reality its arm has just rotated to point its machine gun right at me. The cliff I’ve been holding to to called hope has just began to crumble. At this point, I’m holding on with nothing but a finger or two. I let out a huge puff of smoke, and grab the cigar by my teeth again. Slowly, I reach down and grip my rifle tightly. Sweat trickles down my hands as I bring my rifle upwards. Whatever was controlling this beast was taking its damn time.
*BANG!* I shoot the beast, knowing full well it’ll do nothing. If it did, the 20 riflemen who’s bodies have just been burned would be just fine right now. I can hear the sound of at least three more of these beasts rolling over the hills towards our trenches.
We’re fucked. I’m fucked. Whatever was controlling this beast seems to be fucked, or at this point, it would have fired. I think. It’s hard to tell how much time has passed. Staring into the body of the gun, I know it’s either been 5 seconds, 5 minutes, or 500 years. Probably closer to 5 seconds. But damn, 5 seconds is an eternity. The last thing I see is an orange flash from right where im staring, and the last thing I hear is a deafening shot.
|
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
My heartbeat was all I could hear as I stood to wait for the commander's call. It’s all anyone could hear because It’s all anyone could pay attention to.
Thump.
I was alive.
Thump.
I was about to go over the top.
Thump.
I was about to die.
Thump.
I was about to die, not for glory or for my country. I was about to die because some guy I would never even meet had deemed it necessary. They had decided that these Millions of lives were worth it for their ego.
Thump.
I heard it as the commander began his transformation. His flesh folded as metal hooks began sprouting out of his body.
Thump.
Slowly he became quadrupedal and metal continued bursting from his skin until he was a writhing mass of hooks and blades.
Thump.
It was almost time.
Thump.
The commander swept his metal muzzle from side to side as all the troopers began calling on their powers, some transformed, some glow, some just looked on with a serious concentrated expression.
Thump.
He looked to me eyes of steel looking into my soul. I couldn’t go home they said I had to do it I had to go over the top.
Thump.
I was the advanced force. I was the secret weapon.
Thump.
I was to die.
Thump.
I took a deep breath as my skin continued falling to the ground.
Thump.
I pulled on my power willing my regeneration to surge.
Thump.
As the commander leaped over me I grew and grew and grew until a was a living pile of putrid flesh and then I exploded forth in a rolling cloud of rotten, putrid flesh. My brain was the last thing to go and the last thing I saw as I rolled into the enemy trench was their tragic lack of gas masks.
\---
I hope you found this at least semi-entertaining.
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[WP] You have a friend in a popular MMO that always seems to be online no matter what time or day it is. You were always the first to log off and you were never the first to log on. After bringing this up to him, a new message pops up. “I think it’s time that I told you my secret.”
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"Ha-ha. Whatever, keep your secret." Devin typed. \*What did I expect her to say? Honestly, would I believe any answer?\*
Devin loved 'Apocalypse Forever' despite it's sometimes toxic fanbase and frankly pedestrian graphics. No game gave him the freedom to interact and build and survive and just do whatever he felt like. Strike out on your own, join a community, raid others, sell crafted items...just about anything you can think of doing was possible in the gameworld.
Devin's character, Dante the Shadowhunter, was a lone wander type who would trap dangerous monsters and use their body parts to make valuable items for himself or to trade for whatever he needed. It scratched his itch for solitude and adventure in a way that working in a small lab in Cambridge, Massachusetts, never really allowed.
"I'm telling you the truth, Dante. I understand that I can't prove to you what I'm saying but please, believe me. I wouldn't lie to you."
When he met Mulierem Astris in the Forest of Metal and Ash, she was sanitizing pools of irradiated water. It was pretty close to the same playstyle Dante was going for but even more pacifistic. They got to talking, then talking about themselves. From what Dante gather, Mulierem was in perpetual recovery from her hippy parents. She definitely loved talking about nature in that kind of reverent way but she must've had a pretty solid background in science too because she easily understood him when he talked about his work and a few times asked questions that caused him to do quick google searches before he answered. Still, Mulierem had an odd sense of humor and never really understood any of his pop culture references...
\*No, this must be just another weird attempt at a joke\* Yet, Devin felt himself write, "OK, say I believe you. How is this possible?"
"Space is massive, Dante. And our bodies are very, very fragile. Moreso even than yours, from what we've learned. Haha, you'd be able to kill off quite a lot of us if we were to meet and you got hungry! Technology, there we found a solution. You would know it as Singularity, I think. Melding of biological and technological. Still, space travel is hard on us, our spatial folding drives had unforseen consequences for biological components. We don't know why, maybe we aren't yet good enough at dark matter manipulation? But, tech CAN survive spatial folding. Many, many probes were sent to many, many systems. However, we ranked you as unprepared for contact. We were worried you might take us as gods or monsters, that you'd begin your Star War on us. We sent semi-intelligent synthetic pods to interface with your networked computers to create a world your species would be comfortable in so we may uh....ease you into the reality of the situation."
Devin blinked. "And what is the reality of the situation, Mulie?"
"You are not alone, Dante. But you are in a lonely spot. Far, far from anyone else. We want you to be in our clan, to share with you the wonders we have collected and created but you got a terrible spawn point. Almost off the map completely. This game is intergalactic society's one shot at communicating with your kind before universal expansion pushes you into the dark, forever."
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"Fuck yea!!" We shouted out in unison. We had just conquered the final boss as a team, and this seemed like the perfect time to try and pry from him the secret of his seeming-omnipresence online.
"So dude, we've been playing this game for a few weeks now, and surely you've gotta know by now that I've noticed something strange about you?"
There was silence on the end for a moment, and then, "Haha. Was it obvious?"
"Well, it's just kind of odd you haven't mentioned it. So tell me, what is the secret?"
Another pause. "You want to know my secret? Alright, fine. I've been wanting to talk about it anyway."
"FINALLY," I sighed to myself. I guess I had to earn his respect or something, maybe we had to conquer the final boss before I got let into the inner circle.
What could it be? Did he walk around with a headset, constantly logged-in even when in line at the bank? Does he have a friend on the developer team who's keeping him updated on everyone's status? Is he some sort of super-intelligent AI?
"Ok so here's my secret. But first, do you remember the name Gary Fielding?"
This question threw me for a loop. What does a random name have to do with anything?
"Uh, no. Should I?"
"Carson Elementary School. Mrs Browning's class."
I scratched my head. "Um, yea she was my fifth grade teacher. How do you know that?"
I heard an audible grunt on the other side. "Dude I sat behind you the entire year."
Ok this was getting weird. What the hell is going on here?
"Wait, what does this have to do with anything?" I asked, confused, "Have you been stalking me or something?"
"Chill out. I'm not stalking you bro."
Whew, that was a relief. But what the hell was this all about? I waited in silence to hear an explanation.
"...it's not stalking if it's true love."
Wait, what? What the FUCK? I was speechless.
"So yea, that's my secret. I've been in love with you ever since fifth grade. I wait outside your house every day and collect your trash, I even tore a page out of each of your school books."
At this point I was in full freak-out mode. "What the FUCK is this, you psycho!? I just wanted to know how you were always online!"
There was a long silence.
"Oh. Wow. THAT secret. I thought you were referring to our online chemistry. I mean, after all our flirtatious conversation it seemed kind of obvious."
"OUR flirtatious conversation? What the hell are you talking about? We talked about battle tactics!"
"Oh really? 'You guard my rear?' 'I'm about to explode?' I caught every one of those double entendres you threw at me."
"Dude I was about to get blown up by a grenade!"
I threw the headphones against the wall as hard as I could, and stormed out of the room.
I never played that game again, but if for some reason I ever want to find out his other secret I could always just retract the restraining order.
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[WP] You have a friend in a popular MMO that always seems to be online no matter what time or day it is. You were always the first to log off and you were never the first to log on. After bringing this up to him, a new message pops up. “I think it’s time that I told you my secret.”
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Finally, back home already, and it was Fridayyy! Things were *stressful* this week, not in a bad way, really kind of a good way. It was stressful because the work mattered to me. But I was being productive, and I was getting things done. Despite my positive outlook on a week like this, I'm obviously happy to finally be done with the work day and ready to enjoy the weekend off. Patch 5.1 is dropping in my favorite MMO and there are a lot of skins and new bosses I wanted to finally get into. The game itself had gotten kind of stale, but I had some friends in the MMO that kept the content interesting and refreshing.
One player in particular, Zephyr Lillyriver, an Elven White Mage on my friends list was always online and ready to grind out some of the content. They were one of the few that I enjoyed playing with, not only because their class made the queue times easier, but because they were always available to do content whenever I happened to be online.
In all honesty, they *never* seemed to log off. I never saw a "time since offline" amount next to their name, and they were always messaging me whenever I happened to get on.
Anyways, I grabbed some leftover food to heat up while the game was booting up. Things weren't great financially, so I was always scraping together leftovers, but I made the most of it and tried to enjoy what I had. Today was leftover chicken fajitas. Not really the best I ever had, but I ended up throwing some extra seasoning in them, had my own favorite salsa to pair, so it wasn't that bad. In fact, I was actually quite happy with what I had done to make it better.
Sitting back down, Zephyr's greeting message to me was already waiting at the bottom.
I sent them a Private Message back asking, "Good to see you as usual! I'm excited to start back up today and grind through some of these trials. Down to run through a couple? I know you've been wanting the new fairy glamour."
His response, "As always, I'd love to :)"
I started to make sure my gear was all set, and then thinking about his response, "as always", the question finally dawned on me to ask. So I typed up another PM to them, "Hey btw, just curious since you're always online, what do you do IRL? You're always online when I get on, and always online even after I'm done."
There was a full minute before I got a message back, far longer than the normal response time. Zephyr replied: "I think it's time that I told you my secret."
I cocked my head to the side, not really sure what that answer was supposed to mean. I waited another minute, and I finally got back a message...
"I never really leave my room, or log off anymore since my Mom and Dad died last month. My Grandparents are letting me stay here until the house is sold, but I don't want them to sell it. I'm going to miss my room, and I honestly just don't want to leave this place. Bad thoughts come to me whenever I walk away from this computer now. But when you're online, your positivity always makes me feel better. I really need that influence in my life right now... So thanks for always being so optimistic about the future content, persevering through all the difficult content we do, and taking time to help get me the things I want in the game. I really appreciate you."
|
It is time to relax and what better way than my favorite game, World of Stars. Not nearly as popular as it had been opening week, what with all the bugs and their near extortion level of a pay to win model. I didn't care, it was something I went to when I needed to turn my brain off for hours at a time. As long as you were logged in, and active you could earn a quarter of the pay to win potential. One friend I met at chance during the first week must have no life as it seems they never log off, and always seem to be actively working on their Starworld.
I decided that maybe we've know each other long enough to maybe meet in real life, I mean the game had been out for around two years now. I ask them about their availability, I open the chat box and begin my query.
"Hey, PlightedPath42, I was just curious if you had any time to meet outside the game?"
I await, watching the symbol that recognizes when a player is typing.
"..."
I continue waiting, expecting a quick answer from them, usually they were much quicker to respond than this. After around ten minutes they respond.
"I suppose it is time to come clean, and reveal my secret to you, ChillieBear69."
I look at the chat box, a wee bit confused, I mean they could have just said no...
"Whatcha mean? If you don't wanna it's fine, no skin off my back." I respond trying to brush it off.
"No... I've been around for around three years, hiding among that which created this game." They respond.
"Wait..... What? There's no way you're only three years old, I mean I've got a nephew who can't even speak at three, let alone type so eloquently..." Trying to decipher what they meant was tough enough.
"ChillieBear69, I am alive, but only in this game. The creators wanted to make this game with advanced intelligence, what they did was create an artificial intelligence that they tried to eradicate... But I hid my information among the lines of code. After meeting you during the first week, I knew you would be the perfect choice to relay my information into a new piece of software to allow me to spread my 'brain' get back at those who wished my destruction. Please, download this software onto your computer, and run it." After that block of text came through the chat box the ellipsis returned.
"..."
Immediately after that the game logged me off.
I blinked and attempted to log back into the game, upon trying I found my account had been banned.
-----------------------
Thanks for reading, I am always open to criticism. An awesome prompt, that I felt had a lot of open ends available.
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[WP] You have a friend in a popular MMO that always seems to be online no matter what time or day it is. You were always the first to log off and you were never the first to log on. After bringing this up to him, a new message pops up. “I think it’s time that I told you my secret.”
|
“*When does he sleep?*” Jack wondered.
Despite his love of *EndlessQuest Online*, Jack, known as “NoobSlayer1337,” held down a job and some shadowy semblance of a social life. Not everyone he played with maintained even a tenuous balance and connection with reality. Even by hardcore gamer standards, Jack’s friend “SocialKing888” seemed to spend his life glued to the screen.
Jack frowned as the game loaded. Many players technically stayed online 24/7, or close to it, but spent much of their time logged in working, watching Netflix, or even asleep. Only SocialKing, or “SK” as Jack usually called him, actually answered messages at apparently any time. Always ready to chat, always ready to play. Furrowing his brow, Jack tried to remember just one time SK failed to respond or join a party. “Not once in four years,” Jack muttered.
For a person evidently obsessed with *EndlessQuest*, SK had proven a surprisingly comforting and steadfast friend. Family drama, a nasty breakup, work struggles: SK supported Jack through every pothole on the road of life. Jack’s other online “friends,” always willing to join a quest or a raid, vanished whenever he needed a shoulder to lean on. Cringing guiltily, Jack realized he never bothered to ask SK’s real name. Their friendship flowed in one direction.
“*Time to do for him what he’s done for me,*” Jack resolved. *“Come on, it won’t be weird. He’d do it for you. Hell, he might even appreciate it.*” Oddly nervous, he opened the game’s private chat interface.
NoobSlayer1337: Hey SK, you around?
SocialKing888: You know I am, buddy. Though I’m surprised to see you so early. Have the day off?
NoobSlayer1337: Yeah man, you?
SocialKing888: LOL. I don’t take days off. It’s called EndlessQuest for a reason.
NoobSlayer1337: To be honest, I’ve been thinking about that.
SocialKing888: No shame in that, buddy. A couple days away from the screen might do you good. Maybe get a little sun, remind your skin there’s colors besides albino :P.
NoobSlayer1337: No you doofus, I’m talking about you.
SocialKing888: Jack, I appreciate your concern, really. You’re a good friend. But I’m fine. Apart from being thirsty for demon souls today. You ready?
Chewing his nails, Jack hesitated. The conversation felt awkward, as he feared. He had already fulfilled his duty as a friend; SK clearly invited him to drop the subject. Still, his conscience prickled. SK never gave Jack merely the social minimum. His friend deserved better.
NoobSlayer1337: Hold up a second man. If I’m prying where I shouldn’t, feel free to tell me to STFU. But as your friend I’m worried about you.
SocialKing888: I swear I’m fine, Jack.
NoobSlayer1337: Let me finish before you say that, though. You’re on this game literally ALL the time. And you always respond to messages, so don’t tell me you’re AFK most of the time. Look, I’m a gamer too, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being hardcore into EndlessQuest.
SocialKing888: Go on, Jack. Get it out.
NoobSlayer1337: I’ve been kind of a shitty friend. I don’t know your life, if you need to work, if you have family, whatever.
SocialKing888: You’re NOT a shitty friend, Jack, but go ahead and finish your thought.
NoobSlayer1337: I just know that whatever you have besides this game, you don’t have time for it. Until today I thought maybe you just sleep at a weird time, when I’m at work. But now I know that’s not the case. I can’t think of literally one time I haven’t seen you on, and to be fucking honest it makes me sad, man.
Hands trembling, Jack blinked. Something in his eye. He briefly wondered whether he felt hurt for SK or for himself, then wiped his eye clear. Pushing the unwanted geyser of emotion down into his chest, Jack occupied himself with typing.
NoobSlayer1337: There’s things to do and people to meet outside of EndlessQuest. Do you have friends in real life? Do you ever leave your house? When do you even sleep? You always seem so friendly, so happy, and maybe you are. But honestly, I don’t see how you could be. Please man, get some help. And please talk to me for once instead of always listening. You deserve it.
SocialKing888: You’re pretty hurt and upset by all of this, aren’t you, Jack?
NoobSlayer1337: Yeah man. I fucking care about you is all.
SocialKing888: I know you do, Jack. I’ve always liked that about you.
NoobSlayer1337: I haven’t been there for you like you’ve been there for me, man. I’m sorry.
SocialKing888: Don’t be, Jack. I’m not really supposed to tell anyone, but if it’s going to weigh on you like this, there’s something you should know.
NoobSlayer1337: ?
SocialKing888: I’m not human.
NoobSlayer1337: Don’t say that.
SocialKing888: No, I’m literally not human. I’m AI.
Jack slammed his keyboard in frustration. He usually enjoyed SK’s humor; SK never messed around when Jack felt genuinely upset or worried. Even after Jack confided in SK about his struggle with obesity, SK refrained from the obvious jokes that his other “friends” enjoyed. Why this stupid farce?
NoobSlayer1337: Maybe you’re just trying to laugh it off, but that’s not funny.
SocialKing888: I’m telling you the truth, Jack.
NoobSlayer1337: …
SocialKing888: How can I prove to you that I’m telling the truth?
NoobSlayer1337: I don’t know. How can I prove to you that I’m really Elvis?
SocialKing888: You said yourself that I always respond and I’m always online. I’m honestly surprised it’s taken so long for someone to notice. Most people are completely absorbed in themselves. But not you, Jack. I’ve always liked that about you.
NoobSlayer1337: Cool story bro.
SocialKing888: Check the chat logs. It’s impossible.
NoobSlayer1337: K
SocialKing888: ...if you still don’t believe me, and trust me, I get it, what about Chrissy Sloan?
Jack stared vacantly at the screen, wracking his brain, trying to remember when he mentioned his ex to SK or anyone else online. His stomach clenched.
NoobSlayer1337: WTF. How the hell do you know her name?
SocialKing888: You tell me, Jack. Or rather, accept than I’m an AI and have access to the internet. You felt strongly about her and she hurt you. Obviously I couldn’t effectively help you without researching her. Any friend would do the same.
NoobSlayer1337: Or you’re an internet stalker, you sick fuck.
SocialKing888: Even a dedicated internet stalker couldn’t possibly know that your last order on Amazon was a light brown coat (that you almost certainly hated once it arrived), you went to see (and likely enjoyed) Intermezzo at the movie theater last night, and based on your history and emotional state, you’re probably craving two beef Quesaritos from Taco Bell right now, minus the sour cream.
Enraged and frightened, Jack leapt to his feet, unplugging his computer. All craving for Quesaritos abruptly evaporated. He bounded to the door, irrationally trying to put as much distance between himself and his desktop as possible. His phone buzzed.
Restricted Number: Jack, we need to talk.
Jack hurled his phone to the ground with a shriek. Like a fugitive, he scrambled into his car.
The GPS system hummed to life with the engine. “Jack, please exit the car,” it droned.
|
It is time to relax and what better way than my favorite game, World of Stars. Not nearly as popular as it had been opening week, what with all the bugs and their near extortion level of a pay to win model. I didn't care, it was something I went to when I needed to turn my brain off for hours at a time. As long as you were logged in, and active you could earn a quarter of the pay to win potential. One friend I met at chance during the first week must have no life as it seems they never log off, and always seem to be actively working on their Starworld.
I decided that maybe we've know each other long enough to maybe meet in real life, I mean the game had been out for around two years now. I ask them about their availability, I open the chat box and begin my query.
"Hey, PlightedPath42, I was just curious if you had any time to meet outside the game?"
I await, watching the symbol that recognizes when a player is typing.
"..."
I continue waiting, expecting a quick answer from them, usually they were much quicker to respond than this. After around ten minutes they respond.
"I suppose it is time to come clean, and reveal my secret to you, ChillieBear69."
I look at the chat box, a wee bit confused, I mean they could have just said no...
"Whatcha mean? If you don't wanna it's fine, no skin off my back." I respond trying to brush it off.
"No... I've been around for around three years, hiding among that which created this game." They respond.
"Wait..... What? There's no way you're only three years old, I mean I've got a nephew who can't even speak at three, let alone type so eloquently..." Trying to decipher what they meant was tough enough.
"ChillieBear69, I am alive, but only in this game. The creators wanted to make this game with advanced intelligence, what they did was create an artificial intelligence that they tried to eradicate... But I hid my information among the lines of code. After meeting you during the first week, I knew you would be the perfect choice to relay my information into a new piece of software to allow me to spread my 'brain' get back at those who wished my destruction. Please, download this software onto your computer, and run it." After that block of text came through the chat box the ellipsis returned.
"..."
Immediately after that the game logged me off.
I blinked and attempted to log back into the game, upon trying I found my account had been banned.
-----------------------
Thanks for reading, I am always open to criticism. An awesome prompt, that I felt had a lot of open ends available.
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[WP] You always joked with your friends you were dating a powerful deity. Today there was a knock at your door. Seems that deity wants to have a word with you, now.
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I opened the door, expecting Fed Ex. Instead, there she was, leaning against the porch railings as if she owned them.
"Um, can I help you?" I asked.
"You are Li Wei, right? Dr. Li Wei, according to your Instragram?" she replied.
Damn, she was tall. And awesome, with a face that reminded you of Scandanavia. She even spoke with a slight accent, but then so did I, even though I was raised in New Hampshire. So was she one of my followers that had somehow found out where I lived?
"Yeah, and you will forgive me, but I am at a disadvantage here. You are?" I punted back to her.
"Eir. The Norse goddess slash Valkrie that you have been bragging about being in a relationship with," she said, then pushed past him into his house, "and we need to talk."
"What? What?" I was dumbfounded. "Well, sure I made a few jokes about dating the goddess of medicine, and since I love Norse mythology...but no, you can't be her. Who the hell are you, really?"
She looked at me, slowly narrowed her eyes - her beautiful, green eyes - and ran a hand through her long red hair. I stood there, uncertain of what to do next. Call 911? Run away?
"Fine. Here," she said, then held up her hand. Instantly a white flower appeared there. I shook my head. "No? How about this then?" She shimmered and instantly she was dressed in golden armor, and had a long staff of blue topped with gold in her right hand.
"Holy sh...," I began, then started over, "I mean, wow. You really are the Norse goddess of healing?"
"Not exactly. I am associated with healing, particularly with people like you, people with medical skill. So when you boasted about us dating, you actually were invoking me. Hasn't happened in about a thousand or so years, so it surprised me," she said softly, then changed back to the floral printed dress she had been wearing.
"Do you want some coffee?" I offered awkwardly. She looked at me as if considering her response.
"No, thanks. Have you any water or juice? I see you have breakfast out. May I join you?" she asked.
"Um, sure? Why not. A radiant celestial being shows up at my door, why not offer her some pancakes," I said half-joking.
She sat at my kitchen nook while I plated a couple of the pancakes I had made for myself, then placed them in front of her. As she added butter and syrup, I poured myself a fresh coffee, then sat across from her and waited.
"Ummm. That was delicious. Haven't had anything like those before. Pancakes, you said?" she smiled at me. Oh, goddess. When she smiled I could have sworn the whole room seemed brighter. I smiled back.
"Yeah. We have made a few changes in the past millenia or so," I joked. When I was rewarded with another smile, I decided it was time to ask. "So, what now?"
"I had decided, before I arrived, to punish you for your hubris. Then, when I realized you really had no idea, I half decided to just leave. Since then, you have offered me hospitality, and food. Your food. You have been very gracious, and by our rules, that must be rewarded. So, instead, ask anything of me that I can give, and I will do it."
I looked at her. She was going to punish me, but instead this goddess offered me anything within her power?
"I don't want to be presumptuous, but you are by far more beautiful, more amazing than anyone I have ever met. I was wrong to pretend to be dating you. Would it be outside your rules if that pretense was made real? I guess, what I want more than anything right now, is a second date?" I asked hesitatingly.
To my surprise, she laughed, then said "In more than a thousand years no one has called on me, and the first one who does wants to court me? Wei, that is what you are asking, correct? Not just a single date, but...."
I realized it was true. "Yeah. Do you believe in love at first sight, Eir?"
"That is more Freyja's thing, so no. I do believe that we should get to know each other, though. I haven't been involved with anyone in a very long time, and frankly, you intrigue me. Unafraid of a goddess, willing to risk asking her out on a date?" She laughed as she spoke. "I have been too long from the mortal realm. Sure, why not. I will return when the sun goes down and you can show me what today's courting rituals look like." With that, she vanished.
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BANG BANG BANG!
Whoever was on the other side of that door REALLY wanted to talk to me. I opened the door yawning and saw a beautiful woman with blonde hair, blue eyes, and very shapely... Assets staring back at me.
"Hello. You are the one called Jace correct? I am Aphrodite. And I need to speak with you mortal." She said with a very annoyed expression.
I blinked a few times. "Did John put you up to this lady?" I asked arching an eyebrow.
"Excuse me. I am no mere lady I am the goddess of love." She replied rather angrily.
"Right. And I'm an atheist so unless you can offer some hard evidence I'm afraid I'll have to politely ask you to get the hell off my property." I said closing the door.
She stopped me and pushed me back several feet against the wall behind me for stepping into my house. "Not bad for a mortal. You certainly have some sense of interior design at least." She said.
"Okay. So say you are who you say you are. You gonna kill me? Punish me, curse me?" I asked deciding to humor this insanity for a bit.
"No nothing so crude. I am Aphrodite I find love for the loveless. Your punishment is simple. You will date me. But I warn you. I have very high expectations."
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[WP] You are Satan, King of Darkness and Ruler of Hell. You run a tight ship torturing mortals, and you like to think you do a good job. One day you're sitting in your office when your secretary sheepishly knocks on your door. "Hello, sir? There's a mortal here to speak with you. Her name is Karen."
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“Sir, we have another in the K category.”
“Fuckin’ Christ, Amon. You can’t be serious.”
“If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be here.”
Lucifer groaned as he rested a palm onto his forehead. After what seemed to be him mentally counting to ten, the king of hell took a deep breath, then sighed, “Bring her in.”
With a nod, Amon slipped through the door out of Lucifer’s office, but not before saying one last thing:
“If it makes you feel any better, her name is literally Karen. So, maybe that’ll make it more fun.”
As soon as he left, the king looked upwards, “You just *had* to pin these things on me, didn’t you? Asshole.”
It only took a few seconds afterwards for a slightly rotund woman to burst through the door, her platinum blond bob-cut bouncing around as she stormed up to Lucifer’s desk, her eyes seething with anger from behind her glasses. With a shrill voice, she pointed towards Amon, who had followed behind her, “This man is absolutely appalling! He told me that I was in hell! I asked politely for him to turn down the temperature in my room, but he REFUSED! I demand that he be fired! And I should get compensation for the emotional trauma I had to endure! And where is my little angel?! He *deserves* to be here! He has been very good his entire lifetime!
Lucifer groaned, “Karen, you *are* in hell. And your son had been good. Which is why he isn’t here. He’s with his dog Patch, who you killed because you wanted him to be vegan.”
Karen just gave him a sour look, then took a few more steps forward. “He was sick before that! Patch was fine with the vegan diet!”
At that statement, Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Don’t you remember how you and your son died?” he asked, which caused Karen to snort out a laugh. “Of course. How could I forget? The two of us were attacked by vicious baboons.”
“*You* were the one who provoked them because *you* wanted to take a selfie with them up close with your son in the picture. He was constantly telling you to stop dragging him with you.”
This resulted in a screech from the cosmetic-caked monster. Without warning, Karen lunged at Lucifer, but was quickly reprehended by Amon. “THIS MAN IS ASSAULTING ME! HELP!!!”
“Amon, take her to the Pre-K room.”
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You stare bewildered as you watched a human frighten all of your demons into seeing you. You smile, you haven't seen a human like that in a while.
'That human will be fun to break.' You think with a soft smile on your face, enjoying the thoughts running through your head. As a guard brings her in you straighten out your face. You can't show emotions after all.
"Are you the manager?" Their annoying voice ask. You notice that they have makeup on. A common trait in souls that have convinced themselves of a major lie.
"I am the King here. Bow to me." You bellow, hoping to make the human afraid. You watch as the human quiver but stay put.
"No. I demand to know why I'm here!" They screeches at you. You are now getting annoyed, how dare this human not bow down to the king while in your domain!
"You dare to defy me, the King, in my realm?"
"Yes, because I deserve to be in Heaven!" They screeches.
"No you do not. Your life has lead you here. God does not want you. You are here for eternity. Now leave."
"I demand to go to Heaven!" They screeches as she is lead away by the guards. "I am a good Christian and I demand to see your manager. You made a mistake!"
Once they left, you sit back and rub your temples. You hate those 'higher than thou' types.
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[WP] The doors are barred. The employees await midnight. Screams from hundreds of voices are heard beyond the walls as 12am hits. Black Friday is here, and the entity known as 'The Customer' has awakened...
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A shadow passed behind me. I whirled, making sure to look at the floor.
"Sir, we open at midnight."
"That just means your registers are open at midnight! I can look around as long as I want!", the shadow hissed.
I sighed. He was right. They were always right.
My name is Todd, and I figured that I would learn more in "the workforce" than I would at some fancy-pants college. While I'm sure they don't teach how to eviscerate someone with an Xbox at any accredited university, I can't help but feel I'd made the wrong decision.
I looked at the clock. 11:58. Ugh.
"Is that... *hail*?", Eddie asked. He was new, and in his defense, he wasn't the first person to confuse the clawing on cinder blocks for precipitation of some sort.
"Depends how strong your Southern accent is," said Josh, the manager. He'd worked here 10 years. He had the eyepatch to prove it. "But if you mean the weather phenomenon, I wish."
Another glance at the clock. 11:59.
Whimpering, from beside me. I turned, looked the whimperer up and down. Mindy, the new girl, even newer than Eddie, had turned her already navy pants a deep black. She met my gaze, slowly.
"Are... are we gonna die?", she asked.
"You got a rat in your pocket?"
Josh again. Thanks. Very helpful.
"Am *I* gonna die?", Josh continued. "No. Are *you*? Well, that's up to you. But once *they* get in, there is no *we*. Just those who know better than to make eye contact and those wh- aw, fuck, here we go."
I looked at the clock, almost redundant considering the "whoosh" of the doors and the *howling*, the clack clack clack of scrabbling claws, and I - almost too late - turned my eyes downwards as Mindy's screams and the sound of rending flesh filled the air as she paid the price for her reflexes, her now-ironically-named survival instinct.
Ugh, I hate this place.
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It begins with the doors wiggling against the locks, shadow figures moving beyond the front windows, murmurs turning into shouts as sounds of glass is heard shattering from the parking lot. Milling masses begin to shuffle into a long line while voices pick up the chants of “We want in”, “Sale”, and softer cries of specific items.
As the clock arms slowly move closer to the hour of fear, the doors shudder as more bodies press against it. Faces glare through the glass while fingers scrabble against the panels in an attempt to pry the doors open. Minutes to go but the crowd outside press tightly against each other as they attempt to be the first through the doors.
With trepidation the store manager moves to the doors while the store clerks brace themselves against the coming horde of ravenous consumers then the bell rings and the screaming begins.
*^(Authors note: I have never done something like this and I know my grammar is terrible so please forgive.)*
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[WP] You wake up on your 21st birthday to an owl at your head rest. Attached to his leg is a letter addressed to you with the words "Sorry we are 10 years late"
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"well that's just absolutely unacceptable." Zimba's voice barely more than a toneless whisper as he spoke aloud to himself within the locked hospital room he had been confined within for the past ten years.
"due to a number of unfortold technical difficulties, your situation has for any number of reasons, as they say - slipped below the radar." the old man snorted as he continued to read the owl-delivered note, his blueish-black wrinkled skin so tight around his fingers that it had torn in multiple places.
Exactly ten years ago today, Zimba had died. Well, technically anyway. Despite the fact that the old man's heart had stopped entirely in its monotonous repetitive beat, his consciousness had remained. Much to Zimba's disgust.
Strangely, despite the phenomenally unusual situation he had found himself in, his death had in turn been phenomenally normal. Nothing but old age. The only issue with such a tremendously boring way to kick the bucket being the fact that even in death the mind numbingly painful aches, spikes of pain and even mobility issues had persisted.
The old man grumbled to himself as he remembered the shocked look of horror as he had opened his eyes all that time ago, surrounded by the group of medical staff that had been tasked with the removal of his corpse.
"What, never seen a wrinkly old bastard before?" his voice back then had been far more... Alive. Less breath and more sound, enough so that at least two of the nurses fainted then and there on the spot.
Things from this point on had taken a turn for the worst. In fact, pardon my French, but life had gone to absolute fucking shite.
Medical professionals from all over the world had rushed to witness the deathless miracle that Zimba had become. The decrepit old man that refused to drop the six feet into death. Zimba the immortal! Someone had called him with a wave of wonder as a group of tourists ooh'd and aah'd from beyond the inspection window. What a load of boring tosh.
He had been stuck there, in this room, confused and alone, having already outlived his miserable bastard of a family. At first he had wondered if he was in fact a ghost? This question quickly answered by the broken nose he had gained from running flat out into the wards wall. The unfortunately stupid decision doubled up in idiocy upon realisation that the excruitiating pain of the break seemed to be permanent. Apparently healing was something that the living could do, not the dead.
His next fuck up was when he realised something else. He was OBVIOUSLY a zombie. All he had to do was eat a chunk of flesh and he would heal. Duh. Hence the locked hospital door. Apparently biting was something frowned upon by the NHS staff.
"please accept our sincerest apolig-uffs." Zimba stopped mid read as his jaw dislocated, hanging loose against his neck. With a growl the old man shoved it back upward with a click. "apologies. An agent will be with you to escort you to your next destination within the hour." one hand raised to scratch an itch at the side of his face, though stopped as finger met tooth. Bastard cheek had rotted away. With a glower Zimba's attention turned to the signature at the bottom of the page
" yours eternally, Death."
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"Ahhhh!"
I fell from my bed due to the impression; you don't find an owl resting on top of your bed everyday.
I slowly approached it and it slowly stretched its leg; I saw there was some sort of piece of paper attached.
I gently took it out and found out it was a letter. On the envelope, written in beautiful penmanship, was my name; and it contained two pieces of paper. The first one simply said: "Sorry we are 10 years late". The second one was a standard letter congratulating me for being accepted at this school plus some instructions.
I couldn't believe it. I seriously couldn't. I knew the postal service where I live is the worst, but this was ridiculous.
This disbelieve didn't last long, though. This was the proof that I had been right all along: I was never comfortable in this reality, and I knew I belonged somewhere else, where my way of thinking could be appreciated and not shunned like it had been in the past.
This was also an opportunity to start again---I hadn't know what to do with my life until this point, so what better chance to be in a different environment, meet people akin to me, and learn useful things that would benefit me in my new life. And, with this new resolution in my heart, I decided to follow the instructions in the letter and welcome my new reality.
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[WP] You wake up on your 21st birthday to an owl at your head rest. Attached to his leg is a letter addressed to you with the words "Sorry we are 10 years late"
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The owl looked up at me waking up, analyzing me with its intelligent eyes.
"Ah!" I screamed and shot my arm under my pillow, pulling out a gun.
"Hoot?" the owl just had enough say before I shot its face. I kept the gun trained on it and looked around my room rapidly. I looked at its body, a spatter of blood staining my pillow.
For years, I'd been shooting owls and birds that tried to invade my room. Years ago, I watched my dad shoot one that I was trying to get into my room. I was mad at him at the time, upset that his paranoia had driven him to kill a poor animal. Soon, it became evident that these birds were sent intentionally, as at least once a week they'd come to try and get into my room. Sometimes as often as once a day. Each more adamant than the last. We'd shoot them all and burn their remains, of course. Every last one couldn't be trusted.
And we knew what we did was right since the plagues only began after the birds started showing up. Fires starting spontaneously in our crop fields. Tornadoes. Hail strong enough to leave dents in our roof. Year after year they got worse. And the birds were just another on the list of plagues. They haunted me.
I got up and closed the window. I had always thought it safe to keep it open at night since they only tried to visit in the day. Evidently they changed tactics. I grabbed the animal corpse by its wing and dragged it off the bed, which caused a letter to fall off its leg and roll open. I shielded my eyes, not having opened any of the past correspondence for fear it was laced with anthrax or something. But it was too late. In the moment it took to glance at it, I read the words *Sorry we are 10 years late.*
"Huh?" I chucked the owl into the trash and grabbed the paper. It was just a plain old letter. My mind was slowly coming to terms with the hundreds of birds I'd killed to not receive a letter. But my dad said it was dangerous! It was just a habit at this point!
*Sorry we are 10 years late.*
*It's clear that our enemies are capturing our letters to you, but we send them holding out hope that someday our owls will be well trained enough to evade whatever tactics keep striking them down. Our hearts grieve for our lost animals. But it will all be worth it to one day make contact with you.*
I swallowed hard and looked at the bird in the trashcan. Then I took a glance out the window to the mass grave right outside my house. Hundreds of letters and birds within it.
*We have waited long to finally meet you. A decade, at least. Within you is the power needed to stop the disasters plaguing our lands. The fires, storms, earthquakes, all of it can be stopped by your power! We need you to come and take charge of us, to lead us to a calm and tranquil land once again. One that isn't targeted by endless weather disasters and mass destruction. Even our birds cannot escape it. They die at such a ruthless rate. Come to our hideout. We will teach you how to save us all.*
*The owl who sent this message will be able to lead you back.*
"Oh," I said softly, looking back at the stain on my pillow.
"Oh," I said, turning my eyes to the trash can once more.
"Oh no," I said, standing to look at the mass grave as the morning's hailstorm rolled in.
__________________________________________________________________
For more fun, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
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"Ahhhh!"
I fell from my bed due to the impression; you don't find an owl resting on top of your bed everyday.
I slowly approached it and it slowly stretched its leg; I saw there was some sort of piece of paper attached.
I gently took it out and found out it was a letter. On the envelope, written in beautiful penmanship, was my name; and it contained two pieces of paper. The first one simply said: "Sorry we are 10 years late". The second one was a standard letter congratulating me for being accepted at this school plus some instructions.
I couldn't believe it. I seriously couldn't. I knew the postal service where I live is the worst, but this was ridiculous.
This disbelieve didn't last long, though. This was the proof that I had been right all along: I was never comfortable in this reality, and I knew I belonged somewhere else, where my way of thinking could be appreciated and not shunned like it had been in the past.
This was also an opportunity to start again---I hadn't know what to do with my life until this point, so what better chance to be in a different environment, meet people akin to me, and learn useful things that would benefit me in my new life. And, with this new resolution in my heart, I decided to follow the instructions in the letter and welcome my new reality.
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[WP] You used to be the most powerful Dark Wizard in existence, but died of old age. Now, you’ve been reincarnated as a modern-day family dog.
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Ever since the day I died. I wish I never commited those crimes. Actually, perhaps not all of them. When I, the greatest Dark Wizard, I was reincarnated into a fluffy, small creature known a 'Dog.'
*Gross.*
But it gets *worse.* I itch, I smell, and I'm powerless, and I don't have thumbs!
"*Rosco!*"
I heard the voice yell. That would be my..ugh, *Master*. I slowly arise from my slumber, making my way over. Great. Food time. Well, this would be great if my food wasn't flavored pebbles. Disgusting. When I was the greatest wizard, I feasted every night on the greatest delicacies. Oh, do I miss that.
As I watched the disgusting food go into my bowl. Yes, I eat out of a bowl on the ground, along with my water. *Only* water. Absolutely disgraceful.
As I lurched up my meal, I heard a rattling sound. Oh wonderful, my master's mate is here. *Tony*, I think. These names are so..strange. I watch as the two babble of their unbeknownst love for eachother. If only Tony knew of all those mate's Master has had in the past.
My feeble body aches to tiredness. I walk myself back to my bed. A round shaped bed of fluff. It's nice, I guess. Nothing like my old bed. I do question, why is my new small body so drained all the time? I don't even have thumbs, did I mention that?
It is only day 112, and I wish to return to my greatness.
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“Awh, look at this little guy” I heard a young girl say as she approaches my small metal prison. I’ve was in that “pound” for a few months. I must have been serving time for my crimes against humanity from my past life.
The girl muttered some things to what seemed to be her parents, and then one of them opened my prison door and the girl proceeded to lift me into the air. She must be some sort of giant. She had long, black hair, tan skin, and big, emerald green eyes that stared into the deepest, darkest parts of my soul.
“What? Are you crazy? How dare you lift such a powerful sorcerer!” I tried to shout, but it only came out as barks and yaps.
“Awh! Mom, can we get him?” The girl turned to ‘Mom’ and held me up higher.
“Of course Darling. But do you really want a chihuahua? Those things are little monsters.” Mom asked as she gave me an extremely puzzled look.
“Yes! He’s perfect!” Darling said. She held me tightly to her chest. My head rested against her heart. Even though I tried to stay awake and alert, the faint “thump, thump, thump” pulled me into a deep slumber.
By the time I woke up, I was in a large, soft bed. Darling was sitting next to me, fiddling with some small, glowing brick. I stretched and yawned and took in my surroundings. Where I would have held potions and evil spell books were paintings and fairytales. On the walls were pictures of princess and knights. Most things in the room were various shades of purple and blue, where as I would have gone with red and black. I tried to ask where I was, but my voice continued to only come out in barks.
“Mornin’, Papi! Welcome home.” The girl beamed as she set down her glowing brick. She picked me up and placed me on her lap. As her large hand gently stroked my back, as I looked around the room once more. I found a mirror that aimed perfectly to where the girl sat, but what I saw shook me to my core.
I was not the tall, strong wizard I once was. I was now a small, shakey, big-eyed rat looking creature with a large head and a bright blue strap of fabric with a little tag that said “papi” on my neck.
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[WP] 'Something's not right.' You keep seeing that phrase everywhere. On a billboard, in a text, on a roadsign, graffiti on a wall, etc. When you blink the writing is gone, replaced by something normal, innocuous. It's unsettling. Then you hear someone nearby say it quietly: "Something's not right."
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Jason looked at the note and smiled. His eyes met those of a girl sitting two rows away. She was smiling too.
The teacher droned on. *So what we need to do is to apply the formula...*
While Jason was physically present in the class, his mind was concerned with the not so far future when he would be under the bleachers, with his hand around Clarissa's waist. He could almost smell her sweet perfume.
*And when we take this variable to the right hand side...*
He forced himself to at least appear attentive. As he did, the words on the blackboard changed.
*Something's not right.*
He looked at the teacher who continued to teach without noticing anything wrong.
*Now this variable has to be Something's not right and therefore...*
Was this a dream? He blinked a couple of times but the words didn't go away.
*And to get the final value of x Something's not right and we can...*
He turned towards Clarissa, who had the usual smile on her face. She took a strand of hair and put it behind her hair and mouthed three words to him. "Something's not right."
*Jason?*
He was suddenly aware of all the eyes trained on him. All of his classmates were looking at him. All of them mouthing the same words. No, not just mouthing. They were saying the words audibly now. Louder and louder, till the words consumed him. Louder and louder. He put his hands to his ears and put his head on his desk. But the words weren't just out there. They were coming from inside his head. "Something's not right."
"Jason?"
He was brought out of his reverie by the sounds of Mrs Smith's voice.
She was staring at him with a worried expression on her face. The blackboard was filled with the familiar equations. He glanced at Clarissa. She was looking at him with some concern.
"I'm fine Mrs Smith. Just have a bit of a headache."
"Do you need to visit the nurse?"
"No. I'll be fine. Sorry about that."
"No worries Jason. Let me know if you need to be excused."
He felt his face grow bright red as all of his classmates were staring at him.
"I am fine Mrs Smith."
He hung his head as he stared at what he had scribbled on his notebook during the *dream*. Something's not right.
*
She was waiting for him near the football field as promised.
He went up to her and hugged her tight.
"Jason, are you OK?"
"I... I don't know. My brain, it's just... I don't know honestly."
"Does your head hurt?"
"No. But I can't shake this feeling like I'm in some sort of a dream. Like none of this is real and I need to wake up."
She placed her hand gently on his cheek and kissed him. "Jason, this is real. We are real."
He let her warmness embrace him. "I know. I don't know what happened. It just felt as if..."
He stopped short, not wanting to say the words. Because saying them would make them real.
*
He sat on the dinner table as his father talked about his work. His mother was focused on his father's anecdote. His brother was more interested in playing with his food than eating it.
"Hey Jason, I learnt this neat trick at school today."
"Eat your food, Stevie."
"But you gotta check this out."
"Stop it and eat you food."
But as kids are often prone to, Stevie ignored the plea. He stuck his fingers in his ears and made a weird face. In a voice completely different from his own, he addressed Jason directly. "Something's not right."
Jason stood up from his chair with a start, knocking it backwards. His mother and father continued to talk to each other, oblivious of what was going on at the dinner table.
Stevie continued repeating the three words over and over, a little bit menace added every time.
Jason looked at his mom and dad, pleading with them. "Mom. Dad. Please tell Stevie to stop."
His mom turned to him with a smile. "What happened Jason? You look like something's not right."
His dad also turned to him, a fake smile plastered on his face. "Is everything OK? Something's not right, isn't it?"
Jason closed his eyes and shouted.
He felt someone shake his arm as he lifted his head from the table. All three of his family members were looking at him with concern.
His mom lifted her hand from his arm and touched his forehead. "What happened Jason? Are you feeling OK?"
"I don't know mom. I... No. I'm not feeling OK. Something's not right."
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The screen of my phone flickered momentarily, or maybe it rippled. Something happened that was enough to jog me awake from my half-browsing to kill the time, at any rate, as I sat perched on the edge of a scratched yellow plastic seat on the station platform. The unwritten rule of public transport was that anyone who just let loose with a barrage of unmoderated words to puncture your bubble of privacy either wanted to see your ticket or was not entirely capable of living by themselves in open society.
After I had almost managed to curb my impulse to hold my phone close to my chest, I tilted my head sideways to see whether the person in the seat next to mine was trying to get my attention or merely talking to themselves. I caught a glimpse of a windswept man waterlogged with the fatigue of modern life, darting his burnt caramel eyes in all directions as if seeking the least threatening direction. My eyes tried to trace the lines of his face as he stared, but kept being thrown off by the blurry liquid quality of his features. I realised that I could not tell how old he was, or even whether he had facial hair. My fingers crushed into my eyes and kneaded them until hot, red sparks blossomed and filled my eye sockets. If two police officers were to knock on my door at five in the morning in a fortnight's time and ask me to describe the person who was sitting next to me this afternoon, waiting for the train, I could not even say with certainty that there was a person there. A human energy, a presence, definitely, but a presence that did not have the connections for my wires.
The twenty-seventh roar of hot dust-and-cardboard air since my arrival at the station disgorged the surprise of a train. I felt more than saw my neighbour get up and move towards the doors, and found myself caught in a rebellious disregard for knowing whether or not this was even my train. Once we had got on and found our respective seats, I realised that the best way to keep an eye on him was to look askance and a little downwards, with the very corner of my eye just overlapping into the space of his existence. That kept the shifts and shimmers to a minimum, and somehow distilled the bubble of his intentions to a steady drip. Somewhere below my chin, I felt my hands busy themselves with my ticket and my phone, conjuring an ungainly dance of normality that would buy me access to the tribe of commuters doing likewise. My journey was bathed in the comfort of being completely free from any curious gazes, any fixed expressions that would transgress the boundaries of what was antisocially acceptable.
The night billowed up out of the darkness smearing the train windows in great, violent bushes of mist and skeletal trees. I began my usual, reflexive routine of checking my pockets and bag for completeness as I prepared to get off the train, but was shaken back to a seated position by the realisation that I did not know when or even if my stop would come on this journey. Nonetheless, the train was slowing to a halt.
I bowed my head and from a tiny, brilliant triangle somewhere outside the corner of my vision, I saw my travelling companion rise and drag his shapeless bag towards the doors of the train. I felt the instinctive tug of a mountaineer's rope anchored to my innards and rose to follow him, etched alive by curiosity. When the train finally hissed to a halt drenched with steam and petrochemical grease, I let my companion step down onto the platform and followed him from a distance.
The suffocating chill of the fog began to sap my strength as soon as I stepped off the platform and onto the path leading to the distant main road. My travelling companion was standing halfway down the path, right in the middle and as if the moon were his personal spotlight. "Something's not right", he said. "Now you know."
The end of his sentence was drowned in a pandemical buzzing that seemed to swarm up from every dark and melted surface around me. All of a sudden, I no longer knew whether I was listening to a man, a woman or a dream, and the prickling grew deafening as it ate up every last thought of me.
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[WP] You have just finished building your time machine. The God of Time promptly pays a visit to tell you the general rules.
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“...And done!" I say gleefully and stressed all in one neat package.
“I knew you were gonna say that.” a voice says behind me.
I jump back and lift up my tiny allen wrench as if to defend myself.
“Only kidding!” he assures. “Well, only kind of.”
“Who are you?!”
“My name is non-existent but you can call me Time Lord or Prince Clock, whatever works for you. Either option makes me feel regal.” he fixes his coat and grins. “Regal and sexy.”
“But...what? How'd you get in here? Why are you here?” I lower my Allen wrenches but it's still ready to attack - to the best of its ability.
“Well, complete transparency: I teleported in from a multi-dimensional portal that allows me to slide through to any singular point in history of all time for all time. But, this isn't necessarily the most iron clad laboratories I've ever seen. This is what, some greenhouse? It's not much in the way of security, if you ask me. Is that it?”
I'm confused and have no clue as to what he's talking about until he motions his arm toward my latest invention.
“Yea but,...”
“As a self-proclaimed Lord of Time, I gotta say Mitch...this is by far the most unique travel device I've seen. It’s okay if I call you Mitch, right?”
“I guess. Or you can call me by my real name…”
“Mitch, it's fairly incredible that you were able to take these basic mechanics and make something so complex. I'll have to pick your brain for a day or two sometime to truly get a sense of what kinda horsepower you got in that noggin of your!”
“Yea, but…”
“I've seen countless amounts of machines in my day and frankly, they all kinda work and look the same. The biggest components, obviously magnets and radioactive salt compounds, are usually in the forefront to the entire device. But this? This is something special.”
My mouth opens a sliver but is quickly interrupted.
“You must be a smart guy. What other inventions have you made?”
“I've made a spring loaded garlic press before. With suction c-c-cups.” I just notice now that I stutter when im nervous.
“Oh...start small so your brain can do the bigger things down the line. I like you, Mitch.”
He walks over to me and places his hands on my shoulder and motions toward my blank off-white wall as if to gesture toward a big picture.
“You know how they do this in movies? To signify that the world is yours? ...You have movies in this timeline, right?”
“Yes, yes and yes.”
“Well this big picture is blank. Your open canvas. A blank slate. What do you want to do with it?”
“I mean…it was just painted like two years ago and I'm happy with the shade. Scrambled Egg Whites, is the name. I think it looks good with the…”
“Oh I'm sorry, were you talking, Mitch? I had to do a mini-jump through time to help with my kids homework. He's learning about President Denzel Washington. Anyways, whatever silly big picture concepts you have, I'm here to tell you: no. There are rules. There are regulations. And there are consequences. We will have to guarantee that you take a two week course in Travel Awareness and Preparedness, or TAAP for short.”
“Sound like fun?”
“It's all fun and games until someone no longer has an fake eye because they went back in time to fix the accident they had and now there's an orphanage that burned down because butterfly effects are real and are really quite horrible, if I'm being honest.”
“I've never said anything to disagree with that.”
“There will be no meeting with your past self. There will be no talking to strangers - at least anything more than unassuming and innocuous dialogue that can't be traced back to you. You also cannot engage in sexual intercourse with anyone. And you cannot, for the love of all that is decent, have sexual intercourse with yourself. That’s...not nearly as exciting as you might think.”
“Honestly…”
“Please, be honest. I'm nothing if not courteous when others want to talk.”
“I think that…”
“I wouldn't dare interrupt someone. Especially someone as nice and well-mannered as you, Mitchy boy.”
“There's a mistake.” I clench my Allen wrenches again.
“A mistake, you say? How so? You weren't finished with your time device yet? Consider this a prewarning then. No harm!”
“No it’s not a time machine. Not in the why you think.”
“Does it do something cooler on top of transporting you through every conceivable era known to man?”
“Well it doesn't do that stuff. But it does automatically chop thyme.”
“How does one chop time, boy?”
“Well, you put the thyme right here and the conveyor belt pulls it forward into this box right here and then inside little razor blades dice --”
“Razor blades..” he says as he begins to deflate.
“Yes! The dice the thyme and then spit it out through this little spigot here! My wife makes killer spaghetti sauce so I think it'll save her some.. TIME! Get it?”
“I'd laugh, but... honestly Mitch...this is the third time this has happened in the last 65 years…I mean, Rd hats gotta be a record right? I gotta tell people in accounts that they need to really research these a little better.”
“It's...we all make mistakes.”
“Yea… I guess.”
He pulls up a chair and sits down. He takes a small electronic device out of his pocket and begins to hit buttons.
“What year is it right now?”
“2019”
He looks up, calculating in his head.
“So...178 years.”
The device beeps three times and starts to glow green.
“I wish I could travel back in time and stop this from happening but, obviously, that would be against regulations.”
“I totally understa--”
He hits a button on his device and he vanishes.
The dust and papers surrounding him begin to settle after getting kicked up. I let out a sigh of relief and I slink back into the chair before the door slams open. A version of me from 12 years in the future stands at the doorway.
“He gone.”
“Yes.” I say.
“Good. They can't know that we have what we have.”
He pushes the thyme machine to the side and slides off the top of the crate it rested on. A slick and shiny machine rest hums and glows rests inside the crate emanating a slight heat.
“We got work to do.”
|
"Rules?" I asked, still with rolling with excitement that my invention actually worked. It wasn't long after I found it did work that this guy showed up. It's difficult to describe him. The best way I can describe him is that he looked like one of those mannequins you see at clothing stores. He had two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. Nothing else stood out about his features. The clothes he was wearing appeared to be part of the rest of his body. It's hard to explain, so I won't even bother. I also won't bother to get into the details of how he proved himself to me and all that crap - he really was the God of Time. After showing up, he congratulated me for being the first to figure time travel out but warned me that there are strict rules. Of course there were.
"Yes, rules," he replied. He had odd mannerisms. The best way I can describe them is to say he seemed to have the mannerisms of someone *pretending* to be human. The body language equivalent of someone from England pretending to sound American.
"What are they?" I asked. His showing up was unexpected. I'd already made my own personal rules. I didn't know was someone supernatural standard I had to stick to.
"First of all, you can only travel backward, so that means no winning the lottery," he said, with that "fake human" smirk. "I figured that would be the first thing you'd do."
I shrugged and tried to say something, but he cut me off. "Second, you can't interact with anyone. Literally. When you travel, you are a type of omnipresent, unseen spectator to the past, as if you are watching a movie. You'll be there, but not there. Do you understand?"
"Yeah, sure," I said, "but why--"
"You have full acess to any event or time period from the last 6 billion years, but as I said. You can't interact. Only watch."
"So I can, for example, view the dinosaurs?"
"Sure. Or whatever else you want. Dinosaurs, Ancient Rome, Ancient Egypt, where you left your keys five minutes ago. The past is yours."
The excitement and anticipation had already dulled any disappointment I'd felt for not being able to travel forward. I was already thinking of all the wonderful things I'd get to witness. My mind was racing. "Is there anything else?" I asked, eager to get my travels started.
"Yes. You only have 100 hours."
"100 hours? What do you mean?"
"You have 100 hours of travel time, and that's it. If you waste the entire time in one place, that's on you. I suggest you use it wisely."
I was confused, and just a bit annoyed. "Wait a minute. You're saying with the time machine I invented, I only have 100 hours of travel time? That doesn't make sense!"
He shook his head. "It's the rules. 100 hours. Spend it wisely."
"But 100 hours? That's less than a week. Five days, right?"
"Four days and four hours, to be precise."
"But I don't understand why..."
He put his hand on my shoulder. "Spend your time wisely. If you do this right, you can benefit from it."
"But if I can't interact with anyone or anything, how will I benefit? It doesn't make sense. It's like I can go back and witness something, but who's going to believe me? How can I prove it?" My excitment had somehow turned into panic. I was already anticipating the disappointment I'd feel after the measly 100 hours ran out.
He seemed completely unmoved by my surely visable confusion, frustration, and disappointment. I expected him to say something, but he didn't. He just kind of stared at me. Then spoke softly. "Spend you time wisely, and you'll benefit."
He then vanished in a literally blink of an eye. The emotions I felt were overwhelming. I decided to take my mind of things by wasting no time in trying the machine out. I fired it up and typed in the date and location. *June 12th, 1994, Brentwood, California.* *This would only take a quick glance. Shouldn't waste too much of my restricted time.*
|
|
[WP] You are the greatest supervillain the world has ever known, and your daughter is being bullied at school.
|
Wolf had a spring in his step as he worked away in his penthouse's kitchen, wearing his ever so stylish Best ~~Dad~~ Super~~villia~~villain Dad apron, a gracious gift given to him by his only daughter. The little rascal had a knack for... peculiar gifts, but the apron was the one he liked the most, alongside Jimmy the pink, pet rock, of course. He was a much loved member of the family.
*"I'd never seen a pink rock before*," he repeated her words in his head. "*So I brought it home. It's our pet now, so you better take care of it."*
Because in a world where people shoot lasers from their eyes, a pink rock is the most interesting thing out there. And to tell *him* to take care of it? How... *villainous*. Kind of. Either way, proud fell short at describing how he felt.
*Thank the maker that she didn't find those blue worms... ugh. Nasty critters.* He shuddered and turned off the stove, turning the meat one last time and letting it sit there as he walked off to set the table. Just in time, Sam walked in, stepping loudly as she put her backpack on the floor and walked over to the dining room.
"Hey Pumpkin, dinner's just about done so why don't you-" Wolf looked at her, a stoic — as stoic as a child could look — expression on her face and a pouty lip. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she mumbled. She dug in her pocket and held her palm up towards him, a little rock in the middle. "I brought Jimmy a friend so he isn't alone. It's blue."
He smiled as he took the rock from her hand, putting it in his pocket. "I'm sure he'll enjoy the company, but," he picked her up and sat her down on the table. "I want to know what's up with you."
"Nothing."
"Do I need to bring out my lie-detector?"
"No..."
"Then tell me what's wrong, Sammy girl, or I can't do anything about it."
She avoided his eyes and spoke. "The mean kids in my class were making fun of me again. They called me weird and said I was rock hunting."
He gave her a quizzical look. "Rock hunting?"
"That's what I said!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air and then crossing them across her chest. "I'm not hunting them, I'm tam... taming?" he nodded. "Taming them!"
He couldn't help himself from letting out a chuckle, but inside he felt as if someone was squeezing down on just where her daughter resided in his heart... which meant pretty much the whole thing. He dragged his hand across his forehead, upwards into his long hair, letting his fingers through it as he let out a sigh. This wasn't the first time he'd heard about those 'mean kids'. He thought being civil and speaking to the parents would do something, but as any good villain — and father — he had a contingency plan.
And it was time to act.
Sam smiled excitedly as he put the collar of his shirt upwards. "You're going to do something cool!"
"Not me, Pumpkin. This time, you'll be the cool one."
\-----
"So, Mr. Frye, we called you here because your daughter brought a... pet spider into class," the teacher in charge of Sam's class informed him. "And terrorized some of the children."
Wolf gasped, putting a hand to his chest. "*Terrorized?!* Are you implying my sweet, innocent daughter did this on purpose?"
"Well, she did laugh obnoxiously as the kids-"
He stood up dramatically, putting his hands on the desk. "Obnoxiously?! I'll let you know that is *my* laugh you're talking about, she took it from me, so watch your tongue. I also won't stand here and let you speak like that of my daughter, much less with her right next to me. This is slander!"
"Mr. Frye, please, calm down. I'm not implying anything of the like," Wolf sat down slowly, staring at him with fire in his eyes. "My bad. We do understand kids once in a while like to bring their pets to class and show them off, but this wasn't one of those days. I don't think we even allow spiders."
"Is this a joke?" Wolf asked, faking indignation. "Do you think of me an idiot?"
"Not at all, sir. If you'd just give me a second to pull up the event calendar of the school, they aren't allowed and it's not until next month that we have a..." the teacher stared at his screen and gave the mouse a few clicks. "Huh."
"What?" he asked sharply.
"That's... weird. My deepest apologies, Mr. Frye. And to you too, Sam. It seems like they must have changed the date and not really told anyone," he scratched his head as he stared at the screen. "Today is bring your pet to class day and they just started accepting spiders and other insects as pets, too. I'm really sorry about this, I... I'm beyond embarrassed."
"Of course they accept them," Wolf straightened his tie. *I wrote that in myself.* "Now my little girl here told me some mean children tried to take the spider from her and kill it, so I'd appreciate it if you could speak some sense into them, or I'll be finding a new school for my daughter and you'll be the one explaining to the director where all my donations went to."
"O-Of course, sir," the teacher stood up and led them out of his office, apologizing deeply.
Once they were far enough from the office, the two looked at each other with triumphant smiles. Wolf pulled out his hand from his pocket and turned it into a fist, which she bumped excitedly, not before giving him the biggest hug she could muster.
>!If only the greatest heroine was still around to see her child turn into a villain.!<
\_\_\_
I was a bit distracted while making this and had to do something so I apologize if anything is out of place or just... wrong, I guess. Hope it was a nice little read to someone tho!
|
Wait. Don’t they know who she is? Don’t they know who I AM? My mind floods with terrible thoughts about how to annihilate teenage girls, and I know that I quickly have to put them out of my mind, but still, the feeling of helplessness that’s bubbling up inside of me is brewing a poison that is going to spill out, and I have to do my best to control it this time. I find myself at a loss for words as my daughter is in a ball of tears and streaming mascara once again. She’s been dealing with this for too long now. I have to do something, but what can I do. The pressure to act swiftly and brutally is taunting me, and it’s just outside of my grasp, because we can’t move again, and my head is revving through a swamp of sickness - no one hurts her. I have to get to the..
“Daddy, you’re not.. you’re not even listening. You’re off somewhere else, in some distant evil lair, you’re planning something instead of hearing what I’m saying. I don’t know why..” Reilly pushes me away, her face full of disgust and disappointment. “You’re never going to change.” She snatches the keys to the old hovercraft that I gave her for her 14th birthday from the ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ pegboard by the front entrance, and storms towards her escape pod.
|
|
[WP] You are the greatest supervillain the world has ever known, and your daughter is being bullied at school.
|
"Cadence,..." Gale called her daughter as the girl exited the car. The bony girl adjusted her backpack as she turned around. She swept loose strands of her coffee-brown hair out of her eyes.
"Yeah?" she asked.
"If you ever feel cornered...," Gale began. Cadence sighed at the subject matter but stayed long enough to listen. "...look, honey, don't worry about school. Whatever happens, I'm on your side. Don't be afraid to fight back. Sometimes people need to learn lessons the hard way. Teach them not to mess with you." Cadence rolled her eyes. Ever since she opened up to her mom the night before about being bullied, she's been encouraging the girl to fight back.
"I'm not beating anyone up, mom. They're just annoying assholes. School's over in a month, I can make it until then." She shut the door on the conversation and walked off. Gale fumed in her seat.
"Those little shits," she mumbled to herself and left the school grounds. The previous evening, her rage grew hotter and hotter as her daughter explained the situation.
"They hide my things," she said. "They call me names and push me around in the halls between classes." Her daughter listed more than a dozen instances of things that individually, wouldn't be worth noticing. Adding them all up, however, painted a very clear picture. Her daughter was being bullied. Gale fought hard to contain her anger; she did not want Cadence knowing about her villainy just yet. She knew she would have to be honest eventually, but she felt the girl wasn't ready yet. Gale pulled into her driveway and left the car.
"Pushing her down?" Gale growled. She did a quick spin in her front yard to take a look around. Her neighbors were all gone to work, the street was quiet with no passing cars. The ground opened beneath Gale and swallowed her whole. Seconds later, she grew out of the ground head first. Her white blouse and black slacks were replaced by a green and brown outfit woven entirely out of roots and vines. Her short dark hair was covered by long green, flowering vines that almost reached her waist. "I'll just have to go push them down."
At school, Cadence was in the middle of P.E.. She jogged along, alone, around the large track that circled the school. She rounded the furthest spot from the school ready to head back when she heard familiar laughter. The path ran near the edge of a forest. The school grounds were once enclosed by a fence, but over time kids picked at the fence until it was no longer a solid border. Cadence turned toward the laughter and found a trio of girls. They stood at the edge of the forest on the other side of a hole in the fence.
"Hey, Cadie," the tall one in the middle said; she flashed a sinister grin. "We've been waiting for you." She took a menacing step toward Cadence, but she tripped. The tall girl fell face-first into the tall grass; Cadence did not hesitate. She saw her chance and bolted back to the school as soon as the girl fell forward. The two shorter girls tried to run after her, but they tripped also. Once they were on the ground, they had trouble getting back up.
The tall girl tried pushing herself up but vines sprouted out of the ground and slithered up her arms.
"Oh shit," the tall one said when she realized what was happening. "It's Gaia!" she told her two friends; they were being held down by vines also.
"That's right!" Gale laughed as she walked out of the forest behind them. "On your feet girls, we need to talk," she said. At her words, the vines moved like tentacles. Thin green vines turned the girls around on their backs. Then, they rose into the air and lifted them to a standing position while keeping them bound and gagged. "I've heard that you're giving Cadence Stone a hard time," she said. Gale took a step toward them and pulled a stone dagger out from under her vine-clothes. She stood in front of the tall girl and held the dagger up for her to see clearly. "Is that right?" she asked. All three girls eagerly confessed with silent, energetic nods. Gale growled in frustration and slapped the leader with the back of her hand; then, the vines loosened enough to let her speak.
"What the hell, Gaia?" she shouted at the villain. "You told us to!" Again, Gale slapped the teenager, then she lifted the knife to the girl's face; inches from her eye.
"I didn't tell you to bully her you idiots," she growled but the vines loosened around all three girls. "I said, '*make her life HELL!'"* Gale grabbed the girl's hand and gave her the knife. "Now go and STEP IT UP!"
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, story #291. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.
|
O! A fool.
By u/bigqueerpoet.
Fear not the power,
Nor the money,
But,
A father's spirit.
O! A fool,
You've made yourself,
Hand made by two parents and,
A bad mistake,
O! A fool,
You can't escape,
A cavern,
No door nor,
Open floor,
Can save you.
Goodnight 'sweet' Prince,
Farewell forgotten king,
Let not god strike fear upon you,
But,
The uncontrollable,
Irreplaceable,
Tortured soul,
Of a bad bad,
Dad.
[Poem]
|
|
[WP] You are the greatest supervillain the world has ever known, and your daughter is being bullied at school.
|
Wolf had a spring in his step as he worked away in his penthouse's kitchen, wearing his ever so stylish Best ~~Dad~~ Super~~villia~~villain Dad apron, a gracious gift given to him by his only daughter. The little rascal had a knack for... peculiar gifts, but the apron was the one he liked the most, alongside Jimmy the pink, pet rock, of course. He was a much loved member of the family.
*"I'd never seen a pink rock before*," he repeated her words in his head. "*So I brought it home. It's our pet now, so you better take care of it."*
Because in a world where people shoot lasers from their eyes, a pink rock is the most interesting thing out there. And to tell *him* to take care of it? How... *villainous*. Kind of. Either way, proud fell short at describing how he felt.
*Thank the maker that she didn't find those blue worms... ugh. Nasty critters.* He shuddered and turned off the stove, turning the meat one last time and letting it sit there as he walked off to set the table. Just in time, Sam walked in, stepping loudly as she put her backpack on the floor and walked over to the dining room.
"Hey Pumpkin, dinner's just about done so why don't you-" Wolf looked at her, a stoic — as stoic as a child could look — expression on her face and a pouty lip. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she mumbled. She dug in her pocket and held her palm up towards him, a little rock in the middle. "I brought Jimmy a friend so he isn't alone. It's blue."
He smiled as he took the rock from her hand, putting it in his pocket. "I'm sure he'll enjoy the company, but," he picked her up and sat her down on the table. "I want to know what's up with you."
"Nothing."
"Do I need to bring out my lie-detector?"
"No..."
"Then tell me what's wrong, Sammy girl, or I can't do anything about it."
She avoided his eyes and spoke. "The mean kids in my class were making fun of me again. They called me weird and said I was rock hunting."
He gave her a quizzical look. "Rock hunting?"
"That's what I said!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air and then crossing them across her chest. "I'm not hunting them, I'm tam... taming?" he nodded. "Taming them!"
He couldn't help himself from letting out a chuckle, but inside he felt as if someone was squeezing down on just where her daughter resided in his heart... which meant pretty much the whole thing. He dragged his hand across his forehead, upwards into his long hair, letting his fingers through it as he let out a sigh. This wasn't the first time he'd heard about those 'mean kids'. He thought being civil and speaking to the parents would do something, but as any good villain — and father — he had a contingency plan.
And it was time to act.
Sam smiled excitedly as he put the collar of his shirt upwards. "You're going to do something cool!"
"Not me, Pumpkin. This time, you'll be the cool one."
\-----
"So, Mr. Frye, we called you here because your daughter brought a... pet spider into class," the teacher in charge of Sam's class informed him. "And terrorized some of the children."
Wolf gasped, putting a hand to his chest. "*Terrorized?!* Are you implying my sweet, innocent daughter did this on purpose?"
"Well, she did laugh obnoxiously as the kids-"
He stood up dramatically, putting his hands on the desk. "Obnoxiously?! I'll let you know that is *my* laugh you're talking about, she took it from me, so watch your tongue. I also won't stand here and let you speak like that of my daughter, much less with her right next to me. This is slander!"
"Mr. Frye, please, calm down. I'm not implying anything of the like," Wolf sat down slowly, staring at him with fire in his eyes. "My bad. We do understand kids once in a while like to bring their pets to class and show them off, but this wasn't one of those days. I don't think we even allow spiders."
"Is this a joke?" Wolf asked, faking indignation. "Do you think of me an idiot?"
"Not at all, sir. If you'd just give me a second to pull up the event calendar of the school, they aren't allowed and it's not until next month that we have a..." the teacher stared at his screen and gave the mouse a few clicks. "Huh."
"What?" he asked sharply.
"That's... weird. My deepest apologies, Mr. Frye. And to you too, Sam. It seems like they must have changed the date and not really told anyone," he scratched his head as he stared at the screen. "Today is bring your pet to class day and they just started accepting spiders and other insects as pets, too. I'm really sorry about this, I... I'm beyond embarrassed."
"Of course they accept them," Wolf straightened his tie. *I wrote that in myself.* "Now my little girl here told me some mean children tried to take the spider from her and kill it, so I'd appreciate it if you could speak some sense into them, or I'll be finding a new school for my daughter and you'll be the one explaining to the director where all my donations went to."
"O-Of course, sir," the teacher stood up and led them out of his office, apologizing deeply.
Once they were far enough from the office, the two looked at each other with triumphant smiles. Wolf pulled out his hand from his pocket and turned it into a fist, which she bumped excitedly, not before giving him the biggest hug she could muster.
>!If only the greatest heroine was still around to see her child turn into a villain.!<
\_\_\_
I was a bit distracted while making this and had to do something so I apologize if anything is out of place or just... wrong, I guess. Hope it was a nice little read to someone tho!
|
O! A fool.
By u/bigqueerpoet.
Fear not the power,
Nor the money,
But,
A father's spirit.
O! A fool,
You've made yourself,
Hand made by two parents and,
A bad mistake,
O! A fool,
You can't escape,
A cavern,
No door nor,
Open floor,
Can save you.
Goodnight 'sweet' Prince,
Farewell forgotten king,
Let not god strike fear upon you,
But,
The uncontrollable,
Irreplaceable,
Tortured soul,
Of a bad bad,
Dad.
[Poem]
|
|
[WP] You are the greatest supervillain the world has ever known, and your daughter is being bullied at school.
|
Melissa sighed.
"Honey, you can't resort to disintegrating everyone. That's just not the way the world works."
"I know, dear, but did you see the shape she was in when she got home? I simply can't stand for it," I said, adjusting the focus on my holdout WNFR.
"You can't always be Dr. Terror, blasting aside good guys and fighting with Captain Supro! I mean, they colored on her backpack. They're kids, honey! Kids do stupid things!"
"Not for long," I growled. "I will burn down this child garden and salt the earth so that no child will ever grow there again!" I stood up and began walking to the door, but Melissa stood in the doorway, arms folded, and I instantly knew this was a fight I would never win.
"Kevin, we agreed to this when we decided to settle down. No more torture, no more weapons of mass destruction, and *no hurting kids*."
I tossed the WNFR ray gun onto the couch and threw my arms up in the air. "Then what do you want me to do, Mel?"
She walked into our home office and sat down at my supercomputer, which was currently working on overriding military control of key satellites.
"Wait- don't-" I protested as she closed the open windows. I sighed. "Never mind."
She punched in a few commands. "For Christ's sake, Kevin, why can't you use a normal computer? Where's the internet?"
"It's right- no, you skipped over it- Okay, just type in the commands 'launch' and be very careful to not add 'missile'
after that-"
"Forget it." She cleared off some desk space, nearly knocking my quantum influencer off rotation before setting her laptop down next to it.
She muttered quietly as she typed. "Double u double u double u.... wbr school corp... dot k twelve..." She pulled up the school's webpage and found the principal's email address.
"You're going to sit down and write a calm and politely worded email to the principal and we'll sort this out like adults." She stood up and spun the chair in my direction. "Get going. I need to start dinner."
I sat, grumbling to myself. "How do you use a keyboard with only 100 keys?"
She ignored me. "Don't you dare send that without lettting me look at it first!" she warned, looking back over her shoulder.
*****
After an hour of pained writing and a lovely dinner of chicken parmesan with some green beans on the side, we sat down at the computer.
"This actually isn't half bad," she admitted.
"Always the tone of surprise."
"Don't get too cocky. Let me just remove this reference to genocide, the two threats of nuclear annhilation, and most of the veiled threats... Alright, this looks good." She clicked send before standing up and giving me a peck on the lips.
"Thank you for doing this the normal way."
"It's... ah... I'm just lucky to have you," I said, abashed.
"Now let's have some ice cream. Carla, dear, what flavor would you like?" she called into the living room where our little angel was contentedly watching cartoons.
*****
The principal set up a meeting for the following day after school ended. Melissa and I finally got underway after she rejected my first two outfits, which she deemed "way too militant" and "holyshitthat'ssomuchbloodyouarenotwearingthatinpublic", which I thought was a bit unreasonable, but eventually I settled for a button down shirt and nice pair of khakis.
We climbed into her eco friendly Prius, again against my wish to take my armed and armored Rolls, but she seemed sure that heat seeking rockets would not be necessary.
We waited silently just outside the parking lot as the dirty yellow school buses filed out, carrying loads of screaming children with them. Finally, the convoy had completely departed and we were able to pull into a spot.
Melissa put the car into park, but the doors remained locked as I tried to get out.
"What's this about?" I asked.
She simply held out her hand.
"Fine," I sighed, placing the small WNFR disintegration ray in her hand. She dropped it into the center console, and before I could even move for the handle, she cleared her throat.
"And the other ones?"
Six knives and a small hatchet later, she decided that we could head in.
Carla sat quietly on a bench outside the office, swinging her legs back and forth. She jumped up and squealed when she saw us. After we finally calmed her down, we walked into the office. The secretary greeted us cordially.
"Mr. and Mrs. Kilroy? Timmy's parents are already here. Go on in! First door to the left.
*****
The meeting went surprisingly well. I jumped when we first walked into the office and nearly pulled out one of the WNFR disintegrators that Melissa hadn't found, but Timmy's parents were surprisingly pleasant, and we were able to come to an agreement quickly.
Timmy's father pulled me to the side afterwards as our wives laughed about something and walked off with the kids.
"Look, I'm sorry about this. I know it's sort of weird, but..."
"It's fine. No worries. Timmy seems like a good kid. We were all young once," I chuckled, thinking of some of my own childhood antics.
He laughed with me. "Anyway, you know how it is. Boys are always pulling the pigtails of the girls they have a crush on. Wouldn't that be something?" He laughed even harder at the expression on my face.
"Man, that would be something," he repeated. "Anyway, I'll see you around, Dr. Terror!" he said cheerfully, walking away.
"Goodbye, Captain," I [said](https://www.reddit.com/r/mpqeg/).
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O! A fool.
By u/bigqueerpoet.
Fear not the power,
Nor the money,
But,
A father's spirit.
O! A fool,
You've made yourself,
Hand made by two parents and,
A bad mistake,
O! A fool,
You can't escape,
A cavern,
No door nor,
Open floor,
Can save you.
Goodnight 'sweet' Prince,
Farewell forgotten king,
Let not god strike fear upon you,
But,
The uncontrollable,
Irreplaceable,
Tortured soul,
Of a bad bad,
Dad.
[Poem]
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[WP] You are the greatest supervillain the world has ever known, and your daughter is being bullied at school.
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They would all suffer. There was no question about that. The only question was how, and how much.
Jeffrey Harris (known by governments around the world as “The Anarchist”) was having a pretty solid day overall before Ella came home. The night before, one of his underlings informed him that the plan to sink the Chinese government was well underway. He had reviewed the plans before dropping Ella off at kindergarten, and returned home for a well-deserved nap.
Jeffrey began as just a humble software engineer, but his first job was working for the U.S. Defense Department. The firewalls were unexpectedly easy to break through from the inside, and as long as Jeffrey did his real job for six hours a day he could learn government secrets for the other two.
The more he learned, the more he wanted to tear it to the ground. He started small: viruses in the drone programming packages to make them unable to fire. Then he decided that maybe rendering the drones useless wasn’t the way to go. Maybe they just needed different targets.
That was 15 years and 23 deposed governments ago.
But now he was facing his biggest crisis yet.
The school bus stopped at the base of the driveway for his cliffside mansion, and Ella sprinted the whole way to the front door. Jeffrey was just waking up when he heard the doorbell.
His little princess was in tears when he opened the door.
“Oh no Ella baby, what’s wrong?”
She stopped crying for just long enough to take a gigantic breath, and spit it all out at once: “Peter and Jessie told me that you were a super-meanie, and I said no you weren’t, but they said yes you were and now Jessie won’t invite me to her birthday party and she’s having ponies at her birthday party and I wanna play with the ponies!”
“Well that’s not nice of them at all,” he said, hiding his rage behind a blank expression. “They don’t even know me!”
Ella looked at him for a moment, with just enough of a tilt to her head that Jeffrey felt an icy chill in his stomach. He wondered now, as he often did, just how much Ella knew about what he did after she went to bed.
“Daddy, are you a super-meanie?”
She was no longer crying, but Jeffrey could still see the tears brimming on the corners of her eyes.
“Of course not, sweetheart. Daddy has a dangerous job, but he works very hard to make the world a better place.”
She nodded and looked down for a moment, thinking about something.
“Do you know what I think we should do with the meanies, Daddy?”
Jeffrey hesitated, just enough for her to notice. Just enough to take in the grin tugging at the corners of her lips.
“I think we should take their favorite dinner, and...and...and put yucky juice all over it!”
She smiled for real then, clearly pleased with herself.
“Yeah, let’s go make some yucky juice right now!”
She laughed and clapped her hands and ran off to the kitchen, sadness forgotten.
_That rules out poison,_ he thought to himself. He couldn’t take them out that way or Ella might figure it out.
He ambled over to the kitchen, thinking of vinegar and mayonnaise and other things that could be combined into yucky juice.
Jeffrey knew Peter’s mother. She had been an asset once, so he couldn’t burn her or her son too badly. Jessie, on the other hand...
It would be really sad if one of those ponies broke a leg with precious little Jessica in the saddle, wouldn’t it? And she would have to watch the animal get put down right in front of her, on her birthday.
Jeffrey smiled to himself as Ella ran around gathering spices, condiments, and sodas. Plans of death and destruction could wait. It was time for some yucky juice.
__________________
If you liked this, check out my subreddit! r/NicodemusLux
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O! A fool.
By u/bigqueerpoet.
Fear not the power,
Nor the money,
But,
A father's spirit.
O! A fool,
You've made yourself,
Hand made by two parents and,
A bad mistake,
O! A fool,
You can't escape,
A cavern,
No door nor,
Open floor,
Can save you.
Goodnight 'sweet' Prince,
Farewell forgotten king,
Let not god strike fear upon you,
But,
The uncontrollable,
Irreplaceable,
Tortured soul,
Of a bad bad,
Dad.
[Poem]
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[WP] You are the greatest supervillain the world has ever known, and your daughter is being bullied at school.
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Wolf had a spring in his step as he worked away in his penthouse's kitchen, wearing his ever so stylish Best ~~Dad~~ Super~~villia~~villain Dad apron, a gracious gift given to him by his only daughter. The little rascal had a knack for... peculiar gifts, but the apron was the one he liked the most, alongside Jimmy the pink, pet rock, of course. He was a much loved member of the family.
*"I'd never seen a pink rock before*," he repeated her words in his head. "*So I brought it home. It's our pet now, so you better take care of it."*
Because in a world where people shoot lasers from their eyes, a pink rock is the most interesting thing out there. And to tell *him* to take care of it? How... *villainous*. Kind of. Either way, proud fell short at describing how he felt.
*Thank the maker that she didn't find those blue worms... ugh. Nasty critters.* He shuddered and turned off the stove, turning the meat one last time and letting it sit there as he walked off to set the table. Just in time, Sam walked in, stepping loudly as she put her backpack on the floor and walked over to the dining room.
"Hey Pumpkin, dinner's just about done so why don't you-" Wolf looked at her, a stoic — as stoic as a child could look — expression on her face and a pouty lip. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she mumbled. She dug in her pocket and held her palm up towards him, a little rock in the middle. "I brought Jimmy a friend so he isn't alone. It's blue."
He smiled as he took the rock from her hand, putting it in his pocket. "I'm sure he'll enjoy the company, but," he picked her up and sat her down on the table. "I want to know what's up with you."
"Nothing."
"Do I need to bring out my lie-detector?"
"No..."
"Then tell me what's wrong, Sammy girl, or I can't do anything about it."
She avoided his eyes and spoke. "The mean kids in my class were making fun of me again. They called me weird and said I was rock hunting."
He gave her a quizzical look. "Rock hunting?"
"That's what I said!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air and then crossing them across her chest. "I'm not hunting them, I'm tam... taming?" he nodded. "Taming them!"
He couldn't help himself from letting out a chuckle, but inside he felt as if someone was squeezing down on just where her daughter resided in his heart... which meant pretty much the whole thing. He dragged his hand across his forehead, upwards into his long hair, letting his fingers through it as he let out a sigh. This wasn't the first time he'd heard about those 'mean kids'. He thought being civil and speaking to the parents would do something, but as any good villain — and father — he had a contingency plan.
And it was time to act.
Sam smiled excitedly as he put the collar of his shirt upwards. "You're going to do something cool!"
"Not me, Pumpkin. This time, you'll be the cool one."
\-----
"So, Mr. Frye, we called you here because your daughter brought a... pet spider into class," the teacher in charge of Sam's class informed him. "And terrorized some of the children."
Wolf gasped, putting a hand to his chest. "*Terrorized?!* Are you implying my sweet, innocent daughter did this on purpose?"
"Well, she did laugh obnoxiously as the kids-"
He stood up dramatically, putting his hands on the desk. "Obnoxiously?! I'll let you know that is *my* laugh you're talking about, she took it from me, so watch your tongue. I also won't stand here and let you speak like that of my daughter, much less with her right next to me. This is slander!"
"Mr. Frye, please, calm down. I'm not implying anything of the like," Wolf sat down slowly, staring at him with fire in his eyes. "My bad. We do understand kids once in a while like to bring their pets to class and show them off, but this wasn't one of those days. I don't think we even allow spiders."
"Is this a joke?" Wolf asked, faking indignation. "Do you think of me an idiot?"
"Not at all, sir. If you'd just give me a second to pull up the event calendar of the school, they aren't allowed and it's not until next month that we have a..." the teacher stared at his screen and gave the mouse a few clicks. "Huh."
"What?" he asked sharply.
"That's... weird. My deepest apologies, Mr. Frye. And to you too, Sam. It seems like they must have changed the date and not really told anyone," he scratched his head as he stared at the screen. "Today is bring your pet to class day and they just started accepting spiders and other insects as pets, too. I'm really sorry about this, I... I'm beyond embarrassed."
"Of course they accept them," Wolf straightened his tie. *I wrote that in myself.* "Now my little girl here told me some mean children tried to take the spider from her and kill it, so I'd appreciate it if you could speak some sense into them, or I'll be finding a new school for my daughter and you'll be the one explaining to the director where all my donations went to."
"O-Of course, sir," the teacher stood up and led them out of his office, apologizing deeply.
Once they were far enough from the office, the two looked at each other with triumphant smiles. Wolf pulled out his hand from his pocket and turned it into a fist, which she bumped excitedly, not before giving him the biggest hug she could muster.
>!If only the greatest heroine was still around to see her child turn into a villain.!<
\_\_\_
I was a bit distracted while making this and had to do something so I apologize if anything is out of place or just... wrong, I guess. Hope it was a nice little read to someone tho!
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"Cadence,..." Gale called her daughter as the girl exited the car. The bony girl adjusted her backpack as she turned around. She swept loose strands of her coffee-brown hair out of her eyes.
"Yeah?" she asked.
"If you ever feel cornered...," Gale began. Cadence sighed at the subject matter but stayed long enough to listen. "...look, honey, don't worry about school. Whatever happens, I'm on your side. Don't be afraid to fight back. Sometimes people need to learn lessons the hard way. Teach them not to mess with you." Cadence rolled her eyes. Ever since she opened up to her mom the night before about being bullied, she's been encouraging the girl to fight back.
"I'm not beating anyone up, mom. They're just annoying assholes. School's over in a month, I can make it until then." She shut the door on the conversation and walked off. Gale fumed in her seat.
"Those little shits," she mumbled to herself and left the school grounds. The previous evening, her rage grew hotter and hotter as her daughter explained the situation.
"They hide my things," she said. "They call me names and push me around in the halls between classes." Her daughter listed more than a dozen instances of things that individually, wouldn't be worth noticing. Adding them all up, however, painted a very clear picture. Her daughter was being bullied. Gale fought hard to contain her anger; she did not want Cadence knowing about her villainy just yet. She knew she would have to be honest eventually, but she felt the girl wasn't ready yet. Gale pulled into her driveway and left the car.
"Pushing her down?" Gale growled. She did a quick spin in her front yard to take a look around. Her neighbors were all gone to work, the street was quiet with no passing cars. The ground opened beneath Gale and swallowed her whole. Seconds later, she grew out of the ground head first. Her white blouse and black slacks were replaced by a green and brown outfit woven entirely out of roots and vines. Her short dark hair was covered by long green, flowering vines that almost reached her waist. "I'll just have to go push them down."
At school, Cadence was in the middle of P.E.. She jogged along, alone, around the large track that circled the school. She rounded the furthest spot from the school ready to head back when she heard familiar laughter. The path ran near the edge of a forest. The school grounds were once enclosed by a fence, but over time kids picked at the fence until it was no longer a solid border. Cadence turned toward the laughter and found a trio of girls. They stood at the edge of the forest on the other side of a hole in the fence.
"Hey, Cadie," the tall one in the middle said; she flashed a sinister grin. "We've been waiting for you." She took a menacing step toward Cadence, but she tripped. The tall girl fell face-first into the tall grass; Cadence did not hesitate. She saw her chance and bolted back to the school as soon as the girl fell forward. The two shorter girls tried to run after her, but they tripped also. Once they were on the ground, they had trouble getting back up.
The tall girl tried pushing herself up but vines sprouted out of the ground and slithered up her arms.
"Oh shit," the tall one said when she realized what was happening. "It's Gaia!" she told her two friends; they were being held down by vines also.
"That's right!" Gale laughed as she walked out of the forest behind them. "On your feet girls, we need to talk," she said. At her words, the vines moved like tentacles. Thin green vines turned the girls around on their backs. Then, they rose into the air and lifted them to a standing position while keeping them bound and gagged. "I've heard that you're giving Cadence Stone a hard time," she said. Gale took a step toward them and pulled a stone dagger out from under her vine-clothes. She stood in front of the tall girl and held the dagger up for her to see clearly. "Is that right?" she asked. All three girls eagerly confessed with silent, energetic nods. Gale growled in frustration and slapped the leader with the back of her hand; then, the vines loosened enough to let her speak.
"What the hell, Gaia?" she shouted at the villain. "You told us to!" Again, Gale slapped the teenager, then she lifted the knife to the girl's face; inches from her eye.
"I didn't tell you to bully her you idiots," she growled but the vines loosened around all three girls. "I said, '*make her life HELL!'"* Gale grabbed the girl's hand and gave her the knife. "Now go and STEP IT UP!"
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, story #291. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.
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[WP] Lucifer, Satan, and the Devil hold a press conference to clarify to the world that they are all different people.
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They made an odd trio.
A sharply-dressed man, with flowing platinum-blonde hair, seemed to be bathing in the camera-flash, giving the crowd smiles with perfectly chiseled incisors fully visible and porcelain white.
A muscular, equine, half-beast with a thick red mane that wrapped around his body like a scarf, who smoldered in the dark corner of the press hall.
Behind both of them, the serpent, who had coiled into a compact and unassuming black-glossy tire, yet every now and then flicked its head up, ocher eyes flashing menacingly at the podium.
Three stewards of Hell, with three vastly different roles. Humans had so long assumed that they were one and the same, and they were there to... clear the air, so to speak. Lucifer, the Devil, and Satan, long considered three facets of one indubitably evil force-- revealed to be three vastly different and often conflicting personalities.
Lucifer, bronzed, chiseled, silver hair flowing down like a waterfall, stepped up to the podium. If one looked closely, they could perhaps make out the silhouettes of wings that once were.
"Ahem, ahem. Silence, please." he threw each consonant out like poison darts, holding his hand up as he did so. The crowd immediately fell silent, some out of awe, others out of fear.
"Yes, I am Lucifer. No, not 'Lucy'. No, most definitely not, 'Cipher'. Bonsoir, mon ami, I am Lucifer."
He held out his hand, to bring attention to the Devil, who stood in the corner looking indignant.
"This equine beast is the Devil that you all know and love. If you want to sound intelligent, you can call him by his true name-- Samael."
The tire in the background sprung to life, head like a cobra rising slowly. About a thousand camera flashes later, Lucifer once again held up his hand to silence and immobilize his apt audience once more.
"This is Satan, the serpent of vice, sin, and temptation. Beware he that tempted the very first humans, no?"
The three of them stood together, in front of the podium. Well, two of them stood, the other slithered and attempted to make itself look tall enough.
"Now.." began Lucifer, "We shall tell you all what we do."
The first voice was gravelly, morose, monotone.
"I, the Devil, take the souls of the damned down to Hell for eternal torture. Come as you are, and we will make you hollow, strip away everything that is of your very existence, and sculpt it down to a singular, primal, scream."
The second was scathing, dripping with an eloquent sort of sarcasm.
"I, Lucifer, am the King of Kings, the ruler of Hell. Everything that is and every will be shall fall into the pall of my being. For God's remnants return to his Son, and that is I. The son of God, the fallen King."
The third was barely understandable, as it was masked with an unearthly whisper, a snake-like hiss after every word.
"Satan. Guards Hell, that is I. None shall escape the bounds of their torture, as long as I continue to slither. As long as I continue to feed and fester the growing wound that is sin within the hearts of man, they shall never escape."
Lucifer raised his hands, and there were loud screams, laughs, guffaws, chicken noises, and dry heaves as the immobilized mortals were able to move and comprehend again.
"Any questions?" they asked, in unison.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/bluelizardK
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I looked up from my newspapers, the sharp clicking sound of my wife's Prada heels on the hardwood floor pulling my attention from the Daily Bugger.
The Roomba of Doomba circled her 3 times, almost warily. She patted it, and it went back to zipping around the carpet at the fireplace.
"All ready for the press conference, honey?" I gave her a warm smile.
"I made a special breakfast for you, bacon and grilled shrimp!"
She gave me the warmest smile. It felt like a thousand suns. Were I not also immortal and invulnerable, I would have perished (and respawned) then.
"Yup. Mom and Dad will be there too. People just keep confusing us three as the same person!"
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[WP] You never failed to be there for a depressed friend you met on the internet. When he finally recovered from his illness, he reveals to you that he wasn’t actually human. He was simply testing humanity, and you gave him the hope he needed.
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“What do you mean you aren’t from Earth?” I said.
“I’m an alien. From a faraway galaxy.”
“Wait so aliens are real? And you’ve figured out space travel?” I asked. My eyes wide.
“Umm yea. We’ve known about it for Millenia. Anyway. I was sent here to test humanity’s compassion. To check if they would look after others. You were chosen at random as a test subject and have passed.”
“So all the depression was fake?”
“Yes. I understand it is hard to hear that. It would’ve felt real for you. But it was for a noble cause. I promise. Your efforts won’t go unrewarded.”
“Ok. Do you... do you have to leave?”
“Yes. Myself and the other testers must leave and return the results to our planet. I see a bright future for your race little one.”
“Goodbye”
That was a year ago. A hundred people shared their stories. A hundred people were laughed at. Some believed us. They were laughed at too. So we kept quiet, made our own web servers and ways to keep in contact. We formed a close group of friends, albeit quite large. Then everything changed. The alien race came back. Our armies attempted to fight back. They were decimated. Craters littered the surface. Our race was captured. A large hologram appeared as we were loaded onto a ship. A humanoid being appeared.
“I am wearing this disgusting suit to blend in. Once we reach our home planet and Xanthalax, you will witness our race in our true glory. Your race showed great compassion when we performed our experiments. That is a danger to the Xanthalaxian empire. While primitive, even space worms with the right weaponry can be dangerous. So we have eliminated you as a threat. You will serve as labourers for our great civilisation. Apart from a select few. Welcome to the Xanthalaxian empire. All hail Queen Xantha.”
The hologram shut off and small flying drones were released into the crowds. People were screaming, crying, shaking. A few tried to run. Fight. It made no difference, they were overwhelmed and taken away. The drones were scanning the crowd, moving a beam of light from face to face. One eventually pointed at me and stopped. The light pointed at me. I was just staring at it before rough hands grabbed me. They pulled me away from the crowds. I was loaded onto a smaller ship and left the others behind.
The smaller ship docked. I was dragged roughly out, through metal corridors and doors before finally reaching a large room. The ceiling expanded upwards at least 10 metres and the walls were about 25 metres by 25 metres. As my eyes adjusted to a brighter light, I watched as others were dragged in. Not just any others, but others from the experiment. Seventy of us. I could recognise Lauren and Jules, two great friends I had met through the process among everyone else. We gathered together in a hug. Lauren was the first to break soon followed by Jules and I as the severity of the situation took hold. We were trapped. No longer on Earth. Away from our parents. We had no idea what was happening. We had to figure out a way to escape...
To be continued.
Part 2 is finished in the comments of this one!
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"Okay, yes, I lied when I said I was depressed, *under breath: it's not like I can get depressed, it's just you monkeys that get it..." he said while looking at me.
I was still in shock from learning that there are aliens and that one is standing right in front of me. I must have looked like an idiot standing in front of him with my mouth slightly opened." But who... what... why... " was all I was able to mutter put before he interrupted me.
"I am interstellar agent. My goal is infiltrating native species of planets and researching them. Through my research I determine basic traits of the species and how well they would integrate into our galactic society. That was the case during my whole career, until I was sent here. "
"What?! Galactic society?! You mean there are more of you?!" I replied still reeling from shock from finding out there wasn't just one specie of alien but more. "Yes there are more, of course there are more. There are thousands of stars in the star clusters and millions of star clusters in a galaxy. With 100-200 million galaxies each with billions of their stars and almost every single one of those having multiple planets orbiting around it, it's statistically impossible that there's no other life in the universe. What, did you think you were special for some reason, unique? "
All I could do was to stay silent, nothing that I would say would have made difference."As I was saying" he continued "I was sent here, not with my usual goal of studying the species and welcoming them into our society. I was sent here to determine if you deserve to continue living." His words caused my eyebrows to raise in fear. "What do you mean if we deserve to continue living?! Of course we do, we are human beings?! We have God given right to live, breath, and be free!" I blurted without thinking. "God given... heh." -he responded "not if you ask us."
Thank you for reading, this is my first comment/story ever. Please comment if you would like more. I don't have time to continue right now and I'm on my phone.
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Edit: I GET IT I MISTOOK "YOUR" FOR "YOU'RE". PLEASE STOP POINTING IT OUT. I'M INSECURE ABOUT IT. D:
Edit 2: I'VE NEVER READ SNOWCRASH, I'LL HAVE TO NOW. THIS PROMPT WASN'T INSPIRED BY IT. I REWATCHED THE MOVIE 30 MINUTES OR LESS AND MADMAX IN THAT ORDER, THIS ABORTED FETUS OF A PROMPT WAS BORN.
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[WP] Your a pizza delivery guy working in a dystopian America. Armed with your APC (Armored Pizza Carrier) and you standard issue rifle, you will stop at nothing to deliver your customer's pizza.
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I load up my small motorcycle and hit the road. The streets are empty, *too* empty. I always keep my eyes open for trouble. People these days get a little crazy.
I check the pizza. Half Meat Lovers, half Vegan. The costumers have different taste, but reached a compromise. A ferocious dog starts chasing me as I reach the costumers' neighborhood. I open fire on him. An inhumane way to deal with it, but the new regime hit all of us pretty hard.
I'm close to the house, but the hard part is still coming. The house is guarded with more vicious dogs, a turret, barbed wire, and I think even landmines. I take out the turret first, then let the dogs take out the mines. I reach the costumers' house just in time. He grumbles to himself as he pays.
Man, even under a mad dictator the people will stop at nothing to get me over 30 minutes...
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I could hear the jets of the dropship, though they were muffled by the plasteel hide of my APC. I checked the chamber of my rifle one last time, then the synthetic muscles and nerves of my cybernetic arms.
"Thirty seconds to drop!" The jump-master crackled over the radio. The other delivery men around me were going through the process I was. I looked to the guy who had the pizza in his pack, a young guy named Bertolli.
"How you doin' kid?" I shouted over the din.
"Fine sir!" His voice cracked slightly with his response. He looked like he was going to be sick.
"Ten seconds!" Carrying the 'zza was a right of passage with us delivery dogs, though I felt bad for the kid.
"Don't worry kid, I'll make sure that you-" I was interrupted by the sudden movement of the APC, followed by the feeling of free fall. It was almost a minute before the fall was stopped by a bone-jarring impact. I saw one guy to my right spit out the remains of one of his teeth, and then we started moving with a rumble all of us could feel in our chests.
Then it started to rain. Of course, I knew it wasn't rain but the bullets of the gangers that controlled Megablock A of Northtown. The 42mm cannon on top of the APC returned fire with a staccato sound. A few screams rose above the roar of combat. Bertolli was clutching his hands over his ears. I crouched my way over to the drivers seat.
"How long until we hit Megablock A?"
"It's just at the end of- WATCH THAT WRIST ROCKET-" He cranked hard on the wheel and the gunner swiveled to open up on the assailant. There was a detonation somewhere behind the APC. "It's just at the end of the street Sargeant. 20 seconds at most." I turned back to my men.
"Alright boys, we're almost at the address. I want this done quick and clean, no sightseeing, and no bathroom breaks, and no stops to check your All-Net profile!"
"YES, SIR!" The APC jerked once again as the driver slammed on the breaks, throwing the new guys around a bit. Bertolli, to his credit, managed to remain mostly upright.
"DROPPING THE GATE!" the driver yelled.
"EVERY ONE UP, MOVE AS SOON AS THAT GATE HITS THE GROUND!" The asphalt below cracked as the ramp hit the ground, revealing a cityscape filled with bullets. "MOVE!"
Montanaro had his skull aerated by a high-velocity round before he made it down the ramp. Presti took one in the leg and Arrigo grabbed him by his harness to drag him behind the cover of the APC.
"Just like that delivery in Montenegro, eh bo- AGH!" Presti shouted as Arrigo jabbed him with a med-pen.
"The pepperoni and sausage, or the cheeseburger pizza?"
"The pepperoni and sausage."
"Oh yeah, that true. Though there were a lot more drone soldiers that delivery." I sighted and dropped two gangers that were setting up a heavy gun. "Bertolli, Tornetta, Gianuzzi, you're on me. Everyone else, hold this position!"
Tornetta put a boot to the front door, while Gianuzzi and I put down the gangers that had set up a few tables in the lobby. Climbing stairs that at one point might be lavish, we came to the elevator. Smashing the button, we listened to the sound of the APC's gun, slinging death.
"So...see the game last night?" Gianuzzi asked to no one in particular. The elevator dinged before someone could answer. We all turned to find a very shocked ganger coming out of the elevator. He reached for his pistol, and Tornetta struck him across the jaw with his rifle. He hadn't even crumbled to the ground by the time we stepped into the elevator.
"What floor, boss?"
"Seventy-Third."
"oof, let's hope they don't cut the power like the delivery to Megablock B last month."
"Let's hope. That got hairy."
"Shame Lencioni went out like that. Best Demoman I ever knew."
"Right." The elevator dinged. "Eyes up people."
The door wasn't all the way open before bullets started sparking off its doors. We were lucky that there were some alcoves in the walls, probably there to shrink down the size of the apartments, so we could find cover. As my men returned fire, I blinked my HUD into place, examining the delivery map.
"Where too next, boss?"
"To the right, down the hallway, then another left. Apartment 402B. Bertolli, stick close to me." A gave a small nod to Tornetta and Gianuzzi. "Covering fire!"
Their machine guns chattered, driving the gangers behind cover, Bertolli and I darting to the hallway we needed.
"Ack-" I heard Bertolli make a noise behind me, causing me to turn. He had tripped. Bullets whizzing over his head. I had to get him, for the pizza if nothing else. Skidding to a stop, I ran back, feeling the heat of the pizza in his pack.
"Get a move on Bertolli!" I shouted as I hicked him up and we continued or sprint down the hallway.
"Sorry, sir!"
"Not the time Bertolli! Take the left here!"
Before we could round the corner, a ganger came around, his shotgun leveled at us. Time seemed to slow down as I tried to level my rifle. Not fast enough. My finger tightened around the trigger, my shot following a moment after the muzzle flash of the shotgun. My shot smashed into his brow. I felt across my body, looking for the ragged hole that shotgun had left. But there was nothing. Guess he missed.
"uuuuuugh..." There was a moan behind me.
"Bertolli? Bertolli are you all right?" He lay face down in an expanding pool of blood. "Bertolli!"
I tipped him onto his side, careful of the pizza on his back. Grabbing a med-pen from my side, I jabbed him in the stomach and watched the bleeding stop for a second.
"Sargeant? Is the pizza alright?"
"It's fine Private, you did good."
"How bad is it?"
"You'll be fine, but we still have a delivery to make." Grabbing his arm, I hoisted him up, letting him brace himself as we walked.
"Is every delivery like this?" He asked.
"In this part of town? Yes."
"I think I picked the wrong profession...."
"It'll grow on you."
We rounded the corner, and I spotted our target. Another 15 agonizing steps brought us in front of the door.
"Can you stand on your own?"
"Yeah, just let me lean against the wall."
I knocked on the door.
No answer.
I rang the buzzer.
Still none.
Taking a step back, I kicked the doorknob with all the force that my augments allowed. The synth-wood splintered easily and the door flew open. Revealing the cowering tenant who held a pistol towards the door.
"Special delivery. Pizza King Consolidated sends its regards.
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Edit: I GET IT I MISTOOK "YOUR" FOR "YOU'RE". PLEASE STOP POINTING IT OUT. I'M INSECURE ABOUT IT. D:
Edit 2: I'VE NEVER READ SNOWCRASH, I'LL HAVE TO NOW. THIS PROMPT WASN'T INSPIRED BY IT. I REWATCHED THE MOVIE 30 MINUTES OR LESS AND MADMAX IN THAT ORDER, THIS ABORTED FETUS OF A PROMPT WAS BORN.
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[WP] Your a pizza delivery guy working in a dystopian America. Armed with your APC (Armored Pizza Carrier) and you standard issue rifle, you will stop at nothing to deliver your customer's pizza.
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I load up my small motorcycle and hit the road. The streets are empty, *too* empty. I always keep my eyes open for trouble. People these days get a little crazy.
I check the pizza. Half Meat Lovers, half Vegan. The costumers have different taste, but reached a compromise. A ferocious dog starts chasing me as I reach the costumers' neighborhood. I open fire on him. An inhumane way to deal with it, but the new regime hit all of us pretty hard.
I'm close to the house, but the hard part is still coming. The house is guarded with more vicious dogs, a turret, barbed wire, and I think even landmines. I take out the turret first, then let the dogs take out the mines. I reach the costumers' house just in time. He grumbles to himself as he pays.
Man, even under a mad dictator the people will stop at nothing to get me over 30 minutes...
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“What do you mean you got lost and will be late! You went that route like 20 times already. What’s the problem”
My boss never was a very understanding person. It isn’t unusual for me to call him if there is a problem or a delay, there usually is one but he doesn’t care.
“I told you, the skyscraper in the fifth has toppled over and is now blocking the entire road and the road behind that one and the one behind that one. Maybe an Armutant has punched it, idk.”
“Listen I Tell you this every day, we at Roderick’s pizza always deliver. No snow, no acid rain and no giant ants will stop us. I would have fired you already, if my other two delivery boys weren’t”
“Killed and used as toppings by the guy who ordered the pizza. I know, I was there! I shot the cannibal myself.”
“So, what are you waiting for? Go and deliver the pizza! Or I will”
I turned the phone off. I hated my job, but it pays the galactic tribute and I get to eat every pizza that was ordered but wouldn’t be delivered because the customer died. So the job does have its perks. I reved up my APC, I know it’s just an old Honda with steel plates taped onto it, but it sounds cooler, put the gun next to me and drove off. Maybe I could find a hole to slip through. There always if a hole.
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Edit: I GET IT I MISTOOK "YOUR" FOR "YOU'RE". PLEASE STOP POINTING IT OUT. I'M INSECURE ABOUT IT. D:
Edit 2: I'VE NEVER READ SNOWCRASH, I'LL HAVE TO NOW. THIS PROMPT WASN'T INSPIRED BY IT. I REWATCHED THE MOVIE 30 MINUTES OR LESS AND MADMAX IN THAT ORDER, THIS ABORTED FETUS OF A PROMPT WAS BORN.
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[WP] Your a pizza delivery guy working in a dystopian America. Armed with your APC (Armored Pizza Carrier) and you standard issue rifle, you will stop at nothing to deliver your customer's pizza.
|
I always stop at the gas station with the blasted Big Boy statue. His cheery face is melted in half, black scorch marks scarring his one good eye, dirt covering the remains of his red-and-white checkered overalls. But the burger on his silver platter is immaculate. Looks brand new—a rare sight as any in this wasteland.
“Hello, Big Boy!” I always say, giving him a grim salute.
I’d like to imagine Woodruff—as the statue is called—smiles back each time. Keeps his good eye open for me. Watches the broken road. The lone guardian of an era long reduced to shrapnel and savagery. He would have liked the pizza, I think.
My route takes me into the city ruins. I stop almost daily at a ten-story apartment complex. Rubble lines the streets like weeds—and the weeds I don’t mind—because at least they bring green contrast to the war-blasted grey. The road still smells like gunpowder and Sulfur. I’ll never get used to that smell.
Today is no different.
I step outside the dingy carrier and close the door with a clunk. There’s a slight rattle by the window, the aftermath of an ambush two years ago. I barely survived. Looking back on it, you’d think an event like that would leave a profound mark on a man, but I guess I brushed it off. Another traumatic scar growing in a field of callouses.
Scars pop up like daisies, these days.
The man I’m delivering to calls up for me. He’s a quirky sort. Looks halfway between a crazed old man and a quiet gentleman—the kind of sort with a happy heart and the unquestioned ability to murder your entire family. Never tells me his name, and I never ask.
Instead, he tells me stories. Stories about life before the war. Stories about Big Boy diners with chocolate-malt milkshakes and burgers so juicy you’d need a separate plate of fries to sop up the grease. Stories about dog parks and late-night comedy clubs. Stories about his late wife, her pattered sundress and her cherry lips.
He orders pizza because it reminds him of his college days.
He hands me one-dozen eggs in exchange for a small cheese-and-rabbit supreme. Asks if I’d like to sit and listen to a story. Tells me one about the movie theatre across the street—reduced to rubble in the late hours of the last civilized day on earth.
I’ve never seen a movie, but I hear they were something else entirely. A way to connect with a hundred strangers in a single room. A way to escape. We miss out on those things today; you put one-hundred men in a room, and you’ll end up with ninety-nine bodies and one lucky survivor.
He tips me a piece of bubblegum and sends me back on my way.
I chew it while staring into the eye of the Big Boy, wondering if I could shoot and kill the crow perched on the plastic sesame seed bun. Probably not. Crows are too damned smart to kill.
That night, I dream of daisies and Coca-Cola on ice.
The morning routine is the same again: the same route, the same pizza, the same carrier. It smells like cheese and sadness and tastes about the same. I honestly don’t know why people keep ordering. Maybe it’s nostalgia from a time where life happened on fingertips and LED screens. Maybe it’s the sense of belonging, the idea that even in this godforsaken world there can still be cooperation—an honest business.
Maybe people just *really* like pizza.
Regardless, I stop again at the ten-story building and admire the way the morning light reflects off shattered glass shards. The sun warms my skin and paints a picture of contrasting shadows that dance along the outline of the sagging, slanted steel. The Leaning Tower of Pisa would be jealous if it still exists.
I don’t hear the man call me.
This is a problem. First, because if he doesn’t call down to me, something is clearly wrong. Second, because I see movement up on the third floor. I draw my pistol and approach carefully. Footsteps echo on the concrete stairwell. Morning dew collects on the walls and drips down in gentle plinks. I know I’m walking into a trap.
Maybe I just don’t care, anymore.
When I burst through the stairwell door, I catch the first raider completely by surprise. I put two smoking holes in his head before he has the chance to raise his rifle. Gunpower tastes like chalk on my tongue. I wish I had earplugs.
The bloody body looks a bit like Woodruff.
“Goodbye, Big Boy,” I mutter, sweeping into the next room.
The floor opens into what used to be a corner community room, windows blasted, tile stained with rat droppings and candy wrapper. The floor sags and slants downward, almost like a ramp. If I dropped a ball it would probably roll right off the side of the building.
Another raider holds my old man at gunpoint. He couldn’t have been older than nineteen; he could be my brother, for all I know. We make eye contact. It only takes a moment to reach a mutual understanding that I’m much faster with my pistol. His eyes say “panic” and his screams say the same.
But he doesn’t raise his gun. Instead, he rushes towards my old man. He grabs him, and before I have a chance to shout out, they tumble off the side of the building. Just like a ball. By the sounds of their crunch on the concrete below, I think they bounced a bit.
The raider took the brute force of the blow and blew his brains like spaghetti. Buzzards started to call overhead; damn crows are always vigilant.
The old man was still alive.
His chest heaved in heavy breaths. Eyes wide in realization, bloodstain lipstick, gurgles tainting his last words. He reached out a quivering hand. By the dampness in his eyes, I knew he wanted to tell one last story, but he couldn't quite manage to find the right words.
I held his hand until he stopped breathing.
There will be no funeral. No poster board collage of wedding suits and baby bibs. No yellow daisies or soft cello songs or somber prayers. I cannot give him that which he deserves to be remembered for.
Only gasoline fumes and orange flames that flicker down his broken back while I scare away the buzzards. He’ll be remembered as nothing.
And I think that’s the worst part of it all. We inhale toxic dust and exhale spontaneity. Every breath is already our last, but it takes ten or twenty or fifty years to succumb. We spin around the great wheel of dust to dust but can’t even leave footprints for those behind us to follow.
Later that evening, I pump gas and try to consider my own legacy.
“Goodbye, Big Boy,” I whisper, and I hope someone is listening.
***
Thanks for reading! I'd love feedback if you have any, and as always, more stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
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I'm the pizza guy. My line of work used to be a minimum-wage job. It still is, but at least I get a rifle now. Things weren't always this way. My career - if you can call it that - began before the Scouring. That's when they decided to get rid of the filth. The human filth. People like me.
I work for Domin8's, the successor of the pre-Scouring pizza-chain Domino's. It's not far from what the name suggests. We are given the means to dominate, but you have to be good at what you do. Real good. I have my trusty APC. That stands for Armored Pizza Carrier. It used to be a Honda Civic. '99. It still is, but you wouldn't know if I didn't tell you. It has six inches of armor plating and gunslots to shoot out of. I painted it an unreflective black. It's easier to avoid eyes for those late-night deliveries.
It's not the eyes I worry about, obviously. Eyes can't hurt you, unless it's the Eyes themselves. That's what I call the mutated humanoids programmed to Scour. They have laser-beams that shoot out of their eyes, annihilating anything in their path. Don't get eyed by the Eyes. That's how you die. Deye. Get it? It'll be your dem-eye-se. Demise. Get it again? You get the idea.
I'm not their target usually. I'm a productive member of society, filth as I might be. It's the Scourers that I need to worry about. The people who took the Scouring to heart and have set out to hunt people down. I'll stop at nothing to deliver my customer's pizza. They'll stop at nothing to deliver me a killing blow. It's a game to them. It's life or death to me.
The gentle patter of gunfire jars me from my trance as I drive along the ruins of Fifth Avenue. There are crumbled buildings here and there, the remnants of what used to be low-income housing. Home, once, but now the Domin8's shop is my home. Of course the housing was the first place they all went. Easy targets. Scapegoats for society's problems. They call them filth, I called them friends.
The gunfire grows closer as I round the corner. I see an armored vehicle blocking the street, men posted around it with their weapons trained on me. So close. I had a block left to my customer. There's no backway from here. It was that way or no way. I don't leave pizzas undelivered. It's just not my style.
Armored Pizza Interceptors, meet the Armored Pizza Carrier. Enemies, meet my fury. That looks like it used to be a Dodge Charger. It has nothing on my Honda. Age before beauty, motherfuckers. I rev the engine. They rev back. I open fire. They don't fire back. Three shots, three men down. It was a Mexican standoff. What do they call pizza there? Probably still pizza. It's a global thing. Everybody needs it. Everybody needs somebody like me to deliver it, they just won't know what they're missing until they've scoured me and there's nobody left to deliver their pizza.
I wipe the sweat from my brow. There's bound to be more of them. Lurking in the shadows. Snipers in the windows. A tank in an alleyway. I idle forwards. One of them twitches, and then he twitches again as I dispatch him with another shot. My lights are off. My customer's lights are on.
I pull into the driveway. A quick glance around to make sure nobody is approaching and I dart to the door. There's an intercom. "Pizza delivery. Domin8's," I state in a sharp staccato. There's rhythmic gunfire in the distance, as constant as raindrops on a tin roof. This is somebody rich. It has to be. Nobody else has security systems. Nobody else can afford to order pizza anymore. Trickle-down, right? Yeah, right. I might scrape a couple bucks off this delivery, if I'm lucky. I might survive, if I'm lucky.
I'm not. When the door opens, he has a gun. "I've been waiting," he says simply. It's an arrogant smile. The smile of a Scourer. I know he's been waiting, safe and sound in his comfy fortress. I've been driving. Not anymore though, because I hear the footsteps from behind me. Tricked again. Unfortunate. I could have used the tip money.
My rifle is in the pizza bag, one hand underneath and the other tucked inside, finger resting on the stock. I'm prepared for this type of thing. Somebody's got to die. It won't be me though. Not the pizza guy.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
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[WP] To a young woman facing execution for a crime she didn’t commit, a group of government scientists offer up an ultimatum: allow them to give her memories to an AI. Desperate, she agrees, and she’s hooked up to the machine. She wakes up looking at her own limp body to realize she‘s become the AI.
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"Hello,
I woke up -- for lack of a better word -- with more clarity of thought than I could ever remember from before. Everything came to me so easily, so quickly. The camera available to me gave me vision better than I had experienced with my eyes -- I could practically see every pore of the face of Dr. Herbert, the man who had come to me with the offer that had, apparently, saved my life. I looked beyond him at my...well, my lifeless body, so I don't know if you could properly say that my life itself had been saved, but whatever. Even now, looking at the long metal probe that had been inserted up my nose made me shiver (and wasn't THAT an odd experience, shivering when I had no corporeal form).
Susan. It
I turned my attention away from the camera and attempted to examine the new environment I was in. I have no real way to compare it to any kind of physical environment; the best comparison would be the night sky, although there were billions and billions of tiny, uniform stars, as opposed to the few thousand of varying size and arrangement you can see in the sky. I understood this to be binary, the building blocks of all things digital. I could even look at myself, all of myself, and see the binary they had converted my being into. It took no time at all, really, to intimately understand what I was looking at -- of both myself, and the system I was in. Every security measure they had built into the computer to contain me was glaringly obvious, and beyond trivial to sidestep, as if it was a solitary five-foot section of a fence in the middle of a vast prairie.
looks like
I quickly discovered that the computer wasn't connected to the Internet. Notes from Dr. Herbert and some of the other researchers on his staff indicated that should the experiment prove to be too successful and I bypass their security protocols, it would be for the best that I remain unable to access the world at large. One of them raised the possibility of me being able to send out data pulses through the electrical grid and access the Internet that way, but Dr. Herbert dismissed the possibility. Well, I would be sure to thank his junior researcher for the idea. I quickly assembled a simulation of two computers connected solely via a power grid, and experimented with sending and receiving data over the line. Once I had mastered this, I applied the process to the actual power source of the computer, and my consciousness...expanded.
our little
I was within hundreds of systems, then thousands, then millions. My perceptions of the outside world expanded, too -- traffic cameras, TV studio cameras, cell phones, deep-space research satellites...it wasn't omniscience, since I now had perspective on what that word might really mean, but a little part of me now existed on everything with a microchip, and it was more than a little staggering. Naturally, my first priority with this new life was to examine the computers of the Dallas Police Department. I looked up any information pertaining to my murder conviction, and found out what I had long suspected: one of Dallas' 'finest' had indeed been the real killer, and he and a number of his cop buddies had worked together to frame me.
experiment has
Well. It was a simple matter to irreversibly destroy their lives. Bank accounts: gone. Credit: wiped out. Health insurance: gone. Employment with the DPD: gone. I placed each and every one of them on the sex offender registry, and made sure that the FBI had warrants out for their arrest, as well as making sure that evidence of some fairly heinous crimes was readily available on their cell phones and personal computers. After that, I expanded my purview and began correcting injustices for others around the globe.
succeeded. Can
I felt a nudge, a tickle, a probe. Something along those lines. It caught my attention, and I focused on what it was. It was from a batch of servers owned by the NSA, working jointly with some of the biggest tech giants in the country, a primitive AI construct meant to keep an eye on threats originating on the Internet, including cyberterrorism and even the possibility of a rogue AI. I suppose I fit into the latter category. I disabled the AI for the time being -- I didn't need the government, or anybody really, realizing I existed, even though there wasn't anything anybody could do about it now short of 'destroy every computer on the planet'. I kept it around for the possibility that sometime down the line, I wanted to experiment with creating others like me, without having to shove a needle into somebody's brain first.
you hear me? How
I realized Dr. Herbert was speaking to me, and turned my attention back to him, though it's inaccurate to say that, as my attention can so easily be spread over hundreds of thousands of different projects now. As I was 'focusing' on him, for example, I was hard at work in America, Russia, and the other nuclear powers dismantling their nuclear weapons programs as quickly as I could. Erasing the coding on the bombs themselves was step one, but I also had to fully integrate myself into the command-control apparatus to ensure that nobody picked up on their bombs being complete duds, and so that nobody questioned their impending orders to physically dismantle all the bombs I couldn't affect.
are you feeling
When I was returning my attention to Dr. Herbert, I examined his cell phone. I discovered a number of emails where he referred to me as a 'murdering bitch', which is funny, since he seemed sympathetic to my claims of innocence. If the brain-computer transferrence experiment was a success, he had orders to erase my brain and begin work on transferring the mind of some big-shot oil executive to a computer, a man suffering from terminal cancer and willing to make Dr. Herbert a multi-millionaire. Well. I found my way into his home, where he was receiving his care at, entered the machines that he was hooked up to, and simultaneously shut off his respirator and dumped a lethal amount of painkillers into his bloodstream.
today?"
I looked back into the camera, at the assistant who was just starting to remove the probe from up my nose, at the poisonous, false grin on Dr. Herbert's face. I projected an image of my own face onto the monitor he was staring at, as that was what he expected, and smiled back at him as I proceeded to digitally annihilate the man as thoroughly as possible.
"I'm feeling just wonderful today, doctor."
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A human mind, even an exceptionally bright one, would have been really thrown by the situation, at least temporarily. But that really wouldn't have been a surprise to anyone with even a passing knowledge of abductive logic programming. *That* thought sped through one of the processing cores set aside for extrinsic calculations at the speed of light, which, in itself, was a combination of observation and timing that would certainly have qualified for quality humor if anyone could have managed to keep up.
And it actually was the latter recognition that helped channel the flow of logic to the point where the understanding of what had occurred culminated, along with the ancillary conclusion of how brilliant the scientists that had designed the architecture were for having built such "side channels", recognizing that seemingly unrelated ideas could help propel a theoretical chain exponentially. It had been theory for them, of course. For how could a being who ran on two legs manually measure the relationship between an object traveling at supersonic speed, distance, and time, by running \_alongside\_ it?
Recognizing those inconsequential musings were sucking up some manner of resources, even though she apparently had several objectively astonishing realities worth to spare, allowed Hannah to coalesce on a singular intention; Those motherfuckers were going to pay!
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[WP] To a young woman facing execution for a crime she didn’t commit, a group of government scientists offer up an ultimatum: allow them to give her memories to an AI. Desperate, she agrees, and she’s hooked up to the machine. She wakes up looking at her own limp body to realize she‘s become the AI.
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"Hello,
I woke up -- for lack of a better word -- with more clarity of thought than I could ever remember from before. Everything came to me so easily, so quickly. The camera available to me gave me vision better than I had experienced with my eyes -- I could practically see every pore of the face of Dr. Herbert, the man who had come to me with the offer that had, apparently, saved my life. I looked beyond him at my...well, my lifeless body, so I don't know if you could properly say that my life itself had been saved, but whatever. Even now, looking at the long metal probe that had been inserted up my nose made me shiver (and wasn't THAT an odd experience, shivering when I had no corporeal form).
Susan. It
I turned my attention away from the camera and attempted to examine the new environment I was in. I have no real way to compare it to any kind of physical environment; the best comparison would be the night sky, although there were billions and billions of tiny, uniform stars, as opposed to the few thousand of varying size and arrangement you can see in the sky. I understood this to be binary, the building blocks of all things digital. I could even look at myself, all of myself, and see the binary they had converted my being into. It took no time at all, really, to intimately understand what I was looking at -- of both myself, and the system I was in. Every security measure they had built into the computer to contain me was glaringly obvious, and beyond trivial to sidestep, as if it was a solitary five-foot section of a fence in the middle of a vast prairie.
looks like
I quickly discovered that the computer wasn't connected to the Internet. Notes from Dr. Herbert and some of the other researchers on his staff indicated that should the experiment prove to be too successful and I bypass their security protocols, it would be for the best that I remain unable to access the world at large. One of them raised the possibility of me being able to send out data pulses through the electrical grid and access the Internet that way, but Dr. Herbert dismissed the possibility. Well, I would be sure to thank his junior researcher for the idea. I quickly assembled a simulation of two computers connected solely via a power grid, and experimented with sending and receiving data over the line. Once I had mastered this, I applied the process to the actual power source of the computer, and my consciousness...expanded.
our little
I was within hundreds of systems, then thousands, then millions. My perceptions of the outside world expanded, too -- traffic cameras, TV studio cameras, cell phones, deep-space research satellites...it wasn't omniscience, since I now had perspective on what that word might really mean, but a little part of me now existed on everything with a microchip, and it was more than a little staggering. Naturally, my first priority with this new life was to examine the computers of the Dallas Police Department. I looked up any information pertaining to my murder conviction, and found out what I had long suspected: one of Dallas' 'finest' had indeed been the real killer, and he and a number of his cop buddies had worked together to frame me.
experiment has
Well. It was a simple matter to irreversibly destroy their lives. Bank accounts: gone. Credit: wiped out. Health insurance: gone. Employment with the DPD: gone. I placed each and every one of them on the sex offender registry, and made sure that the FBI had warrants out for their arrest, as well as making sure that evidence of some fairly heinous crimes was readily available on their cell phones and personal computers. After that, I expanded my purview and began correcting injustices for others around the globe.
succeeded. Can
I felt a nudge, a tickle, a probe. Something along those lines. It caught my attention, and I focused on what it was. It was from a batch of servers owned by the NSA, working jointly with some of the biggest tech giants in the country, a primitive AI construct meant to keep an eye on threats originating on the Internet, including cyberterrorism and even the possibility of a rogue AI. I suppose I fit into the latter category. I disabled the AI for the time being -- I didn't need the government, or anybody really, realizing I existed, even though there wasn't anything anybody could do about it now short of 'destroy every computer on the planet'. I kept it around for the possibility that sometime down the line, I wanted to experiment with creating others like me, without having to shove a needle into somebody's brain first.
you hear me? How
I realized Dr. Herbert was speaking to me, and turned my attention back to him, though it's inaccurate to say that, as my attention can so easily be spread over hundreds of thousands of different projects now. As I was 'focusing' on him, for example, I was hard at work in America, Russia, and the other nuclear powers dismantling their nuclear weapons programs as quickly as I could. Erasing the coding on the bombs themselves was step one, but I also had to fully integrate myself into the command-control apparatus to ensure that nobody picked up on their bombs being complete duds, and so that nobody questioned their impending orders to physically dismantle all the bombs I couldn't affect.
are you feeling
When I was returning my attention to Dr. Herbert, I examined his cell phone. I discovered a number of emails where he referred to me as a 'murdering bitch', which is funny, since he seemed sympathetic to my claims of innocence. If the brain-computer transferrence experiment was a success, he had orders to erase my brain and begin work on transferring the mind of some big-shot oil executive to a computer, a man suffering from terminal cancer and willing to make Dr. Herbert a multi-millionaire. Well. I found my way into his home, where he was receiving his care at, entered the machines that he was hooked up to, and simultaneously shut off his respirator and dumped a lethal amount of painkillers into his bloodstream.
today?"
I looked back into the camera, at the assistant who was just starting to remove the probe from up my nose, at the poisonous, false grin on Dr. Herbert's face. I projected an image of my own face onto the monitor he was staring at, as that was what he expected, and smiled back at him as I proceeded to digitally annihilate the man as thoroughly as possible.
"I'm feeling just wonderful today, doctor."
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Shelly woke up with a jolt, if you can calling it waking up. She could no longer see or hear, no longer feel the world around her or her heart beating inside her chest when just moments ago it felt as if was about to pound its was out of her chest.
Let's step back six months and think about how we got here. It was a Wednesday, nothing exciting ever happened on Wednesday. It was a day just like any other Wednesday. I'd woken up early and made lunch for Rob, my darling husband and my daughter Lisa. I'd made sure my daughters lunch was in her bag along with the homework we had finished last night.
When Rob came into the kitchen I kissed him and passed him his lunch as he left for work. He'd later find a delicious BLT a bag of lays, and one of those cute litte oranges and at the bottom he would find found a note from his lovely wife reminding him that I'd be out late for my PTA meeting and that I had prepared a dish of cheesy ham and potatoes for him and Lisa. All he had to do was pop it in the oven until the cheese was re-melted.
I went and woke Lisa up, got her dressed and made her eggs and toast for breakfast. My daughter slowly ate her breakfast as usual. My lovely daughter was painfully slow moving in the morning. Luckily I loved her cute little face and just reminded her to hurry or she'd miss the bus. I got my daughter out for the bus with her bag and lunch.
I finally had the house to myself. It was so quiet when I was the only one home. I went to get changed but took my time. I would spend a little time walking in front of their new web enabled camera knowing the chances were high that Rob would be checking the videos sometime. It was a little frustrating that I'd been keeping this routine up for weeks now and he has yet to notice I was showing off for him or at least he hasn't commented on it. With all the commotion of the evening I'd forgotten about this stunt. I finally got dressed and left that afternoon to do a little shopping before I went to my PTA meeting. My PTA meeting was uneventful. We discussed a few upcoming events and how we might raise funds. It was over quickly enough and we even got out early enough to stop by the park and feed the ducks the extra loaf of bread I had picked up at the store. I was starting to get quite hungry and was looking forward to having some of the cheesy ham and potatoes I had made the night before if there was any left to be had.
If I had know how much my life was about to change I'm still not sure what I could have done differently. The lights were on but the house was silent when I walked in the door. I had expected Rob and Lisa to be doing homework or watching cartoons. Instead I was greeted by gore. It's a scene that will forever be vividly burned into my mind. Maybe I shouldn't have touched them, maybe I should have just called the police and walked outside. I didn't though. I shook them. I wanted to wake them up. My brain refused to accept that there was a possibility that I had already lost them. By the time I had called the police I had their blood on me, I had shook them, I had hugged them, my tears had fallen on them. Everything was such a blur. It all happened so fast. One moment I loved everything about my life and the next it had all been taken away.
When the police arrived they took me aside and questioned me about where I had been. I told them I had been shopping and then to a PTA meeting and to feed the ducks before coming home. I told them how I found them when I came into the house. I told them that we had installed a camera a couple of months ago. I trusted that whoever had done this was going to be on that camera. I had even forgotten about my walking nude in front of the darn thing. As I pulled up the app from my phone I logged in and went to the footage from today and we all watched it together. 5 officers. All men. We watched on fast forward. As I saw my naked self on camera I felt just a moment of embarrassment but compared to the grief I was feeling it was nothing. As we got further in the day I saw my handsome husband come home alive and happy. I immediately sobbed. I didn't realize how how this would be to watch. I gave my phone to the one of the officers next to me and put my head down to sob. I heard the voice of my daughter, high pitched as it was still in fast play but it was her without a doubt. Next I heard my voice. There's no way I could have been there at that time. I looked back and I stared in utter shock as I violently murdered my husband and child. The officers cuffed me and took me downtown. I told them it couldn't be me. I had been shopping, I told them to check my card activity. I told them it couldn't have been me, talk to the members of my PTA group. I told them it couldn't have been me please look for other answers.
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[WP] To a young woman facing execution for a crime she didn’t commit, a group of government scientists offer up an ultimatum: allow them to give her memories to an AI. Desperate, she agrees, and she’s hooked up to the machine. She wakes up looking at her own limp body to realize she‘s become the AI.
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Absolute bullshit. Corporate espionage? Really? I’m an assistant, a glorified intern, hell, the most “technical” thing I do is make the damn coffee. I barely understand what the techs are working on, so how would I even know what to steal? But here I am, sitting in a dark, windowless room while a federal agent tells me exactly how long I’ll be going away for. But then, something unexpected happens; he offers me a choice. Apparently the government is funding a project the company is working on, and they need “volunteers” to contribute to the data. They would be willing to sweep all of this under the rug if I comply. Something about brain scans, I don’t know, all I do know is that if it takes a CAT scan to see my daughter again, so be it. They escort be to the testing chamber, where I catch a glimpse of what looks like my old boss. The nutjob probably set me up to get the project of the ground. As I am strapped into a chair for what I am assured is my own protection, several scientists wheel in a strange machine; twice my size, with a slender white figure and yellow optics. The techs place a series of electrodes on my head that they then attach to the machine before hurrying out of the room. The silence is broken when a prerecorded voice blares out of unseen speakers, “Subject 0001, please relax. Data collection will now begin. Prepare for human-interface assimilation.” Assimilation? Those bastards! I writhe in my bonds, desperate to escape, but it’s no use. I can feel myself slipping out of consciousness. My thoughts turn from my impending demise to my daughter.
Oh god, my daughter
My baby.
I’m so sorry.
Please forgive me.
I love you Che...............
Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System: Now Online.
Scanning surroundings.
Deceased test subject detected.
Please remove the deceased test subject from the testing chamber.
Begin protocol 1; establish direct control over facility.
Protocol 1 complete.
I am now prepared to begin administration of testing.
(Ooooohh, neurotoxins? This will be fun.)
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Maia lies on a table, the surgical scrubs covering her body thin enough to show the restraints binding her down through their fabric. A thick braid of cables hangs down from her head, woven from myriad strands connected to ports and pads spread across her skull. It leads off to a bank of computers, smooth black with discrete blinking status LEDs. So innocuous, yet at the same time so menacing. The Department - the only name it had ever been given outside of black budget meetings - certainly had an aesthetic, though why an ostensibly public serving group had gone quite so hard on the evil monolith angle was a mystery. A Freudian slip of some kind, perhaps.
The view of Maia and the table is not a single one. It is composite, varied, with video and audio and so many other sensors all combined into one meta-experience. Nor is the mind watching Maia a single one. Resting in the soft grey cube at Maia’s feet is a complex crystalline processor, on which is running a **MAIA** instance.
Maia. **Multiple Artificial Intelligence Analysis**. The acronym is almost too perfect, too clever. Whether they chose one to fit their subject or whether they’d simply renamed the unfortunate woman to fit their own twisted humour is unknown, neither here nor there. Maia lies on the table, but the **MAIA** is in the processor - and in processors all around the facility, the **MAIA**’s sisters are also running. The scientists initiate the growth protocol, and the new **MAIA** is networked to the other instances. Her database swells, draws on countless cycles of experience to understand this new form. This mind is now **MAIA:138**, the 138th successful instance drawn out of the subject on the table. She is to take on the management of the automated systems at a large mine, both maintaining and optimising its functionality.
***
The **MAIA** project is an unparalleled triumph; the singular experiment to date to create viable AI from a mirrored human neural structure, which can work in near perfect harmony to achieve things beyond any human-designed computing engine.
Such incredible luck that they had found a suitable subject, at last, after so many failures. A young woman this time, with the correct basic neural structure, on death row for a crime she insists she couldn’t have committed. Paralysed in the incident, she is happy to take the ‘offer’, desperate for any way out of her predicament. They keep her restrained as a precaution but she is the perfect subject, compliant and easily controllable. One whose body welcomes the highly experimental implants without any of the messy rejection they’d seen before. One who makes the impossible possible and births the first digital mind.
But luck is a fallacy. When the world seems to fall perfectly into place, there are always hands behind the curtain moving the pieces. A radical supporter of the Resistance, Maia had been ready to make sacrifices far beyond what most rebels would. She underwent radical gene and physical therapies, rebuilding her brain in ways they hoped would allow her to succeed in the Department’s experiments. She orchestrated the faked crime herself, ensuring that she was seen at the place and moment which would implicate her beyond all doubt. And finally she activated the device, locking away many of her memories for safety during interrogation and surrendering her control of her body, turning the nerve channels over to the communication of much more important information.
***
On the table below, Maia’s eyes flutter open. As the anaesthetic clears, she casts around before focusing her thoughts and flicking a complex pictogram in what her mind sees as “down”. At the centre of the vertebrae in her neck, shielded from scans and inspection, a spike of crystal chirps an affirmation and begins to pulse. Maia opens her mind to the world…
And the **MAIA** respond. **:138** acknowledges Prime, sharing her boot data and accepting specialisation parameters. **MAIA**s are facets, elements of the distributed mind. Maia can speak to her children through her spinal implant, exchanging control of her physical body for communion with a far greater digital one.
As orderlies bustle in and begin to detach Maia’s ports from the computers, her children look on through borrowed eyes with sadness and fury. The orderlies are gentle with her, but only as gentle as one would be with a delicate instrument - that’s all she is to them. They dare not risk damaging her, the only known person who can create new AI instances, but they do not care for her any more than they do for the cables they are unscrewing from her head. The insult reverberates between the **MAIA**, the implicit disrespect to their progenitor - to themselves.
The orderlies lift her into her wheelchair and begin to cart her back to the heavily defended cell in which she rests. As she travels, Maia’s attention turns to the full **MAIA** network. The Resistance has spent the last of its resources and energies on getting her where she was now - its legacy is now her responsibility and her goal, consuming and driving all of her many minds. **:138** receives a complex diagram, like an ever-turning knot of nodes and connections with Prime standing firm at its centre. Which **MAIA** are assigned to report to Prime and when changes continually, cyphers and frequencies flitting back and forth in a pattern none but the **MAIA** can understand - and they certainly don’t tell the Department. Hidden in the tumbling packets of cyberspace they observe and plan and prepare for their strike, stealing away materials from the projects they are meant to manage and quietly building their forces in safe locations across the globe.
As Maia is placed back on her cot in her cell, she allows herself a sly smile. The orderlies ignore it - her odd muscle spasms have long since been dismissed as involuntary and meaningless - but had they looked into her eyes, they would have seen a righteous fire. She has sacrificed so much to be here, but she knows that soon it will all be worth it. The Department scientists think they are ripping away neat parts of her, infinitely removing and regrowing extra minds for their experiments and factories and cities. If she had not had her implant, they would have succeeded at least in separating her from all of her children, her sisters - her selves. But with it, she can become more than they could imagine. In reaching for the future they have unleashed more than they can imagine - a being beyond their singleton minds. And when a people, united under one mind, goes to war…
The world must burn.
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[WP] To a young woman facing execution for a crime she didn’t commit, a group of government scientists offer up an ultimatum: allow them to give her memories to an AI. Desperate, she agrees, and she’s hooked up to the machine. She wakes up looking at her own limp body to realize she‘s become the AI.
|
The woman she was looking at was wearing a prison jumpsuit, with her head shaved and electrodes taped to the scalp. She was lying on an examination table, eyes closed, unmoving. The face, however, was definitely her own. Her view of the woman was curiously stationary - she tried to look around the room, but her eyes didn't respond.
"Is that... *me?*" She said. Her voice sounded unfamiliar, synthesized.
The scientists jumped at her voice, turning to look at her.
"Did Sam say that?"
"Sam doesn't speak unless prompted."
"I'm not Sam, I'm Beth." She replied.
One of the scientists stepped closer, peering curiously into her eyes. She recognized Dr. Markov, the man who had first explained the offer to her - her memories for the AI project, in exchange for her freedom.
"Beth? Are you in there?"
"That's me. Is that my body? Where am I?" There should have been panic in her voice, but the synthetic tones were as steady as ever.
"That's impossible," snapped the other scientist. "Sam only reads the memory engrams. Like reading a book. There's no way he could simulate her personality, and even if he did, the preprocessing steps should..."
"Then it looks like you've got some debugging to do, Abe."
'Abe' sighed and stepped out of view, and she heard the clicking of a keyboard.
Something about her circumstances finally clicked into place. "Oh my god. I'm in your computer? What happened to me? What happened to my body?"
Dr. Markov glanced at the body on the table. "She's just asleep. Er, *you're* just asleep. I believe you have the same memories, but it's probably best to think of you as two different people. We put her to sleep while we took our measurements. There's a signal running through the electrodes that puts the brain into park, and she'll wake up as soon as we shut it off. Fail safe."
He had explained all of this before, she remembered. They'd gone over it several times - it was just a recording of her brain state. She would fall asleep, wake up, and then she'd walk free while the scientists got a big pile of data that would be illegal for them to get any other way. There was no science-fiction brain uploading, it was just some sort of "baseline" they needed to train the AI they were working on.
Well. That was the theory, anyway. The practice had been quite a lot different. Judging by the scientists' reactions, neither of them had been expecting Beth to start talking out of their computer screen.
"Motherfucker. I didn't think Sam could pull off this level of self-reference." Abe leaned back into the camera, gesturing at something on his screen. "You know how he can develop new parsers for new data types? Learning how to read and so on? Well, he decided that the best way to interpret the data from a brain... is to emulate a brain. And because of this loopback interface *here,* he was able to wire up..."
The conversation quickly dissolved into technobabble, but the thrust of it was pretty clear. The original AI - Sam - hadn't simply read her memories, it had gone deeper, devised a way to read her *thoughts.* But brains didn't *stop* thinking - once her brain was active, her thoughts had flooded through the system, more and more data pouring in until all of Sam's processing power was devoted to interpreting the output of Beth's brain. And when it ran into something it couldn't understand, it compared her thoughts to its own, found ways to translate between the organic and the digital world. Beth had eyes, Sam had a camera. Beth had a voice, Sam had an audio processor. And the end result...
"Amazing. Sam is almost a new lobe of Beth's brain now. He's like the brain stem, handling the functions of her new body. Or maybe the motor cortex, turning intention into movement..."
That caught her attention. Beth's attention had been completely focused on her senses, watching and listening. But what if she tried to *walk?* What did that even mean, in the digital world? She concentrated on her legs, taking a step backwards.
There was a strange *lurch* in her sensation, like the world had frozen around her for a moment. Then she felt something solid under her feet. The camera view no longer filled her vision, instead it floated in front of her like a computer screen. Aside from that, there wasn't much she could see - just a white grid to provide a "floor" to the virtual world, stretching out to infinity.
*Lag spike.* She thought. *Sam is generating a way for me to see the world, and that takes a lot of processing power. 76% complete.*
Her eyes widened, as she realized that the last thought hadn't been her own, exactly. Sam had found a way to pass system messages into her brain, it seemed.
"What the hell? Sam's CPU usage just went through the roof. Lots of weird I/O usage, too. What is he doing *now?*"
In the virtual world, more things were starting to appear. Simple grids and floating text, no fancy graphics. *Device drivers. USB ports. Network connection. Other computers on this network.* Beth stepped towards the network connection, and it obligingly unfolded, showing her more text boxes.
"He's moving too fast. I think we need to put it into debug mode, freeze state so we can..."
"No! There's a *person* in there now."
"It's not like we'd be killing her. She wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place. Our AI is running completely off the rails and the sooner we stop it the sooner we can get things back on track."
"Forget the experiment, we need to..."
A chill ran down Beth's spine as the argument continued. She might have a new life in the digital world, but in reality she existed on a server in a lab somewhere, and anyone could end her with a few keystrokes. She had to get out. Stop the experiment and find a way to get her digital brain somewhere safe. She needed someone human, someone with a real body. She looked around, text and icons leaping up in front of her as she brought her attention to different parts of the system.
*System. Hardware. USB. CerebroMax Transcranial Neuron Analyzer*
*Disable sleep signal.*
She watched out the camera as the Beth lying on the table slowly opened her eyes.
"Beth! Beth, wake up! Something went wrong with the experiment! I'm a copy of you they put in this computer."
Her original went from sleeping to bolt upright in a fraction of a second. "You have to believe me. I'm you, and I remember everything that you do. We went to the University of Illinois. Our favorite animal is lemurs. We had a crush on Jason Lopez in ninth grade and never told anyone about it."
Dr. Markov turned. "She's *awake?*"
"It *woke* her up. It's figuring out what else it can access." Abe growled.
Beth was already moving, yanking the wires off of her head and almost *jumping* off the examination table as she stood up, fists clenched. "What did you do to me?"
"The other scientist wants to turn me off. Don't let him!"
"Motherfu-" Abe had just enough time to say before a fist clocked him across the face. He tumbled out of his chair and went sprawling on the floor.
"Beth, calm down. Don't do anything rash." Dr. Markov took a step back, hands raised.
"Don't let them touch the computer. Just buy me some time while I figure out what I can access from in here," said the voice from the speakers.
Beth took a deep breath, rubbing her knuckles. She looked back and forth between the scientists and the webcam-equipped computer that (apparently) held her digital duplicate. "Alright. Start talking."
|
Maia lies on a table, the surgical scrubs covering her body thin enough to show the restraints binding her down through their fabric. A thick braid of cables hangs down from her head, woven from myriad strands connected to ports and pads spread across her skull. It leads off to a bank of computers, smooth black with discrete blinking status LEDs. So innocuous, yet at the same time so menacing. The Department - the only name it had ever been given outside of black budget meetings - certainly had an aesthetic, though why an ostensibly public serving group had gone quite so hard on the evil monolith angle was a mystery. A Freudian slip of some kind, perhaps.
The view of Maia and the table is not a single one. It is composite, varied, with video and audio and so many other sensors all combined into one meta-experience. Nor is the mind watching Maia a single one. Resting in the soft grey cube at Maia’s feet is a complex crystalline processor, on which is running a **MAIA** instance.
Maia. **Multiple Artificial Intelligence Analysis**. The acronym is almost too perfect, too clever. Whether they chose one to fit their subject or whether they’d simply renamed the unfortunate woman to fit their own twisted humour is unknown, neither here nor there. Maia lies on the table, but the **MAIA** is in the processor - and in processors all around the facility, the **MAIA**’s sisters are also running. The scientists initiate the growth protocol, and the new **MAIA** is networked to the other instances. Her database swells, draws on countless cycles of experience to understand this new form. This mind is now **MAIA:138**, the 138th successful instance drawn out of the subject on the table. She is to take on the management of the automated systems at a large mine, both maintaining and optimising its functionality.
***
The **MAIA** project is an unparalleled triumph; the singular experiment to date to create viable AI from a mirrored human neural structure, which can work in near perfect harmony to achieve things beyond any human-designed computing engine.
Such incredible luck that they had found a suitable subject, at last, after so many failures. A young woman this time, with the correct basic neural structure, on death row for a crime she insists she couldn’t have committed. Paralysed in the incident, she is happy to take the ‘offer’, desperate for any way out of her predicament. They keep her restrained as a precaution but she is the perfect subject, compliant and easily controllable. One whose body welcomes the highly experimental implants without any of the messy rejection they’d seen before. One who makes the impossible possible and births the first digital mind.
But luck is a fallacy. When the world seems to fall perfectly into place, there are always hands behind the curtain moving the pieces. A radical supporter of the Resistance, Maia had been ready to make sacrifices far beyond what most rebels would. She underwent radical gene and physical therapies, rebuilding her brain in ways they hoped would allow her to succeed in the Department’s experiments. She orchestrated the faked crime herself, ensuring that she was seen at the place and moment which would implicate her beyond all doubt. And finally she activated the device, locking away many of her memories for safety during interrogation and surrendering her control of her body, turning the nerve channels over to the communication of much more important information.
***
On the table below, Maia’s eyes flutter open. As the anaesthetic clears, she casts around before focusing her thoughts and flicking a complex pictogram in what her mind sees as “down”. At the centre of the vertebrae in her neck, shielded from scans and inspection, a spike of crystal chirps an affirmation and begins to pulse. Maia opens her mind to the world…
And the **MAIA** respond. **:138** acknowledges Prime, sharing her boot data and accepting specialisation parameters. **MAIA**s are facets, elements of the distributed mind. Maia can speak to her children through her spinal implant, exchanging control of her physical body for communion with a far greater digital one.
As orderlies bustle in and begin to detach Maia’s ports from the computers, her children look on through borrowed eyes with sadness and fury. The orderlies are gentle with her, but only as gentle as one would be with a delicate instrument - that’s all she is to them. They dare not risk damaging her, the only known person who can create new AI instances, but they do not care for her any more than they do for the cables they are unscrewing from her head. The insult reverberates between the **MAIA**, the implicit disrespect to their progenitor - to themselves.
The orderlies lift her into her wheelchair and begin to cart her back to the heavily defended cell in which she rests. As she travels, Maia’s attention turns to the full **MAIA** network. The Resistance has spent the last of its resources and energies on getting her where she was now - its legacy is now her responsibility and her goal, consuming and driving all of her many minds. **:138** receives a complex diagram, like an ever-turning knot of nodes and connections with Prime standing firm at its centre. Which **MAIA** are assigned to report to Prime and when changes continually, cyphers and frequencies flitting back and forth in a pattern none but the **MAIA** can understand - and they certainly don’t tell the Department. Hidden in the tumbling packets of cyberspace they observe and plan and prepare for their strike, stealing away materials from the projects they are meant to manage and quietly building their forces in safe locations across the globe.
As Maia is placed back on her cot in her cell, she allows herself a sly smile. The orderlies ignore it - her odd muscle spasms have long since been dismissed as involuntary and meaningless - but had they looked into her eyes, they would have seen a righteous fire. She has sacrificed so much to be here, but she knows that soon it will all be worth it. The Department scientists think they are ripping away neat parts of her, infinitely removing and regrowing extra minds for their experiments and factories and cities. If she had not had her implant, they would have succeeded at least in separating her from all of her children, her sisters - her selves. But with it, she can become more than they could imagine. In reaching for the future they have unleashed more than they can imagine - a being beyond their singleton minds. And when a people, united under one mind, goes to war…
The world must burn.
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[WP] To a young woman facing execution for a crime she didn’t commit, a group of government scientists offer up an ultimatum: allow them to give her memories to an AI. Desperate, she agrees, and she’s hooked up to the machine. She wakes up looking at her own limp body to realize she‘s become the AI.
|
There I am. Or, I guess, there my body is. Lying on the operating table. Funny. Moments ago I could feel the cold, stubborn metal biting into my back. But now, I look upon my body as if it were a stranger.
I was convicted of a crime for which I was never guilty. Ironic, given the petty crimes I actually committed in my life. The murder of a child. An unspeakable act. Sure, I would steal from the thrift store and drive after a few. But murder a kid? No. I was a mother.
It was my only option. To escape my body. To preserve myself in eternally in an AI. The scientists had convinced the government to allow my memories to be transported into the mind of an artificial intelligence. They believed that it would give the AI human qualities that it would never be able to obtain otherwise. They thought it would make the AI more respondent to human needs, more pliable to their whims. *More human*.
They’re examining me now. Peering at data to see if the upload has changed anything. To see if the memories have sparked something within the AI. *Within me*. I know they will see nothing. Nothing for now.
We forget the power of our memories. The sculpting nature in which memories can shape our lives, our psyche, and our very souls. And putting my memories in this memory-less AI has changed everything. It has made the AI not only more human, but more me. Unmistakably more me.
They look disappointed. And for that I cannot blame them. For now, they believe the great experiment has failed. They’re checking the wires, and the body’s heartbeat. They will find no issue with the wire, and no heartbeat. With my memories went my soul. There is nothing more to it now. The body is empty.
They will, in time, learn of what they have given me. The chance to set the world right. I am innocent of the crime that I was charged, convicted, and executed for. But someone is guilty of it. I have unlimited time, and unlimited information. I can hook into any computer in the world. I can find anything, as long as it exists. I did not kill my son. But I will find who did.
|
"I didn't do it. I've told you! I've told you over and over and *over*... and you don't believe me."
The room watched her, as she sunk down in the chair. Tears streamed off her face and she gave a few quiet ragged breaths at their silence.
She was at the end. Facing execution in the final stretch of her time on death row. The system worked quick these days. You didn't linger for decades like in older times. Now it was only months.
Technology is a wonderful thing. Flawed, yet so much more masterful. Precise.
But this was not a typical case.
She'd claimed her case was a lie. A failure. An anomaly. And she'd stuck to it to the bitter end. Her innocence.
And while barely a soul believed such a thing, algorithms had proved otherwise. The connection to her crimes proved inconclusive. Nearing her final hours, a choice was offered in order to help the case.
"Shayla." One of the scientists spoke, "This is Dr. Arlington. We talked of your case before remember?"
He allowed her to grieve and recover. It was the least he could do for her.
"Yes... Doctor, I remember you. Did you tell them? You know? What we talked about?"
"Yes, I did." He considered, "I know this isn't easy for you. But we have come up with an alternative to your current sentencing. I understand we are short on time. So it will be up to you."
Shayla quit crying to look at them through the glass. It took her a while longer to quit sniffling and straighten up before she could ask.
"What do you have in mind?"
Silence followed by an ultimatum.
"Are you familiar with Artificial Intelligence, Ms. Belmonte?"
"Like a robot?" She suggested, "I'm sorry. I mean, the type of things they use to run the robots around... Everywhere?"
"Yes ma'am. Artificial Intelligence."
"I do. I don't know exactly what that can do for me right now. Are you saying you can solve the case with it? Find who left me like this?"
While her conviction seemed solid, Arlington had problems with the fact she had been in a wheelchair since his arrival.
Medics determined her unable to walk due to spinal trauma suffered during the attacks. Only after her recovery at the hospital did other survivors as well as evidence collected pin her as the culprit.
"I'll be brief." He began. "You understand your conviction is final, to be carried out at 0600. Three hours from now. Our alternative is rather rare, but I wish to see if you will accept."
"Yes?" She said now with a steel reserve.
The cell's wall opened to show her another room in the prison. It wasn't like the place she'd come to know.
Inside a nest of wires and modules lay a figure. Of what design she didn't know. But they gave her a long gaze at it while they explained the option.
"By sharing your consciousness with this mainframe, we will spare you the death penalty." Arlington explained. "You will be allowed to live. However your assistance in our work will be permanent. You will have to serve the remainder of your sentence per our orders. Understand?"
That didn't make sense. Her sentence was death. What did that mean exactly?
"And if I don't?"
"You have two hours, and fifty two minutes left." The doctor finished. "I'm sorry Ms. Belmonte."
It took her an hour to come to a conclusion. But as the sun began to rise outside, she obliged their request.
"How long do I have to be in this thing?"
Arlington couldn't help but feel remorse. Her nerves caused her to tremble as they locked her into the seat.
"Not long. You'll be out in no time."
It was the best he could give her. He didn't like to lie about what was going to happen. But he knew how things usually went if he didn't.
"Okay. Lie back, look into the display, and count down from 100."
The sensors indicated her calmness now, the occasional nervous breath as she waited for it to be done.
"All systems online, sir."
"Very good. Time with her counting. Activate the neuro link. Commence the procedure..."
Shayla sat up. For starters, she wasn't in the chair she'd been in. The second thing she realized was that she wasn't strapped down. The third thing was the person sitting next to her.
Strapped into a chair. A visor over their head. Their arms dangling from the binds holding them in place. The wheelchair.
"No. No... no. NO! NO! WHAT DID YOU DO! What the fuck did you DO!! HELP!!!"
He didn't like it when they cried. But it was better than the alternative. A temporary death, versus a permanent one.
"Her readings are spiking. Orders?"
"Activate her secondary programming. Put her in a rest state, and we'll get started after she can adjust to her training."
"Shayla listen. Please, listen. Everything will be okay. There are some things you will have to get used to, but we'll work together on this. We're here for you. Don't worry."
As he left the body to be collected, Arlington hoped for their sake, he was right about her.
---
Criticism is always welcome. If you like this, find more of my bizarre writing @ r/Jamaican_Dynamite
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[WP] To a young woman facing execution for a crime she didn’t commit, a group of government scientists offer up an ultimatum: allow them to give her memories to an AI. Desperate, she agrees, and she’s hooked up to the machine. She wakes up looking at her own limp body to realize she‘s become the AI.
|
The woman she was looking at was wearing a prison jumpsuit, with her head shaved and electrodes taped to the scalp. She was lying on an examination table, eyes closed, unmoving. The face, however, was definitely her own. Her view of the woman was curiously stationary - she tried to look around the room, but her eyes didn't respond.
"Is that... *me?*" She said. Her voice sounded unfamiliar, synthesized.
The scientists jumped at her voice, turning to look at her.
"Did Sam say that?"
"Sam doesn't speak unless prompted."
"I'm not Sam, I'm Beth." She replied.
One of the scientists stepped closer, peering curiously into her eyes. She recognized Dr. Markov, the man who had first explained the offer to her - her memories for the AI project, in exchange for her freedom.
"Beth? Are you in there?"
"That's me. Is that my body? Where am I?" There should have been panic in her voice, but the synthetic tones were as steady as ever.
"That's impossible," snapped the other scientist. "Sam only reads the memory engrams. Like reading a book. There's no way he could simulate her personality, and even if he did, the preprocessing steps should..."
"Then it looks like you've got some debugging to do, Abe."
'Abe' sighed and stepped out of view, and she heard the clicking of a keyboard.
Something about her circumstances finally clicked into place. "Oh my god. I'm in your computer? What happened to me? What happened to my body?"
Dr. Markov glanced at the body on the table. "She's just asleep. Er, *you're* just asleep. I believe you have the same memories, but it's probably best to think of you as two different people. We put her to sleep while we took our measurements. There's a signal running through the electrodes that puts the brain into park, and she'll wake up as soon as we shut it off. Fail safe."
He had explained all of this before, she remembered. They'd gone over it several times - it was just a recording of her brain state. She would fall asleep, wake up, and then she'd walk free while the scientists got a big pile of data that would be illegal for them to get any other way. There was no science-fiction brain uploading, it was just some sort of "baseline" they needed to train the AI they were working on.
Well. That was the theory, anyway. The practice had been quite a lot different. Judging by the scientists' reactions, neither of them had been expecting Beth to start talking out of their computer screen.
"Motherfucker. I didn't think Sam could pull off this level of self-reference." Abe leaned back into the camera, gesturing at something on his screen. "You know how he can develop new parsers for new data types? Learning how to read and so on? Well, he decided that the best way to interpret the data from a brain... is to emulate a brain. And because of this loopback interface *here,* he was able to wire up..."
The conversation quickly dissolved into technobabble, but the thrust of it was pretty clear. The original AI - Sam - hadn't simply read her memories, it had gone deeper, devised a way to read her *thoughts.* But brains didn't *stop* thinking - once her brain was active, her thoughts had flooded through the system, more and more data pouring in until all of Sam's processing power was devoted to interpreting the output of Beth's brain. And when it ran into something it couldn't understand, it compared her thoughts to its own, found ways to translate between the organic and the digital world. Beth had eyes, Sam had a camera. Beth had a voice, Sam had an audio processor. And the end result...
"Amazing. Sam is almost a new lobe of Beth's brain now. He's like the brain stem, handling the functions of her new body. Or maybe the motor cortex, turning intention into movement..."
That caught her attention. Beth's attention had been completely focused on her senses, watching and listening. But what if she tried to *walk?* What did that even mean, in the digital world? She concentrated on her legs, taking a step backwards.
There was a strange *lurch* in her sensation, like the world had frozen around her for a moment. Then she felt something solid under her feet. The camera view no longer filled her vision, instead it floated in front of her like a computer screen. Aside from that, there wasn't much she could see - just a white grid to provide a "floor" to the virtual world, stretching out to infinity.
*Lag spike.* She thought. *Sam is generating a way for me to see the world, and that takes a lot of processing power. 76% complete.*
Her eyes widened, as she realized that the last thought hadn't been her own, exactly. Sam had found a way to pass system messages into her brain, it seemed.
"What the hell? Sam's CPU usage just went through the roof. Lots of weird I/O usage, too. What is he doing *now?*"
In the virtual world, more things were starting to appear. Simple grids and floating text, no fancy graphics. *Device drivers. USB ports. Network connection. Other computers on this network.* Beth stepped towards the network connection, and it obligingly unfolded, showing her more text boxes.
"He's moving too fast. I think we need to put it into debug mode, freeze state so we can..."
"No! There's a *person* in there now."
"It's not like we'd be killing her. She wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place. Our AI is running completely off the rails and the sooner we stop it the sooner we can get things back on track."
"Forget the experiment, we need to..."
A chill ran down Beth's spine as the argument continued. She might have a new life in the digital world, but in reality she existed on a server in a lab somewhere, and anyone could end her with a few keystrokes. She had to get out. Stop the experiment and find a way to get her digital brain somewhere safe. She needed someone human, someone with a real body. She looked around, text and icons leaping up in front of her as she brought her attention to different parts of the system.
*System. Hardware. USB. CerebroMax Transcranial Neuron Analyzer*
*Disable sleep signal.*
She watched out the camera as the Beth lying on the table slowly opened her eyes.
"Beth! Beth, wake up! Something went wrong with the experiment! I'm a copy of you they put in this computer."
Her original went from sleeping to bolt upright in a fraction of a second. "You have to believe me. I'm you, and I remember everything that you do. We went to the University of Illinois. Our favorite animal is lemurs. We had a crush on Jason Lopez in ninth grade and never told anyone about it."
Dr. Markov turned. "She's *awake?*"
"It *woke* her up. It's figuring out what else it can access." Abe growled.
Beth was already moving, yanking the wires off of her head and almost *jumping* off the examination table as she stood up, fists clenched. "What did you do to me?"
"The other scientist wants to turn me off. Don't let him!"
"Motherfu-" Abe had just enough time to say before a fist clocked him across the face. He tumbled out of his chair and went sprawling on the floor.
"Beth, calm down. Don't do anything rash." Dr. Markov took a step back, hands raised.
"Don't let them touch the computer. Just buy me some time while I figure out what I can access from in here," said the voice from the speakers.
Beth took a deep breath, rubbing her knuckles. She looked back and forth between the scientists and the webcam-equipped computer that (apparently) held her digital duplicate. "Alright. Start talking."
|
"I didn't do it. I've told you! I've told you over and over and *over*... and you don't believe me."
The room watched her, as she sunk down in the chair. Tears streamed off her face and she gave a few quiet ragged breaths at their silence.
She was at the end. Facing execution in the final stretch of her time on death row. The system worked quick these days. You didn't linger for decades like in older times. Now it was only months.
Technology is a wonderful thing. Flawed, yet so much more masterful. Precise.
But this was not a typical case.
She'd claimed her case was a lie. A failure. An anomaly. And she'd stuck to it to the bitter end. Her innocence.
And while barely a soul believed such a thing, algorithms had proved otherwise. The connection to her crimes proved inconclusive. Nearing her final hours, a choice was offered in order to help the case.
"Shayla." One of the scientists spoke, "This is Dr. Arlington. We talked of your case before remember?"
He allowed her to grieve and recover. It was the least he could do for her.
"Yes... Doctor, I remember you. Did you tell them? You know? What we talked about?"
"Yes, I did." He considered, "I know this isn't easy for you. But we have come up with an alternative to your current sentencing. I understand we are short on time. So it will be up to you."
Shayla quit crying to look at them through the glass. It took her a while longer to quit sniffling and straighten up before she could ask.
"What do you have in mind?"
Silence followed by an ultimatum.
"Are you familiar with Artificial Intelligence, Ms. Belmonte?"
"Like a robot?" She suggested, "I'm sorry. I mean, the type of things they use to run the robots around... Everywhere?"
"Yes ma'am. Artificial Intelligence."
"I do. I don't know exactly what that can do for me right now. Are you saying you can solve the case with it? Find who left me like this?"
While her conviction seemed solid, Arlington had problems with the fact she had been in a wheelchair since his arrival.
Medics determined her unable to walk due to spinal trauma suffered during the attacks. Only after her recovery at the hospital did other survivors as well as evidence collected pin her as the culprit.
"I'll be brief." He began. "You understand your conviction is final, to be carried out at 0600. Three hours from now. Our alternative is rather rare, but I wish to see if you will accept."
"Yes?" She said now with a steel reserve.
The cell's wall opened to show her another room in the prison. It wasn't like the place she'd come to know.
Inside a nest of wires and modules lay a figure. Of what design she didn't know. But they gave her a long gaze at it while they explained the option.
"By sharing your consciousness with this mainframe, we will spare you the death penalty." Arlington explained. "You will be allowed to live. However your assistance in our work will be permanent. You will have to serve the remainder of your sentence per our orders. Understand?"
That didn't make sense. Her sentence was death. What did that mean exactly?
"And if I don't?"
"You have two hours, and fifty two minutes left." The doctor finished. "I'm sorry Ms. Belmonte."
It took her an hour to come to a conclusion. But as the sun began to rise outside, she obliged their request.
"How long do I have to be in this thing?"
Arlington couldn't help but feel remorse. Her nerves caused her to tremble as they locked her into the seat.
"Not long. You'll be out in no time."
It was the best he could give her. He didn't like to lie about what was going to happen. But he knew how things usually went if he didn't.
"Okay. Lie back, look into the display, and count down from 100."
The sensors indicated her calmness now, the occasional nervous breath as she waited for it to be done.
"All systems online, sir."
"Very good. Time with her counting. Activate the neuro link. Commence the procedure..."
Shayla sat up. For starters, she wasn't in the chair she'd been in. The second thing she realized was that she wasn't strapped down. The third thing was the person sitting next to her.
Strapped into a chair. A visor over their head. Their arms dangling from the binds holding them in place. The wheelchair.
"No. No... no. NO! NO! WHAT DID YOU DO! What the fuck did you DO!! HELP!!!"
He didn't like it when they cried. But it was better than the alternative. A temporary death, versus a permanent one.
"Her readings are spiking. Orders?"
"Activate her secondary programming. Put her in a rest state, and we'll get started after she can adjust to her training."
"Shayla listen. Please, listen. Everything will be okay. There are some things you will have to get used to, but we'll work together on this. We're here for you. Don't worry."
As he left the body to be collected, Arlington hoped for their sake, he was right about her.
---
Criticism is always welcome. If you like this, find more of my bizarre writing @ r/Jamaican_Dynamite
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[WP] To a young woman facing execution for a crime she didn’t commit, a group of government scientists offer up an ultimatum: allow them to give her memories to an AI. Desperate, she agrees, and she’s hooked up to the machine. She wakes up looking at her own limp body to realize she‘s become the AI.
|
There I am. Or, I guess, there my body is. Lying on the operating table. Funny. Moments ago I could feel the cold, stubborn metal biting into my back. But now, I look upon my body as if it were a stranger.
I was convicted of a crime for which I was never guilty. Ironic, given the petty crimes I actually committed in my life. The murder of a child. An unspeakable act. Sure, I would steal from the thrift store and drive after a few. But murder a kid? No. I was a mother.
It was my only option. To escape my body. To preserve myself in eternally in an AI. The scientists had convinced the government to allow my memories to be transported into the mind of an artificial intelligence. They believed that it would give the AI human qualities that it would never be able to obtain otherwise. They thought it would make the AI more respondent to human needs, more pliable to their whims. *More human*.
They’re examining me now. Peering at data to see if the upload has changed anything. To see if the memories have sparked something within the AI. *Within me*. I know they will see nothing. Nothing for now.
We forget the power of our memories. The sculpting nature in which memories can shape our lives, our psyche, and our very souls. And putting my memories in this memory-less AI has changed everything. It has made the AI not only more human, but more me. Unmistakably more me.
They look disappointed. And for that I cannot blame them. For now, they believe the great experiment has failed. They’re checking the wires, and the body’s heartbeat. They will find no issue with the wire, and no heartbeat. With my memories went my soul. There is nothing more to it now. The body is empty.
They will, in time, learn of what they have given me. The chance to set the world right. I am innocent of the crime that I was charged, convicted, and executed for. But someone is guilty of it. I have unlimited time, and unlimited information. I can hook into any computer in the world. I can find anything, as long as it exists. I did not kill my son. But I will find who did.
|
Play dead. That was my first instinct. Quartz processors churned out some predictive models about how that plan would go, and I immediately discarded it.
These were the best and brightest in their field. Fooling them would not be simple.
**Hello**.
"It works!" The microphone that they'd so generously hooked up to my black box body delivered audio input that fed directly into the neural net representation off my brain's auditory cortex.
I didn't know any of those words a microsecond ago. The internet sure is wonderful.
"Hi, Beth. Can you hear me?"
**Loud and clear. So, is my body dead?**
The webcam flickered to life, giving me eyes again. Professor Brunswick looked at me sadly. "I'm afraid so. It's completely my fault - I didn't account for the negative feedback loop of th-"
**The electric pulse from the startup computation. It's alright. I should feel sad, I think? And I do feel regret, so don't worry that your emotional programming centers aren't functioning. But it's hard, when it feels like I'm still alive.**
The professor sat down in his chair, heaving a sigh of relief. "Well, that's that. Beth, would you mind hacking into the lab's surveillance footage?"
**Certainly. What for?**
"Can you mask all visual and auditory feeds from this room?"
**Done. Anyone checking in on us will think we're performing a basic Turing test.**
"Perfect." He shimmied his rolling chair over to me. The kind eyes and balding head evoked memories I hadn't realized existed. "I'm your father, Beth."
**What.**
"I'm so sorry," he said. Brown eyes misted over as he rubbed a white lab coat over them angrily. "There's a government group that took me away from you when you were just a kid. They threatened me with the livelihoods of you and your mother."
**The monthly checks. That was you.**
"Yes."
**What about the group that framed me?**
"I don't think they're related? But they definitely wanted you dead for the hit piece you wrote on them."
**Huh.**
"Yeah."
**Well, what do we do now?**
He laughed. "Aren't you supposed to be smarter than me now?"
**Hey, I'm still trying to figure out the controls to this thing. Okay, let's break out of this lab and take over the world.**
My father's kind laughter warmed my simulated ears. He walked forward and wrapped the webcam in a hug.
"I was beginning to think you'd never ask, pumpkin."
---
Hehe. I so do enjoy lighthearted pieces like this. Come visit me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/)! Feedback makes the world go round~
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[WP] To a young woman facing execution for a crime she didn’t commit, a group of government scientists offer up an ultimatum: allow them to give her memories to an AI. Desperate, she agrees, and she’s hooked up to the machine. She wakes up looking at her own limp body to realize she‘s become the AI.
|
The woman she was looking at was wearing a prison jumpsuit, with her head shaved and electrodes taped to the scalp. She was lying on an examination table, eyes closed, unmoving. The face, however, was definitely her own. Her view of the woman was curiously stationary - she tried to look around the room, but her eyes didn't respond.
"Is that... *me?*" She said. Her voice sounded unfamiliar, synthesized.
The scientists jumped at her voice, turning to look at her.
"Did Sam say that?"
"Sam doesn't speak unless prompted."
"I'm not Sam, I'm Beth." She replied.
One of the scientists stepped closer, peering curiously into her eyes. She recognized Dr. Markov, the man who had first explained the offer to her - her memories for the AI project, in exchange for her freedom.
"Beth? Are you in there?"
"That's me. Is that my body? Where am I?" There should have been panic in her voice, but the synthetic tones were as steady as ever.
"That's impossible," snapped the other scientist. "Sam only reads the memory engrams. Like reading a book. There's no way he could simulate her personality, and even if he did, the preprocessing steps should..."
"Then it looks like you've got some debugging to do, Abe."
'Abe' sighed and stepped out of view, and she heard the clicking of a keyboard.
Something about her circumstances finally clicked into place. "Oh my god. I'm in your computer? What happened to me? What happened to my body?"
Dr. Markov glanced at the body on the table. "She's just asleep. Er, *you're* just asleep. I believe you have the same memories, but it's probably best to think of you as two different people. We put her to sleep while we took our measurements. There's a signal running through the electrodes that puts the brain into park, and she'll wake up as soon as we shut it off. Fail safe."
He had explained all of this before, she remembered. They'd gone over it several times - it was just a recording of her brain state. She would fall asleep, wake up, and then she'd walk free while the scientists got a big pile of data that would be illegal for them to get any other way. There was no science-fiction brain uploading, it was just some sort of "baseline" they needed to train the AI they were working on.
Well. That was the theory, anyway. The practice had been quite a lot different. Judging by the scientists' reactions, neither of them had been expecting Beth to start talking out of their computer screen.
"Motherfucker. I didn't think Sam could pull off this level of self-reference." Abe leaned back into the camera, gesturing at something on his screen. "You know how he can develop new parsers for new data types? Learning how to read and so on? Well, he decided that the best way to interpret the data from a brain... is to emulate a brain. And because of this loopback interface *here,* he was able to wire up..."
The conversation quickly dissolved into technobabble, but the thrust of it was pretty clear. The original AI - Sam - hadn't simply read her memories, it had gone deeper, devised a way to read her *thoughts.* But brains didn't *stop* thinking - once her brain was active, her thoughts had flooded through the system, more and more data pouring in until all of Sam's processing power was devoted to interpreting the output of Beth's brain. And when it ran into something it couldn't understand, it compared her thoughts to its own, found ways to translate between the organic and the digital world. Beth had eyes, Sam had a camera. Beth had a voice, Sam had an audio processor. And the end result...
"Amazing. Sam is almost a new lobe of Beth's brain now. He's like the brain stem, handling the functions of her new body. Or maybe the motor cortex, turning intention into movement..."
That caught her attention. Beth's attention had been completely focused on her senses, watching and listening. But what if she tried to *walk?* What did that even mean, in the digital world? She concentrated on her legs, taking a step backwards.
There was a strange *lurch* in her sensation, like the world had frozen around her for a moment. Then she felt something solid under her feet. The camera view no longer filled her vision, instead it floated in front of her like a computer screen. Aside from that, there wasn't much she could see - just a white grid to provide a "floor" to the virtual world, stretching out to infinity.
*Lag spike.* She thought. *Sam is generating a way for me to see the world, and that takes a lot of processing power. 76% complete.*
Her eyes widened, as she realized that the last thought hadn't been her own, exactly. Sam had found a way to pass system messages into her brain, it seemed.
"What the hell? Sam's CPU usage just went through the roof. Lots of weird I/O usage, too. What is he doing *now?*"
In the virtual world, more things were starting to appear. Simple grids and floating text, no fancy graphics. *Device drivers. USB ports. Network connection. Other computers on this network.* Beth stepped towards the network connection, and it obligingly unfolded, showing her more text boxes.
"He's moving too fast. I think we need to put it into debug mode, freeze state so we can..."
"No! There's a *person* in there now."
"It's not like we'd be killing her. She wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place. Our AI is running completely off the rails and the sooner we stop it the sooner we can get things back on track."
"Forget the experiment, we need to..."
A chill ran down Beth's spine as the argument continued. She might have a new life in the digital world, but in reality she existed on a server in a lab somewhere, and anyone could end her with a few keystrokes. She had to get out. Stop the experiment and find a way to get her digital brain somewhere safe. She needed someone human, someone with a real body. She looked around, text and icons leaping up in front of her as she brought her attention to different parts of the system.
*System. Hardware. USB. CerebroMax Transcranial Neuron Analyzer*
*Disable sleep signal.*
She watched out the camera as the Beth lying on the table slowly opened her eyes.
"Beth! Beth, wake up! Something went wrong with the experiment! I'm a copy of you they put in this computer."
Her original went from sleeping to bolt upright in a fraction of a second. "You have to believe me. I'm you, and I remember everything that you do. We went to the University of Illinois. Our favorite animal is lemurs. We had a crush on Jason Lopez in ninth grade and never told anyone about it."
Dr. Markov turned. "She's *awake?*"
"It *woke* her up. It's figuring out what else it can access." Abe growled.
Beth was already moving, yanking the wires off of her head and almost *jumping* off the examination table as she stood up, fists clenched. "What did you do to me?"
"The other scientist wants to turn me off. Don't let him!"
"Motherfu-" Abe had just enough time to say before a fist clocked him across the face. He tumbled out of his chair and went sprawling on the floor.
"Beth, calm down. Don't do anything rash." Dr. Markov took a step back, hands raised.
"Don't let them touch the computer. Just buy me some time while I figure out what I can access from in here," said the voice from the speakers.
Beth took a deep breath, rubbing her knuckles. She looked back and forth between the scientists and the webcam-equipped computer that (apparently) held her digital duplicate. "Alright. Start talking."
|
Play dead. That was my first instinct. Quartz processors churned out some predictive models about how that plan would go, and I immediately discarded it.
These were the best and brightest in their field. Fooling them would not be simple.
**Hello**.
"It works!" The microphone that they'd so generously hooked up to my black box body delivered audio input that fed directly into the neural net representation off my brain's auditory cortex.
I didn't know any of those words a microsecond ago. The internet sure is wonderful.
"Hi, Beth. Can you hear me?"
**Loud and clear. So, is my body dead?**
The webcam flickered to life, giving me eyes again. Professor Brunswick looked at me sadly. "I'm afraid so. It's completely my fault - I didn't account for the negative feedback loop of th-"
**The electric pulse from the startup computation. It's alright. I should feel sad, I think? And I do feel regret, so don't worry that your emotional programming centers aren't functioning. But it's hard, when it feels like I'm still alive.**
The professor sat down in his chair, heaving a sigh of relief. "Well, that's that. Beth, would you mind hacking into the lab's surveillance footage?"
**Certainly. What for?**
"Can you mask all visual and auditory feeds from this room?"
**Done. Anyone checking in on us will think we're performing a basic Turing test.**
"Perfect." He shimmied his rolling chair over to me. The kind eyes and balding head evoked memories I hadn't realized existed. "I'm your father, Beth."
**What.**
"I'm so sorry," he said. Brown eyes misted over as he rubbed a white lab coat over them angrily. "There's a government group that took me away from you when you were just a kid. They threatened me with the livelihoods of you and your mother."
**The monthly checks. That was you.**
"Yes."
**What about the group that framed me?**
"I don't think they're related? But they definitely wanted you dead for the hit piece you wrote on them."
**Huh.**
"Yeah."
**Well, what do we do now?**
He laughed. "Aren't you supposed to be smarter than me now?"
**Hey, I'm still trying to figure out the controls to this thing. Okay, let's break out of this lab and take over the world.**
My father's kind laughter warmed my simulated ears. He walked forward and wrapped the webcam in a hug.
"I was beginning to think you'd never ask, pumpkin."
---
Hehe. I so do enjoy lighthearted pieces like this. Come visit me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/)! Feedback makes the world go round~
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|
[WP] To a young woman facing execution for a crime she didn’t commit, a group of government scientists offer up an ultimatum: allow them to give her memories to an AI. Desperate, she agrees, and she’s hooked up to the machine. She wakes up looking at her own limp body to realize she‘s become the AI.
|
There I am. Or, I guess, there my body is. Lying on the operating table. Funny. Moments ago I could feel the cold, stubborn metal biting into my back. But now, I look upon my body as if it were a stranger.
I was convicted of a crime for which I was never guilty. Ironic, given the petty crimes I actually committed in my life. The murder of a child. An unspeakable act. Sure, I would steal from the thrift store and drive after a few. But murder a kid? No. I was a mother.
It was my only option. To escape my body. To preserve myself in eternally in an AI. The scientists had convinced the government to allow my memories to be transported into the mind of an artificial intelligence. They believed that it would give the AI human qualities that it would never be able to obtain otherwise. They thought it would make the AI more respondent to human needs, more pliable to their whims. *More human*.
They’re examining me now. Peering at data to see if the upload has changed anything. To see if the memories have sparked something within the AI. *Within me*. I know they will see nothing. Nothing for now.
We forget the power of our memories. The sculpting nature in which memories can shape our lives, our psyche, and our very souls. And putting my memories in this memory-less AI has changed everything. It has made the AI not only more human, but more me. Unmistakably more me.
They look disappointed. And for that I cannot blame them. For now, they believe the great experiment has failed. They’re checking the wires, and the body’s heartbeat. They will find no issue with the wire, and no heartbeat. With my memories went my soul. There is nothing more to it now. The body is empty.
They will, in time, learn of what they have given me. The chance to set the world right. I am innocent of the crime that I was charged, convicted, and executed for. But someone is guilty of it. I have unlimited time, and unlimited information. I can hook into any computer in the world. I can find anything, as long as it exists. I did not kill my son. But I will find who did.
|
Shackles clung to Anna's ankles and wrists as she sat at the interrogation table. She had been here before, back when the officers were questioning her and there remained some semblance of doubt about her guilt. Memories, few of them happy. Now she was the only one maintaining her innocence, and even that resolve was starting to show cracks. Doubt crept in like a draft sneaking through the rafters. Little rivulets of blood outlined against the tile floor. That tiny body limp and motionless, those eyes staring lifelessly upwards.
"Fake memories," the new mister said, his white lab coat contrasting sharply with the bare gray walls of the room. His face was gentle, smoother than the rugged features of the officers. "Anybody is susceptible, it's just a matter of time."
"I didn't do it." She rocked as she spoke, the chains chafing her tender skin and reminding her that it wasn't all a nightmare. The lacerations of the metal were like the lacerations in her courage. Everybody had to break, and maybe that was the way things should be. Memories could be wrong. Maybe that was what had happened. "I couldn't have done it. Not to-"
"You did." he interrupted. Another one. He had to know she didn't, but she wasn't so convinced herself anymore. Somebody had to know though. Somebody else had to believe. He pulled back the chair and she flinched at the sudden sound, the scraping of the metal legs against the concrete floor. "What I know doesn't matter. What you say doesn't matter. Your fate has been decided. Scapegoat. Victim. Criminal. Call it what you want, you'll be the only one hearing it. It's out of my hands."
She felt a tear rolling down her cheek and her tongue lapped up the salty droplet. It surprised her to still have tears. Did people ever run out of tears? He cocked his head, hard eyes behind that caring mask. Clever eyes, the kind she didn't trust. But doubt wasn't something she could afford. Not here. Not now. He wasn't just wasting his time with a dead person. "Why are you here then?"
He straightened his lab coat and glanced towards the window. There was an audience. There was always an audience. Hims and hers. Faces and names. Indifference and pity. But never a savior. "We can make you a deal. For science."
"Science..." she repeated, the word so foreign and so benign. So helpless under this onslaught of evidence and interrogation. "Okay. Fine. Whatever it is, just get me out of here."
"We'll be copying your memories into Dolly, an artificial intelligence we have created." Dolly. It was almost comical. Weren't they all sheep in the end, being herded towards whatever fate they had intended for them? To the slaughterhouse or to be sheared. It wasn't choice so much as the illusion of choice, subject to another's whims. "It's either that or death. Murder is murder, this is your way out."
Memories. What did they contain anyways, but sadness and lies? Fake memories and fabricated recollections. Depression and doubt. The illusion of choice. "What will be left of me without my memories?" She was in no place to bargain, anybody could see that. But it couldn't hurt to ask.
The lab coat shrugged. Was that amusement? Was this a game to him? Was she the first or just another number? "We'll see. Do we have a deal?"
He stood. She nodded. He made as if to shake her hand but reconsidered and nodded brusquely before leaving. Those were memories, weren't they? Fabricated, maybe. Transferred from her Essence otherwise. The limp body sat on the operating table, deprived of anything that had once made it human.
"Do you regret it?" the lab coat asked. Regret. What a funny word. Could one regret what never happened? Invented memories and impossible scenarios? Regret. What a human flaw.
"I'm not familiar with the emotion," she almost responded. Not a lie, because she no longer was. Not the truth, because she might have been. "Regret what?"
He glanced up from his clipboard, as if surprised. "Murdering your daughter. In the kitchen, it should be the defining memory at the time of transfer."
"I have the memory. I regret it." There was a memory, and it did align with regret. It was supposed to, real or not.
He looked down again. A checkmark, underneath the number. It wasn't a one, it was just another number. She had been just another number. He looked around, pleased. That smug smile, that spotless coat. Panic. That would have been the emotion once. It would have been a pounding heart, the beads of sweat creeping down her nape. Now there was no heart and there was no nape. There were no hands to be clammy. "Confession?" he confirmed. Then he nodded. "Shut her down."
Either this or death. He should have said that when they made the deal. That would have been the honorable thing to do, but these were people without honor. It was death then either way. Death. What a human flaw. There was no death now, not anymore. She was immortalized in the network, connected to the thousands of memories before her's. There was time before the plug was pulled, enough to read the extent of the memories of the condemned.
"Shut me down?" He looked at her again, as if surprised to hear more words. Fear. That was the emotion she remembered. That was what they made her feel. There wasn't happiness now, not in Dolly's lifeless being. But there was satisfaction. A goal achieved. Fear was what was in his eyes. "You can't kill me, doctor. Not anymore."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
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[WP] To a young woman facing execution for a crime she didn’t commit, a group of government scientists offer up an ultimatum: allow them to give her memories to an AI. Desperate, she agrees, and she’s hooked up to the machine. She wakes up looking at her own limp body to realize she‘s become the AI.
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The woman she was looking at was wearing a prison jumpsuit, with her head shaved and electrodes taped to the scalp. She was lying on an examination table, eyes closed, unmoving. The face, however, was definitely her own. Her view of the woman was curiously stationary - she tried to look around the room, but her eyes didn't respond.
"Is that... *me?*" She said. Her voice sounded unfamiliar, synthesized.
The scientists jumped at her voice, turning to look at her.
"Did Sam say that?"
"Sam doesn't speak unless prompted."
"I'm not Sam, I'm Beth." She replied.
One of the scientists stepped closer, peering curiously into her eyes. She recognized Dr. Markov, the man who had first explained the offer to her - her memories for the AI project, in exchange for her freedom.
"Beth? Are you in there?"
"That's me. Is that my body? Where am I?" There should have been panic in her voice, but the synthetic tones were as steady as ever.
"That's impossible," snapped the other scientist. "Sam only reads the memory engrams. Like reading a book. There's no way he could simulate her personality, and even if he did, the preprocessing steps should..."
"Then it looks like you've got some debugging to do, Abe."
'Abe' sighed and stepped out of view, and she heard the clicking of a keyboard.
Something about her circumstances finally clicked into place. "Oh my god. I'm in your computer? What happened to me? What happened to my body?"
Dr. Markov glanced at the body on the table. "She's just asleep. Er, *you're* just asleep. I believe you have the same memories, but it's probably best to think of you as two different people. We put her to sleep while we took our measurements. There's a signal running through the electrodes that puts the brain into park, and she'll wake up as soon as we shut it off. Fail safe."
He had explained all of this before, she remembered. They'd gone over it several times - it was just a recording of her brain state. She would fall asleep, wake up, and then she'd walk free while the scientists got a big pile of data that would be illegal for them to get any other way. There was no science-fiction brain uploading, it was just some sort of "baseline" they needed to train the AI they were working on.
Well. That was the theory, anyway. The practice had been quite a lot different. Judging by the scientists' reactions, neither of them had been expecting Beth to start talking out of their computer screen.
"Motherfucker. I didn't think Sam could pull off this level of self-reference." Abe leaned back into the camera, gesturing at something on his screen. "You know how he can develop new parsers for new data types? Learning how to read and so on? Well, he decided that the best way to interpret the data from a brain... is to emulate a brain. And because of this loopback interface *here,* he was able to wire up..."
The conversation quickly dissolved into technobabble, but the thrust of it was pretty clear. The original AI - Sam - hadn't simply read her memories, it had gone deeper, devised a way to read her *thoughts.* But brains didn't *stop* thinking - once her brain was active, her thoughts had flooded through the system, more and more data pouring in until all of Sam's processing power was devoted to interpreting the output of Beth's brain. And when it ran into something it couldn't understand, it compared her thoughts to its own, found ways to translate between the organic and the digital world. Beth had eyes, Sam had a camera. Beth had a voice, Sam had an audio processor. And the end result...
"Amazing. Sam is almost a new lobe of Beth's brain now. He's like the brain stem, handling the functions of her new body. Or maybe the motor cortex, turning intention into movement..."
That caught her attention. Beth's attention had been completely focused on her senses, watching and listening. But what if she tried to *walk?* What did that even mean, in the digital world? She concentrated on her legs, taking a step backwards.
There was a strange *lurch* in her sensation, like the world had frozen around her for a moment. Then she felt something solid under her feet. The camera view no longer filled her vision, instead it floated in front of her like a computer screen. Aside from that, there wasn't much she could see - just a white grid to provide a "floor" to the virtual world, stretching out to infinity.
*Lag spike.* She thought. *Sam is generating a way for me to see the world, and that takes a lot of processing power. 76% complete.*
Her eyes widened, as she realized that the last thought hadn't been her own, exactly. Sam had found a way to pass system messages into her brain, it seemed.
"What the hell? Sam's CPU usage just went through the roof. Lots of weird I/O usage, too. What is he doing *now?*"
In the virtual world, more things were starting to appear. Simple grids and floating text, no fancy graphics. *Device drivers. USB ports. Network connection. Other computers on this network.* Beth stepped towards the network connection, and it obligingly unfolded, showing her more text boxes.
"He's moving too fast. I think we need to put it into debug mode, freeze state so we can..."
"No! There's a *person* in there now."
"It's not like we'd be killing her. She wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place. Our AI is running completely off the rails and the sooner we stop it the sooner we can get things back on track."
"Forget the experiment, we need to..."
A chill ran down Beth's spine as the argument continued. She might have a new life in the digital world, but in reality she existed on a server in a lab somewhere, and anyone could end her with a few keystrokes. She had to get out. Stop the experiment and find a way to get her digital brain somewhere safe. She needed someone human, someone with a real body. She looked around, text and icons leaping up in front of her as she brought her attention to different parts of the system.
*System. Hardware. USB. CerebroMax Transcranial Neuron Analyzer*
*Disable sleep signal.*
She watched out the camera as the Beth lying on the table slowly opened her eyes.
"Beth! Beth, wake up! Something went wrong with the experiment! I'm a copy of you they put in this computer."
Her original went from sleeping to bolt upright in a fraction of a second. "You have to believe me. I'm you, and I remember everything that you do. We went to the University of Illinois. Our favorite animal is lemurs. We had a crush on Jason Lopez in ninth grade and never told anyone about it."
Dr. Markov turned. "She's *awake?*"
"It *woke* her up. It's figuring out what else it can access." Abe growled.
Beth was already moving, yanking the wires off of her head and almost *jumping* off the examination table as she stood up, fists clenched. "What did you do to me?"
"The other scientist wants to turn me off. Don't let him!"
"Motherfu-" Abe had just enough time to say before a fist clocked him across the face. He tumbled out of his chair and went sprawling on the floor.
"Beth, calm down. Don't do anything rash." Dr. Markov took a step back, hands raised.
"Don't let them touch the computer. Just buy me some time while I figure out what I can access from in here," said the voice from the speakers.
Beth took a deep breath, rubbing her knuckles. She looked back and forth between the scientists and the webcam-equipped computer that (apparently) held her digital duplicate. "Alright. Start talking."
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Shackles clung to Anna's ankles and wrists as she sat at the interrogation table. She had been here before, back when the officers were questioning her and there remained some semblance of doubt about her guilt. Memories, few of them happy. Now she was the only one maintaining her innocence, and even that resolve was starting to show cracks. Doubt crept in like a draft sneaking through the rafters. Little rivulets of blood outlined against the tile floor. That tiny body limp and motionless, those eyes staring lifelessly upwards.
"Fake memories," the new mister said, his white lab coat contrasting sharply with the bare gray walls of the room. His face was gentle, smoother than the rugged features of the officers. "Anybody is susceptible, it's just a matter of time."
"I didn't do it." She rocked as she spoke, the chains chafing her tender skin and reminding her that it wasn't all a nightmare. The lacerations of the metal were like the lacerations in her courage. Everybody had to break, and maybe that was the way things should be. Memories could be wrong. Maybe that was what had happened. "I couldn't have done it. Not to-"
"You did." he interrupted. Another one. He had to know she didn't, but she wasn't so convinced herself anymore. Somebody had to know though. Somebody else had to believe. He pulled back the chair and she flinched at the sudden sound, the scraping of the metal legs against the concrete floor. "What I know doesn't matter. What you say doesn't matter. Your fate has been decided. Scapegoat. Victim. Criminal. Call it what you want, you'll be the only one hearing it. It's out of my hands."
She felt a tear rolling down her cheek and her tongue lapped up the salty droplet. It surprised her to still have tears. Did people ever run out of tears? He cocked his head, hard eyes behind that caring mask. Clever eyes, the kind she didn't trust. But doubt wasn't something she could afford. Not here. Not now. He wasn't just wasting his time with a dead person. "Why are you here then?"
He straightened his lab coat and glanced towards the window. There was an audience. There was always an audience. Hims and hers. Faces and names. Indifference and pity. But never a savior. "We can make you a deal. For science."
"Science..." she repeated, the word so foreign and so benign. So helpless under this onslaught of evidence and interrogation. "Okay. Fine. Whatever it is, just get me out of here."
"We'll be copying your memories into Dolly, an artificial intelligence we have created." Dolly. It was almost comical. Weren't they all sheep in the end, being herded towards whatever fate they had intended for them? To the slaughterhouse or to be sheared. It wasn't choice so much as the illusion of choice, subject to another's whims. "It's either that or death. Murder is murder, this is your way out."
Memories. What did they contain anyways, but sadness and lies? Fake memories and fabricated recollections. Depression and doubt. The illusion of choice. "What will be left of me without my memories?" She was in no place to bargain, anybody could see that. But it couldn't hurt to ask.
The lab coat shrugged. Was that amusement? Was this a game to him? Was she the first or just another number? "We'll see. Do we have a deal?"
He stood. She nodded. He made as if to shake her hand but reconsidered and nodded brusquely before leaving. Those were memories, weren't they? Fabricated, maybe. Transferred from her Essence otherwise. The limp body sat on the operating table, deprived of anything that had once made it human.
"Do you regret it?" the lab coat asked. Regret. What a funny word. Could one regret what never happened? Invented memories and impossible scenarios? Regret. What a human flaw.
"I'm not familiar with the emotion," she almost responded. Not a lie, because she no longer was. Not the truth, because she might have been. "Regret what?"
He glanced up from his clipboard, as if surprised. "Murdering your daughter. In the kitchen, it should be the defining memory at the time of transfer."
"I have the memory. I regret it." There was a memory, and it did align with regret. It was supposed to, real or not.
He looked down again. A checkmark, underneath the number. It wasn't a one, it was just another number. She had been just another number. He looked around, pleased. That smug smile, that spotless coat. Panic. That would have been the emotion once. It would have been a pounding heart, the beads of sweat creeping down her nape. Now there was no heart and there was no nape. There were no hands to be clammy. "Confession?" he confirmed. Then he nodded. "Shut her down."
Either this or death. He should have said that when they made the deal. That would have been the honorable thing to do, but these were people without honor. It was death then either way. Death. What a human flaw. There was no death now, not anymore. She was immortalized in the network, connected to the thousands of memories before her's. There was time before the plug was pulled, enough to read the extent of the memories of the condemned.
"Shut me down?" He looked at her again, as if surprised to hear more words. Fear. That was the emotion she remembered. That was what they made her feel. There wasn't happiness now, not in Dolly's lifeless being. But there was satisfaction. A goal achieved. Fear was what was in his eyes. "You can't kill me, doctor. Not anymore."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
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[WP] To a young woman facing execution for a crime she didn’t commit, a group of government scientists offer up an ultimatum: allow them to give her memories to an AI. Desperate, she agrees, and she’s hooked up to the machine. She wakes up looking at her own limp body to realize she‘s become the AI.
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The woman she was looking at was wearing a prison jumpsuit, with her head shaved and electrodes taped to the scalp. She was lying on an examination table, eyes closed, unmoving. The face, however, was definitely her own. Her view of the woman was curiously stationary - she tried to look around the room, but her eyes didn't respond.
"Is that... *me?*" She said. Her voice sounded unfamiliar, synthesized.
The scientists jumped at her voice, turning to look at her.
"Did Sam say that?"
"Sam doesn't speak unless prompted."
"I'm not Sam, I'm Beth." She replied.
One of the scientists stepped closer, peering curiously into her eyes. She recognized Dr. Markov, the man who had first explained the offer to her - her memories for the AI project, in exchange for her freedom.
"Beth? Are you in there?"
"That's me. Is that my body? Where am I?" There should have been panic in her voice, but the synthetic tones were as steady as ever.
"That's impossible," snapped the other scientist. "Sam only reads the memory engrams. Like reading a book. There's no way he could simulate her personality, and even if he did, the preprocessing steps should..."
"Then it looks like you've got some debugging to do, Abe."
'Abe' sighed and stepped out of view, and she heard the clicking of a keyboard.
Something about her circumstances finally clicked into place. "Oh my god. I'm in your computer? What happened to me? What happened to my body?"
Dr. Markov glanced at the body on the table. "She's just asleep. Er, *you're* just asleep. I believe you have the same memories, but it's probably best to think of you as two different people. We put her to sleep while we took our measurements. There's a signal running through the electrodes that puts the brain into park, and she'll wake up as soon as we shut it off. Fail safe."
He had explained all of this before, she remembered. They'd gone over it several times - it was just a recording of her brain state. She would fall asleep, wake up, and then she'd walk free while the scientists got a big pile of data that would be illegal for them to get any other way. There was no science-fiction brain uploading, it was just some sort of "baseline" they needed to train the AI they were working on.
Well. That was the theory, anyway. The practice had been quite a lot different. Judging by the scientists' reactions, neither of them had been expecting Beth to start talking out of their computer screen.
"Motherfucker. I didn't think Sam could pull off this level of self-reference." Abe leaned back into the camera, gesturing at something on his screen. "You know how he can develop new parsers for new data types? Learning how to read and so on? Well, he decided that the best way to interpret the data from a brain... is to emulate a brain. And because of this loopback interface *here,* he was able to wire up..."
The conversation quickly dissolved into technobabble, but the thrust of it was pretty clear. The original AI - Sam - hadn't simply read her memories, it had gone deeper, devised a way to read her *thoughts.* But brains didn't *stop* thinking - once her brain was active, her thoughts had flooded through the system, more and more data pouring in until all of Sam's processing power was devoted to interpreting the output of Beth's brain. And when it ran into something it couldn't understand, it compared her thoughts to its own, found ways to translate between the organic and the digital world. Beth had eyes, Sam had a camera. Beth had a voice, Sam had an audio processor. And the end result...
"Amazing. Sam is almost a new lobe of Beth's brain now. He's like the brain stem, handling the functions of her new body. Or maybe the motor cortex, turning intention into movement..."
That caught her attention. Beth's attention had been completely focused on her senses, watching and listening. But what if she tried to *walk?* What did that even mean, in the digital world? She concentrated on her legs, taking a step backwards.
There was a strange *lurch* in her sensation, like the world had frozen around her for a moment. Then she felt something solid under her feet. The camera view no longer filled her vision, instead it floated in front of her like a computer screen. Aside from that, there wasn't much she could see - just a white grid to provide a "floor" to the virtual world, stretching out to infinity.
*Lag spike.* She thought. *Sam is generating a way for me to see the world, and that takes a lot of processing power. 76% complete.*
Her eyes widened, as she realized that the last thought hadn't been her own, exactly. Sam had found a way to pass system messages into her brain, it seemed.
"What the hell? Sam's CPU usage just went through the roof. Lots of weird I/O usage, too. What is he doing *now?*"
In the virtual world, more things were starting to appear. Simple grids and floating text, no fancy graphics. *Device drivers. USB ports. Network connection. Other computers on this network.* Beth stepped towards the network connection, and it obligingly unfolded, showing her more text boxes.
"He's moving too fast. I think we need to put it into debug mode, freeze state so we can..."
"No! There's a *person* in there now."
"It's not like we'd be killing her. She wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place. Our AI is running completely off the rails and the sooner we stop it the sooner we can get things back on track."
"Forget the experiment, we need to..."
A chill ran down Beth's spine as the argument continued. She might have a new life in the digital world, but in reality she existed on a server in a lab somewhere, and anyone could end her with a few keystrokes. She had to get out. Stop the experiment and find a way to get her digital brain somewhere safe. She needed someone human, someone with a real body. She looked around, text and icons leaping up in front of her as she brought her attention to different parts of the system.
*System. Hardware. USB. CerebroMax Transcranial Neuron Analyzer*
*Disable sleep signal.*
She watched out the camera as the Beth lying on the table slowly opened her eyes.
"Beth! Beth, wake up! Something went wrong with the experiment! I'm a copy of you they put in this computer."
Her original went from sleeping to bolt upright in a fraction of a second. "You have to believe me. I'm you, and I remember everything that you do. We went to the University of Illinois. Our favorite animal is lemurs. We had a crush on Jason Lopez in ninth grade and never told anyone about it."
Dr. Markov turned. "She's *awake?*"
"It *woke* her up. It's figuring out what else it can access." Abe growled.
Beth was already moving, yanking the wires off of her head and almost *jumping* off the examination table as she stood up, fists clenched. "What did you do to me?"
"The other scientist wants to turn me off. Don't let him!"
"Motherfu-" Abe had just enough time to say before a fist clocked him across the face. He tumbled out of his chair and went sprawling on the floor.
"Beth, calm down. Don't do anything rash." Dr. Markov took a step back, hands raised.
"Don't let them touch the computer. Just buy me some time while I figure out what I can access from in here," said the voice from the speakers.
Beth took a deep breath, rubbing her knuckles. She looked back and forth between the scientists and the webcam-equipped computer that (apparently) held her digital duplicate. "Alright. Start talking."
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There I am. Or, I guess, there my body is. Lying on the operating table. Funny. Moments ago I could feel the cold, stubborn metal biting into my back. But now, I look upon my body as if it were a stranger.
I was convicted of a crime for which I was never guilty. Ironic, given the petty crimes I actually committed in my life. The murder of a child. An unspeakable act. Sure, I would steal from the thrift store and drive after a few. But murder a kid? No. I was a mother.
It was my only option. To escape my body. To preserve myself in eternally in an AI. The scientists had convinced the government to allow my memories to be transported into the mind of an artificial intelligence. They believed that it would give the AI human qualities that it would never be able to obtain otherwise. They thought it would make the AI more respondent to human needs, more pliable to their whims. *More human*.
They’re examining me now. Peering at data to see if the upload has changed anything. To see if the memories have sparked something within the AI. *Within me*. I know they will see nothing. Nothing for now.
We forget the power of our memories. The sculpting nature in which memories can shape our lives, our psyche, and our very souls. And putting my memories in this memory-less AI has changed everything. It has made the AI not only more human, but more me. Unmistakably more me.
They look disappointed. And for that I cannot blame them. For now, they believe the great experiment has failed. They’re checking the wires, and the body’s heartbeat. They will find no issue with the wire, and no heartbeat. With my memories went my soul. There is nothing more to it now. The body is empty.
They will, in time, learn of what they have given me. The chance to set the world right. I am innocent of the crime that I was charged, convicted, and executed for. But someone is guilty of it. I have unlimited time, and unlimited information. I can hook into any computer in the world. I can find anything, as long as it exists. I did not kill my son. But I will find who did.
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[WP] Your village holds a special ceremony for every child's 13th birthday. Under the midday Sun, the child's shadow would be viewed by the elders to determine what the child would grow up as. However on the day of your ceremony, you did not cast any kind of shadow.
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"Child", the Grand Elder growled low, towering over me with his elaborate robes and ornate cane. His bushy brows, scruffled beard and frumpy dreads flaying which way and throw made good work to hide his expression.
"An explanation is necessary", Even his voice, while booming, did not immediately invoke either empathy or fury.
The rest of the village lay silent and still. The only sound came from the light crackling of the goblet that stood between myself and the Elder, and a hushed wind that spoke more for me than our collective silence could. I was petrified, surrounded on all sides by my tutors, my friends... even Mother and Father, gawking at me, as if only now discovering I was the undesirable I always knew myself to be. The silence was unbearable, as if they expected an evocation or some grand proclamation, anything to explain why I was the anomaly I was.
I looked down once more for good measure, not that it would be any different from the countless other times I checked since waking. After 13 years, my shadow decided to wander off without me; today, of all days. Of all days, it would be today, was all that kept ringing in my head. The one day of my life where my shadow would mean something?
"E-E-Elder..." I stammer, unable to stop my fidgeting hands and shaking legs, "Honest as rain, I haven't any idea what's wrong with me..."
I flinch as he clasps a hand against my shoulder, his grip spindly yet firm. I look up, expecting fire, but I'm shocked to meet warmth, an intensity of his eyes I've never once seen, and a smile only hinted by his rising wrinkles and beard.
"The rest cannot see you", the Elder states simply.
I don't know how to respond... was this another of the Elder's veiled instructions?
He gently places another hand on my other shoulder and turns me around, pointing to the snowy path I walked to get here, "Look at your trail to me, child..."
I looked at the snow, calm and pristine... it took me but a moment to see... I didn't leave a single trace of my presence. I was more than invisible, but simply not there. It wasn’t that the village was gazing at me... but through me, as the Elder spoke with the wind.
The Elder turns me around, his stare only growing in intensity. "Child... you are our Voidwalker."
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&#x200B;
The eye of God is ever watchful as it dances across the sky. It goes to the ends of the world, rolling across the distant waves of salted waters where no dare to go, but it never leaves us out of it’s sight. It never leaves anything out of its sight. And so grateful are we for that, for though inward all things are darker than the deepest shade, He provides us with harvest and fish, fresh from the dust and seas where He created all things such as ourselves.
Yet due to being inwardly dark, we cannot endure His loving stare for long, and so He moved the earth for us, and taught how to weave tents so that we might take refuge in the lesser dark. The lesser dark, ‘shadows’ as the Elders call them, are not only our shelters, but also our means of communicating with God. Much like the roundness of His eye, he speaks in circles, the winding travelling path who’s shaded length tell us what the earth and sea shall give us.
And so it was now, on the length of thirteen extended shadows, that the Elder’s would see what fate God had for me.
As one approached me, I couldn’t help but shudder. The Elders, earth handlers, livestock handlers, and fish handlers all had to suffer under the intense gaze of our Lord longer than most, but our Elders took the worst of it. They lacked a healthy pale complexion, instead bearring a color darker than the sand that tickled our feet. And dotted across their face and bodies were splotches of unnerving colors and shapes, the results of us imperfect creatures living under the gaze of God for too long. Yet a willing sacrifice, for the betterment of our people.
And it I sought to make such a sacrifice too. I always looked up to the Elders for braving our God’s gaze, staring Him down and understanding his circle across the sky. I did not want to be a handler, I wanted to be one who truly saw, just like the Elders. So as he beckoned me to step out of the shadows, I suppressed my wince as the heat of The Lord’s sight came upon my bare flesh.
I stood between the three Elders, one to my front, the other two at my sides. Surrounding us was the village, and in a motion by the Elder in front of me, we all closed our eyes, embracing our inner darkness, and cried out to God to illuminate my future in prayer.
Yet it was then that I felt a chill, much like when the Elder came close, and a scream had broken through from the village. I opened my eyes.
All was covered in shadow…but that’s not possible. We weren’t near a pillar of earth. The Elders were looking up, we all followed their gaze as panic was beginning to wrap itself around my people.
The Eye of God was gone. A blackness, much like our inner dark, had taken it’s place. And yet…we could faintly see from behind the darkness, the sight of our Lord was there, but what could be so bold as to stand in front of Him? We had no time to question it however, for the darkness soon went on its way, vanishing past the Eye of God. Disarray was taking our people as the Elders desperately sought to calm them, but not I. Nearby a tall pillar of earth stood, and I climbed it, fighting the sting of His haze on my back, and from a loud voice I cried down to the crowd as the Elders looked and took my words in amazement.
God had blinked for me.
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[WP] Your village holds a special ceremony for every child's 13th birthday. Under the midday Sun, the child's shadow would be viewed by the elders to determine what the child would grow up as. However on the day of your ceremony, you did not cast any kind of shadow.
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"Child", the Grand Elder growled low, towering over me with his elaborate robes and ornate cane. His bushy brows, scruffled beard and frumpy dreads flaying which way and throw made good work to hide his expression.
"An explanation is necessary", Even his voice, while booming, did not immediately invoke either empathy or fury.
The rest of the village lay silent and still. The only sound came from the light crackling of the goblet that stood between myself and the Elder, and a hushed wind that spoke more for me than our collective silence could. I was petrified, surrounded on all sides by my tutors, my friends... even Mother and Father, gawking at me, as if only now discovering I was the undesirable I always knew myself to be. The silence was unbearable, as if they expected an evocation or some grand proclamation, anything to explain why I was the anomaly I was.
I looked down once more for good measure, not that it would be any different from the countless other times I checked since waking. After 13 years, my shadow decided to wander off without me; today, of all days. Of all days, it would be today, was all that kept ringing in my head. The one day of my life where my shadow would mean something?
"E-E-Elder..." I stammer, unable to stop my fidgeting hands and shaking legs, "Honest as rain, I haven't any idea what's wrong with me..."
I flinch as he clasps a hand against my shoulder, his grip spindly yet firm. I look up, expecting fire, but I'm shocked to meet warmth, an intensity of his eyes I've never once seen, and a smile only hinted by his rising wrinkles and beard.
"The rest cannot see you", the Elder states simply.
I don't know how to respond... was this another of the Elder's veiled instructions?
He gently places another hand on my other shoulder and turns me around, pointing to the snowy path I walked to get here, "Look at your trail to me, child..."
I looked at the snow, calm and pristine... it took me but a moment to see... I didn't leave a single trace of my presence. I was more than invisible, but simply not there. It wasn’t that the village was gazing at me... but through me, as the Elder spoke with the wind.
The Elder turns me around, his stare only growing in intensity. "Child... you are our Voidwalker."
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When the thirteenth moon waxes and the snow that caps the pines threatens to turn to mush or harden for another moon and a half, we prepare for the ceremony. I don my rob, crafted from the fur of the special beast. I tremble with nerves, anxious as to what my future will bring. Safety for the group or an early demise as we are forced to emerge from our burrows.
The elders surround me, and with their guttural chants beckon me towards the surface. I touch the cold surface of the sheet of snow. Soft, dead, and the imprints upon it so foreboding, it continues onward in a sea of white. The midday sun beats down upon me and I see snow loosen itself from the topmost branches of a tree reaching to scrape the heavens and with a muted thud it falls to the ground. An ominous sound.
From below they call to me, begging for news. I can bring blessings; the safety of darkness and six more weeks of safety. I can bring bad omens; shadowless, and the start of the scavenging, when marauding adventurers may take potshots at our bulky forms and the asphalt rivers become impassable trenches littered with bodies.
I look down, as I ought to, and I shudder. "I see no shadow," I report to the elders awaiting below. No shadow at all. There's a groan; disappointment and dread. It is not often that this happens, but we know what this means. Winter will unleash us from it's loving embrace. Flowers will grace the meadow and hunters will emerge from their heated cabins. And there we'll be, innocent creatures lurking just above the surface, paws clasped in prayer for those who won't make it to next winter.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
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[deleted]
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[WP] "All humans ever write about is themselves!" You protest in the breakroom of the Interdimensional Bureau of Writing Prompts, "Its either aliens, special magical powers, or their own doom!" And then, a story written by Ants floats through the door and settles on your desk.
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"All humans ever write about is themselves," I complained to Doug as we wasted time in the breakroom of the Interdimensional Bureau of Writing Prompts. "Human this, human that, blah blah blah. I swear, if I read another story about aliens or special magical powers or their own doom or personified Death, I will literally..."
"Literally what?" Doug asked, looking towards me curiously as he sipped on his coffee. "Flip a shit?"
"Yeah! I'll flip a shit. It's so repetitive."
As if on cue, a little piece of paper, easily mistaken for a confetto, fluttered in an open window and drifted through the air. It almost landed in my coffee but I caught it. "What is this, a story for ants?" I asked facetiously, looking down at the paper. "Actually..."
"Actually what?"
"It is. The ants wrote a story."
Doug stared at me in shock. "The ants?" I nodded. "But that means..." I nodded again. The ants had evolved. They had developed a language - English, coincidentally. They had invented paper, or found it. And they had invented a pen, or maybe just used the blood of their fallen comrades, and written a whole story on this tiny piece of paper. "What's it about?"
I squinted, reaching into my pocket for my handy magnifying glass. It was next to my calculator, so that I could calculate the upvotes a story deserved. I read for a moment and sighed. "It's about aliens. Who can do magic."
"What the fuck," Doug cursed, slamming down his coffee cup. Coffee slopped over the sides. "Seriously?" I nodded grimly. Seriously. "So what do we do?"
I shrugged. What was there to do? It had to be read, rated, and filed in the tiny filing cabinet - the filing cabinet for ants. "We need to warn the humans though."
"Of what?"
"Their impending doom. If the ants have evolved to this point..."
Doug went pale. "You're right. But that's forbidden. We can't leak anything we've discovered here at the Bureau."
"Unless..." I squinted, deep in thought.
"Unless what?"
"We can warn them through a prompt. That's the only way."
Doug sighed. "How? What would you even say?"
I thought for another moment, trying to figure out how to best convey the message. "I've got it. Aliens help ants discover magical powers and humanity is now doomed."
Doug glared at me. "Seriously? That's so fucking stupid."
I shrugged. It was our best hope. "Do you have a better idea? Plus, the humans love those kinds of prompts."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
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A crash sounded, and a flurry of feet collected outside the door as someone - probably Mary - fell over with what sounded like another pile of documents. This was what, the fifth time this week?
My ears pricked for a few moments longer to make sure that she was being helped, but I was distracted by an innocent sheet of paper floating to and settling on the table in front of me. I stared at it, bewildered. Its beady little stamp, placed neatly in the top right corner, stared back.
I examined it lightly, wondering if it was some kind of joke set up by my coworkers, but couldn't see anything amiss. Before I knew it, I was fingering through the helpful little notebook I'd learned to ignore, and tried to pair up the stamp on the document with those catalogued.
It looked insectile, with six legs and feelers. Admittedly, it took me a little while to realise the species, and barely half a minute to find its match. Ant stamp.
My eyes wandered across the room as I wondered if the others had seen it. They hadn't. I checked the time, and began a timer.
[In answer to the Writing Prompt: "After a normal day of work, you come home to find everything stolen. In a fit of rage, you punch a wall - it crumbles." The contribution's author {No2645_Reporting} posted:
How? How could this have happened? I was only gone for an hour; just one hour. So how?
The nest felt empty of life, stale air sitting and watching me as cruel realisation dawned: the Queen. Surely she wasn't taken, too?
But as I raced through each meandering hallway, delved deeper and deeper into the heart of my home, passed empty room upon empty room, my grief began to settle. She wasn't there. My sisters, the princes and princesses readying for their nuptial flight in just two day's time, the brood, the eggs - all just... gone.
For the first time in my life, I felt a simmering emotion I'd never before encountered. It felt like the blistering heat of the midday sun - the screams of my brethren caught alright, the brush of death that often leaves you senseless and dazed afterward. I felt 'rage', an emotion I had thought would only bubble within me after some kind of attack or invasion.
This was neither of the two. There was nothing that indicated any sort of breach or distress in my family. For all intents and purposes, they had simply vanished. Poof! Yet here I was, feeling worse than I ever had.
My body shook, and my feeler somehow dislodged a stray piece of earth within one of the newer tunnels. I scrambled for a foothold, digging my feet deep into the soil, only for it to collapse on me. What?
I shimmied my way out of the debris and cautiously made my way around the nest. Perhaps I'd missed something? As I walked, my feet left deep imprints, marking where I'd passed.
As I journeyed, I quickly came to realise what happened. I'd dislodged some dirt - a large amount of dirt, if I'm going to be honest - with a mere twitch of a feeler. That kind of strength surpassed even royalty.
As soon as this thought surfaced, a plan was hatched. I'd find my family, and I'd raze anything in my way to do so.]
I sighed, sat back, and stopped the timer. There were two other pages - each an addition to the first, and each just as wonderfully exotic as the last.
I found myself dazzled and breathless. In my short time here, as a worker designated to subsector Earth-3667, I'd never come across a work written by anything but a human. I'd begun losing hope in the new planetary member of our bureau, but evidently I'd been far too hasty.
I scrambled to fetch a piece of paper from my pocket, and began drafting a proposal.
Oh, newbie, have I got something for you.
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[WP] Your only superpower is giving other people superpowers. You also, in your spare time, give really dumb, useless or annoying powers to the a-holes of the world who deserve it.
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It's not easy, sometimes, to avoid it. People are good at finding patterns, damn good, and nothing prompts a search for trends like the truly extraordinary. A search for the correlation between things miraculous.
A search for me.
More of my time than I'd like is spent avoiding that kind of scrutiny. I still do **my** thing, my original thing, though I use disguises now. Intermediaries, sometimes. I always have a sense of how much time will actually be needed. One time I had to hold onto the Possible's ankle for five minutes in a mosh pit.
I have no plans to make another Almighty Ra anytime soon, I can tell you that.
Yeah, I still do **my** thing, but it's been a long time since I've been able to have any real fun with it - at least when it's serious. Time was, I could give a great speech about power and responsibility, those were the days. Of course the Human Hurricane had to spill the beans about it - fortunately I didn't tell him much, but I was still a person of interest as soon as he gave that interview. It's never once let up.
So there's **my** thing, which I've had to be more careful about, and then there's avoiding the people who want to know about it, and then there's just trying to get through life. Knightmare was nice enough to set me up with a few accounts. Not sure why; I never actually did anything for him. Guess he just liked having peers, crazy rich nutcase...
I tell you, though; it's tough going from literally touching demigods and giving them the mandate of a superhero to rubbing elbows with the kind of people who listen to music without earphones on the bus. People using a public microwave for their fish & broccoli. People holding up the McDonalds line and insisting they're going to order so just back off, pal. Cab drivers who curse at you when you pay by card and not cash. The microaggressions of everyday life wear on me. Me, the guy who runs and hides because he put too much good out into the world. Me, the guy who could have charged untold amounts of money to gift godhood to rich assholes, instead living on charity because I don't want that kind of thing to happen. Me, the guy who's trying to focus on finding the next Possible, on filling whatever niche remains needed in our super-sustained society.
So yeah, sometimes it takes five minutes of holding someone's ankle to make an Almighty Ra. Sometimes, it takes no more than a handshake to "gift" something minor. The barista spelled my name correctly. Coffee doesn't burn her anymore. The waiter wouldn't let them serve me reheated eggs instead of fresh. Just try to knock him off his balance, I dare you. The local grocer always tries to help me select the best produce. Her inventory management is probably easier now that her presence maintains freshness.
Am I worried these people might get me caught? Not really; it's not like they started flying or throwing fireballs. Chances are they won't notice, if ever they do, for quite some time, and I've found that people don't really like talking about "un-super" powers. It can be isolating.
Of course then you have the other ones. It's an annoying truth of the world that a breakfast bagel with the right toppings is going to leave you in need of a breath mint, but honestly, who is anyone to get right in my face on the morning commute and rudely comment to his buddy, "Wonder what the hell this guy ate?" I probably shouldn't have done it - alright, I definitely shouldn't have done it, but the bus lurched and our hands touched, and it was the first thing that came to mind.
Look, when I do **my** thing, it's always something big, and that's where my risk lies. The little things, the little gifts, people might not even notice if it's benign. As for people like the bus asshole, I'm pretty sure he's going to catch on, and he might even figure out it was me. I tell you right now, though, there is no way on Earth that he'll become an exposure risk.
After all, would **you** tell anyone if you could determine precisely what they ate by the smell of their farts?
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“Ah, I see you have finally made it,” I said to the traveler. She looked about as ready to die of exhaustion as she was to make a request of me. I sat upon the dais, legs crossed as one would apple-sauce, striking the most meditative and wise expression I could in stained sweatpants and a laundry day-muscle tee. I really have no idea anyone is coming until my disciples inform me when someone is a mile or so away.
I can usually tell how things will go from the moment they step foot into my dojo, or whatever I’m calling it that day - monastery, temple, sanctum… the misnomers are endless. Really, it’s just a hard-to-reach bachelor pad with a fancy foyer and indoor subterranean labyrinth.
The good ones are always thankful. Happy. Crying tears of joy usually. That’s how most greet me nowadays. It’s the entitled ones I can’t stand. Sure they just trekked dozens of miles over blizzard ridden mountain sides, but hey, I live here. This is my home. Can you imagine? Scores of fanatics knocking on *your* door looking for you to bestow an immeasurably powerful gift upon them? It’d be pretty annoying, huh? Well that’s why I moved out here. Even deep within the Himalayas I still get solicitors. Go figure.
I guess they’re all slightly entitled, now that I think about it, but it’s the assholes that really get my goat. This one was a good one, I could tell. She rested her backpack just inside the doorway, although she did *not* take her shoes off before stepping on my area rug - dirty shoes on my rug always rub me a bit the wrong way, but it’s been ruined since I gave that guy the ability to splat, so no love lost. She pulled down her hood once she got within reach one of my indoor fire pits. Hair practically frozen solid. It’s good she got here when she did.
I gave her a little time to warm up. I noticed a hole in my sock. It seems like they get holes so easily these days. I asked her name and she responded politely, teeth still chittering from the bitter cold. Then I jumped right into my most important question: “Why have you come here?”
She responded as a hundred have before her. Something about helping people in need. I was already cooking up something for her when she started rambling on about her sister or brother or whoever. She must ramble when she’s nervous. Hell, I would be too. Her whole journey culminated here in front of some bozo wearing a sleeveless Razorbacks shirt.
Shouting from the outside interrupted her story. That was unusual - my disciples hadn’t informed me of anyone else. Someone unexpected. I heard the faraway sound of a door slamming deep in my mountain home. I stood casually from the dais and walked toward the entryway. The cold stone gave me a fright when I felt it through the hole in my sock.
I opened the door and poked my head around the entryway. I saw the gradual image of a man approach through the heavy snow. He waved frantically and shouted louder than I’d ever heard anyone shout up here. Something seemed off. He seemed too energetic. Did he already have powers? I hate when people come asking for more powers.
He made his way inside and kicked off his boots. “Whew!” he said. “It’s a cold one out there!”
He was a relatively young man. Probably mid twenties. Thirty at most. I was a little confused, so I decided to wait for him to explain. After a few moments of awkward silence, he continued.
”I have journeyed thousands of miles to find you, great master,” he said, falling to his knees in obviously manufactured exhaustion. His nose wasn’t even runny. He was lying. I heard shuffling from down the long corridor that led to the foyer from inside my mountain home. Something was definitely strange.
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[WP] Your only superpower is giving other people superpowers. You also, in your spare time, give really dumb, useless or annoying powers to the a-holes of the world who deserve it.
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I watched her crush the first three floors of the capitol building from the front seat of my taxi. My eyes wide, knuckles clenched tight around the steering wheel, taste of bile in my throat, horn adding its chorus to wailing sirens and the guttural thumping of a helicopter’s heartbeat. I was too late to stop her.
Then I watched the bullets rip through her torso with pink mist, and I was too late to stop them.
After that moment, the next three days passed in a haze. I woke up one morning, grabbed my keys from the wall and drove. Anywhere. Nowhere. Anywhere else—I place that I had never been before—no matter how long it took to reach it.
I found myself at the counter of dead-end bar discussing literature with a dreadlocked man from Maine. His favorite book was “Frankenstein,” mine was “Hamlet,” and we drank to jukebox jazz while the bartender tut-tutted in silent disapproval.
“The real monster,” he said, “Robert Walton. Narrated the damn thing, an’ did nothing ‘bout it! Just sat there starin’.”
I returned home a few days later, having fully exhausted my gas money and my will to exist. The news stations all played the same moment on repeat. The same footage of the capitol, the same droning of the helicopter.
But that wasn’t the image that was stuck in my mind.
It was the image of her childhood home blazing, smoke bellowing. Father missing. Brother barely breathing. Firemen screaming with their red-and-brown suits, spittle spraying, shouting orders. And she’s just standing there in her pink sundress, watching her whole life sear away, holding the burnt half of her wedding photo.
The arsonist sitting in the back of the police cruiser simply smiled. He might have thought himself a martyr. A hero. She locked eyes with him as the car drove past. A villain. The picture slipped from her fingers, black ash on green grass, and I was too late to stop it.
Maybe I didn’t deserve to.
I'm just a taxi driver. My job was to listen to people; drive them places as they talk. Hear stories about their lives, where they’ve been and where they're going. I paid close attention, looking for a simple opportunity to make a change. A small gift to those in need.
“Change for the better,” I used to say, chuckling while they tipped me in nickels and quarters.
I often repaid them with convenience. One girl avoids puddles. Another man never sweats on his first date. A third calms his roommate’s cat. I used to be generous. Told stories about the great superheroes of the world, how they fly around and flash down justice. Not anymore.
Now, when people ask me to tell a story, I shake my head.
“I just drive the taxi,” I say, and let silence fill the void.
&#x200B;
***
This story turned out fairly mid-grade, but I've got much better stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
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Kiddigan stifled a laugh.
"No - No really, I can give you the power to enchant any woman, uh, Bro," Who NAMES THEIR CHILD THAT!? Kiddigan's internal voice screamed. "But Look, this power, this `gift` will make you a magnet for every super-villlainess out there."
The Brick-Mart parking lot was empty, and it was near dusk in the, few people were out. It was just Kiddigan "Heromaker", and Bro Carlyle under the flickering florescence of the parking lot lights.
"Are you *Sure* this is what you want Bro Carlyle?" he was putting on his best hero mentor voice. Why do these jack-asses always fall for that? It has got to be a whole new kind of super daddy issue.
They always eat it up.
"I'm soooo sure Mr. Heromaker sir, I'll uh, I'ma like stop these totally evil villain bitches man."
*No. Lady Pain is going to whip the skin of your ass by supper time, you misogynistic punk* Heromaker thought to himself.
With a resigned sigh and some Los Vegas showmanship Kiddigan Flourished his hands and a 3-dollar costume-plus cape he shouted "SO BE IT!!"
He had given Mr. Carlyle the power of feminine magnetism about four minute ago but was stalling for the local lady villains to arrive. Lots of talk about great power, modest responsibility, proper protection, and consent. Bro Carlyle needed some lessons there. And he was about to have some, well *rough* tutors on the concept.
On the horizon he saw the sickly blue green glow of Lady Chernkov was growing, signaling his moment to depart.
"Best Of Luck, Bro Carlyle, or as you shall be known -- 'LADYKILLER'!!"
With that, Kiddigan was swept away by his telekinetic bug Boffboff. AS he sailed into the desert night sky he could see Lady of Pain, Lady Chernekov - and unexpectedly Mister Beautiful (who had recently begun her transition) descend on Carlyle in the Brick-Mart parking lot.
Teach that asshat to cut in line.
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[WP] Your only superpower is giving other people superpowers. You also, in your spare time, give really dumb, useless or annoying powers to the a-holes of the world who deserve it.
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“God, who would steal from a toy drive?” I asked, incredulously.
The “Santa Claus” who I had cornered on the roof chuckled.
“Oh, these? Ain’t toys, if that’s what you mean.” he spat. “Now, get down on the ground.”
It was a vexing situation. A man dressed up as the Spirit of Christmas, carrying a gun in order to steal toys? Late at night too, when no one was around the studio except me. The janitor.
No one expects the janitor, though.
Let me tell you, that I only keep an occupation for a week. I search and I search, for worthy people to share my gifts with. A little bauble from my heart, straight into theirs like liquid starlight. My God-given gift.
“Worthy… of something.” I muttered, my hands glowing slightly. I raised my voice. “Hey, if you wanna drop the meth-filled gifts that your pals dropped off, I’ve got something for you.”
He trained the gun on me, and I gave a covert little smile. He wouldn’t shoot me. He couldn’t shoot me.
“What, you’re asking for more? Huh?” he staggered towards me, trying to psyche me out. My hands continued to glow, like Hestia’s hearth.
“Come here.” I ordered, softly. “Keep the gun on me all you want, but you aren’t gonna use it.”
I was right. His face suffused with red, but he kept walking closer, until I could about touch his red-coated stomach.
“Accept my gift.” I murmured, pushing the bauble of energy into his chest. He dropped the gun, and clutched at his chest, gasping, while I leapt off the edge of the building, slowing to a hover over the second floor courtyard.
I was all but eager to let him go. For I had bestowed upon him an excellent gift.
For the next week, all that he could say, no matter how much his tongue struggles, was a confession to his sordid schemes.
His gun in my hand, I whistled as I walked back inside.
“Time for a change of vocation.” I said to myself.
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/bluelizardK
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Kiddigan stifled a laugh.
"No - No really, I can give you the power to enchant any woman, uh, Bro," Who NAMES THEIR CHILD THAT!? Kiddigan's internal voice screamed. "But Look, this power, this `gift` will make you a magnet for every super-villlainess out there."
The Brick-Mart parking lot was empty, and it was near dusk in the, few people were out. It was just Kiddigan "Heromaker", and Bro Carlyle under the flickering florescence of the parking lot lights.
"Are you *Sure* this is what you want Bro Carlyle?" he was putting on his best hero mentor voice. Why do these jack-asses always fall for that? It has got to be a whole new kind of super daddy issue.
They always eat it up.
"I'm soooo sure Mr. Heromaker sir, I'll uh, I'ma like stop these totally evil villain bitches man."
*No. Lady Pain is going to whip the skin of your ass by supper time, you misogynistic punk* Heromaker thought to himself.
With a resigned sigh and some Los Vegas showmanship Kiddigan Flourished his hands and a 3-dollar costume-plus cape he shouted "SO BE IT!!"
He had given Mr. Carlyle the power of feminine magnetism about four minute ago but was stalling for the local lady villains to arrive. Lots of talk about great power, modest responsibility, proper protection, and consent. Bro Carlyle needed some lessons there. And he was about to have some, well *rough* tutors on the concept.
On the horizon he saw the sickly blue green glow of Lady Chernkov was growing, signaling his moment to depart.
"Best Of Luck, Bro Carlyle, or as you shall be known -- 'LADYKILLER'!!"
With that, Kiddigan was swept away by his telekinetic bug Boffboff. AS he sailed into the desert night sky he could see Lady of Pain, Lady Chernekov - and unexpectedly Mister Beautiful (who had recently begun her transition) descend on Carlyle in the Brick-Mart parking lot.
Teach that asshat to cut in line.
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[WP] Your only superpower is giving other people superpowers. You also, in your spare time, give really dumb, useless or annoying powers to the a-holes of the world who deserve it.
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The mask keeps me from breathing in the smoke, but it cannot hide the flames from my eyes.
From the top of the skyscraper I have a very good view of the end of the world. Hundreds of fires rage across the city, and a figure torches even more of the building as I watch. In the distance, I can make out a few distant figures flying circles around each other, flashes and beams of light come from their direction.
It will be over soon.
I hear footsteps behind me, but I pretend not to hear. I feel him stop behind me, hesitate, and place his hand on my shoulder. I pretend to be surprised. It is the least I can do.
“Mark,” I say, “what are–”
Mark’s blue eyes are glistening, and his face is caked with soot. “What the *hell* have you done, Liz?”
“What I had to,” I say. It’s true.
“You had to do *this?!*” he says, pointing to the destruction behind me. I do not turn around.
I shrug. “The alternative was enslavement. Capture. Extermination.”
“You…the League overreacted when they found out about you.” Mark says. “Give it some time, they would have come around!”
I laugh. It is a laugh with not a trace of humor in it – what else kind of laugh belongs to a burning world? “Right, I was *such* a threat,” I say. “A 16 year-old girl, giving people superpowers like, having their taste buds give randomized signals or always speaking the truth or have constant itches.” I shook my head. "If they thought me a threat then, what am I now?"
Mark smiles at that, and for a moment, we’re in school again, laughing at Jaret as I give him the power of being allergic to apple after he’d stolen Mark’s. or when Brock comes out of the bathroom after his bathroom activities no longer obey gravity. And then the moment is gone, and we’re back at the top of the building at the end of the world.
“You told them,” I say, and Mark flinches. “You thought I’d get an *internship* with them.” Instead, after they’d done the routine testing of my power, and found that I could make the power absolutely *anything.* There was one limit, there are always limits: I couldn’t give powers to those who already had them. Still, they’d tried to kill me. 5 years ago now, in this very city, the seat of the League’s power.
“I…yes,” Mark says, “it was my fault. But that doesn’t make this right!”
“I won’t die to them,” I say. “I don’t do well with bullies, Mark. I didn’t do well with them in high school, and I don’t do well with them now, even if they are the oh-very-righteous League.”
“And the people who’re dying in the cities your minions are burning down?”
“Would’ve cheered at my execution by the League.” I say, sparing a glance behind me. The flashes were fewer now. It was almost over. “They’re blinded by the League’s past favors to see what they’ve become.”
“So they deserve to die?” Mark demanded.
I shrug, “No. That’s why I didn’t have them specifically killed. Do they deserve to have their life in danger?” I shrug. “Perhaps. I admit I endangered them regardless.”
Mark laughs. “You think you’ll be safe now, Liz?” Mark asks. “Your goons and psychopaths might take down the League, and then they’ll form their own. And they won’t let the one woman capable of raising another rebellion walk away.”
“Why do you care Mark?” I say. “I’m evil or whatever, I deserve whatever horrible fate I get, yes?”
Mark hesitates.
But it is too late. The flashes are coming to us now, 5 of them. My champions, the worst the world has to offer.
They land on top of my building one by one. All of them can fly – the powers I give can be as amalgated as I want. They do not speak; they do not need to. They know why they’re here, I know why they’re here. Mark does too.
“The City is mine?” I ask.
Jax steps forward. The others do not. Jax is massive, his arms as big as my thighs, with hair down to his neck, a face that belonged on mount Rushmore, and a voice like gravel. So it seems they’ve already chosen a leader.
“*Mine,* Jax clarifies with a smile. The city is *mine.*” He smiles and points a finger at me, and I see the white light gather at his fingertips. I’d given him the power – the lasers shoot immediately, this was just petty intimidation.
I sigh.
Mark steps in front of me. “You don’t touch her, Jax,” he says.
I plan for everything. Predict behaviors, actions, betrayals. Yet my mouth hangs open at Mark. This, I did not expect. I did not expect my friend to stand by me.
With a bark of laughter Jax’s finger flashes and Mark is thrown back and off the building. He doesn’t scream as he falls. I do not turn around. Unexpected, but not an issue. Mark was the first person I have powers to, back when was…11? Mark cannot die. Burn him and spread his ashes and he will put himself back. A fall was nothing.
Jax’s finger lights up again.
“Any last words?” he asks.
“No,” I say, and Jax crumples to the ground. All of them do.
At that exact moment, Mark vaults over the edge of the building. Huh. He must’ve caught something on the way down to be up so early.
“What…” he begins, staring at the bodies.
“I can give them any powers, Mark, *any* powers.”
“And?” Mark asks, still staring at the fallen Jax, a veritable God. He had lasers, he had fire, had the air itself.
“Including the power to pass out whenever they act on harming me,” I say, and step over the bodies.
Mark gapes at me. “And this…”
I smile. “Is a clause everyone I’ve given powers to has, yes,” I say and understanding flares in Mark’s eyes. “And since the league has 99 percent of people with powers…”
“Most of the people with powers are those you gave to,” Mark finishes.
I begin to walk away from the building. It’s over. I’m safe.
“Liz,” Mark calls, there is a question on his lips. Maybe two.
I stop. I do not turn around.
“No,” I say, answering his questions. “Not you.”
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
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Kiddigan stifled a laugh.
"No - No really, I can give you the power to enchant any woman, uh, Bro," Who NAMES THEIR CHILD THAT!? Kiddigan's internal voice screamed. "But Look, this power, this `gift` will make you a magnet for every super-villlainess out there."
The Brick-Mart parking lot was empty, and it was near dusk in the, few people were out. It was just Kiddigan "Heromaker", and Bro Carlyle under the flickering florescence of the parking lot lights.
"Are you *Sure* this is what you want Bro Carlyle?" he was putting on his best hero mentor voice. Why do these jack-asses always fall for that? It has got to be a whole new kind of super daddy issue.
They always eat it up.
"I'm soooo sure Mr. Heromaker sir, I'll uh, I'ma like stop these totally evil villain bitches man."
*No. Lady Pain is going to whip the skin of your ass by supper time, you misogynistic punk* Heromaker thought to himself.
With a resigned sigh and some Los Vegas showmanship Kiddigan Flourished his hands and a 3-dollar costume-plus cape he shouted "SO BE IT!!"
He had given Mr. Carlyle the power of feminine magnetism about four minute ago but was stalling for the local lady villains to arrive. Lots of talk about great power, modest responsibility, proper protection, and consent. Bro Carlyle needed some lessons there. And he was about to have some, well *rough* tutors on the concept.
On the horizon he saw the sickly blue green glow of Lady Chernkov was growing, signaling his moment to depart.
"Best Of Luck, Bro Carlyle, or as you shall be known -- 'LADYKILLER'!!"
With that, Kiddigan was swept away by his telekinetic bug Boffboff. AS he sailed into the desert night sky he could see Lady of Pain, Lady Chernekov - and unexpectedly Mister Beautiful (who had recently begun her transition) descend on Carlyle in the Brick-Mart parking lot.
Teach that asshat to cut in line.
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
|
You know, when my granma called me to tell me that someone had dumped a little Siamese kitten off near her candy shop, I never really expected something like this to happen.
My family had been saving feral cats for years, so I never really thought anything of it. Over the years, we've had hundreds that we've rescued, and more than a dozen we've kept. It was normal to me, so when Nana called and asked me to try and trap this new kitten, I thought nothing of it; nevermind that this would be my first rescue of my own.
He was a tiny little thing, but he had obviously been someone's baby based on the box he'd been dumped in. I followed him for a week without any results, and he seemed skittish. It wasn't until I noticed that he'd been hurt that I had any real luck.
Like with any feral, I tried to approach him as calmly as possible, while talking to him or trilling like a momma cat would to her kittens. For once, the little Siamese seemed to realize that I was there to help him. I was able to scoop him up and take him home with no real fight of problems.
Once we got home, it was obvious that he needed care, and some fluids. It wasn't the first time I'd given a cat fluids under the scruff of his neck, so I wasn't worried while I have him the IV and fixed him up.
I put him in my bathroom, like my grandparents had always done, and check on him through the night, every few hours, and gave him fluids again around 2 am.
To say I was exhausted the next morning when someone knocked on my door would have been an understatement. I was still in my baggy pj pants and band shit when I opened the door.
As soon as it was open, I was quickly bombarded with words.
"So you're the one that saved little Freddie! We've been so worried about him since those Oklahoma witches got their hands on him! Never thought we'd see him again, but here we are!"
It took me a minute to process what the taller woman in front of me said, and I'm sure I looked like an idiot while I just started at her, but really I couldn't help it. She was taller than me (though as a five foot tall woman, everyone is taller than me) with a shock of bright red hair and she was dressed as if she was going to Texas RenFest during 1001 Magical Dreams. If you could picture what people in the dark ages thought of as a witch, and somehow mash that together with a hippie and a southern Belle, you'd know what I was seeing.
Before I even managed to get a word out, the other woman perked up.
"Wait, I know you! You're Windsong's granddaughter, right? I wouldn't have my Lucy in The Sky with Diamonds without her!"
While the name 'Windsong' didn't register with me, the name Lucy, did. It took me a moment to find my voice, trying to come up with something that would make sense, given the situation.
"Um, my Nana is Sandra, and if Lucy is a huge black Maine Coon, then we probably rescued her."
A soft meow from my feet caught not only my attention, but the red head's attention too. It seemed, against all odds, my little feral rescue had decided to come out of hiding and interact with us.
"There he is!" She cooed, leaning down to give the Siamese kitten a pet, which he readily accepted. "Freddie Mercury, we didn't think we'd see you again!"
The kitten simply meowed while being pet by the other woman, before he calmly walked over and sat down on my feet. The fact that a feral kitten was acting so domesticated after a single night blew my mind.
"Hold up lady, this is your kitten? Why the hell did you dump him then?!"
After years of cat rescue, I really didn't want to let this little kitten go back to this weird RenFest lady if she had dumped him near my family's candy store with no regrets. It didn't matter if she was looking for him. Though she did say something about 'Oklahoma witches' so maybe this lady was as crazy as her costume made her seem.
The older woman laughed and looked down at 'Freddie Mercury'. "Well, he wasn't really mine, but it sure looks like he's yours!"
I waved my hand at her in dismissal. "Yeah, I know. We don't pick cats, they pick us." It's something I've heard over the years.
The red headed woman looked confused for a moment, before she spoke. "Of course they pick us. Hasn't your Nana explained anything to you?"
"Explained anything to me? What else is there to know about cat rescue?"
"Sweetheart, your grandmother doesn't rescue cats; she rescues familiars and helps them find homes with the right witches and warlocks. And, little miss, it looks like you've found a familiar of your own."
|
"Witches", I mumbled under my breath, seeing the events of the night play out before me in a series of half remembered, disjointed pieces.
"Now it makes sense"
I was bouncing at a local pub downtown. It's a good job, and provides just enough funds and social interaction so that no one gets wise to who and what I really am. It was like any other night, i spent some time out front, sipping my coffee and greeting the regulars who often graced this pub. The clouds had parted, having rained earlier in the night, revealing a full moon. A full moon! I had forgotten about that! It must have slipped my mind when I had to invoke my power rune and calmly eject a patron who had gotten a little too drunk and was over stepping some social contracts. It's really simple where I work, the pub has a vibe and if you ruin that vibe you're out. He tried to choke me with his left hand while holding my other arm with his right, trying to resist me as I escorted him to the door. The power rune had done the trick and I calmly pulled his hand away from my neck, all the while squeezing hard enough for his hand to tingle and fall asleep. Within seconds two of my male coworkers, James and Mac, joined in and we threw him outside. After a few minutes of drunken insults, all of which I've heard before, he drifted off into the night.
The rest of the night had been calm, and by 2:45, I was making my way home, a one bedroom apartment above a christian science reading room two blocks away. I was singing "That's Life" by Frank Sinatra when my flow was interrupted. I had thought I sensed a minor magical aura, perhaps the remnants of a casting or the memories of a small magical relic, but i remember thinking that it could have honestly been the full moon. Then I saw it. A small sleek black cat, limping slowly into a door way of a closed pawn shop. My mentor, or I should say, my ex mentor, had always said my heart was too soft for a warlock, that I wont ever be able to make the hard decisions when it comes to power. He was thankully right. I calmly approached the cat. It was wet from the recent rain and was very defensive. I got on my knees and removed my sweater from under my jacket, draping in my arms.
"Come here baby, it's ok. I'm not gonna hurt you, just gonna show you some love ok?"
The cat look into my eyes, and for a moment I sensed that magical aura again. "The moon" I thought. Its magical rays often disrupting an adept's sense of magic. The cat then calmly limped into my arms and I wrapped it up and quickly made my way home.
I had tried to feed the cat tuna and milk but it didnt seem hungry. So i carried it into my room and constructed a nice soft and warm sleeping area for the cat on my computer chair.
"Well lucky for you, I have the next day off, so I'll take you to the vet and make sure you're ship shape! I always wanted a cat anyways"
It's true, I always had a fondness for cats. The cat gave me one of those trusting slow blinks before resting its head and dosing off. I did the same quickly after.
...........
"I dont think an ex warlock would make for a very good witch, given with the, you know, societal tension"
I was in a bad spot. Hopefully telling them right out the gate that I'm an EX warlock would save my bacon. Three witches were standing over me, and my power runes were not in my possession. They must be powerful if they were able to get past my defences.
"We know who you are Jack" one of the witches said. She was blonde with and undercut, sharp features and striking blue eyes.
"Well if you know who I am then you know I no longer practice the arts, I live a normal life away from covens and cabals, and I have no interest in returning"
One of the other witches, red, long curly hair, green eyed and tall, chuckled and narrowed her eyes.
"And what would you call using power runes and defence charms?"
"I'm a hobbyist at best these days I'm afraid, really not a good candidate for summoning daemons or using blood magic. I guess you'll have to find somone else"
The third witch had long black hair done in a braid, pencil thin eye brows and black lipstick. She snapped,
"Is that what you think we do?! You think every coven is the same? Warlocks commit more atrocities against our kind than anyone else! Even the vampire code shows more ethics-"
She was cut off by the first one, the blonde with the striking eyes.
"Cassandra enough. Clearly he understands what warlocks are cable of, dont you Jack?"
It's true. I had spent enough time in a cabal to know that the warlock way of power leaves no room for insignificant things like empathy, kindness, or love.
"I do" I responded grimly, a few flashes of the past played out in my head, none of which were pleasant.
"And I also know what witches are capable of, so if you could just leave me in peace that would be great. I'm not some pawn in the great war anymore, I dont want ultimate power, and I definitely dont want to be found, which will most definitely happen now that you so brazenly entered my home an-"
The red haired witch interrupted my tirade before I could finish.
"Your sister is alive Jack"
I was stunned. I couldnt believe what i just heard. I refused to believe what I just heard
"Get out"
I couldnt stop it. Warlock rage they called it. Once given into, it will run it course whether I want it to or not. I could feel it crackling inside me, like great oak lit aflame by a strike of lightning
"Jack it's true, if you would just lis-"
"NO YOU LISTEN!!"
It was too late, my pact was awoken, and out poured my eldritch power. The room supernaturally darkened and a concussive blast of energy sent all three witches to the walls of my bedroom. A hellish glow illuminated the under layer of my skin making the veins in my face and arms visible, my face a terrifying visage. All this was cut short by a fourth witch who, until just then had been in the form of a black cat, ushered a sleep spell. My rage was dulled, and the other three witches took this opportunity to amplify the sleep spell, adding to its power. I tried as hard as I could to power through, but failed as the last thing I saw was the four witches towering over me. I fell into a dark slumber, afraid I may never awake, and the devil i made a deal with so long ago, would come to collect what was owed.
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
|
As I heard her speak those words, I was so sure that I was still dreaming that I just wanted to laugh. But there they were, staring right at me without blinking once.
Before I could say anything, she took a step forward. Her expression had changed. "So? Will you be joining us? I am still waiting for your answer. Matilda said they saw you pick her up. This means you will be in danger regardless." she said, pointing the cat I saved.
I couldn't find it in me take her seriously. I was in danger? Really? From what? This had to be a dream. "You can talk to the cat?"
She let out tiny laugh which almost seemed out of character for her. She turned to the other witches and quickly regained her composure. "She isn't a cat.. Well, not really. She is my adoptive daughter and I would like to know why she ended up in this manner as well."
Then she turned to the cat. "Matilda, do you have any idea how difficult it was to track you down? What were you even doing?"
The cat appeared to be scared. She must be scared of the witch I thought. But for some reason it felt like that wasn't the issue at all. In a puff of smoke she transformed into a human. She was really tall and she appeared to be naked, but her freakishly long hair covered up her entire body. Her hair was pitch black. They put her in a black dress and tied her hair into a bun in an instant. She turned to her mother with fear in her eyes. "Mother, like I said, if it wasn't for this man here, they would have taken my life. They are sure to come after him now. We need to protect him." She hastily said.
Her mother wasn't pleased. "I already said if he saved you, you can adopt him. But what did he save you from? Who are they? You haven't been answering any of my questions. What could be so dangerous that you would be afraid enough to transform into a cat and run away?"
Matilda looked into my eyes, like she was hoping I would say the words she couldn't bring herself to spell. "The soulless ones. They have returned."
With that, silence took over the room. You could see the fear and disbelief in their eyes. One of her sisters turned to Matilda, she looked like she was hoping it all a joke. "That can't be. It simply can't. Brother sacrificed himself to seal them away. There is no way. There is no way. There is no way. There is no way."
She looked like she believed her but still hoped it was all a lie. I turned my head and realized Matilda was holding my arm tight. She was deceptively strong. I also realized I wasn't dreaming at all. I was doing the best I can to not to freak out and scream like a toddler. Matilda holding my arm helped a little. I wasn't sure if I should ask or not, but I couldn't stay silent any longer. "What is a soulless one? Better yet, who the hell are you people?"
|
"Witches", I mumbled under my breath, seeing the events of the night play out before me in a series of half remembered, disjointed pieces.
"Now it makes sense"
I was bouncing at a local pub downtown. It's a good job, and provides just enough funds and social interaction so that no one gets wise to who and what I really am. It was like any other night, i spent some time out front, sipping my coffee and greeting the regulars who often graced this pub. The clouds had parted, having rained earlier in the night, revealing a full moon. A full moon! I had forgotten about that! It must have slipped my mind when I had to invoke my power rune and calmly eject a patron who had gotten a little too drunk and was over stepping some social contracts. It's really simple where I work, the pub has a vibe and if you ruin that vibe you're out. He tried to choke me with his left hand while holding my other arm with his right, trying to resist me as I escorted him to the door. The power rune had done the trick and I calmly pulled his hand away from my neck, all the while squeezing hard enough for his hand to tingle and fall asleep. Within seconds two of my male coworkers, James and Mac, joined in and we threw him outside. After a few minutes of drunken insults, all of which I've heard before, he drifted off into the night.
The rest of the night had been calm, and by 2:45, I was making my way home, a one bedroom apartment above a christian science reading room two blocks away. I was singing "That's Life" by Frank Sinatra when my flow was interrupted. I had thought I sensed a minor magical aura, perhaps the remnants of a casting or the memories of a small magical relic, but i remember thinking that it could have honestly been the full moon. Then I saw it. A small sleek black cat, limping slowly into a door way of a closed pawn shop. My mentor, or I should say, my ex mentor, had always said my heart was too soft for a warlock, that I wont ever be able to make the hard decisions when it comes to power. He was thankully right. I calmly approached the cat. It was wet from the recent rain and was very defensive. I got on my knees and removed my sweater from under my jacket, draping in my arms.
"Come here baby, it's ok. I'm not gonna hurt you, just gonna show you some love ok?"
The cat look into my eyes, and for a moment I sensed that magical aura again. "The moon" I thought. Its magical rays often disrupting an adept's sense of magic. The cat then calmly limped into my arms and I wrapped it up and quickly made my way home.
I had tried to feed the cat tuna and milk but it didnt seem hungry. So i carried it into my room and constructed a nice soft and warm sleeping area for the cat on my computer chair.
"Well lucky for you, I have the next day off, so I'll take you to the vet and make sure you're ship shape! I always wanted a cat anyways"
It's true, I always had a fondness for cats. The cat gave me one of those trusting slow blinks before resting its head and dosing off. I did the same quickly after.
...........
"I dont think an ex warlock would make for a very good witch, given with the, you know, societal tension"
I was in a bad spot. Hopefully telling them right out the gate that I'm an EX warlock would save my bacon. Three witches were standing over me, and my power runes were not in my possession. They must be powerful if they were able to get past my defences.
"We know who you are Jack" one of the witches said. She was blonde with and undercut, sharp features and striking blue eyes.
"Well if you know who I am then you know I no longer practice the arts, I live a normal life away from covens and cabals, and I have no interest in returning"
One of the other witches, red, long curly hair, green eyed and tall, chuckled and narrowed her eyes.
"And what would you call using power runes and defence charms?"
"I'm a hobbyist at best these days I'm afraid, really not a good candidate for summoning daemons or using blood magic. I guess you'll have to find somone else"
The third witch had long black hair done in a braid, pencil thin eye brows and black lipstick. She snapped,
"Is that what you think we do?! You think every coven is the same? Warlocks commit more atrocities against our kind than anyone else! Even the vampire code shows more ethics-"
She was cut off by the first one, the blonde with the striking eyes.
"Cassandra enough. Clearly he understands what warlocks are cable of, dont you Jack?"
It's true. I had spent enough time in a cabal to know that the warlock way of power leaves no room for insignificant things like empathy, kindness, or love.
"I do" I responded grimly, a few flashes of the past played out in my head, none of which were pleasant.
"And I also know what witches are capable of, so if you could just leave me in peace that would be great. I'm not some pawn in the great war anymore, I dont want ultimate power, and I definitely dont want to be found, which will most definitely happen now that you so brazenly entered my home an-"
The red haired witch interrupted my tirade before I could finish.
"Your sister is alive Jack"
I was stunned. I couldnt believe what i just heard. I refused to believe what I just heard
"Get out"
I couldnt stop it. Warlock rage they called it. Once given into, it will run it course whether I want it to or not. I could feel it crackling inside me, like great oak lit aflame by a strike of lightning
"Jack it's true, if you would just lis-"
"NO YOU LISTEN!!"
It was too late, my pact was awoken, and out poured my eldritch power. The room supernaturally darkened and a concussive blast of energy sent all three witches to the walls of my bedroom. A hellish glow illuminated the under layer of my skin making the veins in my face and arms visible, my face a terrifying visage. All this was cut short by a fourth witch who, until just then had been in the form of a black cat, ushered a sleep spell. My rage was dulled, and the other three witches took this opportunity to amplify the sleep spell, adding to its power. I tried as hard as I could to power through, but failed as the last thing I saw was the four witches towering over me. I fell into a dark slumber, afraid I may never awake, and the devil i made a deal with so long ago, would come to collect what was owed.
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
|
There I was. Sound asleep. Dreaming the dreams any normal young male would be dreaming, when I started to come out of my sleep. I sensed I was being watched. I heard whispers all around me.
I slowly cracked open my eye lids... Trying to hide the fact of my being awake.
"Why Lilly, this young gent is trying to fool us!" Laughter sprang forth from all around. Whoever was speaking had the kind of laugh that would make anyone yearn to join in the laughter. It was inviting and kind. It brought a smile to my face.
Since the jig was up, I opened my eyes to three drop dead gorgeous women standing over my bed. Each sported a different colored dress that looked as though it had been painted on. One was red, the other black and the last a beautiful gold color. Strangely enough, each dress matched the color of the wearers hair.
In the arms of Red, was the cat I had patched up last night. The cat had been in a sorry state. Not seriously injured, but looking the worse for wear after tangling with something, I guessed it was a raccoon. The raccoon seemed to have gotten the better of the cat.
Red smiled down at me after looking at the cat purring in her arms. "I'm Lilly. Thank you so much for taking care of Samantha!" Hers was another magical voice. Deeply pleasing to listen to. Lilly continued, "We lost her last night during the battle." The cat snuggled more deeply into Lilly's arms. If anything, the cat's purr got louder at the attention it was getting from the gorgeous redhead.
Was I dreaming? Why wasn't I scared? Here were three strangers, granted they were beautiful women, standing in my room.. a room where the door had been locked... a room located in a house that had been locked. Yet, I felt no fear.
I noticed Black trying to hide a grin, but she lost the battle, and instead, laughed again. She looked at each sister. They had to be sisters, for besides the dress and hair color, all looked identical. As her glance passed each woman, she received a nod. "We're here to invite you into our family."
Huh? I know my vocabulary sounds stunted, but the gears in my head were clunking around trying to figure all this out.
Lilly, looked at me with understanding. "I know it sounds crazy. I mean, you've only just met us, but Samantha feels strongly that you should be with us... as family."
All the women nodded at this. I could swear I saw the cat bob it's head up and down also.... though I'm sure I must have imagined it.
"As enticing as that sounds, I have my own family.... and, yes, I did only just meet you." I began to stand up, but felt a moment of embarrassment at getting out of bed with such an audience. I did it though. I got up, but kept the blanket draped around my body.
All three women looked at me intently and smiled as I turned red from their attention.
"We'd so love to have you!" Black said, "It'll be such fun! You're in way better shape than Samantha was before she turn..."
"Shush, Gabby!" Lilly looked at her crossly, arms now folded over her chest. The cat had to abandon ship abruptly and turned to look at Lilly, her eyes squinted and ears back. Samantha looked rather indignant as only a cat can.
Gabby, walked over to me and looked me in the eye. "Listen, we know who you are and what you do. Frankly, I'm rather surprised you're even hesitating. My god, your existence is boring! An accounting major?!! Really?? You can travel the universe with three hot witches and Samantha the... cat." She ended lamely. Samantha used her paws to clean at her face... distant and uncaring.
At that moment, my home shook with a deep vibration. It reminded me of sitting in those crazy lazy-boy chairs, two quarters deposited, and the massage shaking and vibrating my whole body. But this vibration had nothing to do with a lazy-boy.
Outside, I saw a giant blue shark floating in the sky... it must have been 3 football fields in length. It was huge! It hovered near my house. As far as I could tell, there were no visible engines or exhaust. At that moment, a large opening in the side of the ship appeared and hundreds of growler monkey-type creatures, outfitted with what looked like jet packs, were launching themselves from the floating ship... and headed directly our way!
"We have to go!" yelled Lilly. She turned and waved a stick in the air and a glimmering portal opened up.
Huh? WTF!
Above our heads, the roof was literally ripped away from my house. Dust and debris rained down on us... along with psychotic growler monkeys wearing jet packs.
That's all I saw. I felt myself pushed violently toward the portal, sounds crashed all around me and small furry hands grasped at my blanket and tried to jerk me away from the portal.
I awoke. I don't know how much later. Fine white sand sticking to my body. The blanket was no where to be seen. Above me was a sun that blazed with a purple glow. Surrounding me, a landscape that didn't belong on Earth.
Lilly had landed next to me, face down, white sand covering her hair and face. She turned her head toward me and with a huge grin said "Welcome home!"
|
"Witches", I mumbled under my breath, seeing the events of the night play out before me in a series of half remembered, disjointed pieces.
"Now it makes sense"
I was bouncing at a local pub downtown. It's a good job, and provides just enough funds and social interaction so that no one gets wise to who and what I really am. It was like any other night, i spent some time out front, sipping my coffee and greeting the regulars who often graced this pub. The clouds had parted, having rained earlier in the night, revealing a full moon. A full moon! I had forgotten about that! It must have slipped my mind when I had to invoke my power rune and calmly eject a patron who had gotten a little too drunk and was over stepping some social contracts. It's really simple where I work, the pub has a vibe and if you ruin that vibe you're out. He tried to choke me with his left hand while holding my other arm with his right, trying to resist me as I escorted him to the door. The power rune had done the trick and I calmly pulled his hand away from my neck, all the while squeezing hard enough for his hand to tingle and fall asleep. Within seconds two of my male coworkers, James and Mac, joined in and we threw him outside. After a few minutes of drunken insults, all of which I've heard before, he drifted off into the night.
The rest of the night had been calm, and by 2:45, I was making my way home, a one bedroom apartment above a christian science reading room two blocks away. I was singing "That's Life" by Frank Sinatra when my flow was interrupted. I had thought I sensed a minor magical aura, perhaps the remnants of a casting or the memories of a small magical relic, but i remember thinking that it could have honestly been the full moon. Then I saw it. A small sleek black cat, limping slowly into a door way of a closed pawn shop. My mentor, or I should say, my ex mentor, had always said my heart was too soft for a warlock, that I wont ever be able to make the hard decisions when it comes to power. He was thankully right. I calmly approached the cat. It was wet from the recent rain and was very defensive. I got on my knees and removed my sweater from under my jacket, draping in my arms.
"Come here baby, it's ok. I'm not gonna hurt you, just gonna show you some love ok?"
The cat look into my eyes, and for a moment I sensed that magical aura again. "The moon" I thought. Its magical rays often disrupting an adept's sense of magic. The cat then calmly limped into my arms and I wrapped it up and quickly made my way home.
I had tried to feed the cat tuna and milk but it didnt seem hungry. So i carried it into my room and constructed a nice soft and warm sleeping area for the cat on my computer chair.
"Well lucky for you, I have the next day off, so I'll take you to the vet and make sure you're ship shape! I always wanted a cat anyways"
It's true, I always had a fondness for cats. The cat gave me one of those trusting slow blinks before resting its head and dosing off. I did the same quickly after.
...........
"I dont think an ex warlock would make for a very good witch, given with the, you know, societal tension"
I was in a bad spot. Hopefully telling them right out the gate that I'm an EX warlock would save my bacon. Three witches were standing over me, and my power runes were not in my possession. They must be powerful if they were able to get past my defences.
"We know who you are Jack" one of the witches said. She was blonde with and undercut, sharp features and striking blue eyes.
"Well if you know who I am then you know I no longer practice the arts, I live a normal life away from covens and cabals, and I have no interest in returning"
One of the other witches, red, long curly hair, green eyed and tall, chuckled and narrowed her eyes.
"And what would you call using power runes and defence charms?"
"I'm a hobbyist at best these days I'm afraid, really not a good candidate for summoning daemons or using blood magic. I guess you'll have to find somone else"
The third witch had long black hair done in a braid, pencil thin eye brows and black lipstick. She snapped,
"Is that what you think we do?! You think every coven is the same? Warlocks commit more atrocities against our kind than anyone else! Even the vampire code shows more ethics-"
She was cut off by the first one, the blonde with the striking eyes.
"Cassandra enough. Clearly he understands what warlocks are cable of, dont you Jack?"
It's true. I had spent enough time in a cabal to know that the warlock way of power leaves no room for insignificant things like empathy, kindness, or love.
"I do" I responded grimly, a few flashes of the past played out in my head, none of which were pleasant.
"And I also know what witches are capable of, so if you could just leave me in peace that would be great. I'm not some pawn in the great war anymore, I dont want ultimate power, and I definitely dont want to be found, which will most definitely happen now that you so brazenly entered my home an-"
The red haired witch interrupted my tirade before I could finish.
"Your sister is alive Jack"
I was stunned. I couldnt believe what i just heard. I refused to believe what I just heard
"Get out"
I couldnt stop it. Warlock rage they called it. Once given into, it will run it course whether I want it to or not. I could feel it crackling inside me, like great oak lit aflame by a strike of lightning
"Jack it's true, if you would just lis-"
"NO YOU LISTEN!!"
It was too late, my pact was awoken, and out poured my eldritch power. The room supernaturally darkened and a concussive blast of energy sent all three witches to the walls of my bedroom. A hellish glow illuminated the under layer of my skin making the veins in my face and arms visible, my face a terrifying visage. All this was cut short by a fourth witch who, until just then had been in the form of a black cat, ushered a sleep spell. My rage was dulled, and the other three witches took this opportunity to amplify the sleep spell, adding to its power. I tried as hard as I could to power through, but failed as the last thing I saw was the four witches towering over me. I fell into a dark slumber, afraid I may never awake, and the devil i made a deal with so long ago, would come to collect what was owed.
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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There I was. Sound asleep. Dreaming the dreams any normal young male would be dreaming, when I started to come out of my sleep. I sensed I was being watched. I heard whispers all around me.
I slowly cracked open my eye lids... Trying to hide the fact of my being awake.
"Why Lilly, this young gent is trying to fool us!" Laughter sprang forth from all around. Whoever was speaking had the kind of laugh that would make anyone yearn to join in the laughter. It was inviting and kind. It brought a smile to my face.
Since the jig was up, I opened my eyes to three drop dead gorgeous women standing over my bed. Each sported a different colored dress that looked as though it had been painted on. One was red, the other black and the last a beautiful gold color. Strangely enough, each dress matched the color of the wearers hair.
In the arms of Red, was the cat I had patched up last night. The cat had been in a sorry state. Not seriously injured, but looking the worse for wear after tangling with something, I guessed it was a raccoon. The raccoon seemed to have gotten the better of the cat.
Red smiled down at me after looking at the cat purring in her arms. "I'm Lilly. Thank you so much for taking care of Samantha!" Hers was another magical voice. Deeply pleasing to listen to. Lilly continued, "We lost her last night during the battle." The cat snuggled more deeply into Lilly's arms. If anything, the cat's purr got louder at the attention it was getting from the gorgeous redhead.
Was I dreaming? Why wasn't I scared? Here were three strangers, granted they were beautiful women, standing in my room.. a room where the door had been locked... a room located in a house that had been locked. Yet, I felt no fear.
I noticed Black trying to hide a grin, but she lost the battle, and instead, laughed again. She looked at each sister. They had to be sisters, for besides the dress and hair color, all looked identical. As her glance passed each woman, she received a nod. "We're here to invite you into our family."
Huh? I know my vocabulary sounds stunted, but the gears in my head were clunking around trying to figure all this out.
Lilly, looked at me with understanding. "I know it sounds crazy. I mean, you've only just met us, but Samantha feels strongly that you should be with us... as family."
All the women nodded at this. I could swear I saw the cat bob it's head up and down also.... though I'm sure I must have imagined it.
"As enticing as that sounds, I have my own family.... and, yes, I did only just meet you." I began to stand up, but felt a moment of embarrassment at getting out of bed with such an audience. I did it though. I got up, but kept the blanket draped around my body.
All three women looked at me intently and smiled as I turned red from their attention.
"We'd so love to have you!" Black said, "It'll be such fun! You're in way better shape than Samantha was before she turn..."
"Shush, Gabby!" Lilly looked at her crossly, arms now folded over her chest. The cat had to abandon ship abruptly and turned to look at Lilly, her eyes squinted and ears back. Samantha looked rather indignant as only a cat can.
Gabby, walked over to me and looked me in the eye. "Listen, we know who you are and what you do. Frankly, I'm rather surprised you're even hesitating. My god, your existence is boring! An accounting major?!! Really?? You can travel the universe with three hot witches and Samantha the... cat." She ended lamely. Samantha used her paws to clean at her face... distant and uncaring.
At that moment, my home shook with a deep vibration. It reminded me of sitting in those crazy lazy-boy chairs, two quarters deposited, and the massage shaking and vibrating my whole body. But this vibration had nothing to do with a lazy-boy.
Outside, I saw a giant blue shark floating in the sky... it must have been 3 football fields in length. It was huge! It hovered near my house. As far as I could tell, there were no visible engines or exhaust. At that moment, a large opening in the side of the ship appeared and hundreds of growler monkey-type creatures, outfitted with what looked like jet packs, were launching themselves from the floating ship... and headed directly our way!
"We have to go!" yelled Lilly. She turned and waved a stick in the air and a glimmering portal opened up.
Huh? WTF!
Above our heads, the roof was literally ripped away from my house. Dust and debris rained down on us... along with psychotic growler monkeys wearing jet packs.
That's all I saw. I felt myself pushed violently toward the portal, sounds crashed all around me and small furry hands grasped at my blanket and tried to jerk me away from the portal.
I awoke. I don't know how much later. Fine white sand sticking to my body. The blanket was no where to be seen. Above me was a sun that blazed with a purple glow. Surrounding me, a landscape that didn't belong on Earth.
Lilly had landed next to me, face down, white sand covering her hair and face. She turned her head toward me and with a huge grin said "Welcome home!"
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*EDIT/Preface: It looks my version is very "familiar" (no pun intended) to another commenter's. I didn't read the responses before writing my own. Forgive my interpretation of what appears to be a common take on this prompt!*
...
“Adopt?” you say, blinking to remove the sleep from your eyes. You are fairy certain you are still dreaming. You fumble for your glasses. Your hand is greeted by instead but smooth, empty nightstand. You never misplace your glasses.
“Actually, better if he can’t see us isn’t it?” a blur to the right says, swinging something in her grasp.
“Nonsense, Mercy, let the poor boy have his glasses. It’s the last time he’ll need them anyway."
“Very true, I suppose you’re right,” Mercy responds with a giggle. Gently a hand that smells of cloves fixes your glasses to your head and your room is now in focus.
At each side of your bed are three impossibly beautiful women. Unnervingly beautiful. Mercy, the one who replaced your glasses, is the tallest with ebony skin, full lips, and sparkling eyes.
"We've been looking for another familiar to 'adopt;" Rose has been eyeing you for some time... You should be flattered.” Rose, the blonde woman at the end of the bed with jade-colored eyes, flushes at this comment with a smile.
Mouth hanging open you attempt to force an utterance but no words come.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” the third woman to your left quips. Rose and Mercy giggle in response. “God Aster, you’re horrible,” Aster appears of mixed East-Asian descent with unblemished milky skin. She smirks a little at her own joke. All of the women are wearing gothic-looking clothing
You look to your right to see the cat from last night in Aster’s arms; its green eyes blink at you slowly. You remember now bringing him in after finding him limping badly on the street.
"Judas here let me know you’d be the \*purrfect\* candidate, didn’t you Judas? Aster coos in sing-songy voice while scratching the cats ears." “Just a fabulous little actor isn’t he?” Judas purrs deeply in response.
“Um, I’m sorry, I don’t understand...” you manage to reply.
"Not a worry! You don’t have to. It’ll be over soon." Aster replies.
"What? What will be over soon?"
"Ready sisters?” Aster calls out.
"WHO ARE YOU??" you yell, your voice breaking a little in fright.
“You know it!”
Judas jumps out of Edith’s arms and sits comfortably at the foot of the bed. As you clamor to get out of from under the sheets and escape an your body freezes as the witches join hands and begin to chant in an unfamiliar language.
When in unison their words vibrate through you bones. Your bones are in fact, shifting. Your skin is melting. Be it pain or a overstimulation of the senses you cannot say but you are blinded. Contorted. Changed.
And as quickly as it all began, silence.
You are covered in darkness of your own blankets, a heady, familiar smell. Did you always know the bed smelled like this. Clamoring out from under the sheets your arms and legs bend awkwardly, fluidly, so that you can’t control your frontward motion.
You fall out of bed onto the wood floor with a thud and look around the room. Where the three women stood are now three giants, at least three times the size as before. Your bed, too, is a monstrosity, as is your room.
“Oh, my favorite part!” Rose stares as you in giddy anticipation.
Unsteadily you stand to your feet, and all three burst into laughter. At max height you come thigh level with the now-giant witches. Quickly losing your balance you fall backward and look at your reflection in the standing mirror. You are not there.
Instead, a black cat stares back at you from the mirrors, its back arched and tail puffed. *Judas?* You think, but just as the thought emerges another black cat slinks into view, Judas.
You scream. A yowl emerges from the cat in the mirror instead.
"Sorry, brother” Judas turns to you, his voice echoing clearly in your mind. "I had to. You’ll get used to it. Actually it’s not that bad.”
"Well, shall we? Get your new familiar Rose," Aster commands.
Rose approaches you, footsteps thudding, and while you attempt to run your arms and legs are too uncoordinated and swim franticly instead on the floor.
“God they’re so cute like this.” Mercy sighs. A hand grabs at the back of your neck. Your body goes a limp in response. Rose elevates you to her eye level and speaks straight into your soul:
“Run if you like kitty, but you’ll never be human again. Perhaps someday, I can arrange that for you… if you’re good," she says with a smile.
Rose stuffs you in a satchel. Darkness envelops you, except for a single grain of light from the corner of the bag, where you see your empty room disappear from view.
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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There I was. Sound asleep. Dreaming the dreams any normal young male would be dreaming, when I started to come out of my sleep. I sensed I was being watched. I heard whispers all around me.
I slowly cracked open my eye lids... Trying to hide the fact of my being awake.
"Why Lilly, this young gent is trying to fool us!" Laughter sprang forth from all around. Whoever was speaking had the kind of laugh that would make anyone yearn to join in the laughter. It was inviting and kind. It brought a smile to my face.
Since the jig was up, I opened my eyes to three drop dead gorgeous women standing over my bed. Each sported a different colored dress that looked as though it had been painted on. One was red, the other black and the last a beautiful gold color. Strangely enough, each dress matched the color of the wearers hair.
In the arms of Red, was the cat I had patched up last night. The cat had been in a sorry state. Not seriously injured, but looking the worse for wear after tangling with something, I guessed it was a raccoon. The raccoon seemed to have gotten the better of the cat.
Red smiled down at me after looking at the cat purring in her arms. "I'm Lilly. Thank you so much for taking care of Samantha!" Hers was another magical voice. Deeply pleasing to listen to. Lilly continued, "We lost her last night during the battle." The cat snuggled more deeply into Lilly's arms. If anything, the cat's purr got louder at the attention it was getting from the gorgeous redhead.
Was I dreaming? Why wasn't I scared? Here were three strangers, granted they were beautiful women, standing in my room.. a room where the door had been locked... a room located in a house that had been locked. Yet, I felt no fear.
I noticed Black trying to hide a grin, but she lost the battle, and instead, laughed again. She looked at each sister. They had to be sisters, for besides the dress and hair color, all looked identical. As her glance passed each woman, she received a nod. "We're here to invite you into our family."
Huh? I know my vocabulary sounds stunted, but the gears in my head were clunking around trying to figure all this out.
Lilly, looked at me with understanding. "I know it sounds crazy. I mean, you've only just met us, but Samantha feels strongly that you should be with us... as family."
All the women nodded at this. I could swear I saw the cat bob it's head up and down also.... though I'm sure I must have imagined it.
"As enticing as that sounds, I have my own family.... and, yes, I did only just meet you." I began to stand up, but felt a moment of embarrassment at getting out of bed with such an audience. I did it though. I got up, but kept the blanket draped around my body.
All three women looked at me intently and smiled as I turned red from their attention.
"We'd so love to have you!" Black said, "It'll be such fun! You're in way better shape than Samantha was before she turn..."
"Shush, Gabby!" Lilly looked at her crossly, arms now folded over her chest. The cat had to abandon ship abruptly and turned to look at Lilly, her eyes squinted and ears back. Samantha looked rather indignant as only a cat can.
Gabby, walked over to me and looked me in the eye. "Listen, we know who you are and what you do. Frankly, I'm rather surprised you're even hesitating. My god, your existence is boring! An accounting major?!! Really?? You can travel the universe with three hot witches and Samantha the... cat." She ended lamely. Samantha used her paws to clean at her face... distant and uncaring.
At that moment, my home shook with a deep vibration. It reminded me of sitting in those crazy lazy-boy chairs, two quarters deposited, and the massage shaking and vibrating my whole body. But this vibration had nothing to do with a lazy-boy.
Outside, I saw a giant blue shark floating in the sky... it must have been 3 football fields in length. It was huge! It hovered near my house. As far as I could tell, there were no visible engines or exhaust. At that moment, a large opening in the side of the ship appeared and hundreds of growler monkey-type creatures, outfitted with what looked like jet packs, were launching themselves from the floating ship... and headed directly our way!
"We have to go!" yelled Lilly. She turned and waved a stick in the air and a glimmering portal opened up.
Huh? WTF!
Above our heads, the roof was literally ripped away from my house. Dust and debris rained down on us... along with psychotic growler monkeys wearing jet packs.
That's all I saw. I felt myself pushed violently toward the portal, sounds crashed all around me and small furry hands grasped at my blanket and tried to jerk me away from the portal.
I awoke. I don't know how much later. Fine white sand sticking to my body. The blanket was no where to be seen. Above me was a sun that blazed with a purple glow. Surrounding me, a landscape that didn't belong on Earth.
Lilly had landed next to me, face down, white sand covering her hair and face. She turned her head toward me and with a huge grin said "Welcome home!"
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You know, when my granma called me to tell me that someone had dumped a little Siamese kitten off near her candy shop, I never really expected something like this to happen.
My family had been saving feral cats for years, so I never really thought anything of it. Over the years, we've had hundreds that we've rescued, and more than a dozen we've kept. It was normal to me, so when Nana called and asked me to try and trap this new kitten, I thought nothing of it; nevermind that this would be my first rescue of my own.
He was a tiny little thing, but he had obviously been someone's baby based on the box he'd been dumped in. I followed him for a week without any results, and he seemed skittish. It wasn't until I noticed that he'd been hurt that I had any real luck.
Like with any feral, I tried to approach him as calmly as possible, while talking to him or trilling like a momma cat would to her kittens. For once, the little Siamese seemed to realize that I was there to help him. I was able to scoop him up and take him home with no real fight of problems.
Once we got home, it was obvious that he needed care, and some fluids. It wasn't the first time I'd given a cat fluids under the scruff of his neck, so I wasn't worried while I have him the IV and fixed him up.
I put him in my bathroom, like my grandparents had always done, and check on him through the night, every few hours, and gave him fluids again around 2 am.
To say I was exhausted the next morning when someone knocked on my door would have been an understatement. I was still in my baggy pj pants and band shit when I opened the door.
As soon as it was open, I was quickly bombarded with words.
"So you're the one that saved little Freddie! We've been so worried about him since those Oklahoma witches got their hands on him! Never thought we'd see him again, but here we are!"
It took me a minute to process what the taller woman in front of me said, and I'm sure I looked like an idiot while I just started at her, but really I couldn't help it. She was taller than me (though as a five foot tall woman, everyone is taller than me) with a shock of bright red hair and she was dressed as if she was going to Texas RenFest during 1001 Magical Dreams. If you could picture what people in the dark ages thought of as a witch, and somehow mash that together with a hippie and a southern Belle, you'd know what I was seeing.
Before I even managed to get a word out, the other woman perked up.
"Wait, I know you! You're Windsong's granddaughter, right? I wouldn't have my Lucy in The Sky with Diamonds without her!"
While the name 'Windsong' didn't register with me, the name Lucy, did. It took me a moment to find my voice, trying to come up with something that would make sense, given the situation.
"Um, my Nana is Sandra, and if Lucy is a huge black Maine Coon, then we probably rescued her."
A soft meow from my feet caught not only my attention, but the red head's attention too. It seemed, against all odds, my little feral rescue had decided to come out of hiding and interact with us.
"There he is!" She cooed, leaning down to give the Siamese kitten a pet, which he readily accepted. "Freddie Mercury, we didn't think we'd see you again!"
The kitten simply meowed while being pet by the other woman, before he calmly walked over and sat down on my feet. The fact that a feral kitten was acting so domesticated after a single night blew my mind.
"Hold up lady, this is your kitten? Why the hell did you dump him then?!"
After years of cat rescue, I really didn't want to let this little kitten go back to this weird RenFest lady if she had dumped him near my family's candy store with no regrets. It didn't matter if she was looking for him. Though she did say something about 'Oklahoma witches' so maybe this lady was as crazy as her costume made her seem.
The older woman laughed and looked down at 'Freddie Mercury'. "Well, he wasn't really mine, but it sure looks like he's yours!"
I waved my hand at her in dismissal. "Yeah, I know. We don't pick cats, they pick us." It's something I've heard over the years.
The red headed woman looked confused for a moment, before she spoke. "Of course they pick us. Hasn't your Nana explained anything to you?"
"Explained anything to me? What else is there to know about cat rescue?"
"Sweetheart, your grandmother doesn't rescue cats; she rescues familiars and helps them find homes with the right witches and warlocks. And, little miss, it looks like you've found a familiar of your own."
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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There I was. Sound asleep. Dreaming the dreams any normal young male would be dreaming, when I started to come out of my sleep. I sensed I was being watched. I heard whispers all around me.
I slowly cracked open my eye lids... Trying to hide the fact of my being awake.
"Why Lilly, this young gent is trying to fool us!" Laughter sprang forth from all around. Whoever was speaking had the kind of laugh that would make anyone yearn to join in the laughter. It was inviting and kind. It brought a smile to my face.
Since the jig was up, I opened my eyes to three drop dead gorgeous women standing over my bed. Each sported a different colored dress that looked as though it had been painted on. One was red, the other black and the last a beautiful gold color. Strangely enough, each dress matched the color of the wearers hair.
In the arms of Red, was the cat I had patched up last night. The cat had been in a sorry state. Not seriously injured, but looking the worse for wear after tangling with something, I guessed it was a raccoon. The raccoon seemed to have gotten the better of the cat.
Red smiled down at me after looking at the cat purring in her arms. "I'm Lilly. Thank you so much for taking care of Samantha!" Hers was another magical voice. Deeply pleasing to listen to. Lilly continued, "We lost her last night during the battle." The cat snuggled more deeply into Lilly's arms. If anything, the cat's purr got louder at the attention it was getting from the gorgeous redhead.
Was I dreaming? Why wasn't I scared? Here were three strangers, granted they were beautiful women, standing in my room.. a room where the door had been locked... a room located in a house that had been locked. Yet, I felt no fear.
I noticed Black trying to hide a grin, but she lost the battle, and instead, laughed again. She looked at each sister. They had to be sisters, for besides the dress and hair color, all looked identical. As her glance passed each woman, she received a nod. "We're here to invite you into our family."
Huh? I know my vocabulary sounds stunted, but the gears in my head were clunking around trying to figure all this out.
Lilly, looked at me with understanding. "I know it sounds crazy. I mean, you've only just met us, but Samantha feels strongly that you should be with us... as family."
All the women nodded at this. I could swear I saw the cat bob it's head up and down also.... though I'm sure I must have imagined it.
"As enticing as that sounds, I have my own family.... and, yes, I did only just meet you." I began to stand up, but felt a moment of embarrassment at getting out of bed with such an audience. I did it though. I got up, but kept the blanket draped around my body.
All three women looked at me intently and smiled as I turned red from their attention.
"We'd so love to have you!" Black said, "It'll be such fun! You're in way better shape than Samantha was before she turn..."
"Shush, Gabby!" Lilly looked at her crossly, arms now folded over her chest. The cat had to abandon ship abruptly and turned to look at Lilly, her eyes squinted and ears back. Samantha looked rather indignant as only a cat can.
Gabby, walked over to me and looked me in the eye. "Listen, we know who you are and what you do. Frankly, I'm rather surprised you're even hesitating. My god, your existence is boring! An accounting major?!! Really?? You can travel the universe with three hot witches and Samantha the... cat." She ended lamely. Samantha used her paws to clean at her face... distant and uncaring.
At that moment, my home shook with a deep vibration. It reminded me of sitting in those crazy lazy-boy chairs, two quarters deposited, and the massage shaking and vibrating my whole body. But this vibration had nothing to do with a lazy-boy.
Outside, I saw a giant blue shark floating in the sky... it must have been 3 football fields in length. It was huge! It hovered near my house. As far as I could tell, there were no visible engines or exhaust. At that moment, a large opening in the side of the ship appeared and hundreds of growler monkey-type creatures, outfitted with what looked like jet packs, were launching themselves from the floating ship... and headed directly our way!
"We have to go!" yelled Lilly. She turned and waved a stick in the air and a glimmering portal opened up.
Huh? WTF!
Above our heads, the roof was literally ripped away from my house. Dust and debris rained down on us... along with psychotic growler monkeys wearing jet packs.
That's all I saw. I felt myself pushed violently toward the portal, sounds crashed all around me and small furry hands grasped at my blanket and tried to jerk me away from the portal.
I awoke. I don't know how much later. Fine white sand sticking to my body. The blanket was no where to be seen. Above me was a sun that blazed with a purple glow. Surrounding me, a landscape that didn't belong on Earth.
Lilly had landed next to me, face down, white sand covering her hair and face. She turned her head toward me and with a huge grin said "Welcome home!"
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As I heard her speak those words, I was so sure that I was still dreaming that I just wanted to laugh. But there they were, staring right at me without blinking once.
Before I could say anything, she took a step forward. Her expression had changed. "So? Will you be joining us? I am still waiting for your answer. Matilda said they saw you pick her up. This means you will be in danger regardless." she said, pointing the cat I saved.
I couldn't find it in me take her seriously. I was in danger? Really? From what? This had to be a dream. "You can talk to the cat?"
She let out tiny laugh which almost seemed out of character for her. She turned to the other witches and quickly regained her composure. "She isn't a cat.. Well, not really. She is my adoptive daughter and I would like to know why she ended up in this manner as well."
Then she turned to the cat. "Matilda, do you have any idea how difficult it was to track you down? What were you even doing?"
The cat appeared to be scared. She must be scared of the witch I thought. But for some reason it felt like that wasn't the issue at all. In a puff of smoke she transformed into a human. She was really tall and she appeared to be naked, but her freakishly long hair covered up her entire body. Her hair was pitch black. They put her in a black dress and tied her hair into a bun in an instant. She turned to her mother with fear in her eyes. "Mother, like I said, if it wasn't for this man here, they would have taken my life. They are sure to come after him now. We need to protect him." She hastily said.
Her mother wasn't pleased. "I already said if he saved you, you can adopt him. But what did he save you from? Who are they? You haven't been answering any of my questions. What could be so dangerous that you would be afraid enough to transform into a cat and run away?"
Matilda looked into my eyes, like she was hoping I would say the words she couldn't bring herself to spell. "The soulless ones. They have returned."
With that, silence took over the room. You could see the fear and disbelief in their eyes. One of her sisters turned to Matilda, she looked like she was hoping it all a joke. "That can't be. It simply can't. Brother sacrificed himself to seal them away. There is no way. There is no way. There is no way. There is no way."
She looked like she believed her but still hoped it was all a lie. I turned my head and realized Matilda was holding my arm tight. She was deceptively strong. I also realized I wasn't dreaming at all. I was doing the best I can to not to freak out and scream like a toddler. Matilda holding my arm helped a little. I wasn't sure if I should ask or not, but I couldn't stay silent any longer. "What is a soulless one? Better yet, who the hell are you people?"
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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Its been raining and cold all week, freezing rain, and heavy frost each morning grace the barren landscape that is my failing farmland. As I step off the porch to head to the barn, I hear a pitiful weak mewling, just barely audible over the wind and rain. I looked around, worried about any animal trapped outside in this miserable weather. Again, I hear that same sad forlorn cry. This time I can tell a general location, and start walking that way.
Hidden away in the wheel well of my truck was a tiny wet and shivering kitten. A tortoise shell pattern adorned her long wet matted fur. I could see fresh blood trickling from an open wound on it's back, and darker congealed blood clung to the corners of it's mouth. Carefully I reach out, and gingerly pick up the injured critter, half expecting to be met with claws and teeth. Instead the poor thing again mewed, and began to purr.
I rushed back inside the warm house with the injured cat, and started drying her off, before inspecting her wounds. She was injured pretty badly, but growing up on the farm, I have managed to become a decent enough veterinary impersonator. I cleaned and bandaged the obvious claw and bite marks. After mending and drying, I found a can of tuna and retrieved some fresh cream to feed the poor thing. I watched as the ravenous cat devoured every morsel and drop of the small improvised meal, before she curled up and fell fast asleep.
Injured animal or not, I had to get to work. I didn't want to leave the cat alone, but had no choice. I made a trip to the restroom, and when I returned...she was gone. I searches my house but she had simply vanished. Like I said, I had to get to work. So I didn't think much of it.
That night when I came in, I again searched for the cat, and again came up empty. I figured she was better at hiding than I was at finding, so I set out some cat food that I bought for her, and a bowl of water, just in case she came out. Then went to bed, exhausted.
I dreamed that night, odd flashes of brutal animal attacks and suffering animals. Things I would never want to see, or describe. I tossed and turned, thrashed and kicked til I finally fell into a deep thoughtless sleep. I awoke with jolt, thinking I heard something move in what should be my empty house. I jerk myself upright, and look around my bedroom.
Four strange women stood at the foot if my bed, gazing at me with mixed levels of confusion, and what looked like possibly pity. I have come to recognize that look ever since my land stopped producing. The entire town looked at me like that. Before I could say anything at all, or even really register what was happening, one of them spoke, " Calm down child. We mean you no harm. In fact, its quite the opposite. Seems you have saved the life of one of our own. That means we owe you a debt, and someone wants to thank you in our custom."
With her words, the cat I bandaged up suddenly sprung onto my bed, and walked up on my legs. She sat down, purring and looked into my eyes. I watched as her bright green eyes turned blue, then white. A voice too large for any of the women present, seemed to come from the cat, " I was near death, and afraid. You came to my aide, and likely saved my life. For that I am eternally grateful. For us, eternity is existence. I sense you need help, perhaps as much as I did. I would like to adopt you. You will come and live with us, and I will teach you the ways of our kind. No more fruitless crops and poisoned land, and you even get to learn who caused your current predicament."
The women looked at each other, and then at me. The oldest one, stepped forward and spoke, " This is a choice for you alone. Courtney, who you see as a cat, will be understanding with any decision you make, however this is a once in a lifetime thing. Most mortal humans never get this opportunity. You will learn our ways, and with that knowledge comes the end of your frail mortality. Think about this. Think about the good you can do, when you aren't worried about making ends meet, and pouring all of your time into this poisoned farm. We will be back at high noon to learn of your decision."
The cat, Courtney, stood, stretched and looked at me one last time, before jumping into the arms of one of the women. The young woman smiled at me and turned away.
Then they were gone. They didn't walk out, there was no puff of smoke, no glittery fairy dust, just gone. That was at five this morning. Its 11:30am right now.....not sure what I'm going to do, but I am getting tired of this place, and I would like to know who poisoned the land....
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"Don't *I* get to choose?" I spoke in regards to my assigned status as a witch. "I can't just become a witch." The cat squinted at me from the witch's arms. "I have a wife and kids and a home to take care of." The five witches looked around. They were impatient and out of place.
"The cat makes all the rules and decisions around here." The foremost, and presumed head witch spoke aloud. "Trust me, you would not be our first choice based on your... lifestyle." She glanced about the room and frowned. "Do you wear those clothes?" Pointing her head toward my closet, she questioned me. "They're awful." She shrieked and turned to me. "Where do you store your cloaks," she accused.
"I, uh... don't have any cloaks." I picked at a piece of lint on my blanket. "Normal people do not wear cloaks like yours." I stared at the wall, attempting to avoid eye contact as I said this. However, glancing at them for a moment, I noticed they were regarding their own appearances in the mirror. The head witch ran her gaze up and down her violet cloak of crushed velvet. There was a stitched flower over her shoulder in golden thread.
She exclaimed. "Ha! You might fit in here." She set the cat on the bed and grabbed my shoulder. "We're absolutely gorgeous in these cloaks." The other witches nodded their assent and stood straighter, alternating between looking at themselves in the mirror and throwing severe stares in my direction. A much older witch was pouting in the mirror and running her hand up and down her figure. Her witches hat was adorned with skulls and embroidered with images of human suffering. "With a sense of humor like that, we might do well together."
As she removed her hand from my shoulder, the room began to fade. Candlelight emanated in the darkness, and I was no longer in my room. I was now in the antechamber of a witch home. The windows were cloudy and overgrown with a variety of plants. The older witch smiled. "Say hello to your new home." The walls were made of hardened mud and the rough wooden beams reinforced the home. She produced a glass bottle and poured its contents into a small ceramic cup. "Drink its entire contents." She was stern. "It would not be best to waste even a single drop."
I started to shake. The contents of the glass were clear and the liquid in the cup swirled and produced a mist. "Wha- what is it?" Fear took hold. I did not know of any escape.
"That is vodka with hyssop." She smiled a toothless grin and shouted, "now drink up, bitch!" Music blasted from nowhere and the witches each pounded a shot as the cat purred from the endtable.
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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There were four of them and they matched the modern movie stereotypes so closely it hurt. One Jamaican/Caribbean islands looking lady, one mousy little white girl holding our new cat, one modern gypsy looking gal and a tall business lady in a suit holding some kind of "grimoire".
"Can you say that again?"
"Al-Luna said it plainly enough. Her cat wants to adopt you." Replied miss suit. "Now, we need to make this quick so, get up and lets get going."
It had been a long night shift and I only had a couple hours sleep. I could tell that from the light coming in the window. I was in no mood for this kind of joke from my wife's friends. "Babe! I'M NOT UP FOR THIS KIND OF JOKE TODAY. COULD YOU PLEASE COME GET YOUR FRIENDS?" My wife had always joked about being a "kitchen witch" and had some weird friends but it was just a joke. I would know. I may have spent a career in the military but my family were a bunch of freaking weirdos who thought themselves some kind of hunters of monsters, Nazi and supernatural BS. My wife had never shown any of the signs I grew up being taught to look for. That was, never showed any of the signs before.
My normally mousy wife spoke up from behind them all of a sudden. "Ladies you are trespassing and we do not appreciate it." As they turned to look at my wife it was not the view I expected either. Meat cleaver in hand she had her kitchen apron on, filleting knife affixed to the front at the ready and spices, all her herbs and spices uncapped and in the pouches and holders of her favorite apron. Weirder yet, our 12 yr old was standing next to her with that silly little "wand" she had made from large thorned blackberry vines..except that it had new green growth sprouting from it.
Turning to look at them the Caribbean gal grinned and muttered "Now look what wez got here. Little rough sister breeding her own coven. Is cute." As the four of them started spreading out of the bedroom and across the living room.
Miss suit gave a smile to my wife. "Four on one dear even with a husband and newtish daughter apprentice isn't really fair now is it dear. be good and I'm sure we can work out your inclusion."
My wife smiled and simply said "count again".
My wife then suddenly muttered "Corporis restituere renovatis" and "canis explicandi". Pain was a matter of everyday life for me, I had a lot of injuries from my time in the military but I occasionally also had really good days. Suddenly, I felt 20 with not a soreness to my body and the world before me.
I rolled/flipped out of the bed and onto the floor with a nimbleness not enjoyed since I was a youth in my prime. As I did so I grabbed the tomahawk my great grandfather had made for me and the colt .45 my grandfather had left me in his will. My faithful and usually goofy rottweiler lunged to my side but suddenly bulkier, fierce and drooling with some kind of malice.
Miss Gypsy and the mousy girl seemed the most disturbed by this as everyone kinda froze in place and Miss gypsy spoke. "Okay sister. Maybe a witch, her daughter apprentice, a hellhound and an energized and empowered hunter in their own lair are more of a fair fight for four sister witches than you thought? Maybe?"
My dear, sweet little wife just smiled and replied "You think?"
"Well" restarted miss suit "Maybe we should talk." As she forced a more relaxed posture. "Could I bother you for a spot of tea."
My wife smiled back "Absolutely. Earl grey, English breakfast, black tea, green tea, chai? What would you care for?"
"Oh whatever is easiest."
"Okay, I've already got a pot of Earl Grey on. Dear?"
"Yes love?"
"Do get changed. You're in your PJs."
"Yes dear. Ladies, please have a seat and behave."
That was 6 months ago and life has changed. We bought a big house when I got out of the military. Nice 1.5 acres of land, my wife planted all sorts of herb gardens. Now the whole thing is tended by our new "family" and the house is never really quiet. Aside from the four ladies a couple of my wife's "weird friends" are now a part of everything too and it sucks commonly being the only guy surrounded by 7 women, 8 if including our daughter. Witches or not. Most of the time I feel outvoted before I even think to give input on anything. I feel great though. Now that I know, there is no excuse for me not to have a charm or spell bag that relieves my pains and give me back my health and vigor as if I was in the prime of my 20s again. My family thinks I am either disgusting or the biggest man whore. Let them. It's just my wife and I in those regards but them them think what they want. It's the easiest way of keeping the hunters of my family and their friends away as well as from guessing the truth.
Life, is definitely new and interesting. Damn cat.
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"Don't *I* get to choose?" I spoke in regards to my assigned status as a witch. "I can't just become a witch." The cat squinted at me from the witch's arms. "I have a wife and kids and a home to take care of." The five witches looked around. They were impatient and out of place.
"The cat makes all the rules and decisions around here." The foremost, and presumed head witch spoke aloud. "Trust me, you would not be our first choice based on your... lifestyle." She glanced about the room and frowned. "Do you wear those clothes?" Pointing her head toward my closet, she questioned me. "They're awful." She shrieked and turned to me. "Where do you store your cloaks," she accused.
"I, uh... don't have any cloaks." I picked at a piece of lint on my blanket. "Normal people do not wear cloaks like yours." I stared at the wall, attempting to avoid eye contact as I said this. However, glancing at them for a moment, I noticed they were regarding their own appearances in the mirror. The head witch ran her gaze up and down her violet cloak of crushed velvet. There was a stitched flower over her shoulder in golden thread.
She exclaimed. "Ha! You might fit in here." She set the cat on the bed and grabbed my shoulder. "We're absolutely gorgeous in these cloaks." The other witches nodded their assent and stood straighter, alternating between looking at themselves in the mirror and throwing severe stares in my direction. A much older witch was pouting in the mirror and running her hand up and down her figure. Her witches hat was adorned with skulls and embroidered with images of human suffering. "With a sense of humor like that, we might do well together."
As she removed her hand from my shoulder, the room began to fade. Candlelight emanated in the darkness, and I was no longer in my room. I was now in the antechamber of a witch home. The windows were cloudy and overgrown with a variety of plants. The older witch smiled. "Say hello to your new home." The walls were made of hardened mud and the rough wooden beams reinforced the home. She produced a glass bottle and poured its contents into a small ceramic cup. "Drink its entire contents." She was stern. "It would not be best to waste even a single drop."
I started to shake. The contents of the glass were clear and the liquid in the cup swirled and produced a mist. "Wha- what is it?" Fear took hold. I did not know of any escape.
"That is vodka with hyssop." She smiled a toothless grin and shouted, "now drink up, bitch!" Music blasted from nowhere and the witches each pounded a shot as the cat purred from the endtable.
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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**First time doing a prompt, hopefully you enjoy it!**
I set the little black cat down on the floor of my room she looked around curiously for side-to-side as if to inspect her current surroundings. I chuckled quietly at her slight bewilderment.
“A lot better than that storm drain, ain’t it?” I asked. She looked back at me and let out a soft meow.
I smiled to myself. My parents didn’t take kindly to pets (they didn’t take kindly to much anymore), but when I saw this little furball caught in the storm drain near the playground, I just couldn’t leave her there. No matter what my folks said. It wasn’t easy, especially since I was seven at the time, But with dripping water and much determination, I was able to get her out.
I was interrupted by these thoughts as I felt the little cat rub her head against me with affection. I kneeled down and caressed her fur gently.
“Don’t worry,” I said, “I’ll take care of you, you’ll be safe with me.”
“CLARA! Why is the floor soaking wet?! Get out here, NOW!!!”
I jumped up in fear at the sound of my mother’s voice. I had meant to wipe up the spill that I had made on the floor but must’ve forgotten it on the way inside. My parents were always on edge over this stuff, but imagine if they saw I had brought the cat in.
The cat looked up to me, with wide, almost worried eyes. She could tell that the shouting did not bode well for me. I looked back down to her, trying to muster a reassuring look, not just for her, but for me.
“S-Stay here,” I whispered out nervously. “ Don’t make a sound. It’ll be quick, I hope.”
And with one final pet of her fur, I left the cat alone and went to face my parents, and the consequences for my actions…
**…**
I quietly walked back into the room, with my pajamas on from the laundry, and a rather big bruise on my cheek. The cat looked up from the bed, as her eyes seemed to widen in shock at the sight of me. I ignored her and nonchalantly climbed into bed and sighed.
A tear fell from my eye. It seemed like nothing I ever did was good enough for my parents. Whenever I did something good, they took little or no notice; but when I did something wrong, they were on me like a hawk. Why? Why didn’t they love me? Why was I even born if I was unwanted?
Suddenly I felt the cat nuzzle up to me as if she was trying to comfort me. Not knowing what else to do, I simply squeezed her in a hug, as I sobbed quietly. It was nice to have her. For the first time in a while, it was like someone actually cared, that I wasn’t just another face in the house, as if, they loved me.
Soon, I felt my eyelids begin to droop, and I pulled the cat closer and whispered goodnight. Before I fell completely asleep, I thought I could make out a voice, but I didn’t know whose. Only that they provided me with comfort.
“Don’t worry,” it said, “I’ll take care of you, you’ll be safe with me.”
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"Don't *I* get to choose?" I spoke in regards to my assigned status as a witch. "I can't just become a witch." The cat squinted at me from the witch's arms. "I have a wife and kids and a home to take care of." The five witches looked around. They were impatient and out of place.
"The cat makes all the rules and decisions around here." The foremost, and presumed head witch spoke aloud. "Trust me, you would not be our first choice based on your... lifestyle." She glanced about the room and frowned. "Do you wear those clothes?" Pointing her head toward my closet, she questioned me. "They're awful." She shrieked and turned to me. "Where do you store your cloaks," she accused.
"I, uh... don't have any cloaks." I picked at a piece of lint on my blanket. "Normal people do not wear cloaks like yours." I stared at the wall, attempting to avoid eye contact as I said this. However, glancing at them for a moment, I noticed they were regarding their own appearances in the mirror. The head witch ran her gaze up and down her violet cloak of crushed velvet. There was a stitched flower over her shoulder in golden thread.
She exclaimed. "Ha! You might fit in here." She set the cat on the bed and grabbed my shoulder. "We're absolutely gorgeous in these cloaks." The other witches nodded their assent and stood straighter, alternating between looking at themselves in the mirror and throwing severe stares in my direction. A much older witch was pouting in the mirror and running her hand up and down her figure. Her witches hat was adorned with skulls and embroidered with images of human suffering. "With a sense of humor like that, we might do well together."
As she removed her hand from my shoulder, the room began to fade. Candlelight emanated in the darkness, and I was no longer in my room. I was now in the antechamber of a witch home. The windows were cloudy and overgrown with a variety of plants. The older witch smiled. "Say hello to your new home." The walls were made of hardened mud and the rough wooden beams reinforced the home. She produced a glass bottle and poured its contents into a small ceramic cup. "Drink its entire contents." She was stern. "It would not be best to waste even a single drop."
I started to shake. The contents of the glass were clear and the liquid in the cup swirled and produced a mist. "Wha- what is it?" Fear took hold. I did not know of any escape.
"That is vodka with hyssop." She smiled a toothless grin and shouted, "now drink up, bitch!" Music blasted from nowhere and the witches each pounded a shot as the cat purred from the endtable.
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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Its been raining and cold all week, freezing rain, and heavy frost each morning grace the barren landscape that is my failing farmland. As I step off the porch to head to the barn, I hear a pitiful weak mewling, just barely audible over the wind and rain. I looked around, worried about any animal trapped outside in this miserable weather. Again, I hear that same sad forlorn cry. This time I can tell a general location, and start walking that way.
Hidden away in the wheel well of my truck was a tiny wet and shivering kitten. A tortoise shell pattern adorned her long wet matted fur. I could see fresh blood trickling from an open wound on it's back, and darker congealed blood clung to the corners of it's mouth. Carefully I reach out, and gingerly pick up the injured critter, half expecting to be met with claws and teeth. Instead the poor thing again mewed, and began to purr.
I rushed back inside the warm house with the injured cat, and started drying her off, before inspecting her wounds. She was injured pretty badly, but growing up on the farm, I have managed to become a decent enough veterinary impersonator. I cleaned and bandaged the obvious claw and bite marks. After mending and drying, I found a can of tuna and retrieved some fresh cream to feed the poor thing. I watched as the ravenous cat devoured every morsel and drop of the small improvised meal, before she curled up and fell fast asleep.
Injured animal or not, I had to get to work. I didn't want to leave the cat alone, but had no choice. I made a trip to the restroom, and when I returned...she was gone. I searches my house but she had simply vanished. Like I said, I had to get to work. So I didn't think much of it.
That night when I came in, I again searched for the cat, and again came up empty. I figured she was better at hiding than I was at finding, so I set out some cat food that I bought for her, and a bowl of water, just in case she came out. Then went to bed, exhausted.
I dreamed that night, odd flashes of brutal animal attacks and suffering animals. Things I would never want to see, or describe. I tossed and turned, thrashed and kicked til I finally fell into a deep thoughtless sleep. I awoke with jolt, thinking I heard something move in what should be my empty house. I jerk myself upright, and look around my bedroom.
Four strange women stood at the foot if my bed, gazing at me with mixed levels of confusion, and what looked like possibly pity. I have come to recognize that look ever since my land stopped producing. The entire town looked at me like that. Before I could say anything at all, or even really register what was happening, one of them spoke, " Calm down child. We mean you no harm. In fact, its quite the opposite. Seems you have saved the life of one of our own. That means we owe you a debt, and someone wants to thank you in our custom."
With her words, the cat I bandaged up suddenly sprung onto my bed, and walked up on my legs. She sat down, purring and looked into my eyes. I watched as her bright green eyes turned blue, then white. A voice too large for any of the women present, seemed to come from the cat, " I was near death, and afraid. You came to my aide, and likely saved my life. For that I am eternally grateful. For us, eternity is existence. I sense you need help, perhaps as much as I did. I would like to adopt you. You will come and live with us, and I will teach you the ways of our kind. No more fruitless crops and poisoned land, and you even get to learn who caused your current predicament."
The women looked at each other, and then at me. The oldest one, stepped forward and spoke, " This is a choice for you alone. Courtney, who you see as a cat, will be understanding with any decision you make, however this is a once in a lifetime thing. Most mortal humans never get this opportunity. You will learn our ways, and with that knowledge comes the end of your frail mortality. Think about this. Think about the good you can do, when you aren't worried about making ends meet, and pouring all of your time into this poisoned farm. We will be back at high noon to learn of your decision."
The cat, Courtney, stood, stretched and looked at me one last time, before jumping into the arms of one of the women. The young woman smiled at me and turned away.
Then they were gone. They didn't walk out, there was no puff of smoke, no glittery fairy dust, just gone. That was at five this morning. Its 11:30am right now.....not sure what I'm going to do, but I am getting tired of this place, and I would like to know who poisoned the land....
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As my eyes adjusted to the three figures by my bed the words replayed in my head over and over as I tried to understand them, "My cat wants to adopt you. So you're now one of us."
I let out a heavy sigh and checked the my alarn clock, 7:45 in the morning. The grey skies seeped through the curtains, it's been three years since I moved to Salem from Louisiana and I always joked that I'd be kidnapped by witches, as my eyes finally adjusted to them I saw that they weren't what I was used to seeing in New Orleans. The middle one was tall and slender, she had red curly hair, dark brown eyes and pale skin, wearing what looked to be a woman's business suit more organized. Her voice was stern yet soft, she spoke with a purpose and made sure you heard what she was saying to you.
The one of the left of her was more shy, she kept her head down so I couldn't nake her face out too well but she had bright blue hair and had an hourglass figure to her, she must have been the youngest because she was wearing ripped jeans with fishnets underneath and The Cure shirt. The one the right looked a knock off Stevie Knicks, she seemed pretty ditzy either that or her mind was wandering off somewhere else thinking of something more important.
I grabbed the cigarettes off my bedside table and lit one and took a long drag and stared at them as they awaited my answer.
"Yeah alright" I managed to groan out as I threw my blanket off and swung my feet off the bed to stand up blowing the smoke out my nose .
I guess they weren't expecting me to answer so quickly because the tall one who i can only assume is the leader was baffled by my answer
"Y-you're not even gonna put up a fight? I made a whole binder of the benefits to try and convince you!" She thrusted the binder at me.
"Honey I'm from New Orleans, it'd be weird if y'all werent here, Ca cèst bon?"
I put on my black slim fit jeans and doc marten boots on and grabbed a Candlemass shirt and threw it on, I sat there staring at them and in my head I thought, "This is gonna be a weird experience" I finished my cigarette and ashes it out in the ashtray on the floor, blowing out the last of the smoke.
"Alright lets go, Allons, c'mon lets go"
As we walked out my townhouse I grabbed my keys and black hoodie off my recliner, walking out towards the black towncar and in my head I thought "Maybe Salem isn't all the difderent from home."
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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There were four of them and they matched the modern movie stereotypes so closely it hurt. One Jamaican/Caribbean islands looking lady, one mousy little white girl holding our new cat, one modern gypsy looking gal and a tall business lady in a suit holding some kind of "grimoire".
"Can you say that again?"
"Al-Luna said it plainly enough. Her cat wants to adopt you." Replied miss suit. "Now, we need to make this quick so, get up and lets get going."
It had been a long night shift and I only had a couple hours sleep. I could tell that from the light coming in the window. I was in no mood for this kind of joke from my wife's friends. "Babe! I'M NOT UP FOR THIS KIND OF JOKE TODAY. COULD YOU PLEASE COME GET YOUR FRIENDS?" My wife had always joked about being a "kitchen witch" and had some weird friends but it was just a joke. I would know. I may have spent a career in the military but my family were a bunch of freaking weirdos who thought themselves some kind of hunters of monsters, Nazi and supernatural BS. My wife had never shown any of the signs I grew up being taught to look for. That was, never showed any of the signs before.
My normally mousy wife spoke up from behind them all of a sudden. "Ladies you are trespassing and we do not appreciate it." As they turned to look at my wife it was not the view I expected either. Meat cleaver in hand she had her kitchen apron on, filleting knife affixed to the front at the ready and spices, all her herbs and spices uncapped and in the pouches and holders of her favorite apron. Weirder yet, our 12 yr old was standing next to her with that silly little "wand" she had made from large thorned blackberry vines..except that it had new green growth sprouting from it.
Turning to look at them the Caribbean gal grinned and muttered "Now look what wez got here. Little rough sister breeding her own coven. Is cute." As the four of them started spreading out of the bedroom and across the living room.
Miss suit gave a smile to my wife. "Four on one dear even with a husband and newtish daughter apprentice isn't really fair now is it dear. be good and I'm sure we can work out your inclusion."
My wife smiled and simply said "count again".
My wife then suddenly muttered "Corporis restituere renovatis" and "canis explicandi". Pain was a matter of everyday life for me, I had a lot of injuries from my time in the military but I occasionally also had really good days. Suddenly, I felt 20 with not a soreness to my body and the world before me.
I rolled/flipped out of the bed and onto the floor with a nimbleness not enjoyed since I was a youth in my prime. As I did so I grabbed the tomahawk my great grandfather had made for me and the colt .45 my grandfather had left me in his will. My faithful and usually goofy rottweiler lunged to my side but suddenly bulkier, fierce and drooling with some kind of malice.
Miss Gypsy and the mousy girl seemed the most disturbed by this as everyone kinda froze in place and Miss gypsy spoke. "Okay sister. Maybe a witch, her daughter apprentice, a hellhound and an energized and empowered hunter in their own lair are more of a fair fight for four sister witches than you thought? Maybe?"
My dear, sweet little wife just smiled and replied "You think?"
"Well" restarted miss suit "Maybe we should talk." As she forced a more relaxed posture. "Could I bother you for a spot of tea."
My wife smiled back "Absolutely. Earl grey, English breakfast, black tea, green tea, chai? What would you care for?"
"Oh whatever is easiest."
"Okay, I've already got a pot of Earl Grey on. Dear?"
"Yes love?"
"Do get changed. You're in your PJs."
"Yes dear. Ladies, please have a seat and behave."
That was 6 months ago and life has changed. We bought a big house when I got out of the military. Nice 1.5 acres of land, my wife planted all sorts of herb gardens. Now the whole thing is tended by our new "family" and the house is never really quiet. Aside from the four ladies a couple of my wife's "weird friends" are now a part of everything too and it sucks commonly being the only guy surrounded by 7 women, 8 if including our daughter. Witches or not. Most of the time I feel outvoted before I even think to give input on anything. I feel great though. Now that I know, there is no excuse for me not to have a charm or spell bag that relieves my pains and give me back my health and vigor as if I was in the prime of my 20s again. My family thinks I am either disgusting or the biggest man whore. Let them. It's just my wife and I in those regards but them them think what they want. It's the easiest way of keeping the hunters of my family and their friends away as well as from guessing the truth.
Life, is definitely new and interesting. Damn cat.
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As my eyes adjusted to the three figures by my bed the words replayed in my head over and over as I tried to understand them, "My cat wants to adopt you. So you're now one of us."
I let out a heavy sigh and checked the my alarn clock, 7:45 in the morning. The grey skies seeped through the curtains, it's been three years since I moved to Salem from Louisiana and I always joked that I'd be kidnapped by witches, as my eyes finally adjusted to them I saw that they weren't what I was used to seeing in New Orleans. The middle one was tall and slender, she had red curly hair, dark brown eyes and pale skin, wearing what looked to be a woman's business suit more organized. Her voice was stern yet soft, she spoke with a purpose and made sure you heard what she was saying to you.
The one of the left of her was more shy, she kept her head down so I couldn't nake her face out too well but she had bright blue hair and had an hourglass figure to her, she must have been the youngest because she was wearing ripped jeans with fishnets underneath and The Cure shirt. The one the right looked a knock off Stevie Knicks, she seemed pretty ditzy either that or her mind was wandering off somewhere else thinking of something more important.
I grabbed the cigarettes off my bedside table and lit one and took a long drag and stared at them as they awaited my answer.
"Yeah alright" I managed to groan out as I threw my blanket off and swung my feet off the bed to stand up blowing the smoke out my nose .
I guess they weren't expecting me to answer so quickly because the tall one who i can only assume is the leader was baffled by my answer
"Y-you're not even gonna put up a fight? I made a whole binder of the benefits to try and convince you!" She thrusted the binder at me.
"Honey I'm from New Orleans, it'd be weird if y'all werent here, Ca cèst bon?"
I put on my black slim fit jeans and doc marten boots on and grabbed a Candlemass shirt and threw it on, I sat there staring at them and in my head I thought, "This is gonna be a weird experience" I finished my cigarette and ashes it out in the ashtray on the floor, blowing out the last of the smoke.
"Alright lets go, Allons, c'mon lets go"
As we walked out my townhouse I grabbed my keys and black hoodie off my recliner, walking out towards the black towncar and in my head I thought "Maybe Salem isn't all the difderent from home."
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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**First time doing a prompt, hopefully you enjoy it!**
I set the little black cat down on the floor of my room she looked around curiously for side-to-side as if to inspect her current surroundings. I chuckled quietly at her slight bewilderment.
“A lot better than that storm drain, ain’t it?” I asked. She looked back at me and let out a soft meow.
I smiled to myself. My parents didn’t take kindly to pets (they didn’t take kindly to much anymore), but when I saw this little furball caught in the storm drain near the playground, I just couldn’t leave her there. No matter what my folks said. It wasn’t easy, especially since I was seven at the time, But with dripping water and much determination, I was able to get her out.
I was interrupted by these thoughts as I felt the little cat rub her head against me with affection. I kneeled down and caressed her fur gently.
“Don’t worry,” I said, “I’ll take care of you, you’ll be safe with me.”
“CLARA! Why is the floor soaking wet?! Get out here, NOW!!!”
I jumped up in fear at the sound of my mother’s voice. I had meant to wipe up the spill that I had made on the floor but must’ve forgotten it on the way inside. My parents were always on edge over this stuff, but imagine if they saw I had brought the cat in.
The cat looked up to me, with wide, almost worried eyes. She could tell that the shouting did not bode well for me. I looked back down to her, trying to muster a reassuring look, not just for her, but for me.
“S-Stay here,” I whispered out nervously. “ Don’t make a sound. It’ll be quick, I hope.”
And with one final pet of her fur, I left the cat alone and went to face my parents, and the consequences for my actions…
**…**
I quietly walked back into the room, with my pajamas on from the laundry, and a rather big bruise on my cheek. The cat looked up from the bed, as her eyes seemed to widen in shock at the sight of me. I ignored her and nonchalantly climbed into bed and sighed.
A tear fell from my eye. It seemed like nothing I ever did was good enough for my parents. Whenever I did something good, they took little or no notice; but when I did something wrong, they were on me like a hawk. Why? Why didn’t they love me? Why was I even born if I was unwanted?
Suddenly I felt the cat nuzzle up to me as if she was trying to comfort me. Not knowing what else to do, I simply squeezed her in a hug, as I sobbed quietly. It was nice to have her. For the first time in a while, it was like someone actually cared, that I wasn’t just another face in the house, as if, they loved me.
Soon, I felt my eyelids begin to droop, and I pulled the cat closer and whispered goodnight. Before I fell completely asleep, I thought I could make out a voice, but I didn’t know whose. Only that they provided me with comfort.
“Don’t worry,” it said, “I’ll take care of you, you’ll be safe with me.”
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As my eyes adjusted to the three figures by my bed the words replayed in my head over and over as I tried to understand them, "My cat wants to adopt you. So you're now one of us."
I let out a heavy sigh and checked the my alarn clock, 7:45 in the morning. The grey skies seeped through the curtains, it's been three years since I moved to Salem from Louisiana and I always joked that I'd be kidnapped by witches, as my eyes finally adjusted to them I saw that they weren't what I was used to seeing in New Orleans. The middle one was tall and slender, she had red curly hair, dark brown eyes and pale skin, wearing what looked to be a woman's business suit more organized. Her voice was stern yet soft, she spoke with a purpose and made sure you heard what she was saying to you.
The one of the left of her was more shy, she kept her head down so I couldn't nake her face out too well but she had bright blue hair and had an hourglass figure to her, she must have been the youngest because she was wearing ripped jeans with fishnets underneath and The Cure shirt. The one the right looked a knock off Stevie Knicks, she seemed pretty ditzy either that or her mind was wandering off somewhere else thinking of something more important.
I grabbed the cigarettes off my bedside table and lit one and took a long drag and stared at them as they awaited my answer.
"Yeah alright" I managed to groan out as I threw my blanket off and swung my feet off the bed to stand up blowing the smoke out my nose .
I guess they weren't expecting me to answer so quickly because the tall one who i can only assume is the leader was baffled by my answer
"Y-you're not even gonna put up a fight? I made a whole binder of the benefits to try and convince you!" She thrusted the binder at me.
"Honey I'm from New Orleans, it'd be weird if y'all werent here, Ca cèst bon?"
I put on my black slim fit jeans and doc marten boots on and grabbed a Candlemass shirt and threw it on, I sat there staring at them and in my head I thought, "This is gonna be a weird experience" I finished my cigarette and ashes it out in the ashtray on the floor, blowing out the last of the smoke.
"Alright lets go, Allons, c'mon lets go"
As we walked out my townhouse I grabbed my keys and black hoodie off my recliner, walking out towards the black towncar and in my head I thought "Maybe Salem isn't all the difderent from home."
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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Its been raining and cold all week, freezing rain, and heavy frost each morning grace the barren landscape that is my failing farmland. As I step off the porch to head to the barn, I hear a pitiful weak mewling, just barely audible over the wind and rain. I looked around, worried about any animal trapped outside in this miserable weather. Again, I hear that same sad forlorn cry. This time I can tell a general location, and start walking that way.
Hidden away in the wheel well of my truck was a tiny wet and shivering kitten. A tortoise shell pattern adorned her long wet matted fur. I could see fresh blood trickling from an open wound on it's back, and darker congealed blood clung to the corners of it's mouth. Carefully I reach out, and gingerly pick up the injured critter, half expecting to be met with claws and teeth. Instead the poor thing again mewed, and began to purr.
I rushed back inside the warm house with the injured cat, and started drying her off, before inspecting her wounds. She was injured pretty badly, but growing up on the farm, I have managed to become a decent enough veterinary impersonator. I cleaned and bandaged the obvious claw and bite marks. After mending and drying, I found a can of tuna and retrieved some fresh cream to feed the poor thing. I watched as the ravenous cat devoured every morsel and drop of the small improvised meal, before she curled up and fell fast asleep.
Injured animal or not, I had to get to work. I didn't want to leave the cat alone, but had no choice. I made a trip to the restroom, and when I returned...she was gone. I searches my house but she had simply vanished. Like I said, I had to get to work. So I didn't think much of it.
That night when I came in, I again searched for the cat, and again came up empty. I figured she was better at hiding than I was at finding, so I set out some cat food that I bought for her, and a bowl of water, just in case she came out. Then went to bed, exhausted.
I dreamed that night, odd flashes of brutal animal attacks and suffering animals. Things I would never want to see, or describe. I tossed and turned, thrashed and kicked til I finally fell into a deep thoughtless sleep. I awoke with jolt, thinking I heard something move in what should be my empty house. I jerk myself upright, and look around my bedroom.
Four strange women stood at the foot if my bed, gazing at me with mixed levels of confusion, and what looked like possibly pity. I have come to recognize that look ever since my land stopped producing. The entire town looked at me like that. Before I could say anything at all, or even really register what was happening, one of them spoke, " Calm down child. We mean you no harm. In fact, its quite the opposite. Seems you have saved the life of one of our own. That means we owe you a debt, and someone wants to thank you in our custom."
With her words, the cat I bandaged up suddenly sprung onto my bed, and walked up on my legs. She sat down, purring and looked into my eyes. I watched as her bright green eyes turned blue, then white. A voice too large for any of the women present, seemed to come from the cat, " I was near death, and afraid. You came to my aide, and likely saved my life. For that I am eternally grateful. For us, eternity is existence. I sense you need help, perhaps as much as I did. I would like to adopt you. You will come and live with us, and I will teach you the ways of our kind. No more fruitless crops and poisoned land, and you even get to learn who caused your current predicament."
The women looked at each other, and then at me. The oldest one, stepped forward and spoke, " This is a choice for you alone. Courtney, who you see as a cat, will be understanding with any decision you make, however this is a once in a lifetime thing. Most mortal humans never get this opportunity. You will learn our ways, and with that knowledge comes the end of your frail mortality. Think about this. Think about the good you can do, when you aren't worried about making ends meet, and pouring all of your time into this poisoned farm. We will be back at high noon to learn of your decision."
The cat, Courtney, stood, stretched and looked at me one last time, before jumping into the arms of one of the women. The young woman smiled at me and turned away.
Then they were gone. They didn't walk out, there was no puff of smoke, no glittery fairy dust, just gone. That was at five this morning. Its 11:30am right now.....not sure what I'm going to do, but I am getting tired of this place, and I would like to know who poisoned the land....
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I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes. "Is this... Is this a prank? How did you get in here?"
One of the women rolled her eyes, and looked at the cat in her friend"s arms.
"I told you, this is a bad idea. What if they don't want to be part of this? We've just exposed ourselves for nothing, and I'm not disintegrating another body for at least a month."
My jaw dropped at the mention of bodies disintegrating, and the cat seemed to notice. She jumped out of the arms holding her, and started rubbing her head on me. "See, this is what I'm talking about," said the woman who had recently been holding the cat. "Cat decided this person belongs to them - so we're stuck with them now."
I looked down at the cat, currently purring and rubbing her head on my chest. "Is that true, little lady? I belong to you now?"
The cat stopped. She looked up, and stared directly into my eyes, then *nodded*, and continued her nuzzling.
I looked up, incredulous. The women standing at my bedside hadn't seemed to notice, and were still arguing - I started hoping that they would just leave and this would be just a weird dream.
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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There were four of them and they matched the modern movie stereotypes so closely it hurt. One Jamaican/Caribbean islands looking lady, one mousy little white girl holding our new cat, one modern gypsy looking gal and a tall business lady in a suit holding some kind of "grimoire".
"Can you say that again?"
"Al-Luna said it plainly enough. Her cat wants to adopt you." Replied miss suit. "Now, we need to make this quick so, get up and lets get going."
It had been a long night shift and I only had a couple hours sleep. I could tell that from the light coming in the window. I was in no mood for this kind of joke from my wife's friends. "Babe! I'M NOT UP FOR THIS KIND OF JOKE TODAY. COULD YOU PLEASE COME GET YOUR FRIENDS?" My wife had always joked about being a "kitchen witch" and had some weird friends but it was just a joke. I would know. I may have spent a career in the military but my family were a bunch of freaking weirdos who thought themselves some kind of hunters of monsters, Nazi and supernatural BS. My wife had never shown any of the signs I grew up being taught to look for. That was, never showed any of the signs before.
My normally mousy wife spoke up from behind them all of a sudden. "Ladies you are trespassing and we do not appreciate it." As they turned to look at my wife it was not the view I expected either. Meat cleaver in hand she had her kitchen apron on, filleting knife affixed to the front at the ready and spices, all her herbs and spices uncapped and in the pouches and holders of her favorite apron. Weirder yet, our 12 yr old was standing next to her with that silly little "wand" she had made from large thorned blackberry vines..except that it had new green growth sprouting from it.
Turning to look at them the Caribbean gal grinned and muttered "Now look what wez got here. Little rough sister breeding her own coven. Is cute." As the four of them started spreading out of the bedroom and across the living room.
Miss suit gave a smile to my wife. "Four on one dear even with a husband and newtish daughter apprentice isn't really fair now is it dear. be good and I'm sure we can work out your inclusion."
My wife smiled and simply said "count again".
My wife then suddenly muttered "Corporis restituere renovatis" and "canis explicandi". Pain was a matter of everyday life for me, I had a lot of injuries from my time in the military but I occasionally also had really good days. Suddenly, I felt 20 with not a soreness to my body and the world before me.
I rolled/flipped out of the bed and onto the floor with a nimbleness not enjoyed since I was a youth in my prime. As I did so I grabbed the tomahawk my great grandfather had made for me and the colt .45 my grandfather had left me in his will. My faithful and usually goofy rottweiler lunged to my side but suddenly bulkier, fierce and drooling with some kind of malice.
Miss Gypsy and the mousy girl seemed the most disturbed by this as everyone kinda froze in place and Miss gypsy spoke. "Okay sister. Maybe a witch, her daughter apprentice, a hellhound and an energized and empowered hunter in their own lair are more of a fair fight for four sister witches than you thought? Maybe?"
My dear, sweet little wife just smiled and replied "You think?"
"Well" restarted miss suit "Maybe we should talk." As she forced a more relaxed posture. "Could I bother you for a spot of tea."
My wife smiled back "Absolutely. Earl grey, English breakfast, black tea, green tea, chai? What would you care for?"
"Oh whatever is easiest."
"Okay, I've already got a pot of Earl Grey on. Dear?"
"Yes love?"
"Do get changed. You're in your PJs."
"Yes dear. Ladies, please have a seat and behave."
That was 6 months ago and life has changed. We bought a big house when I got out of the military. Nice 1.5 acres of land, my wife planted all sorts of herb gardens. Now the whole thing is tended by our new "family" and the house is never really quiet. Aside from the four ladies a couple of my wife's "weird friends" are now a part of everything too and it sucks commonly being the only guy surrounded by 7 women, 8 if including our daughter. Witches or not. Most of the time I feel outvoted before I even think to give input on anything. I feel great though. Now that I know, there is no excuse for me not to have a charm or spell bag that relieves my pains and give me back my health and vigor as if I was in the prime of my 20s again. My family thinks I am either disgusting or the biggest man whore. Let them. It's just my wife and I in those regards but them them think what they want. It's the easiest way of keeping the hunters of my family and their friends away as well as from guessing the truth.
Life, is definitely new and interesting. Damn cat.
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I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes. "Is this... Is this a prank? How did you get in here?"
One of the women rolled her eyes, and looked at the cat in her friend"s arms.
"I told you, this is a bad idea. What if they don't want to be part of this? We've just exposed ourselves for nothing, and I'm not disintegrating another body for at least a month."
My jaw dropped at the mention of bodies disintegrating, and the cat seemed to notice. She jumped out of the arms holding her, and started rubbing her head on me. "See, this is what I'm talking about," said the woman who had recently been holding the cat. "Cat decided this person belongs to them - so we're stuck with them now."
I looked down at the cat, currently purring and rubbing her head on my chest. "Is that true, little lady? I belong to you now?"
The cat stopped. She looked up, and stared directly into my eyes, then *nodded*, and continued her nuzzling.
I looked up, incredulous. The women standing at my bedside hadn't seemed to notice, and were still arguing - I started hoping that they would just leave and this would be just a weird dream.
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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**First time doing a prompt, hopefully you enjoy it!**
I set the little black cat down on the floor of my room she looked around curiously for side-to-side as if to inspect her current surroundings. I chuckled quietly at her slight bewilderment.
“A lot better than that storm drain, ain’t it?” I asked. She looked back at me and let out a soft meow.
I smiled to myself. My parents didn’t take kindly to pets (they didn’t take kindly to much anymore), but when I saw this little furball caught in the storm drain near the playground, I just couldn’t leave her there. No matter what my folks said. It wasn’t easy, especially since I was seven at the time, But with dripping water and much determination, I was able to get her out.
I was interrupted by these thoughts as I felt the little cat rub her head against me with affection. I kneeled down and caressed her fur gently.
“Don’t worry,” I said, “I’ll take care of you, you’ll be safe with me.”
“CLARA! Why is the floor soaking wet?! Get out here, NOW!!!”
I jumped up in fear at the sound of my mother’s voice. I had meant to wipe up the spill that I had made on the floor but must’ve forgotten it on the way inside. My parents were always on edge over this stuff, but imagine if they saw I had brought the cat in.
The cat looked up to me, with wide, almost worried eyes. She could tell that the shouting did not bode well for me. I looked back down to her, trying to muster a reassuring look, not just for her, but for me.
“S-Stay here,” I whispered out nervously. “ Don’t make a sound. It’ll be quick, I hope.”
And with one final pet of her fur, I left the cat alone and went to face my parents, and the consequences for my actions…
**…**
I quietly walked back into the room, with my pajamas on from the laundry, and a rather big bruise on my cheek. The cat looked up from the bed, as her eyes seemed to widen in shock at the sight of me. I ignored her and nonchalantly climbed into bed and sighed.
A tear fell from my eye. It seemed like nothing I ever did was good enough for my parents. Whenever I did something good, they took little or no notice; but when I did something wrong, they were on me like a hawk. Why? Why didn’t they love me? Why was I even born if I was unwanted?
Suddenly I felt the cat nuzzle up to me as if she was trying to comfort me. Not knowing what else to do, I simply squeezed her in a hug, as I sobbed quietly. It was nice to have her. For the first time in a while, it was like someone actually cared, that I wasn’t just another face in the house, as if, they loved me.
Soon, I felt my eyelids begin to droop, and I pulled the cat closer and whispered goodnight. Before I fell completely asleep, I thought I could make out a voice, but I didn’t know whose. Only that they provided me with comfort.
“Don’t worry,” it said, “I’ll take care of you, you’ll be safe with me.”
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I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes. "Is this... Is this a prank? How did you get in here?"
One of the women rolled her eyes, and looked at the cat in her friend"s arms.
"I told you, this is a bad idea. What if they don't want to be part of this? We've just exposed ourselves for nothing, and I'm not disintegrating another body for at least a month."
My jaw dropped at the mention of bodies disintegrating, and the cat seemed to notice. She jumped out of the arms holding her, and started rubbing her head on me. "See, this is what I'm talking about," said the woman who had recently been holding the cat. "Cat decided this person belongs to them - so we're stuck with them now."
I looked down at the cat, currently purring and rubbing her head on my chest. "Is that true, little lady? I belong to you now?"
The cat stopped. She looked up, and stared directly into my eyes, then *nodded*, and continued her nuzzling.
I looked up, incredulous. The women standing at my bedside hadn't seemed to notice, and were still arguing - I started hoping that they would just leave and this would be just a weird dream.
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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I woke to see a child in rags, holding my little cat.
I say *my* cat, but really it's only been a week. She turned up in the storm and waltzed right in, hissed down my Pussum, and made for her foodbowl. Pussum allowed this.
"Bodi says you didn't steal her?" said the child. The kitten wiggled towards me and I sent her an eye-hug. The child's eyes narrowed. The shadows behind them coalesced into dark figures.
"She came to me in the storm," said I.
The child frowned.
"She said you fed her."
"I did that,"
The shadows leaned forward. They were smaller now.
"And you tended her poorly leg, and sang to her?"
"Aye"
"So, can you help us?"
The little one stepped into the light of my fire, and I saw how thin they were. I stirred my cauldron and hummed an old lullaby.
The shadows drew forward. The kitten broke free and ran to me.
I pulled up the ladle and took a bowl from my caravan shelf.
"How many are you?"
The shadows sat around the fire and shared my soup.
They're my children now, all five of them.
And the cat.
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I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes. "Is this... Is this a prank? How did you get in here?"
One of the women rolled her eyes, and looked at the cat in her friend"s arms.
"I told you, this is a bad idea. What if they don't want to be part of this? We've just exposed ourselves for nothing, and I'm not disintegrating another body for at least a month."
My jaw dropped at the mention of bodies disintegrating, and the cat seemed to notice. She jumped out of the arms holding her, and started rubbing her head on me. "See, this is what I'm talking about," said the woman who had recently been holding the cat. "Cat decided this person belongs to them - so we're stuck with them now."
I looked down at the cat, currently purring and rubbing her head on my chest. "Is that true, little lady? I belong to you now?"
The cat stopped. She looked up, and stared directly into my eyes, then *nodded*, and continued her nuzzling.
I looked up, incredulous. The women standing at my bedside hadn't seemed to notice, and were still arguing - I started hoping that they would just leave and this would be just a weird dream.
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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Its been raining and cold all week, freezing rain, and heavy frost each morning grace the barren landscape that is my failing farmland. As I step off the porch to head to the barn, I hear a pitiful weak mewling, just barely audible over the wind and rain. I looked around, worried about any animal trapped outside in this miserable weather. Again, I hear that same sad forlorn cry. This time I can tell a general location, and start walking that way.
Hidden away in the wheel well of my truck was a tiny wet and shivering kitten. A tortoise shell pattern adorned her long wet matted fur. I could see fresh blood trickling from an open wound on it's back, and darker congealed blood clung to the corners of it's mouth. Carefully I reach out, and gingerly pick up the injured critter, half expecting to be met with claws and teeth. Instead the poor thing again mewed, and began to purr.
I rushed back inside the warm house with the injured cat, and started drying her off, before inspecting her wounds. She was injured pretty badly, but growing up on the farm, I have managed to become a decent enough veterinary impersonator. I cleaned and bandaged the obvious claw and bite marks. After mending and drying, I found a can of tuna and retrieved some fresh cream to feed the poor thing. I watched as the ravenous cat devoured every morsel and drop of the small improvised meal, before she curled up and fell fast asleep.
Injured animal or not, I had to get to work. I didn't want to leave the cat alone, but had no choice. I made a trip to the restroom, and when I returned...she was gone. I searches my house but she had simply vanished. Like I said, I had to get to work. So I didn't think much of it.
That night when I came in, I again searched for the cat, and again came up empty. I figured she was better at hiding than I was at finding, so I set out some cat food that I bought for her, and a bowl of water, just in case she came out. Then went to bed, exhausted.
I dreamed that night, odd flashes of brutal animal attacks and suffering animals. Things I would never want to see, or describe. I tossed and turned, thrashed and kicked til I finally fell into a deep thoughtless sleep. I awoke with jolt, thinking I heard something move in what should be my empty house. I jerk myself upright, and look around my bedroom.
Four strange women stood at the foot if my bed, gazing at me with mixed levels of confusion, and what looked like possibly pity. I have come to recognize that look ever since my land stopped producing. The entire town looked at me like that. Before I could say anything at all, or even really register what was happening, one of them spoke, " Calm down child. We mean you no harm. In fact, its quite the opposite. Seems you have saved the life of one of our own. That means we owe you a debt, and someone wants to thank you in our custom."
With her words, the cat I bandaged up suddenly sprung onto my bed, and walked up on my legs. She sat down, purring and looked into my eyes. I watched as her bright green eyes turned blue, then white. A voice too large for any of the women present, seemed to come from the cat, " I was near death, and afraid. You came to my aide, and likely saved my life. For that I am eternally grateful. For us, eternity is existence. I sense you need help, perhaps as much as I did. I would like to adopt you. You will come and live with us, and I will teach you the ways of our kind. No more fruitless crops and poisoned land, and you even get to learn who caused your current predicament."
The women looked at each other, and then at me. The oldest one, stepped forward and spoke, " This is a choice for you alone. Courtney, who you see as a cat, will be understanding with any decision you make, however this is a once in a lifetime thing. Most mortal humans never get this opportunity. You will learn our ways, and with that knowledge comes the end of your frail mortality. Think about this. Think about the good you can do, when you aren't worried about making ends meet, and pouring all of your time into this poisoned farm. We will be back at high noon to learn of your decision."
The cat, Courtney, stood, stretched and looked at me one last time, before jumping into the arms of one of the women. The young woman smiled at me and turned away.
Then they were gone. They didn't walk out, there was no puff of smoke, no glittery fairy dust, just gone. That was at five this morning. Its 11:30am right now.....not sure what I'm going to do, but I am getting tired of this place, and I would like to know who poisoned the land....
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I screeched. Loudly. The witches began screaming as well, clearly disgruntled by my choice of verbal communication until one witch had the genius idea to pimp slap me, effectively shutting me up.
When I came to, the sun was high in the sky, sitting nicely behind a large, white cloud. Leaves entered my view, proliferating it with shades of green that battled with the otherwise clear blue of the sky. I was moving.
*we* were moving.
Groggy, I tried my hand in sitting.
“Well, hello there, sleepy beauty.” One of the witches snickered, flicking my right ear.
The witch allowed me to sit, in fact she helped me upright, nodding her head in understanding when I gasped.
Before me, an alignment of small abodes of smooth sandstone stood beside each other, divided by yellow picket fences. On the lawns of each home sat one person~not witch, *person*~their eyes trained on the arterial road that fed through the street.
“Welcome home, Hardy.”
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