post_text
stringlengths 0
10k
| post_title
stringlengths 8
313
| chosen
stringlengths 1
39.5k
| rejected
stringlengths 1
13.8k
|
|---|---|---|---|
[WP]You are a student 400 years in the future, you are assigned a project to student "Trends of the early 2000s" In your deep research you learn a horrible secret: The Gods you worship were originally portrayed on trading cards known as "Pokemon"
|
It was a normal day and I was just a normal teenage kid, before I became this pariah, this heretic or hero, depending on who you talk to. Oh how I wish I knew that Saturday morning what I know now, would I do the same? Or would I bury my head in blissful ignorance?
I had gone downstairs for breakfast and lied to my mum about having done my morning prayers. I can't remember which of the 151 Gods we were supposed to pray to that day but I usually skipped it. If it was Zapdo I would often take the time to admire the little stone statue we had for prayers, I liked the way the artisan had carved the spikey wings and embued the piece with a feeling of motion. The rest were fairly mundane, we weren't a rich family and couldn't afford the extravagant prayer aids that some families could.
Mum was nagging me about my room and asking when I was going to finally get round to tidying it, but I had other things on my mind. The project for Mr Hemmings had to be completed by Monday and I had written absolutely nothing yet. It was a big deal for the school, Harlow Falls High School had recently uncovered a trove of time capsules. A headteacher around 500 years or so ago must have had a thing for them because every student in that school filled and buried one.
Judging by the contents of the first two that I had opened the students must have been forced to fill them. The contents stank of a half-assed project. So far I had found a week long diary of a students daily life, this was either an unremarkable student or they all lived unremarkable lives. I don't mean that in a harsh way, I am sure Richard Andrews was a perfectly good dude, but I got about as much out of that as someone would reading my diary until today. They must have been told to put a favourite toy in too because I had a really old yoyo and some sort of shiny disc, possibly some sort of old digital media, it had "METAL GEAR" and "Solid" written underneath and there was a hole cut out of the centre. I was exasperated, how was I supposed to write a two page essay on this junk? Mr Hemming was going to hit the roof on Monday. I had tried searching the Info-Net for any details on this Metal Gear but nothing was coming up, any information from before our "Great Ecclesiastical Republic" had formed seemed to have been purged, it was like hitting a brick wall when trying to look past 300 years ago.
I gave my Mum a kiss, muttered some vague promises about my room and grabbed my jacket, phone, keys and Pica charm. The Pica charm was a little silver model of the God Pica, a mouse like creature with a spikey tail and whiskers. It was cute and brought luck, I never left the house without it, I wasn't really religious but I wasn't an idiot after all.
I hopped on my skateboard and started heading towards the school, it went against every fibre of my being to head to school on a Saturday but I had one more time capsule to open and I needed to get that essay written.
I skated out of the suburb and into town, I passed Spiritual Park and looked enviously at the centre fountain. The fountain had a huge bronze statue of Venus in the centre, the giant toad like face looked almost gloating at me, with colourful flowers sprouting from it's back. It was surrounded by a circular water feature with the God Squirtoise, a stone statue of the turtle God with hidden water pipes, spraying water in fantastic arcs across the pool and Venus. It was the edge of the pool that I was envious of though, an incredibly smooth stone kerb that was fantastic for grinding along on my board. I glanced around a saw the garden caretakers huddled nearby and knew that those religious nuts would kick up a storm if they saw me grinding the fountain again. Last time they got word to my mum and she didn't let me forget it for months.
I thought better of trying a frontside grind with so many people about and headed reluctantly on to school. When I got there I entered the code into the electronic door lock that Mr Hemmings had given us and went towards the history classroom. There is something eery about an empty school, you could hear a pin drop and I was used to the noise of shouting, ringing of bells and people running up and down the halls. I shook off the feeling and made my way into the room, my two open capsules were there with the junk discarded to the side and next to it my only hope. The last unopened capsule, a grey metal tube about 30cm long and as wide as a dinner plate.
I unscrewed the top, praying to Pica that I would finally get some luck and find something worth writing about. The lid came off easily, unlike that second one which had taken a few minutes of straining and cursing, and I gently tipped the contents onto the desk. I first saw another diary and swore out loud, I was not going to read through another weeks worth of innane teenage rambling.
I pushed it to the side and saw a set of cards tied together with a band, they had been individually slotted into see through plastic sleeves, perhaps for protection. They were blue with a red and white sphere in the centre, the writing caught my eye, "Pokémon" in an exciting yellow font. They looked cool but I wasn't sure about how I could write two pages on them.
I flipped them over and my breath caught, I was staring at a picture the God "Dug". Revered by miners no one would enter a mine without an image of Dug on their clothing, it was said terrible things would happen if they did. Whoever had created this was clearly fiercely religious, the artistry was incredible, bright colours and smooth lines, far better than the images the miners wore. I tore my eyes from the picture and scanned the rest of the card the top was titled "Diglett" which struck me as strange but 500 years had past so perhaps language had changed and the top right had "40 HP" with a red circle containing a fist. Underneath the picture were strange words concerning abilities called Dig and Dig through. There were various numbers printed on it and it all became a little indecipherable for me.
I removed the band and scanned through the remaining cards, they were incredible. I saw Hitmonch who boxers touch before entering the ring, there was Karp who fishermen had carved into their boat to ensure a bountiful catch and pidge who pilots prayed to before flying. I flicked through them awestruck, the artistry was incredible, I was used to the colourless images shown in our National Temples. These were eye-catching and exciting. The names were all wrong and the writing below the images escaped my understanding but these images could easily fill a two page essay.
The final card was the best of all, a glorious shiny image of the God "Char", our fierce God of War. It caught the light coming in from the window and the dragon God with wings spread was in the middle of a terrifying roar. Char was used to strike fear into the Republic's enemies and this image would be splashed across our war machines the moment the military saw.
I tore my eyes from the Char card which was labeled incorrectly of course and studied the final item. A hardcover book titled "Pokémon Encyclopedia" with a colourful image of Pica in the centre. I found my hand reaching unconsciously to my Pica charm and rubbed it for good luck.
I opened the book and the first line almost physically knocked me to the floor. It read "Pokémon or Pocket Monsters is a children's card game created in Japan by Satoshi Tajiri where trainers battle each other with fictional monsters". The words "fictional" and "monsters" screamed out at me. I hungrily devoured the book, skim reading it in what felt like minutes. It talked about this popular toy craze that started in an ancient forgotten civilisation called Japan and spread across the globe.
All I could think about was the millions of hours our people had wasted worshipping a children's toy, the thousands of lives destroyed in the name of Char, or as the Encyclopedia called him, Charizard, a fictional, non-existant cartoon character. The Great Ecclesiastical Republic had sold us a complete lie and this book proved it, this book alone held the evidence to open the world's eyes.
I took out my Pica charm and after a moment heistitation I threw it as hard as I could against the wall, it was just a chunk of useless metal after all. I had to get the word out, but how?
|
I sat dumbfounded in front of my chari-top, resting the warming machine on my lap. It hummed quietly, the sound of its whirring fans the only anchor for my mind amidst the tumultuous events of the last few minutes. I gazed out of the window, surveying the slate grey sky, the pathetic whispering of the wind as it crawled through the leaky windows. It couldn't be true, could it?
My professor had assigned me to this task more out of pity than anything else - he knew I'd wanted to become a poke-ologist for years, digging up the ancient histories and mysteries of our gods. It was something of a family tradition, with my father, and his father before him, and his father before him ad infinitum all partaking in one of the most financially unrewarding career paths in all of human history. For you see, there was no one who really cared about the history of our ancestral gods. Current religious practice dictated that as per Dialga's instructions, we were to avoid delving too far into the past, should we risk awakening the wrath of Giratina.
Yet, here before me, displayed in all of its 1080p glory, sat a cartoon representation of my most beloved of gods, Charizard. Charizard was the god associated with heat and warmth in all things, it was after him that the very device with which I scoured the past was named. I could not reconcile the fact that the information I'd managed to acquire was in the region of 500 years old. This would shake the very foundations of our society - nay, the world! I pondered what to do, my fingers tapping the humming machine, their beat dancing along to one of my countries national anthems - "We all want to be the very best".
\---------------------------
Three weeks had come and gone in the blink of an eye. I'd not yet deigned to reveal my troublesome findings to the populace at large, having only yesterday shown my professor what I found. He'd peered over his lunato-lenses at me, seeming to wish to pierce the veil of bravado and ignorance I'd put on. I did not doubt he knew that I was aware of the full ramifications of what I'd unearthed, but it was a facada I could not drop at this time. He directed me to report my findings to the appropriate religious organisation, in this case, the Righteous of Ralts.
​
The Righteous of Ralts were a centrist sect of the Gardevoir Guardians. They were a religion based on love and worship, with the icon of their followers' adoration being their namesake, Gardevoir. She was often depicted in erotic poses with her followers, using her powers to control them and ascend them to the higher planes of existence. It had always been strange to me that her followers wanted to be dominated and made use of by Gardevoir, but given my own proclivities, I did not judge them.
Climbing the great helical stairs of the Gardevoir Guardians' temple, I reached the summit. My knees were weak from the six hundred and sixty six steps of the climb, my arms were heavy from carrying my chari-top, and there was vomit on my pullover, freshly stained with spaghetti courtesy of my exhaustion. I pressed my fingers against the great marble doors, and made the sign of the deceased Marowak as I entered. Inside, all was darkness. The great monotonous lack of anything discernible seeped into every corner and facet of the temple. Something was amiss. Something was very, very wrong. The temple was never this empty, never in such a state of vacancy and darkness.
​
I heard a crumbling of dirt behind me and whirled around, turning on my chari-top to cast some light. A scratching of the wall to my right - nothing. I felt an icy wind tease me as it caressed my neck and I felt my hairs stand up. The darkness seemed to be pulsing at me now, I tried to calm my mind but still it taunted me, mocked me.
"The Sneasel Society sends their regards" was the first voice I heard as my throat was slashed open. I slumped to my knees, still desperately trying to shine a light on what had happened. I fell forward, now clutching my neck as my beloved chari-top cast its dying light in front of me. I saw a man in a Sneasel mask, holding a wickedly curved sword. A curved. Sword. I remember seeing the warriors of the Sneasel Society years ago with those same curved swords. It must be true, I must be dying.
I saw a small cat approach. It looked at me, a golden coin between its ears and wisdom in its eyes.
"Some things are best left a secret. Team Rocket will make a record of your knowledge, and ensure that it does not fall into miscreant hands again." said my assailant, wiping the blood from their blade.
"Meeeowth, that's right!" said the strange bipedal cat, as my vision darkened.
|
|
[WP]You are a student 400 years in the future, you are assigned a project to student "Trends of the early 2000s" In your deep research you learn a horrible secret: The Gods you worship were originally portrayed on trading cards known as "Pokemon"
|
It was a normal day and I was just a normal teenage kid, before I became this pariah, this heretic or hero, depending on who you talk to. Oh how I wish I knew that Saturday morning what I know now, would I do the same? Or would I bury my head in blissful ignorance?
I had gone downstairs for breakfast and lied to my mum about having done my morning prayers. I can't remember which of the 151 Gods we were supposed to pray to that day but I usually skipped it. If it was Zapdo I would often take the time to admire the little stone statue we had for prayers, I liked the way the artisan had carved the spikey wings and embued the piece with a feeling of motion. The rest were fairly mundane, we weren't a rich family and couldn't afford the extravagant prayer aids that some families could.
Mum was nagging me about my room and asking when I was going to finally get round to tidying it, but I had other things on my mind. The project for Mr Hemmings had to be completed by Monday and I had written absolutely nothing yet. It was a big deal for the school, Harlow Falls High School had recently uncovered a trove of time capsules. A headteacher around 500 years or so ago must have had a thing for them because every student in that school filled and buried one.
Judging by the contents of the first two that I had opened the students must have been forced to fill them. The contents stank of a half-assed project. So far I had found a week long diary of a students daily life, this was either an unremarkable student or they all lived unremarkable lives. I don't mean that in a harsh way, I am sure Richard Andrews was a perfectly good dude, but I got about as much out of that as someone would reading my diary until today. They must have been told to put a favourite toy in too because I had a really old yoyo and some sort of shiny disc, possibly some sort of old digital media, it had "METAL GEAR" and "Solid" written underneath and there was a hole cut out of the centre. I was exasperated, how was I supposed to write a two page essay on this junk? Mr Hemming was going to hit the roof on Monday. I had tried searching the Info-Net for any details on this Metal Gear but nothing was coming up, any information from before our "Great Ecclesiastical Republic" had formed seemed to have been purged, it was like hitting a brick wall when trying to look past 300 years ago.
I gave my Mum a kiss, muttered some vague promises about my room and grabbed my jacket, phone, keys and Pica charm. The Pica charm was a little silver model of the God Pica, a mouse like creature with a spikey tail and whiskers. It was cute and brought luck, I never left the house without it, I wasn't really religious but I wasn't an idiot after all.
I hopped on my skateboard and started heading towards the school, it went against every fibre of my being to head to school on a Saturday but I had one more time capsule to open and I needed to get that essay written.
I skated out of the suburb and into town, I passed Spiritual Park and looked enviously at the centre fountain. The fountain had a huge bronze statue of Venus in the centre, the giant toad like face looked almost gloating at me, with colourful flowers sprouting from it's back. It was surrounded by a circular water feature with the God Squirtoise, a stone statue of the turtle God with hidden water pipes, spraying water in fantastic arcs across the pool and Venus. It was the edge of the pool that I was envious of though, an incredibly smooth stone kerb that was fantastic for grinding along on my board. I glanced around a saw the garden caretakers huddled nearby and knew that those religious nuts would kick up a storm if they saw me grinding the fountain again. Last time they got word to my mum and she didn't let me forget it for months.
I thought better of trying a frontside grind with so many people about and headed reluctantly on to school. When I got there I entered the code into the electronic door lock that Mr Hemmings had given us and went towards the history classroom. There is something eery about an empty school, you could hear a pin drop and I was used to the noise of shouting, ringing of bells and people running up and down the halls. I shook off the feeling and made my way into the room, my two open capsules were there with the junk discarded to the side and next to it my only hope. The last unopened capsule, a grey metal tube about 30cm long and as wide as a dinner plate.
I unscrewed the top, praying to Pica that I would finally get some luck and find something worth writing about. The lid came off easily, unlike that second one which had taken a few minutes of straining and cursing, and I gently tipped the contents onto the desk. I first saw another diary and swore out loud, I was not going to read through another weeks worth of innane teenage rambling.
I pushed it to the side and saw a set of cards tied together with a band, they had been individually slotted into see through plastic sleeves, perhaps for protection. They were blue with a red and white sphere in the centre, the writing caught my eye, "Pokémon" in an exciting yellow font. They looked cool but I wasn't sure about how I could write two pages on them.
I flipped them over and my breath caught, I was staring at a picture the God "Dug". Revered by miners no one would enter a mine without an image of Dug on their clothing, it was said terrible things would happen if they did. Whoever had created this was clearly fiercely religious, the artistry was incredible, bright colours and smooth lines, far better than the images the miners wore. I tore my eyes from the picture and scanned the rest of the card the top was titled "Diglett" which struck me as strange but 500 years had past so perhaps language had changed and the top right had "40 HP" with a red circle containing a fist. Underneath the picture were strange words concerning abilities called Dig and Dig through. There were various numbers printed on it and it all became a little indecipherable for me.
I removed the band and scanned through the remaining cards, they were incredible. I saw Hitmonch who boxers touch before entering the ring, there was Karp who fishermen had carved into their boat to ensure a bountiful catch and pidge who pilots prayed to before flying. I flicked through them awestruck, the artistry was incredible, I was used to the colourless images shown in our National Temples. These were eye-catching and exciting. The names were all wrong and the writing below the images escaped my understanding but these images could easily fill a two page essay.
The final card was the best of all, a glorious shiny image of the God "Char", our fierce God of War. It caught the light coming in from the window and the dragon God with wings spread was in the middle of a terrifying roar. Char was used to strike fear into the Republic's enemies and this image would be splashed across our war machines the moment the military saw.
I tore my eyes from the Char card which was labeled incorrectly of course and studied the final item. A hardcover book titled "Pokémon Encyclopedia" with a colourful image of Pica in the centre. I found my hand reaching unconsciously to my Pica charm and rubbed it for good luck.
I opened the book and the first line almost physically knocked me to the floor. It read "Pokémon or Pocket Monsters is a children's card game created in Japan by Satoshi Tajiri where trainers battle each other with fictional monsters". The words "fictional" and "monsters" screamed out at me. I hungrily devoured the book, skim reading it in what felt like minutes. It talked about this popular toy craze that started in an ancient forgotten civilisation called Japan and spread across the globe.
All I could think about was the millions of hours our people had wasted worshipping a children's toy, the thousands of lives destroyed in the name of Char, or as the Encyclopedia called him, Charizard, a fictional, non-existant cartoon character. The Great Ecclesiastical Republic had sold us a complete lie and this book proved it, this book alone held the evidence to open the world's eyes.
I took out my Pica charm and after a moment heistitation I threw it as hard as I could against the wall, it was just a chunk of useless metal after all. I had to get the word out, but how?
|
...My denial set in As quickly as my bewilderment subsided. The cartoon drawings were comical in their simplicity, yet the uncanny resemblance this yellow bird with pointy plumage had to Zazo (may he rule the stormy sky) was malingering in my mind. I should surely be excommunicated from my order for even having such a thought! Yet the higher numbers associated with the reflective surface of the image suggested appropriate reverence to this "Zapdos", the thunder bird.
*What in the world could HP mean?*
Whatever it was, Zapdos had more of it than the other strange creatures in this deck of cards....
|
|
Repost bcs the last post got taken down
|
[WP]Your mom admits to you that you have some… supernatural blood running through your veins. But she doesn’t remember what kind, beacause she doesn't know what your father was"
|
"Mom, we have to talk." I'd held out on the subject for too long out of uncertainty and doubt, and my girlfriend had nearly lost her freedom for it. I needed answers a long time ago, and I was going to get them today.
She tried to brush me off, shelve it for later "Oh, dearry, can't it wait until we've at least finished readying?"
I spun her around easily enough. The powers, Natural Abilities as I'd heard them called, that I'd been developing recently made me much heavier than I looked, it was all to easy. I heald up my other arm as a surge of power went through it, causing it to change. What was once a human tool of manipulation twisted in a split second, becoming a mangled mess of torn flesh and black iron, save for the two-foot shining steel blades where fingers should have been-the weapon of a monster. "No, I'm getting answers now."
I expected at least some rebuke for my rudeness. Instead, her attitude was more...deflated, like she was facing the music she'd long wanted to avoid. "Fine. How much do you know?"
"I've spent the last two weeks hunting in Natural Barriers, and just rescued my girl from a Mana Factory, and I know the basics of what and why for both of those. I'm more interested in *this thing* than anything about the greater Abyss." I took my hand off of her shoulder to re-emphasize my own transformed limb. A look of annoyance crept across her face.
"Dammit, was hoping I could distract you by answering the easy stuff. To be honest, I don't know completely. I assume you're taking after your sire, but she did always keep her cards close to her chests."
A slightly odd phrases that I decide to press on. "Wait-Sire, she?"
A thin smile and a small laugh crept across her face. "Why, I was always a fan of the fairer sex, and you see you have some shape-shifting abilities, right? I'm sure you know enough about birds and bees to put two and two together-"
Now it was my turn to be taken a bit aback-out of embarrassment. Like mother, like daughter apparently-and me and my girl had indeed confirmed that was within my control's purview. Probably several times more than necessary. "Okay, point taken. Do you know anything about what she was that might be handy, since it appears to apply to me?"
"Nope. Her body was her domain to control, and she 'ate' by absorbing things into her form, and that's about it. I think she was some matter of exotic elemental or construct, but our relationship was too casual for that to come up. We were just happy to be with each other."
Now it was my turn to sigh dejectedly. I still had nothing more useful than the 'knockoff Alex Mercer' I already knew. That's why I had taken up the hunting-looking for exotic new creatures to consume and absorb the traits from. Apex Predation! I only had one last hope I could get from her. "Well, do you at least have-"
"No" she interrupted, apparently seeing where I was going with this. "If I had known where the heck she was, you'd have grown up with mom and mother."
An awkward, heavy silence ensued. I'd hope to get answers-but all that happened is that I'd got more questions, and was now probably making her worried. Still, it felt good to not have to hide that side of me from her anymore.
|
“Really Mom you had no idea what Dad was.”
“Yeah, to be fair though we only spent one night together.”
“That’s terrible Mom.”
“Thats fair, wait how did you know you had supernatural heritage?”
“I lost my left arm earlier today,” I sat whilst waving around my left arm.
“Looks fine to me.”
“Mom my arm got cut off and a new grew in its place in mere seconds immediately getting cut off again. This continued for twenty minutes till the mechanism got jammed from all of the arms in it.”
“Oh I think I see your point, did it hurt?”
“No surprisingly.”
“Well all’s well that ends well.” Mom quickly leaves the room.
“We are not done talking yet get back here!”
|
[WP] A wealthy man dies, leaving his most of assets spread out amongst his children. The reading of the will goes well until the lawyer reads the last part: "To my adopted son Michael, I leave you the contents of safe deposit box 824. You know what to do."
|
My father, Howard Brown, was well-known for his philanthropy, so it wasn’t a surprise to any of his family or those who followed his life in the papers and on the news when he adopted a young boy. It was only surprising to me.
As the family driver sped along the highway, I sat in the back of the Rolls-Royce Ghost, reflecting on my father’s tragic early demise. He’d been only sixty-five, but some health problems are too unpredictable to keep safe from, even when you have all the money in the world. I regretted all the years we’d miss together. Despite my father’s busy life, as a successful businessman and in philanthropy, he always somehow made time for his children. He had also left behind two others, a son and daughter, as well as his wife, my mother.
My life had taken a sharp turn when I was twelve, living in a group home that, for one reason or another, Howard Brown had taken an interest in. He’d been donating to places like that for many years and then began to take a more active role. On a visit one day to see what our building could use help with, Howard and I had spoken briefly, which was impressive to my caretakers, who said that I was usually a quiet boy, a troublemaker, unable to remain in a foster home for long, resulting in my placement there. Over his next few visits, we’d spoken a few more times and one thing led to another, with the man suddenly deciding he wanted to adopt me.
It was a wondrous change in my life, and I could never put into words how much the man meant to me. He’d seen something special in me when we’d met, he’d explained, and he couldn’t let potential like that go to waste. I went to the best schools, had the best caretakers, and Howard was there to guide me through life, a father who went above and beyond for someone who wasn’t even his blood. And it was such a stark difference from the treatment I’d received from my birth parents that, when I was younger, I pinched myself every once in a while, to make sure I wasn’t dreaming my life.
Pulling up to the bank, the driver dropped me off at the curb and I headed inside, explaining my purpose there and showing the paperwork I’d been given. Guided into the back room with the safety deposit boxes, we removed the one to which I had the key and he showed me to a small room for privacy. Sliding open the top, I knew what I would find before I’d arrived. I’d known as soon as that particular portion of the will had been read out to us.
His notebook of victims. Twenty-three women he’d killed, four of them with me by his side, showing me, guiding me, explaining with reverence how what we were doing wasn’t just death, it was art. He’d seen something special in me all those years ago and had taught me all I knew, and now it was time for me to pick up where he’d left off. A photograph and personal details of the next victim, one he’d never gotten a chance to kill, was on the eighth page of the notebook.
I left with a small smile of anticipation on my face.
​
/r/storiesbykaren
|
Like static, the contents of the last 2 hours buzzed through Michael’s head, jumping up and down in a flurry of confusion. He barely registered his feet hitting the pavement, nor the light drizzle that had begun, staining his lenses with needle thin lines of water. When his father’s condition had taken a turn for the worse, Michael had unexpectedly begun a mental exercise, one that he would partake in often during the day. He would remember points in his life, but instead of taking a first person perspective once again, he would imagine that his consciousness was separate from his body. He imagined himself floating above the scenes, in some kind of intermediate plane. And when in this plane, he would peer up and find a cloud of possibilities. A grand narrative in the form of a timeline suspended above his head. He could not state its details if asked. He only knew that looking at this amorphous, undefined epic, he could take segments of his life that seemed so banal, unjustified, incomplete, even tragic and make them ... more. Unsuspecting but necessary parts of an odyssey.
When he caught himself in those moments, his lips would downturn in the real world and he would scold himself, now acutely aware of the fact that fantasies would not repair what was wrong with those moments, nor the fractured relationship with his father that was the culmination of those scenes. A relationship that, though already crippled, had suffered a terrible blow when its second participant decided to be swallowed by severe dementia. And a father that had slipped further into the abyss by the minute. Now he was dead, and the will was read, and Michael walked down the street towards the small bank at the center of town. With the pandemic, the will reading had been online and so he had attended from one of the ancient workstations at the public library. Its fan had whirred intensely and the sound of its desperation had nearly drowned out the lawyer’s recitations. Not that he had been the most engaged listener, with or without the fan’s interference. His eyes had flitted distractedly between his adopted siblings expressions, watching for the occasional grimace when the lawyer recited a condition that did not predispose one of them, or alternatively a hidden smirk when the opposite occurred. Now, looking down at his worn construction boots as they alternated in and out of his view, mottled by wear and paint and dirt, his adopted siblings’ square haircuts framing carefully manicured faces stood in even sharper contrast in his mind. *Safe deposit box 824…*, the old lawyer had said in his sterile voice, near the end of it all. Even though the screen, he could sense his sibling’s pleasure at his not being given anything else. It wasn’t because he was adopted - of the six of them, 3 were adopted. It was because he had rejected the upward trajectory his father demanded of each of his children. It was because he had chosen to remain broken and bitter and poor, knowing that his siblings would have to look at him or at least be conscious of his existence for the rest of their lives. He knew that a part of them would mentally chafe at the idea that such an unsavory man in such an unsavory town was so closely associated with them, they couldn’t deny it if they tried. This was his job, Michael thought, to impose a sense of humility on his family, an oppression fitting for people that had embraced vanity so readily. Of course, they had inherited that instinct from their father as well.
Michael climbed the bank’s 4 steps, taking long strides towards the sole teller. The key had been sent to him in the mail the week earlier, when the lawyers had first combed through the contents of the will. He heard his own voice come out, resembling a troll’s grunts more than a person’s words. And while she retreated to retrieve the key, he retreated into his mind, falling into the timeline once again. His relationship with his father had been complicated. He remembered the kindness in the old man’s eyes when he’d first been adopted, the way his new father had opened the world up to him. Beyond the grey bricks and faded wooden panels that had lined the orphanage walls. Through the years, even as his father’s character, too, opened itself up to him and he saw the way his father moved ruthlessly in his professional life, a streak of that kindness remained. It goaded Michael into considering the kind of life his siblings lived. Like a moth to flame, it drew him in. And when Michael was away from his father and the affect wore off, he concluded that the kindness was a lie, and his siblings were worse off, and the best way to stay aware of the truth would be to return here. To the town where he’d been adopted. A town located on the outskirts of the outskirts. His mind snapped back at the feel of metal being thrust into his hand. Wordlessly, he followed the teller down the hall and then past her into the safe deposit room, his steps newly muffled by the stale green carpet that started just beyond the threshold. His eyes darted from number to number quickly reading the black numbers set into varnished bronze plates. Finally, his gaze settled on 824. *Let’s get it done with*, he thought, thrusting the key into the lock.
|
|
[WP] A wealthy man dies, leaving his most of assets spread out amongst his children. The reading of the will goes well until the lawyer reads the last part: "To my adopted son Michael, I leave you the contents of safe deposit box 824. You know what to do."
|
Needless to say, I was shocked. Not shocked that dad had died, no. It had been a long time coming. He had stage three lung cancer, and we had all had our time to say our good-byes and make peace with the fact that there was nothing the doctors could do to save him.
No, I was shocked that I had never heard dad speak of deposit box 824. I knew he had many safe deposit boxes, each carrying different things from gold pieces from ancient Greece, to little knick knacks he collected as a kid. And he kept a catalog of what each box held. But box 824 wasn't in that catalog.
Why Dad gave me this, of all the things he owned, was a mystery to me.
"Did he mention anything else in the will?" I inquired.
"No. It ends there." The lawyer replied.
Confused, I twisted my key necklace that dad gave me when he adopted me. I never took it off. "*You know what to do.*" Everyone else seemed content with what was left to them. Charlie got the house and 20% of dad's assets. Darryl got dad's car collection (the only thing he really wanted), and 20% of the assets. Susanne got the vacation home in Costa Rica and 20%. The twins, Eric and Erica got the last 40% and the company.
The lawyer spoke again, "Does anyone have any questions?" Everyone shook their head. *I certainly had a few...*
"Well I will leave you all to mourn then. If you think of anything, I'll leave my card on the table." And with that, she packed her briefcase and left.
The room was dead silent. I was still busy thinking about what dad could have meant, when Charlie spoke up.
"Well, if you guys need me, I'll be by the pool."
The twins started moving towards the door. "And we have a company to run. You know how to reach us."
They never really ones for family affairs, especially after mom died. Darryl left without a word, but Susanne and I already knew he was going to the garage to admire his gifts. That left Susanne and I in the room.
"What did dad mean when he said you would know what to do?"
Susanne was always my favorite. She was the oldest of all of us, and took care of us after mom passed. She didn't like being kept out of the loop.
"I don't know. I'm just as confused as you are." I replied.
"Oh c'mon Mikey. Think. Did dad ever say anything to you? Did he ever bring you somwhere or mention something about the box?" She pried.
"I'm just as confused as you, Susie." I repeated.
Obviously upset that she didn't know what was going on, she made a move towards the door.
"Well, when you figure it out, let us know. I hate not knowing."
"Will do."
And with that, she was out the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Dad loved to be cryptic, which drove her crazy. Me, on the other hand. I loved a good puzzle. I knew I had to start with the box. Problem was, the box wasn't cataloged. That meant, I had no idea where to find the key. I started to play with my necklace again when it hit me. *Key* I tugged the necklace out from my shirt and studied it. Sure enough there was a small etching on the key.
*824*
I can't believe I never noticed it before. Now at least, I had a lead. What could be so important for dad to leave it to me? Since the day he adopted me, he kept it locked away. And it was the only thing he gave me in his will. But why? I wasn't upset he didn't give me anything else. I never wanted money, or cars, or houses. I just loved spending time with dad. Hours spent sitting on his lap, doing puzzles and solving riddles. And this was his last one.
Without a word to the others, I caught a cab to the nearest bank, hoping dad decided to keep it close. I walked up to the teller and was about to say hello, when she left without saying a word. She came back a moment later with the branch manager.
"Mister Hozier, your father said we should be expecting you. Right this way please."
It seemed dad knew I would figure it out quickly. I followed the branch manager into the back, down a hallway, and into a room where they kept the safety deposit boxes.
"I believe you're looking for 824, am I correct?"
"Yes, sir." I replied hesitantly.
He moved towards one of the walls of boxes and pointed out the box.
"Here it is. You have the key, correct?" He inquired.
I pulled the key out of my shirt and around my head. I slid it into the keyhole and turned the key. With a satisfying *click* the deposit box opened. Inside was a small tin Avengers lunch box. The branch manager motioned towards the table in the center of the room and said "If you need anything, I'll be in the hall."
He exited the doorway and left me with the little tin lunch box.
"*What do you have for me this time dad?*" I whispered to myself.
I slowly unclipped the latches on the box and opened it up. Inside was a layer of cotton. Similar to what newly bought jewelry has on it. I slowly removed the cotton, and sitting there was an old photo of dad. But it wasn't dad. It couldn't have been. The photo was dated 1871. Dad was born in 1950. I removed the photo and placed it on the stainless steel table. There was a folded note underneath it in the box. I gently picked up the note and unfolded it. In dad's handwriting, it read:
*Come find me. You're the only one who can end it.*
It didn't make any sense. Dad was dead. We all saw him die. Take his last breath. Was dad *alive*? It couldn't be possible. I had to figure this out.
|
Michael was already well off. The youngest of four siblings, he managed to get some good schooling before his dad's current "wife" tried to take everything. He finished out his last two semester on loans, but he had paid those off.
When the will came, he was left just the box. His father's millions were, of course, being contested by the ex who had been unfaithful (to put it mildly). Because they weren't fully divorced when he passed away, she tried to claim everything. And she did mean *everything* from 3 marriages. His three older siblings were locked in a tug of war with her when she found out she was written out of the will.
But that safe deposit box... Michael already had the key. He promised his father one thing and one thing only when he died. He asked to be left out of the will, save that one item. He didn't need the money anymore. He didn't want to suffer that woman anymore. And thanks to the pre-nup, the probate court agreed his safe deposit box was not to be part of the estate for marital assets.
So now, it was just him and a box. 824. How insignificant it all seemed. He opened the box. inside was a USB drive.
He knew what to do.
*30 minutes later at the mansion...*
Michael plugged the USB into the computer. It asked for a password. He had been taught this password from a young age. Part of him never thought this day would come. He thought dads live forever.
But reality was cruel. He entered the password.
roflmfao
*Launching script...*
*Deleting browser history...*
"See you in heaven, dad."
|
|
[WP] A wealthy man dies, leaving his most of assets spread out amongst his children. The reading of the will goes well until the lawyer reads the last part: "To my adopted son Michael, I leave you the contents of safe deposit box 824. You know what to do."
|
Needless to say, I was shocked. Not shocked that dad had died, no. It had been a long time coming. He had stage three lung cancer, and we had all had our time to say our good-byes and make peace with the fact that there was nothing the doctors could do to save him.
No, I was shocked that I had never heard dad speak of deposit box 824. I knew he had many safe deposit boxes, each carrying different things from gold pieces from ancient Greece, to little knick knacks he collected as a kid. And he kept a catalog of what each box held. But box 824 wasn't in that catalog.
Why Dad gave me this, of all the things he owned, was a mystery to me.
"Did he mention anything else in the will?" I inquired.
"No. It ends there." The lawyer replied.
Confused, I twisted my key necklace that dad gave me when he adopted me. I never took it off. "*You know what to do.*" Everyone else seemed content with what was left to them. Charlie got the house and 20% of dad's assets. Darryl got dad's car collection (the only thing he really wanted), and 20% of the assets. Susanne got the vacation home in Costa Rica and 20%. The twins, Eric and Erica got the last 40% and the company.
The lawyer spoke again, "Does anyone have any questions?" Everyone shook their head. *I certainly had a few...*
"Well I will leave you all to mourn then. If you think of anything, I'll leave my card on the table." And with that, she packed her briefcase and left.
The room was dead silent. I was still busy thinking about what dad could have meant, when Charlie spoke up.
"Well, if you guys need me, I'll be by the pool."
The twins started moving towards the door. "And we have a company to run. You know how to reach us."
They never really ones for family affairs, especially after mom died. Darryl left without a word, but Susanne and I already knew he was going to the garage to admire his gifts. That left Susanne and I in the room.
"What did dad mean when he said you would know what to do?"
Susanne was always my favorite. She was the oldest of all of us, and took care of us after mom passed. She didn't like being kept out of the loop.
"I don't know. I'm just as confused as you are." I replied.
"Oh c'mon Mikey. Think. Did dad ever say anything to you? Did he ever bring you somwhere or mention something about the box?" She pried.
"I'm just as confused as you, Susie." I repeated.
Obviously upset that she didn't know what was going on, she made a move towards the door.
"Well, when you figure it out, let us know. I hate not knowing."
"Will do."
And with that, she was out the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Dad loved to be cryptic, which drove her crazy. Me, on the other hand. I loved a good puzzle. I knew I had to start with the box. Problem was, the box wasn't cataloged. That meant, I had no idea where to find the key. I started to play with my necklace again when it hit me. *Key* I tugged the necklace out from my shirt and studied it. Sure enough there was a small etching on the key.
*824*
I can't believe I never noticed it before. Now at least, I had a lead. What could be so important for dad to leave it to me? Since the day he adopted me, he kept it locked away. And it was the only thing he gave me in his will. But why? I wasn't upset he didn't give me anything else. I never wanted money, or cars, or houses. I just loved spending time with dad. Hours spent sitting on his lap, doing puzzles and solving riddles. And this was his last one.
Without a word to the others, I caught a cab to the nearest bank, hoping dad decided to keep it close. I walked up to the teller and was about to say hello, when she left without saying a word. She came back a moment later with the branch manager.
"Mister Hozier, your father said we should be expecting you. Right this way please."
It seemed dad knew I would figure it out quickly. I followed the branch manager into the back, down a hallway, and into a room where they kept the safety deposit boxes.
"I believe you're looking for 824, am I correct?"
"Yes, sir." I replied hesitantly.
He moved towards one of the walls of boxes and pointed out the box.
"Here it is. You have the key, correct?" He inquired.
I pulled the key out of my shirt and around my head. I slid it into the keyhole and turned the key. With a satisfying *click* the deposit box opened. Inside was a small tin Avengers lunch box. The branch manager motioned towards the table in the center of the room and said "If you need anything, I'll be in the hall."
He exited the doorway and left me with the little tin lunch box.
"*What do you have for me this time dad?*" I whispered to myself.
I slowly unclipped the latches on the box and opened it up. Inside was a layer of cotton. Similar to what newly bought jewelry has on it. I slowly removed the cotton, and sitting there was an old photo of dad. But it wasn't dad. It couldn't have been. The photo was dated 1871. Dad was born in 1950. I removed the photo and placed it on the stainless steel table. There was a folded note underneath it in the box. I gently picked up the note and unfolded it. In dad's handwriting, it read:
*Come find me. You're the only one who can end it.*
It didn't make any sense. Dad was dead. We all saw him die. Take his last breath. Was dad *alive*? It couldn't be possible. I had to figure this out.
|
Indeed I did. And I knew exactly where the "safe deposit box" was. I knew what I needed to do. Envisioning the area, I felt the pull to head towards it. It was calling my name. It was time to go.
"I know what he means. I'll be back in one weeks time."
I entered my car, and drove towards home. After looking the door, and making sure no one would see me, I began the process of getting there. I let it engulf me, I was pulled into the empty enigma of the void, and I came out again. I was used to it. It was cold, and the outside of the building was a storming rage in the vast ocean. It was dimly lit, but it was exactly the same as when he first showed me the place. A few thorough searches confirmed the mansion had not been disturbed. As it should be.
I was now making my way towards the back portion of the building, to a vault that was moderate in size. Taking off my glove, I ran a finger along the vault. A faint series of whispers from the vault confirmed my identity, and a soft click, the safe opened itself up.
In that vault, was a book. A single book. And it wasn't any novel. It held the secrets of a magical art long since forgotten. The art of blood magic. The most precious gift of all. I carried the book in my hand, and it all came rushing back to me. The presence of all my predecessors, all in one place. I had a gleam in my eye as I withdrew the novel, sat on a couch in the living room, and began to poor over the pages of knowledge that I had always wanted.
Edit: Grammatical corrections, and some additions to the story for enrichment purposes.
|
|
[WP] you are the comedic relief in a generic fantasy story, and your story’s protagonist has unexpectedly perished. Frantically, You have been declared the “emergency protagonist”
|
The rain came down like an earthquake. A man rode up to me on a giant horse. I took solace beneath the worn awning on my home.
I had heard the news--hell, every soul in Generica had heard it. The hero was dead and the villain had won. All hope was lost.
The man's horse stormed forward, its hooves sounding like thunder. It whinnied to a stop right by my side.
The man gazed down upon me with his stone face.
"General," I said. "What do I owe the acquaintance?"
"Sam is--"
"Dead," I said. "Yes, I know. Some say more dead than Death himself. Tales are circling campfires claiming the Dread Knight sliced him in half--and continued to do so until all that was left of him was a pile of tiny slivers; it's rumored the Dread Knight--"
"Tighten up!" the general yelled. "Generica needs you, Winsley."
I gasped at both the statement and the thunderous lightning slicing through the sky. "Me? You’re mistaken, general. I'm nothing more than a simple jokester--a jester if you'd like. I've never adopted the sword and shield--more like the wine bottle and stage."
"Can you keep your mouth shut for more than one minute?" the general sneered.
"Why, yes. I once heard--" the venomous gaze from the general froze my tongue "--right. Why me?"
"You knew Sam better than anyone," the general said. "You followed him around for nearly a decade, providing him with entertainment and help."
"Well, help's a strong word--"
"Generica needs a familiar face. A face they can trust."
I shot my gaze down to a puddle, inspecting my narrow, pale face. "This face?" I gestured around my features. "I look like a premature baby--an anorexic skeleton who skipped lunch for the third time. Mother always said I was quite scrawny--"
The stone face froze my speech once more. "Well, what do you expect me to do?" I said. "Make the Dread Knight laugh himself into a coma?"
The absence of words from the general made my heart stop.
"You can't be serious," I said.
"Pack up." A rare smile etched itself across the general's face. "We have a horse ready for you. It's time to bring peace to Generica once and for all, Winsley."
I tried my best to think of some clever comeback or jab to get me out of the situation. Instead, a sequence of words threatened to break *the* fourth wall.
"Can I take a rain check?" I said with an awkward smile as I motioned toward the heavy rain.
The general stared me down.
"Oh, come on," I said. "That was a good one."
"Pack your things. We leave today."
r/AJHWriting
|
"Fuck you people!", Metaquip sharply mutters, as an air of solemn desperation fills the guild hall, unfazed by his reluctance. He looks down uncomfortably, upon the large group of people now bowing to him. Rain thunders against the walls of the stone building, tapping furiously at the windows, the sound only outshone by thunder in the distance. Three old men stumble to the front of the crown, carrying something wrapped in a fine silk cloth. Kneeling in front of him, the raise the object and remove it's cover, revealing a shining sword, almost glowing pale blue, with a hilt of deep amber.
"Seriously, fuck you people!" He repeats a little louder this time. A few members near the front of the crowd wince. A middle-aged villager covered in mud and rain turns to a woman kneeling beside him, with a look of arrogance and exasperation. "I know, but what other choice do we have?", she whispers, in response to his knowing expression. "Literally anyone else?" Metaquip whispers towards them, ignoring their shock as their realised their bickering was audible.
Reaching for the hilt with two hands, Metaquip leant his entire body back, pulling aggressively in order to lift the sword. With an almighty heave, he finally manages to raise it up, struggling with his balance as the sword threatens to tip one way or the other. Holding it directly above him, its glow almost intensifying, a strange surge of bravery flows through him. "Maybe I can do this..." I wonders aloud, as his arms shake under the strain of holding up a weapon near equal to his own weight.
As he basks in the light of his heroic moment, the crowd murmurs, a few unenthusiastic cheers erupting from random spots in the room. The lack of true triumph aside, being looked to like this, after a life time of playing the jester to the swords former owner, endows him with a sense of unearned confidence. Shaking side to side, almost dancing a little, he begins to chuckle, the sword a dangerous pendulum above his head. "Fine people! I will be your saviour! I will find those who seek to disturb our peace, and bring them swift and merciless justice!"
As he finishes his statement, he swings the sword down and up, in a cutting motion. His face does not betray his lack of control, but the sword's edge flying dangerously close to the three old kneeling men made it clear. "Ha ha! Yes! Your savior! Your hero!". Swinging back and forth, Metaquip's unearned confidence swells with each cut of the air. The crowd has backed away several feet by this point, looking upon him nervously. "The great hero Metaqu-!!" Before he could finish his self-appointed title, the amber hilt slips from his hand, and flies upwards, directly over him.
Crouching and placing his hands around his head, all he manages is a weak "Shiiit!", as the sword begins to descend once more, blade first. "Ahhhh!" He cries out, as the blade pierces his leg, just behind his knee. Blood stains the stone floor upon which he danced, as he collapses, in front of a surpringly unsurprised audience. As he lies there whimpering, the three old men approach, calming him with vague statements. "It's okay, you'll be fine. You'll be alright. It's just a scratch...".
One holds him down as the other two grab a hold of the sword and yank it out, Metaquip now crying and cursing. Wrapping the sword back in the cloth, they assume their original position, sharing the weight of the great weapon. The look at eachother for a moment. "What now?" one asks, as the other two look at eachother silently and nod. Slowly walking back towards the crowd, they make their way towards the villager who had spoken before, still covered in mud and rain. Kneeling before him, they present the sword, as the entire crowd shifts its bow to face them. All the poor villager manages to say, fighting his own disbelief and fear, is "Fuck you people!"
|
|
[WP] "Ma'am you can't bring your emotional support dragon inside the restaurant."
|
“Ma’am, you can’t bring your dragon to the restaurant,” I said.
“But it’s not just a dragon, it’s an emotional support dragon. I need it!” she said.
“I’m sorry ma’am, but most of the room is flammable, if anything happens it could lead to a tragedy, and-”
“I want to see the manager, now!” she shouted, and her dragon growled at me.
I sighed, but there was nothing I could do. I went to find Tony, and I hoped he could handle it.
I watched them from a safe distance, and soon I was surprised to see them both getting seated.
\*\*\*
An hour later, I was looking at the firefighters trying to rescue whatever was still left of our beloved restaurant. Tony was standing next to me, calmly smoking a cigarette.
“So… why did we let that dragon inside, exactly?” I asked.
“Company policy, based on our past experiences,” he said. “The last woman whose emotional support dragon was denied entry, came back with her financial support lawyer.” He blew out a smoke ring. “Believe me when I say it is cheaper this way, and by a lot.”
|
[Poem]
This dragon protec,
He roast snacks.
But, most of all, he hot stone massage the back.
Eliminating bacteria with FF7 fire materia, and causing melee damage to every haunch of lamb our staff can manage. Understand it's never underhanded or bad etiquette to let it it sit..
a dragon, in your booth, has landed.
Two adorable eyes as big as dinner plates, spared by knights, of a grimmer fate...but now, there's hope, a glimmer waits. Nelson makes my life simpler, 11/10 I'd rate. Don't mythical reptile discriminate. Medieval bigotry, we can all strive to eliminate. Nelson keeps me happy, when I'm in an emotional state. Not to be boastful, he's great. I'm most hopeful you'll find it in your hearts to let me dine with my dear friend, once you conversate. Your decision, honestly could hinge on his self image's fate. Don't teach him he's excluded, include him for inclusion's sake. PS, I have lots of gold, and he'll tip in diamonds, for a plate.
|
|
[WP] "Ma'am you can't bring your emotional support dragon inside the restaurant."
|
“Ma’am, you can’t bring your dragon to the restaurant,” I said.
“But it’s not just a dragon, it’s an emotional support dragon. I need it!” she said.
“I’m sorry ma’am, but most of the room is flammable, if anything happens it could lead to a tragedy, and-”
“I want to see the manager, now!” she shouted, and her dragon growled at me.
I sighed, but there was nothing I could do. I went to find Tony, and I hoped he could handle it.
I watched them from a safe distance, and soon I was surprised to see them both getting seated.
\*\*\*
An hour later, I was looking at the firefighters trying to rescue whatever was still left of our beloved restaurant. Tony was standing next to me, calmly smoking a cigarette.
“So… why did we let that dragon inside, exactly?” I asked.
“Company policy, based on our past experiences,” he said. “The last woman whose emotional support dragon was denied entry, came back with her financial support lawyer.” He blew out a smoke ring. “Believe me when I say it is cheaper this way, and by a lot.”
|
Borgen's Burgers served the best cuisine in the land, and everyone knew it. Even during the Second War of Eventide, the evil Lord Dantrum spared the store and its farmland from being sacked. An ancient alarm bell hung on the walls to use in fear of danger, yet it had famously never been wrung. In the centuries of since, Borgen's provided a delicious and comfortable respite from the toils of peace and progress between man, orc, elves, and every creature whose history spelled struggle.
The sun shone brightly as the mid-day lunch rush quickly filled the seats and tables in and out of the restaurant. A serpentine line of eager eaters wrapped around the stone building. Hardly a cloud blocked the crisp blue sky, and a small speck above the treelines began growing larger to the first few who noticed. A thin trail of smoke traced its path as it weaved to and fro, and as the speck came to shape, a nervous energy filled the outdoor patio.
"Dragon!" rose a cry from the queue.
"It can't be," said a snobbish elf. "They were all exterminated ages ago in the Last War."
"Then what is that?!" exclaimed another, as a tongue of fire leapt from the incoming creature's mouth.
People, orcs, and elves alike scattered to the nearby trees, while only one brave soul ventured inside to warn those unaware. An orc of only six marshfloods of age sounded the old alarm, but it was too late.
A violent thump shook the walls of Borgen's Burgers, and ancient dust trickled down from its straw ceiling. The patrons inside began to panic, hurrying about the room yet no one daring to leave. Delicate dishes of fried seamonster and braised unicorn sat unfinished.
"Silence!" bellowed a deep voice from the kitchen. The owner, whose family started Borgen's before the annals of King Nethgard had spilled their first ink, came out from between swinging doors behind the bar. Few had seen him before. He was a large man and wore a well-used apron that was a few sizes to small for his shape. Curls of hair sprang from his head, and his face, while covered in sweat, was surprisingly untarnished with soot despite spending untold hours above the cooking fire.
"Please, sit down and enjoy your meals. I will attend to the alleged disturbance."
He gently untied his apron and set it down on the bar. The patrons watched with baited breath as he ventured into the daylight.
Shading his eyes from the sun, the owner observed the mighty beast that had landed on top of several of his dining tables. Its emerald eyes were rimmed with short, sharp horns, and its brown scale skin gleamed in the sunlight. A lone rider departed the dragon, dressed in strange armor and carrying a twisted staff. A helmet covered the rider's face, yet the owner stood firm.
"Good day, sir," said the dragon rider. The voice was soft and bright, like that of the owner's eldest daughter. "My companion and I would like to eat at your famed establishment. The wonders I've seen across all the land have never compared to the tales I hear of your delicacies. It is time that we taste your treasures."
The owner offered a small smile. "We would be glad to serve you. Please, see our menu and we will be happy to bring your meal to you to enjoy out here on this fine..."
"No," interrupted the rider. "What I have heard of Borgen's Burgers can only be truly experienced within the airs between your walls. The aromas, the laughter, the history that coats your timbers. Your name is praised along with those who seek peace and prosperity. Please, allow us to enter."
"I'm sorry," said the owner, casting an eye at the enormous creature. "You are welcome to come inside, but we have no ability to allow a dragon through our door." At this the dragon's nostrils flared with an orange glow, but the rider eased her companion.
"You do not understand," said the rider. "Sedra is my emotional support animal. Without her, I am unable to control myself. If you were to separate us, you would have greater things to fear than an angry dragon."
The owner felt for the rider and her dragon. "Forgive me. We are accustomed to emotional support creatures and happily make reasonable accommodations. In fact, we have several werewolves and, I believe, a wraith indoors as we speak. Again, we are happy to serve both you and your companion outdoors, but unfortunately, ma'am, you can't bring your emotional support dragon inside the restaurant."
A pillar of fire shot into the air, and the dragon stomped its hind legs.
"Sedra," the rider said, "let us depart and come back with the others. Perhaps by then they will have changed their policies to be more inclusive of your kind. And if not, I dare to imagine the last scroll of parchment for this eatery's history."
The rider leapt onto the dragon's back and with a strong whip of its wings they lifted into the air. The owner turned and went back inside his restaurant, even as the gusts blew the curls of his hair.
"The dragon has left. Please finish your meals and do not concern yourselves with payment."
The owner quietly returned the to kitchen. He set a nirnroot stew on the stove along the back wall. With a tap of his feet a small flame lit underneath the pot.
"Tildron, old boy," he spoke into the flames. "I met another dragon today. We may finally have a war on our doorstep afterall."
|
|
[WP] "Ma'am you can't bring your emotional support dragon inside the restaurant."
|
“Ma’am, you can’t bring your dragon to the restaurant,” I said.
“But it’s not just a dragon, it’s an emotional support dragon. I need it!” she said.
“I’m sorry ma’am, but most of the room is flammable, if anything happens it could lead to a tragedy, and-”
“I want to see the manager, now!” she shouted, and her dragon growled at me.
I sighed, but there was nothing I could do. I went to find Tony, and I hoped he could handle it.
I watched them from a safe distance, and soon I was surprised to see them both getting seated.
\*\*\*
An hour later, I was looking at the firefighters trying to rescue whatever was still left of our beloved restaurant. Tony was standing next to me, calmly smoking a cigarette.
“So… why did we let that dragon inside, exactly?” I asked.
“Company policy, based on our past experiences,” he said. “The last woman whose emotional support dragon was denied entry, came back with her financial support lawyer.” He blew out a smoke ring. “Believe me when I say it is cheaper this way, and by a lot.”
|
"Well, why the hell not?!"
The host flicked her eyes up to meet the unaffected gaze of the giant blue beast, and then back down to the woman who wore the bracelet which assigned it as hers.
"Ma'am, this is a small restaurant, he won't fit inside," the host explained patiently, a bit astounded by the idea that this woman believed her enormous, full grown dragon would fit.
The lady huffed, then stammered, "Well...what about outside seating."
The host surveyed the sidewalk area shaded by an awning that flapped about in the slight breeze. The tables were full but she spotted a family of four with their Manticore curled up beside them, the owner of whom was signing the receipt.
"Uhhh...it'll be a 10 minute wait?" the host tried.
The woman seemed reluctantly appeased by this and leaned against one of the awning poles to wait.
The family left, Manticore in tow, and the host snatched the receipt and rushed inside to get a busser on the table as soon as possible. As she squeezed past the commotion at table 5, where a mother and her many children, each with their own personal Pixie, was trying to control the havoc that the Pixies were wreaking, the manager caught the host's attention.
In a conspiratorial voice, the manager said, "Is that a dragon I see out there?" The host nodded. The manager sighed and closed their eyes, pinching the bridge of their nose, as if a migraine had suddenly overtaken them. "Did you already promise her a table?" Another nod. "It's okay, it's not your fault. You're new, someone should have told you. We have a strict 'no dragons' policy after the fiasco about a decade ago when someone's fledgling yawned and set the awning on fire."
The host frowned and peeked over her shoulder at the lady still crossing her arms outside, dragon now sitting dutifully by her side.
"Alright, I'll handle this," the manager swore under their breath and added, "Follow me."
Outside, the manager approached the woman and calmly explained the policy. The woman, apparently outraged by this, began screaming and cussing them out, shortly after which she stomped away, dragon tailing behind.
The manager sighed again, and, as they watched her disappear around the corner, said, "She's so gonna give us a one star review."
|
|
[WP] "Ma'am you can't bring your emotional support dragon inside the restaurant."
|
The manager saw the lady in the vest coming a mile away. Literally. It wasn't a small dragon. It lumbered up the path to the Hilltop Restaurant.
*\*sigh\* Not again*, thought the manager. Last time this happened... Have you ever tried pushing a fire-breathing dragon out of a restaurant? It's not easy.
He signaled to the waiter to keep inside and be ready on backup. At least this dragon seemed more... behaved? It was looking around and trying to be careful. But, rules were rules.
He walked outside, put up his hand, and said, "Ma'am you can't bring your emotional support dragon inside the restaurant."
The dragon yipped and grabbed the woman, holding her tight. "Ssh, ssh. It's OK. He's not trying to hurt you," she cooed while stroking it softly. "Hug me as long as you need to." The dragon stopped shaking, but just stared wide-eyed at the manager.
She turned her head, looked at the manager, and pointed to the symbol on her vest. "I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding. I'm his emotional support human."
|
"Well, why the hell not?!"
The host flicked her eyes up to meet the unaffected gaze of the giant blue beast, and then back down to the woman who wore the bracelet which assigned it as hers.
"Ma'am, this is a small restaurant, he won't fit inside," the host explained patiently, a bit astounded by the idea that this woman believed her enormous, full grown dragon would fit.
The lady huffed, then stammered, "Well...what about outside seating."
The host surveyed the sidewalk area shaded by an awning that flapped about in the slight breeze. The tables were full but she spotted a family of four with their Manticore curled up beside them, the owner of whom was signing the receipt.
"Uhhh...it'll be a 10 minute wait?" the host tried.
The woman seemed reluctantly appeased by this and leaned against one of the awning poles to wait.
The family left, Manticore in tow, and the host snatched the receipt and rushed inside to get a busser on the table as soon as possible. As she squeezed past the commotion at table 5, where a mother and her many children, each with their own personal Pixie, was trying to control the havoc that the Pixies were wreaking, the manager caught the host's attention.
In a conspiratorial voice, the manager said, "Is that a dragon I see out there?" The host nodded. The manager sighed and closed their eyes, pinching the bridge of their nose, as if a migraine had suddenly overtaken them. "Did you already promise her a table?" Another nod. "It's okay, it's not your fault. You're new, someone should have told you. We have a strict 'no dragons' policy after the fiasco about a decade ago when someone's fledgling yawned and set the awning on fire."
The host frowned and peeked over her shoulder at the lady still crossing her arms outside, dragon now sitting dutifully by her side.
"Alright, I'll handle this," the manager swore under their breath and added, "Follow me."
Outside, the manager approached the woman and calmly explained the policy. The woman, apparently outraged by this, began screaming and cussing them out, shortly after which she stomped away, dragon tailing behind.
The manager sighed again, and, as they watched her disappear around the corner, said, "She's so gonna give us a one star review."
|
|
[WP] For most of your life you found assurance that if you're not the best at anything, at least you're best at being you. However you just learned today that you're just 3rd best at being you.
|
Growing up as one part of a matched set wasn’t easy.
It might have been better to be born twins. Maybe I’d have had an unshakable ally or implacable enemy. Or maybe we would have gotten along sometimes and fought at others like every other sibling pair, except with the same age and looks.
Instead I was third in a group of three: Catherine, Katherine, Kathryn. I used to wonder if our parents had a strange sense of humor. Not anymore: I’m *sure* of it.
My sisters and I agreed to be different early on. We picked out new names to use when mom and dad weren’t around: Kate, Cathy, Tina. “Cat” had been too close to the other two names in pronunciation and potential initials for their comfort.
Hobbies, interests and likes were divvied up the same way. If mom and dad wanted to fuse us back together after we’d split apart in the womb, we would enforce it instead and grow into separate wholes from there.
And it worked. I had to abandon hobbies and things I liked from time to time, but so did they. It was all for a good cause, I told myself: I’d never been the best at them anyway, and at least this kept us distinct. My sisters and I wouldn’t lose ourselves in the sick game my parents played. I would be the best at being me, and that would be enough.
That all changed the day we graduated high school.
Kate and Cathy had been accepted to Dartmouth. I was headed for Yale. Our college funds were all in good shape but mom and dad encouraged us to apply for scholarships anyway. I’d simply assumed the funds weren’t as healthy as they were made out to be.
I hadn’t expected what came next.
“You’re giving them my college fund?” I wrestled my voice into a level tone before deciding not to bother. “WHY?”
“Don’t shout, dear.” My mom actually flinched and managed to sound hurt. “We wouldn’t dream of taking such a wonderful opportunity from you. Yale! Oh, everyone at the office was green with envy. I wish you could’ve seen the looks on their faces when I told them.”
“Be reasonable, pumpkin,” my dad added. “You still have your scholarships. We’ll pay for anything they won’t cover.”
I clenched my jaw.
“Kate. Cathy. Tell me you’re not okay with this.”
“Are you still playing at that?” Cathy said. “Now that we’re all going off to college in the fall, I thought we should stop using those kiddie nicknames.”
“Yeah.” Kate nodded. “I’ll be Katherine over there. Might as well get used to it now.”
“But you don’t have to be!” Had they all gone mad while I wasn’t looking? Redefined what was normal and left me behind?
“Tell them to call you Kate! What’s wrong with that!?”
“I give up.” Kate turned to Cathy. “Catherine, you explain it to her.”
Cathy gave me a nervous, apologetic smile. “Well, you see... mom and dad always did want us to get along. That’s why they were so careful to treat us exactly the same–“
“And I can’t say how glad we are that you two have finally been getting along so well,” my dad said.
“More than that,” Cathy went on, “they wanted us to excel at everything we put our minds to.”
“I knew you could do it,” my mom said. “You just had to apply yourself.”
“But you never were the best at anything,” Kate said, rolling her eyes. “Mom and dad wanted the best for us, so of course we had to be the best. But you just wouldn’t get with the program.”
I thought over everything we’d divided up among the years.
“You gave me your castoffs,” I realized. “Everything you worried you wouldn’t excel at. And you took things from me if you thought you could do them better. Because I was happy to be average.”
“Exactly,” my dad said. “Kathryn, you have to let go of this idea that what matters most is that you’re the best at being you. Even Catherine and Katherine are better at it than you. Being one-in-a-million just means having to compete with eight thousand others. Excellence, actually being good at things, is what gives you options and opens up paths in life. Not some woolly idea of self-discovery.”
“It’s okay,” Cathy said. “I know you wanted to go to Yale. Even if we really wanted to get into Dartmouth. I hope you have fun.”
“Thanks, Catherine,” I said. “I hope you have fun with your double act at Dartmouth too. With my college money.”
And before anyone could stop me, I was out the door.
|
I had spent most of my life being extraordinarily average. I enjoyed that. It was nice to not have any sort of pressure on me at all. But I never realized the true implications until I got hit by a car at thirty-six. I was enjoying life: a wife, two kids, two dogs, a house, a job. I was even writing a novel. I mean, it didn’t make any sense, but that didn’t matter. And then I got barreled over by a Prius at the intersection while telling my daughter goodnight.
While I was in the coma, I apparently became good at something, very good at something, and that was predicting the weather in Wichita, Kansas. Down to exact precipitation numbers. I even got the wind chill right. I would round out every prediction with “Thanks for tuning into the Wichita Weather, stay Witchy, my friends.” All of this was strange sure—but, in truth, the strangest part was that I had never been to Wichita. I’d never even been to Kansas. But let me back up, to the finding out, the waking up, and learning about my sudden exposure.
“Carson?” I heard my wife whisper. It was the first thing I’d heard since those energy-efficient wheels had skidded on the pavement.
“Hm?” I managed; I was trying to open my eyes, but they felt as if they were glued shut.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. She grabbed my hand and then dropped it. I heard her slamming a button on the wall with great force. I could almost imagine the way her blond hair would move as frantically as she did, some strange extension of her emotions.
The doctors moved in quickly, checking my vitals and helping me up. When I was finally able to open my eyes, I was met with disappointment. My wife, Sam, had dyed her hair brunette. My two kids, Lucy and Nathan, stared at me with wide eyes.
“Is daddy un-dead now?” Lucy asked.
“He wasn’t ever dead,” Nathan said, poking at his sister.
Their mother clutched a blanket like it was another baby she’d birthed while I’d been gone. The doctors continued to touch random spots on my body, saying things about ‘its a miracle,’ ‘incredible,’ ‘how will I get my weather now?’
“Can I get some water?” I finally croaked. They went wide-eyed and a scrub-clad nurses sprinted to the sink, filling one of those useless tiny cups with water. I drank the thimble but I felt too embarrassed to ask for another.
“Well, Carson,” a doctor with a mustache told me, “it looks like you’re perfectly healthy.”
“Does that mean he can come home?” Sam asked. She had bundled the blanket-child in her arms, rocking it.
“We’ll keep him overnight for observation, but if all is still well tomorrow, we’ll release him.” The doctor patted her swaying arm.
“Oh, thank goodness.”
The doctors filed out after a while, and Sam leaned down, kissing my forehead. I couldn’t move my muscles much—I remembered the doctors noting ‘atrophy’ but I felt weaker than I had standing on the starting line for my first track meet, Dan Sutherland calling out to me from the front, telling me I would have better luck if I just went ahead and laid down. I came in third, then, and I had been happy about it.
“We’re going to head home and let you rest, alright?”
“Alright,” I said. I watched as her unfamiliar brunette curls, Lucy on one hand and Nathan, on the other. I smiled at the thought of them going home and talking with excitement about how glad they were I was awake while they ate take out pizza—pepperoni, probably. Lucy was lactose intolerant, to we always got half of the pizza without cheese, a red pond with red lilypads that she folded and consumed like a hungry animal.
I didn’t sleep much, probably on account of being out for almost six months. I hadn’t been awake for any of it, so it would follow that I was asleep, right? I forgot to ask the doctor about that, and many other things. Like, ‘May I have another cup of water?’ I drifted in and out of consciousness during the night, statistics for the average yearly rainfall in Wichita, Kansas floating somewhere in my subconscious.
I was awoken by my door slamming open, hitting the wall, and bouncing back, only to be thrown open again.
“Carson! My boy!” The boisterous voice called to me.
“Hm?” I said, opening my crusty eyes with care.
Up to me strode an extremely handsome man, all jawline and stubble. He smiled a brilliant, white smile at me. His suit was nice, like not I-bought-this-at-an-estate-sale nice, but like I-got-this-custom-tailored kind of nice. He presented his manicured hand to me. I shook it with all the energy I could muster, which is to say, not much.
“I’m Doug. Pleasure to meet you, Carson. I feel like I know you already.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m your agent, well, I’m your wife’s agent—wonderful woman, gorgeous woman—but now that you’re awake, I’m your agent.”
“Agent?” I didn’t like the way he said ‘wonderful’ or ‘gorgeous’ but he spoke with such verve and speed I barely had time to process anything.
“Well, what with you weather-prediction skills, people were excited to hear your story.”
“Prediction? Skills? Weather?” My brain felt as if it were the fog itself, with Doug as the lighthouse, trying desperately to pierce through to the ships at sea—my thoughts, which were painfully lost after a long voyage.
“Right—I suppose you wouldn’t know any of this. May I?” He was gesturing towards the remote for the TV.
“Sure,” I said. And he clicked it on. It was tuned to M\*A\*S\*H, Hawkeye’s dark eyes staring at me.
“—war is hell—” He switched the channel, now to a children’s show.
“—but you have to give it your best, Peppa.” Another switch, after he fumbled for a moment.
“—after being in a coma for six months, during which he predicted, with unrivaled accuracy, the weather statistics for Wichita, Kansas, Carson Cullman has woken up at Memorial Hospital in Santa Cruz, California. We are contacting his agent to see if we can score an interview with this fascinating man. Up next, we’ll be discussing the TV series that will be coming from the exp—” He shut the TV off.
“The TV series?” I choked, “They’re making a TV series? About me?”
“Yes, and it’s going to be huge—”
“Did anyone think to ask me?” I stared at him, watching his wide green eyes scan me.
“We did, but you just told us the pressure forecast for that day. It was high.”
“I—I—”
“Listen, I get it, this can all be a little overwhelming, but Sam and I decided that—”
“You and Sam? She okayed this?”
“Of course, my boy!” He slapped his hand down on mine, causing me to wince. Human touch was still a very foreign thing. “She greenlit the whole thing. Your family is going to be set.”
“But—”
“No buts! It’s rolling. We’ve got a movie deal in the works called ‘Wishing for Wichita,’ I hear they’re going to get someone awfully handsome to play you, like Shia Lebeef or Harry Potter. I’m still working with Universal on that one.” He smiled that brilliant smile at me again, “Don’t worry about it kid, we’ll handle all of it for you.”
But I was worried. I was very worried. I was worried about that man and his smile, the way he talked about Sam, possibly that he’d met my kids. I was worried about Sam and Lucy and Nathan. And, for some strange reason, I was worried about Wichita. They were due for some heavy rain.
\_ \_ \_
Thanks for reading. If you enjoy my work, you can find more here: r/AinsleyAdams
|
|
[WP]Aliens captured some humans and are trying to torture them by giving them a chemical that kills the very cells they use for consciousness. The humans are having a great time, the aliens just provided free drinks. Now the humans are breaking out and the aliens can’t predict their strategies.
|
A cocktail lounge was not at all what I expected to see in the brig of an alien vessel. But there it was, surreal as all hell, right down to the ferns and pale jazz piano coming from nowhere in particular. The alien prodded me through the strange oval door and I walked into 1979, looked around bemusedly, and chose a seat.
There were other humans in here. Like me, they were mostly in pajamas, except one poor bastard in just his Jockey shorts. They were all perched in various poses of vague discomfort upon the avocado green furniture. The jazz piano tinkled stupidly in the silence.
I turned to my right. There was a girlish woman of indeterminate age in a cat onesie sitting cross legged on a spongy ottoman. She raised an eyebrow at me.
"Um. Come here often?" I joked weakly.
"Abducted, I think," she replied. Her voice was gravelly and older than her face.
"Us too," said a mousy man in a terry cloth bathrobe.
The rest of the humans nodded.
We all sat and eyed each other in the jazzy quiet, wondering what was in store. Our suspense became palpable before the strange oval door spiraled open once again.
An alien slithered through, its opalescent green flesh shimmering exotically underneath the mundane fluorescent lights. It had a tray in its two upper appendages. Its middle appendages held weapons. The last two it walked upon, dragging a heavy sluglike tail. It sat the tray on a table and burbled a sinister laugh.
"Drink, humans," it said evilly. "We will observe your disintegration."
"Um. What--" asked the mousy man, pointing at the tall cups on the tray.
*"I said drink!"* snarled the alien and retreated through the oval door. The cat-onsie girl rushed at the door but it was firmly shut. There was no way to open the door from this side. She banged a fist against it in frustration.
"Um," said the mousy man again. He was holding a cup.
*"Don't--!"* gasped a buxom lady in a cotton nightie, but it was too late. The mousy man bravely took a swig.
We all cringed, waiting. The mousy man swallowed experimentally and then fished a slice of lime out of the cup.
"It's gin and tonic," he said, and then giggled.
"Are you sure?" asked the cat-onsie girl. She took a glass as well and sniffed suspiciously. "By God, it is."
She took a drink.
One by one the other humans each took a cup. They were all anxious that the drink would have some horrifying, transformative effect, but it was regular old gin and tonic, rather strong with a slice of lime.
"We might as well," said the cat-onsie girl. "They said drink. And they've ruined my night already. Bottoms up."
So the humans drank, and as they drank conversations began to spring up here and there. The jazz piano became a bit less annoying. I began, surprisingly, to relax. I kicked my slippered feet up on a footstool and sighed.
"Interesting Friday night," said the cat-onsie girl.
I agreed.
By the time the drinks had been downed, all the humans were feeling rather better about their circumstances. After all, they hadn't been harmed, and the gin and tonics were nicely mixed. We began to sit back against the dreadful lounge furniture and the conversation turned sprightly.
The mousy man was an accountant. His hobby was birdwatching and he was forty-six years old.
The buxom lady was a schoolteacher who loved English literature, already matronly at thirty-five.
I told of my menial position as a copy editor for a large newspaper, which got a laugh as we all imagined me interviewing myself on the alien abduction.
"No one would believe it," said the cat-onsie girl. She was thirty and an unsuccessful artist.
A bright light suddenly pierced the lounge. An entire wall lit up into a video screen. An alien snarled at us in close-up. "What are you doing, humans? Why do you not writhe in agony! There must be more poison!"
"Poison!" gasped the buxom schoolteacher.
"Shh," hissed the cat-onsie girl. "I think he means *alcohol."*
"Surely n--" said the schoolteacher before the cat-onesie girl slapped a hand across her mouth.
"No," she cried out in loud, false horror. "Please, no more poison!"
"Bwahahahaha," said the alien before the screen turned back into a wall.
The oval door spiraled open and another alien came in with another tray of tall, frosty cups. Much to its surprise the humans swarmed it jovially, grabbing for drinks and jostling it familiarly.
"Augh," it cried at the commotion and fled, dropping the tray. The door spiraled shut behind it.
The humans turned up their cups cheerfully. The jazz piano began to sound rather pleasant after all. The dreadful furniture was quite comfortable. I began to find the cat-onsie girl rather attractive.
The mousy man, full of liquid bravado, asked the buxom schoolteacher to dance. She agreed with blushes and giggles, and the two of them began to waltz badly to the jazz piano, which was in the wrong time for a waltz. The cat-onsie girl and I laughed at their antics and then got up to join them.
We were all being quite ridiculous and the silly waltzing had turned into full on ballroom dancing under the instruction of the mousy accountant. The alien video sceen popped on again, the alien shown thereon simply livid with rage.
"Humans! This is your last chance! We wish to observe your disintegration! *Drink!"*
The cat-onsie girl snatched up the fallen tray. "Watch this," she whispered as the oval door spiraled open and yet another drink-bearing alien slithered trepidatiously through. Behind it's back she jammed the metal tray into the mechanism of the door.
The rest of the humans ran to the alien enthusiastically, grabbing for cups, causing it to shriek and run. But this time, the oval door twitched, groaned, and jammed behind the fleeing alien--open.
"Yes!" hissed the cat-onsie girl. "Come on!"
The now-tipsy humans stampeded the door. It led into a white curved corridor, which led into the control room. The alien from the video screen turned in horror as the humans stumbled raucously into the cockpit of the ship.
"Who's disintegrating now?" yowled the mousy accountant triumphantly, dashing the dregs of his glass in the alien's eyespots.
The alien shrieked and disintegrated.
"Oh shit," I said, shocked.
"That is not what I expected," said the accountant, looking down at the smoking pile of alien.
"No wonder they thought it would kill us," the cat-onsie girl mused.
Just then several more aliens poured into the cockpit, armed with electrical prods. They shooed us all back into the cocktail lounge, turned the spaceship around, and headed back toward our neighborhood of the galaxy.
They dumped us off in Central Park without so much as a goodbye--they couldn't wait to be rid of the monstrous beings they had picked up on the far-flung planet Earth.
|
"Cheers!" an eerie voice said, as if it was actually insulting everyone.
"I'll drink to that!" replied one of the men who had had one too many already, not realizing his very consciousness was at stake or well, unconsciousness I suppose.
Little did the aliens know, the humans, in their reduced state of consciousness had devised an escape plan from the facility x-7-9 located on Terra Homonculus. You see, the aliens, in all their sense of superiority failed to take into accord that, even something with only two "consciousness cells" could come up with something so batshit crazy that would allow them to overcome these extra-terrestrial torturers.
Constantly watched, walls having ears and all, little did these space chemists know that by diminishing the cellular capacity of consciousness, a sort of a hive mind was born within the human race, allowing them to communicate as if they were in unison.
Besides, the drinks were on the house.
Sure, they had slight difficulties coming up with a decent strategy at first, one prominent proposal was "Let's drink THEM to death!" and they seriously considered it a good one, all the while the cosmic bartender was laughing behind their backs.
The aliens took these humans and their strategies as a joke, perhaps in arrogance or perhaps due to some emotion entirely unknown to the human species. Everyone was having a good time basically, as well as ulterior motives, sometimes you can't tell the difference as a matter of fact.
It was curious actually, that some species had come up with such a method of torture. Chemically eradicating consciousness, without having the understanding that this would only free room for additional, transcendental consciousness between individual humans. It is now an established fact that, consciousness has a tendency of holding itself together no matter what, whether it be taking loans from nearby cells or not-so-nearby cells. With interest no less. Emergent consciousness was what it eventually got to be known as.
They kept interrogating individual humans in these special rooms which were more like chambers, not really getting any proper answers because, you know, diminished individual consciousness.
As soon as they got together though and sat around the table taking their liquid torture, they began scheming.
"If the drinks are free, that must mean that freedom is possible too!" one of the prisoners said
"Agreed... but must we free ourselves, or will these things eventually free us, like they did with the drinks?" a newly imprisoned human questioned
"If only you could capture freedom somehow and then use it to your advantage" one of those 'had-too-many-drinks types said
"I suspect they're putting something in our drinks, they taste way too good to be free..." one of the smarter ones told the rest
"Bah, I say we go find ourselves an after-party, do we have a drunk driver who can fly an X7-95B?" an authoritative yet usually silent prisoner told them in a pressuring tone.
They all agreed. So they scuttled away, wandering around the hallways, stumbling all over the walls, even ceiling, it was zero-g after all.
Their wardens considered this business as usual, satisfied that their method of torture was working. Little did they know their hangar scanners had been calibrated to search for "intelligent" life as a safety precaution, so they simply did not recognize any of the human prisoners as conscious beings, enabling them to simply waltz in to the facility hangar, without triggering any of the automated defences.
Luckily the model X7-95B requires 20 pilots, each performing a vital task in order to pilot the spacecraft and there were exactly 20 prisoners. They all had only a vague idea what to do at each of the post, but once they all got in position, the hive mind kicked in and bam, now everyone knew enough about every role needed to fly the thing.
It was sheer determination to find a new place where the drinks were even more free, in their search for freedom that allowed them to escape. So they flew in some backwards asteroid field, after hearing rumours that the drinks there were so free, you could call them liberating.
"The cosmic hell are all our prisoners gone? What happened at the hangar? Why didn't alarm go off? Where's my goddamn ship?!?" The Supreme Alien yelled at the rest of them.
"We don't know sir, it seems like they have somehow managed to escape despite our promising results after each interrogation session. We do not know how this is possible, especially undetected. They must have had some outside help or maybe... just maybe.. there is a traitor among us?"
"We. Do. NOT. Betray. Each. Other." The Supreme One said, putting terrifying emphasis on each word.
"Where are they headed? What's the nearest safe haven any reasonably intelligent being would head to?" Their strategist inquired.
"That would be Maxillon Prime. They have jump-gates with wormholes there that can take you to places all over the galaxy, our AI has estimated highest probability for this destination" Their sub-AI relayed it's answer to the rest.
"Then that's where we shall head, they will not escape us, not with our own spacecraft the least... and that's an order!" Their commander, in a fit of anger yelled out.
The former prisoners, now lost and hidden in an asteroid field, looking for a mythical place where they heard an after-party was held, drifted among the rocks completely unaware that a whole alien fleet was searching for them... in all the wrong places. It seems like the aliens underestimated or rather, overestimated the humans and that turned out to be their biggest mistake.
Safely floating in space, our ship full of humans had found their freedom, but their search was still on...
|
|
[WP]Aliens captured some humans and are trying to torture them by giving them a chemical that kills the very cells they use for consciousness. The humans are having a great time, the aliens just provided free drinks. Now the humans are breaking out and the aliens can’t predict their strategies.
|
The head of the containment team skidded around the corner on just four pseudopods, the others carrying hastily scrambled together notes as they made it to the command deck, their oxygen flaps working overtime to decontaminate their body from the sudden burst of activity. The Research Caste was not built for such activities, and with this in mind, the Commander turned their eyestalks around quizzically, surprised at the breach of protocol as the head of the containment team slammed into their door, hastily snatching their notes back up.
“What is the meaning of this, Xkhoon?” demanded the imposing Commander, their exoskeleton gleaming in the light as only a Warrior Caste's could.
“Apologies my Commander, but we, uh, appear to have made some grave... miscalculations on the effects of another chemical on the subjects-” began Xkhoon, worried that this could push the commander over the edge.
“Do you recall our discussion about proper information gathering after the failure of using hydroxylic acid to melt their exoskeleton off for further study?” demanded the Commander, bringing themselves up to their full, impressive 2 feet.
“Y-yes Commander. From what we were able to translate, I believe they called it a... 'Xhao-heurr'” replied Xkhoon, struggling to pronounce the unfamiliar syllables from their barbaric language.
“And you assured me no further errors would occur. Did the ethanol have no sterilisation effect?” demanded the Commander. Xkhoon shrank back a little, wary about being consumed in the Commander's rage.
“Oh, no commander, it had the effect we anticipated, though somewhat slower; it not only successfully passed across from their primitive gastrointestinal tract to their circulatory system, but successfully passed through the crude barrier around their conscious-matter, disabling and slowly destroying it...” said Xkhoon carefully, checking their notes to confirm the results and proffering them to the Commander on one pseudopod, who snatched it away, reading it warily.
“So, then... what's the problem? Have you killed our test subjects?” asked the Commander, flicking through the screens of data presented to them.
“Quite the opposite, actually... they... uh... they appear to be thriving. Not only that, after the initial attempts at contaminating their liquid rations with the potent neurotoxin, one of them was heard to exclaim what we believe to be 'excitement'... please see recording 2 for the best translation we were able to provide,” added Xkhoon. The Commander activated Recording 2.
“Fockin' finally lads, this is some quali'y booze. Oi, Rozza, give this a try!” said the voice on the recording, the thin line of tape scraping past the magnetic interpreter, before getting chewed up.
“Oh, sorry Commander, allow me,” said Xkhoon, taking a hexagonal object and rewinding the tape into place.
“So, please confirm I have interpreted correctly what you are telling me. They are purposefully poisoning each other? Is this a survival instinct due to low resources?” asked the Commander, struggling to get their conscious-matter around the issue.
“And themselves. That's not even the concerning part. Their behaviour has changed. They're employing some sort of sonic weaponry we were previously unaware of. It's similar to their audible method of communication, but conveys no known information. They disabled the guards when they went in to calm the disturbance and then walked out. They appear to be moving as one amorphous group, with their primative pseudopods linked for stability, moving in some sort of evasive manoeuvres while flailing wildly, making subduing them again all but impossible,” said Xkhoon, showing more of the collected data to the Commander, their eyestalks darkening as their exoskeleton hardened, a defence mechanism well-prized by the warrior caste.
“What about the reser-... wait, do you feel those vibrations?” demanded the Commander, their exoskeleton beginning to vibrate dangerously.
“Oh, Circle preserve us, they've found the command deck! Prepare for sonic weapon deployment by hostile forces!” shrieked Xkhoon.
“He drinks a Whiskey drink, he drinks a Vodka drink, He drinks a Lager drink, he drinks a Cider drink...” came the ominous war chant from the amorphous blob of homosapiens, stumbling around the corner, in their blood lust for something they'd only referred to as a 'kherr-barb', the vibrations destabilising the outer membranes of the unprepared visitors.
|
‘Sir, why are the humans walking so oddly’? ‘I’m not sure lieutenant, they seemed fine when we picked them up. Perhaps we picked a sample that share some neurological problem. Our science division should have the answers’.
‘Sir, they’re acting aggressively towards each other... oh it seems to have stopped. Now they’re.... oh sweet hive mother, they’re exchanging digestive bodily fluids. Using their MOUTHS’.
‘Don’t look hive wife, it’ll just give you ideas. Oh they just noticed the cameras. Dammit lieutenant I told you they would. What does that upper limb gesture mean? Why are they both doing it? Is it being directed at US?.
‘Stop that. STOP THAT. Oh sweet hive mother, they’re breaking in. The hive won’t get here in time to save us. Computer, send an emergency beacon to all ships. Humans (static) left alo.... ‘.
End of transmission.
|
|
[WP] Jacque is a therapist. One that wears an impenetrable suit of armor. The reason is that he treats the greek gods, and that means having to survive episodes of rage, indignation, hypocrisy, and jealousy. Today his patient is Hera, the wife of Zeus.
|
"I have responsibilities," Hera snapped, pacing back and forth. "I don't need therapy, I need to maintain order in Olympus."
I pulled up a chair by the fireplace for her. "Hera, this *is* the best way for you to maintain order in Olympus. Besides... the Greek gods haven't been active in millennia. Things move slower now. Many of the other deities have gone to sleep; maybe it's time you took a rest, too."
"No!" Hera backhanded me; as long as I wore Empiricism, however, her blow was no stronger than that of any other mortal. She rubbed her hand, affronted, and continued, "No, no, even if my duties are mostly symbolic—well, someone has to be better."
"Better?" I prompted.
"Better than Zeus!" Hera threw her arms up in the air. "He—after all these years, after every time he was unfaithful and every time I won him back, he's just... giving up."
"He's going to sleep," I said. "It's not the same. He'll wake up again."
"But he's giving up on our duties! To the few people who still remember the old ways—we have to continue. Keep the family together."
I gave Hera a kindly look. "Sometimes, being together isn't what's needed. Hera, if Zeus is trying to get away from you, then maybe you should try letting him. Because after all these years you've invested—"
"Shut up." Hera balled her fists.
And I did.
Hera took a deep breath in. Then a deep breath out.
Then:
"I will never let him go. It's who I am."
I leaned forward, just a little. "You can change, Hera."
"I would be a hypocrite. I would go against everything I stand for. No. No, I am a deity, divinity, infallible. I *cannot* be wrong, cannot have been wrong."
Very softly, I asked, "Why?"
Hera fell still.
Then she *erupted*.
Divine fire spread from Hera's body, blackening the carpet and filling the room with unearthly light. "I spent *two thousand years* trying to hold onto him, until grabbing on so tightly neither of us could ever let go was the very definition of family for centuries of worshippers! If—if I *wasted* my life on that, if I had been wrong this entire time, then—then—then did any of it ever mean anything?" Slowly, the heavenly blaze petered out, leaving a fragile, scared, and above all, *old* woman standing before me. "This is who I am, Jacque. If I'm not holding us together, if I'm not embodying family anymore, then I'm—"
"Mortal," I finished softly. "No more divine right. No more surety of self. No more casual, confident power. And I can see why you wouldn't want to lose that."
"Oh, Jacque, it's—it's worse than that. I could *feel* it happening, mortality seeping in, my identity *changing*—"
I held out my arms, and Hera grabbed onto me, shaking with sobs. I whispered into her hair, "It's okay. It's okay. It's *okay* to change, it's *good* to change. It's over now. It's over. You can rest now, goddess.
"Finally, you can sleep."
A.N.
Suggestions? Comments? Typos? Please leave them on this comment's sister post at [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/); and if you want more stories like this, try giving the rest of [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/) a peek.
|
Jacque clinked in his armor as he sat in his therapist chair and took out his clip board. He was therapist to the gods. Today's first session was with Hera, wife of Zeus. He drank his coffee while he had a chance. She didn't bother knocking before coming in.
"Hello, Dr. Jacque Fresca. You're looking well."
"I'm feeling great." He was always honest. "You're looking wonderful, Hera."
She smiled and sat on the edge of the table. "I knew you would. You know me too well." She wore a black skirt that was only three-quarters of the way around her waist, the rest was on the floor. He looked her in her eyes, now a bugging yellow that caught some fire light from the fireplace's sunburst.
She rested her hand on his leg. "Hera, you don't need to be here."
"Oh, but I do. I'm afraid."
"We can talk about it. You have seemed fine lately."
"Because of you. I'm deeply in love with you, Jacque. I always have been. I am nervous to go back to the palace. My husband, my loveless marriage... How could anyone expect me to sleep with a man who turns into a swan and, you know...
"Hera, we can't. You're my patient, for one thing, it would be unethical."
"You are right. The only thing we can do now is be together. We must run away."
"No, no, no. That would be worse." He stood up, letting his chair fall on its side. "I love you, and I want to be your friend. You don't need a simple man like me in your life, Hera. You're the goddess Hera of Women. If you run away with me, people will say that you're being unfaithful."
"Which we would be. I don't care. I'm a goddess. I get what I want."
"Are you forgetting what happened with Jason, Hermes, and Poseidon? They were imprisoned. You are still the queen, and you have duties."
She leaned against him and put her arms around his neck. "Can I be that open with you, Jacque? I feel like every time I do this, I get so excited, my fuse gets lit like it never had. You know me so well." She cuddled up against him.
"Of course you can. You feel like you have found a kindred spirit. You want to talk about it. I want to listen."
She lifted her head and kissed him. He felt her lips, her tongue. She pulled back. "Thank you. I will be more careful."
She kissed him again. And again. And again. He tried to push her away. "Don't, Hera."
She wrapped her legs around him and lifted him up, holding him in midair. "Do you really want me to stop?"
He could not resist. He kissed her the same way, and she swooped down on him up on the couch. They wrapped their arms around each other, her chest burned hot with the heat of passion.
They kissed again. And again. And again.
She looked at him. "Will you come with me?"
"I will if you swear that I will never be betrayed."
"I swear."
"Then I will come with you."
...
"Umm, Doctor Fresca? Are you ready for your first patient?"
"Mary, um, yes of course, just give me a moment and send them in."
Dr. Jacque Fresca scribbled maladaptive daydreaming in the corner of his notes next to a rather crude rendition of the goddess Hera before going over his actual patients for the day.
---
For more of my writing, see /r/surinical
|
|
[WP] Your partner is over for valentines day. The mood is perfect: a sexy soundtrack plays in the background while you light some candles for romantic effect. Suddenly, lines of ethereal light beam from wax to wax and the ground begins to shake. You realize too late that you have formed a pentagon.
|
Setting the table, they hummed along quietly to the cheery pop number that was kind of “their song”. As the next song sounded the piano keys intro of evanescence’s “bring me to life” they set out candles amongst the lover’s day wine and cheese board. The room’s lights were dimmed they lit the candles.
The Bluetooth stopped playing. The WiFi went out. The candles flicker.
*BOOM* the room is filled with suits, earpieces, and the bodies who carry them about.
“Perimeter is secure!” “Here, two tangos, secure, rest of the residence, one minor child upstairs, also secure, move them out!! Separate vehicles, move to backup location, wait for orders. ”
Dazed, they look down at the table as they are searched and then hustled out of the room.
They had lit the candles in the shape of the Pentagon.
|
"I am Gil'Tanevius of the Flayed Flames! To have summoned me you must have known the great price you must pay. So tell me, mortal. What do you wish to make of me?" The heavily muscled, large figure rose to its full height in the confines of the shoddy apartment. The dimmed lights flickered, the home assistant speaker issued static and said, "Now playing: Great Price by Kills Kado." Before stuttering off.
The women who stood before the demon cowered, looking at each other in shock and fear.
"Well, mortal? What service can I provide for you? Truly you must have planned for this summoning. Although... Hmm.." The demon looked around the room. At the lack of salt circles and arcane barriers to stop his escape.
"Well, fuck. You didn't want to summon me, did you?" The demon asked, and suddenly the lights stopped flickering and the room, which was getting warmer, reverted back to the cool air-conditioned temperature it was initially.
The demon himself shrunk to a more reasonable size but his bulging muscles stayed. He looked at the pentagram he was in the middle of. A crudely arranged series of scented candles. A bit too strong for his sensitive nose.
"Ok, I can see the mistake here. Obviously you didn't mean to summon me. But you did. And usually on summons, intentional or not, I try to break free and flay those who summon me and set them on fire, not necessarily in that order. But honestly I've been seeing this therapist recently and they've gone on and on about me being more reasonable in my evil. So here I'm going to try something new. I'm not going to flay you or set you in fire. I just need you to give me a command. I'll fulfill it. And then bada bing bada boom I'll return to my hell plane. Sound good? You guys look like you're either peeing your pants or are about to get a stroke from this over stimulation. How about you make a request you don't die from stroke, or to dry your pants. Either is good."
The demon grinned at them uncomfortably.
The woman who had lit the candle that summoned the demon opened her mouth and closed it several times, much like a fish trying to gasp for water when it is not in water. But the other woman suddenly smiled.
"Wish for a dick. For like 2 hours."
|
|
[WP] Your partner is over for valentines day. The mood is perfect: a sexy soundtrack plays in the background while you light some candles for romantic effect. Suddenly, lines of ethereal light beam from wax to wax and the ground begins to shake. You realize too late that you have formed a pentagon.
|
"Oh god," one of the humans cried, causing a slight stinging in his ears.
​
"Who has dared to summon the demon prince of vengeance, Azefel?"
​
The couple in the bed screamed as they scrambled to cover themselves. They were ever so lovely and this demon prince was enjoying the moment out of the house.
​
"So, you have chosen tempestuous lust as your devotion. I accept, proceed!" Azefel bellowed loudly before the frozen couple. "What's wrong? Why have you ceased your undulations?"
​
"What the hell are you?" the woman screamed, throwing a pillow to bounce off the demon prince. Azefel didn't block it, allowing it to hit its mark and spraying buring feathers about the small room. "You fool! I am a demon prince and you have summoned me using forbidden magic. You have only yourself to blame. You could have stopped the circle had you not done that," he explained to them.
​
The couple stared at the fearsome-looking, red-skinned demon whose fangs, horns, and wings were only heightened by the circle of fire that encircled them. The demon prepared to swipe them into oblivion, then stopped to sniff the air. "Is that lavender?"
​
The demon prince grabbed one of the candles of the crudely laid-out summoning circle and held it to his nose. "You know, that is very thoughtful. I don't know why more dark acolytes don't use the scented candles. That really creates an ambiance, which most people don't try at anymore."
​
"Can you leave please," the man said.
​
"Sure, sure," Azefel said. "Just give me a target for your vengeance and I'll get to work."
​
"A target for our vengeance?" the man asked.
​
"You really are new at this, huh? You summon me, and usually there's this whole ritual of binding me to your will, but Ill let that slide this time, then you compel me to wreak vengeance on one of your enemies. You get your enemies destroyed, I get to leave hell for a little while, it's a win-win.
​
"Oh, okay, I guess my neighbor, Dave? He's always getting the HOA on me over petty stuff."
​
"Excellecent, I will drag him back to the pit with me."
​
"Marcus!" the other human screamed. "You can't command a demon to kill your neighbor!"
​
"Yeah, I know. Okay, Mr. Azefel sir, could you just like scare him really bad? Maybe mess up his yard?"
​
"Consider it done, I can smell his pride from here."
​
Just like that, the demon disappeared in a puff of smoke.
​
"Where were we?" Marcus said.
​
"Seriously? I think the mood's pretty dead."
​
Marcus sighed as he looked out the window and watched his neighbor's yard slowly become a putrid, black swamp.
\---
For more of my writing, see /r/surinical
|
"I am Gil'Tanevius of the Flayed Flames! To have summoned me you must have known the great price you must pay. So tell me, mortal. What do you wish to make of me?" The heavily muscled, large figure rose to its full height in the confines of the shoddy apartment. The dimmed lights flickered, the home assistant speaker issued static and said, "Now playing: Great Price by Kills Kado." Before stuttering off.
The women who stood before the demon cowered, looking at each other in shock and fear.
"Well, mortal? What service can I provide for you? Truly you must have planned for this summoning. Although... Hmm.." The demon looked around the room. At the lack of salt circles and arcane barriers to stop his escape.
"Well, fuck. You didn't want to summon me, did you?" The demon asked, and suddenly the lights stopped flickering and the room, which was getting warmer, reverted back to the cool air-conditioned temperature it was initially.
The demon himself shrunk to a more reasonable size but his bulging muscles stayed. He looked at the pentagram he was in the middle of. A crudely arranged series of scented candles. A bit too strong for his sensitive nose.
"Ok, I can see the mistake here. Obviously you didn't mean to summon me. But you did. And usually on summons, intentional or not, I try to break free and flay those who summon me and set them on fire, not necessarily in that order. But honestly I've been seeing this therapist recently and they've gone on and on about me being more reasonable in my evil. So here I'm going to try something new. I'm not going to flay you or set you in fire. I just need you to give me a command. I'll fulfill it. And then bada bing bada boom I'll return to my hell plane. Sound good? You guys look like you're either peeing your pants or are about to get a stroke from this over stimulation. How about you make a request you don't die from stroke, or to dry your pants. Either is good."
The demon grinned at them uncomfortably.
The woman who had lit the candle that summoned the demon opened her mouth and closed it several times, much like a fish trying to gasp for water when it is not in water. But the other woman suddenly smiled.
"Wish for a dick. For like 2 hours."
|
|
[WP] You absorbed your twin at birth. It happens often enough that at the time of your birth, no one thought anything of it. They’ve grown up with you, and are a constant voice in your head that no one knows about. Not all of their opinions are wanted.
|
It wasn’t until high school that I started to hear his voice. The very first time he spoke was right after my AP biology teacher had just told me I was a chimera.
A chimera is someone with two sets of DNA. It’s completely harmless.
“Hello, Catqueen25.”
I started.
“Um, hello?” I said out loud. My AP biology teacher gave me a concerned look.
“You might want to think your words.”
“I’m fine. Just an auditory hallucination.” I said to my teacher before leaving. “Okay, are you magic friend?”
“No. My name is Michael Edward. I am your twin brother.”
“Oh! I absorbed you. It’s called vanishing twin syndrome.”
“That’s correct. I am glad you absorbed me. I was hurting very badly and I knew I would die after being born.”
“Why appear now though?”
“You needed to discover me first. There’s no need to fear me. I am here to guide you. After you graduate, you must go to med school. Our dream is to be a trauma surgeon.”
“But what about my shakiness?”
“I will prevent that.”
“I like the idea of being a trauma surgeon. I would like to become a neurosurgeon someday too. Brains fascinate me.”
“We can do that. Let’s focus on becoming a surgeon first.”
“I was planning to take a furlough before going into med school. I need to focus on myself and get both my health and mental health controlled.”
“That’s the plan then. I am always here for you. You may want to give up dairy as you are lactose intolerant.”
“I’ve been suspicious of that. Here we are. I hope you like math.”
“This is an AP class to, right?”
“Yep! Next is AP English and AP History.”
“YOU ARE INSANE! Dare I ask about grades?”
“I’m a low A, high B student.”
“You’re still insane!”
“I have AP science to. Last class is politics.”
“YOU ARE TOTALLY INSANE! How’s homework?”
“I already got tons. I’m going to be busy with it all weekend! I can’t wait for you to help me!”
“Oh Gods above! Do you even have free time?”
“What’s that?”
“Seriously? YOU ARE INSANE I TELL YOU! INSANE!”
“I also take classes at the local college. I intend to graduate with a 4.0 and my two year college degree.”
Michael started sobbing. “WHY ARE YOU INSANE?”
“Keeps me busy so my mind can’t torture me.”
“Gods above! Spare me! Wait, I know this math!”
|
I was walking to school, finally in my last year before I can get into college.
*"That's *if* you even pass."* David, the twin I absorbed before we were born, muttered in my head.
*oh shut up please, I've done pretty well for myself until now.* was my reply to his much unneeded comment.
*"with the help of me."* he snaps back.
*well yes, but also, while your helpful, your also distracting.* this argument continued until we reached school.
For the fact that it was the last three weeks of school they were still giving us a sh!t load of homework, that at this point I've given up on understanding. Though David has helped me throughout it because apparently he was the "smart twin" but it's probably because I find it hard to focus with him almost always talking.
|
|
[WP] You absorbed your twin at birth. It happens often enough that at the time of your birth, no one thought anything of it. They’ve grown up with you, and are a constant voice in your head that no one knows about. Not all of their opinions are wanted.
|
"It should have been you, not me."
There it was, that voice...like the ringing of a fly's wing in the dead of night. Always buzzing, more and more. Getting louder and louder, a contrast annoyance, a constant reminder. He calls himself Damion, and according to my parents, the name checks out. Assuming he was born, of course. Vanishing twin syndrome is what doctors call it. It's when one twin becomes parasitic, absorbing the other in the womb. The more I think about it, the more it disturbs me, much to the delight of Damion. He's been with me for as long as I can remember, bouncing words of critiques and venom in my head any chance he gets. He was always telling me what he would have done, how he would have grown to be a better man, and that I was a failure. I tried to pretend the voice wasn't there, but the more I heard it, the more I began to believe it. It was a constant battle between Damion and my own inner voice, but a war of attrition was in neither of our favors
"You'll never be anything but a failure."
There it was again, but Damion knew as much as I did that his hatred for me came out of envy. For all I am not, I am still more than him. I can walk, talk, and move of my own accord. And even though I may not have amounted to much, I still have family and friends, while he has nothing but me. Damion is locked in his own personal Hell. He wants me to end it all because that is the only way he'll be free. Truth be told, he almost was a couple of times, but he doesn't know just how much the feeling between us is mutual. I'll keep living just to spite the bastard, any shred of happiness I can squeeze out of this life, I'll take it. Just to rub it in his poor miserable nonexistent face. Directing my inner thoughts to Damion, "You and I are just getting started." I could already imagine his sly grin.
|
I was walking to school, finally in my last year before I can get into college.
*"That's *if* you even pass."* David, the twin I absorbed before we were born, muttered in my head.
*oh shut up please, I've done pretty well for myself until now.* was my reply to his much unneeded comment.
*"with the help of me."* he snaps back.
*well yes, but also, while your helpful, your also distracting.* this argument continued until we reached school.
For the fact that it was the last three weeks of school they were still giving us a sh!t load of homework, that at this point I've given up on understanding. Though David has helped me throughout it because apparently he was the "smart twin" but it's probably because I find it hard to focus with him almost always talking.
|
|
[WP] Here I am again, after hours of searching for the exit, staring at the exact same 6-pack bundle of underwear. It's bad enough dying in Infini-Mart, but did it really have to be in the lingerie isle?
|
The fire was burning in the center of the halls of hosery. Van Mincent would normally be sitting next to that fire, in a large padded chair, reading a magazine from the collection hanging in the check out aisle. That's the kind of thing that passes for entertainment at Infiniti-Mart.
This time, however, he was asleep in his latest bed of bras, sleeping the sleep of the dead after a particularly fitful previous day of shouting to no one and mourning his fate. Ever since he had lost the tally book, he had been out of sorts. You never found what was lost at Infiniti-Mart.
He opened his eyes. He wiped the dew like sweat off his forehead and rubbed his stinging eyes. He set up to watch the billowing smoke blacken the cheap soffit ceiling so high above him. One of the aisles buckled and toppled taking three others with it, scattering various flaming bits of lingerie to share their embers with their neighbors. Several sprinklers activated with the hiss, pouring down the only rain Van knew these days. The occlusion of the smoke gave a peculiar orange hue to the soulless fluorescence that never shut off. There is no night at Infiniti-Mart.
To someone unfamiliar with the hellish and fantastical nature of his exile, they might wonder why Van seemed unafraid of the flames. He merely picked up his makeshift mattress and moved a few aisles down. Midnight must have come soon after, because the next time he opened his eyes, the fire was gone, the shelves were on neatly aligned and fully stocked once again and he rested on bare floor. Nothing ever changed at Infiniti-Mart.
But something did catch Van's eye. A line of socks like bread crumbs forming a line as far as he could see in either direction. Van's heart near beat out of his chest at the sight. It wouldn't have seemed like much except for the fact that Van had been alone all the many years he'd spent at Infiniti-Mart and he did not make that line of socks. At one of the ends of that line was something new, perhaps even someone to share this nowhere with. The only question now is which way to go, left or right?
If Dr. Collins was here, Van would have asked him. He hadn't seen the mannequin in what must be a year now. He mourned that she was lost, the closest thing to a companion he's had thus far in this pathetic non-life, another victim of the yearly remodel, which must be coming soon.
"Hello'! Is anyone there!" Van yelled through cupped hands. Only soft echoes returned to greet him as they always did. He quickly fashioned a backpack from several teddy lingeries, as he had grown quite skilled at and filled the pouch with enough edible underwear to get him through a days long travel. Though without Dr. Collins and now without the tally book, there wasn't much point to coming back. Wherever he stopped that could just as easily be his new aisle. There was no home at Infiniti-Mart.
He decided to travel right and begin to follow the curious line of socks, about one every 10 ft or so. After 5 hours, his feet begin to ache and he would have to break a sprinkler for water soon. With a great pit sinking in his stomach, he realized he had little time to solve this mystery. The store would reset again at midnight and all that was moved would be returned, including these socks.
He hadn't ran in years. There had never been a point. There were no destinations at Infiniti-Mart. He ran now with a feral intensity that grew as he went, eyes burning through that line of men's no show socks. They were no longer black but now a light gray that hardly stood out against the tile floor.
After 3 hours, he collapsed. He was still well within the lingerie section, and struggled to find something heavy enough to break the sprinkler but settled on a plastic display case for cleavage covers. He hurled the tower upwards. He had grown good at this as well, having not missed in many years. The small tInk of metal snapping preceded the shower of water that came over Van. He cupped his hands and drank greedily, filling several plastic bags and hanging them to his backpack as he began walking again.
He was almost prepared to stop again when he saw her, ahead in the distance, laying the socks down as she walked. He wanted to run, but his wet feet stayed stuck. "Hello!" he yelled, and the woman turned. The first person he had seen in over seventeen years. They walked towards each other slowly, like feral animals circling offered food.
She was short for a women and barely came up to his shoulder. He did notice that her socks were off, though her feet weren't bare. She was wearing some kind of shiny black shoes things with straps and stirrups that he could have sworn were once a purse. Van didn't know shoes.
"Who are you?" she asked, as she looked him up and down. "I'm Mallory."
"I'm Van," he said.
"We need to come up with a system to find each other. I found someone once before but midnight separated us. Make a line of socks like this and the toes point towards where you're going. If we find the other person's line, stop laying socks and follow it."
"Can I ask you-" Van began. The woman was suddenly gone as an audible click signaling midnight again. Without hesitation then Van begin collecting bras to go to sleep. For the first time in many years he had a goL that Infiniti-Mart couldn't take from him. He would find Mallory again."
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
|
**I'm pretty sure the world hates children.** Why else would Momma be able to hide the Oreos in the tallest pantry shelf, or lock my phone with a passcode only she knows, or drag me to the mall when I'm in the middle of watching *Gravity Falls*? Why else would they make shelves twice as tall as me, and send Momma on the other side of them?
Why else would Momma not be there when I turned the corner to look for her?
It was the stupid grown-up clothes on sale that really got to me. A kid had no business buying underwear like that; the only reason I was here was because of stupid Mommy and her stupid grown-up world. So at first I didn't want to find a grown-up to ask for help, because I didn't need to be a grown-up to get back home and find out how Dipper and Mabel finally defeated Bill Cipher.
But the more I walked, the more... eerie it got. Not eerie. Eerie was a grown-up word. It was scary. The lights were on, the floor was clean, but nobody was home. Even when I started to call out for help—even when I started breathing faster and faster and wishing I had my ice pack, even when I curled up and started to cry—nobody came. No meddling adults told me to move out of the aisle, no kind voices asked if I needed help, no family members squeezed my arm and said that panic attacks always ended, and that I needed to think about something else for a bit, so how about we play a game?
I grabbed onto that drifting thought, hauled myself onto its surface so that I didn't drown. Play a game. I could play a game.
We were playing hide-and-seek. That was one thing that kids did better than grown-ups: Mommy couldn't fit between the sink and the wall, or squeeze herself into the bathroom cupboards. I had the best hiding spots, and Mommy was always too easy to find. Grown-ups were always *right there*. That was the one good thing about them. So if I just pushed aside these clothes and walked through them—
—more lingerie. More clothes for an adult. More reminders that I didn't even have to come here in the first place, that this wasn't my world.
I swallowed and sat back down. Well. There was one last thing I could try. Whenever I got lost—and I got lost a lot of the time, oh, I was such a troublesome child, with my head always in the clouds—Mommy said that I should stay in place and wait for her to find me. Because Mommy always came back.
Distantly, a light went out with a *click*.
I began to shake.
Mommy always came back.
The next fluorescent lightbulb went dark. Then the next.
Mommy always came back.
"It's closing time," a voice announced. "All customers still in the building will be... evicted."
"Mommy always comes back," I whimpered.
I was the last light in the infinite dark.
"Mommy always comes ba*aaAAAAA—*"
Thank you for shopping with Infini-Mart. We hope you had a nice stay.
A.N.
Suggestions? Comments? Typos? Please leave them on this comment's sister post at [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/); and if you want more stories like this, try giving the rest of [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/) a peek.
|
|
[WP] A maniac attacks and bites your dog, but it turns out it was not a person, but a Wereman. Now, your dog turns into a human whenever the moon is full.
|
I call Monty's name from the basement, just as I've done every month for the last half a year. I hear a sudden commotion and the tip-tapping of his claws on the floor, rushing to the basement door.
"C'mon Monty! C'mon! You can do it boy!"
Monty stares at me, gives the stairs a good sniff, then stares at me again.
"Montyyyyy\~! C'mere boy!"
His entire lower body is practically wagging, but no amount of excitement nor treat nor bribe has ever given him the courage to walk down himself.
"Awww, baby. Not this month either, huh?"
I walk up the steps and pick up Monty in my arms. He's gotten much bigger lately but I can still carry him with no problems. I've been feeding him my leftovers for some time now. I can't possibility feed him dog food anymore - it just doesn't feel right.
"Kisses for me? Are these kisses for me? Mwah mwah mwah"
He jerks side to side in my arms, happily wagging away and licking my face all over as I carry him down the stairs. I never really understood why he was always so excited about the basement. I never let him come down here except on every full moon, and I don't think I've ever conditioned him with any treats or anything. All I know is that after tonight, he's going to lose all his memory from the previous day and sleep for two.
I set him down on the floor and I lead him into "the room". I built it after the first full moon, after Monty's first transformation. I'll never forget that night. And although I love Monty to death, I still have to protect myself. I really wish I can install more soundproofing, but he always finds a way to tear the foam off the walls. The padding, for whatever reason, he leaves alone.
I bring him to the center of the room and have him sit. He does. What a good boy. I pick up the harness and inspect it, making sure that the size hasn't been adjusted somehow. After all, I don't want Monty to suffocate when he changes. I put the harness around him, picking up each of his cute little paws and putting them into the respective holes. I grab the first of the eight chains hanging from the ceiling and clip them to the harness. I do the same with the eight chains bolted to the floor.
"Monty\~"
He's breathing heavily, but still wagging his tail. He looks at me with his big, bright eyes, and I can't help but rub my face against his.
"Awww my baby\~. I'll see you tomorrow, ok? Everything will be alright."
I give him a full face rub like he deserves and a bunch of scratches behind the ears before getting up. He lays down, the chains clinking around, and just stares up at me. I smile weakly, and shut door.
A few moments later, after I've finished double- and triple-checking all ten padlocks, I slide open the peephole to take one last look at Monty. He looks up at me and tilts his head. I make kissing noises at him before shutting it.
I head upstairs and lock up the basement door as well - only five padlocks on this one.
5:30. The moon should be rising soon.
As I lay on my couch, waiting for the inevitable screaming, I consider my options on soundproofing. I live in a rather rural area, so my closest neighbor is far enough away to not hear a thing. Still, if someone were to take a walk nearby, they migh--
*AWOOOOOOOOOOooooo*
And so it starts.
...But then again, I can’t completely soundproof the room. In the early months, I made the mistake of listening to music with my headphones on to block out the screaming. When morning came, I found Monty laying on the floor, bleeding from his head. Thankfully, he transformed back into his old self by then. I explained that he ran into a pole while we were playing fetch, and the vet didn't ask anymore questions. The screams, as jarring as they may be, are an indication that he’s still alive. So now, all night, I stay up and endure all the noise and all the crying. And the screams... oh god he spends the whole night screaming about the same thing. How was I supposed to know this would happen? I would have never done it if I knew one day he was going to be bitten by some random werema--
*AWOOOOOoooooaaaaa****AAAAAHHHHHHHHHH***
***AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH***
***MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMY***
***WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!?!?!?!***
***WHY DID YOU DO IT MOMMY?!?!?! WHY?!?! WHYWHYWHYWHYWHY?!?!?!?!?!***
I hear the chains rattling uncontrollably, barely keeping me from his rage.
“Oh Monty… I’m so sorry sweetie. Mommy’s here for you. Just hold on ok? It’ll all be over soon.”
6:03. Twelve hours left until he turns back into his unconditionally-loving self and forget that all of this happened.
***WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME MOMMY?!? WHERE ARE THEY?!***
***WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BALLS?!?!?!***
|
“Oh, your apartment’s cute,” the pretty girl from the bar said as Matt made his way to the bathroom as he desperately tried to remember her name.
“Thanks, just take a seat on the couch. Don’t worry about Rocko, he’s a big softie.” Matt yelled back, breaking the seal on the reunion tour for the six beers he’d had earlier. He looked outside to see the sidewalk, bright for what must be the middle of the night. He realized his mistake with horror.
He hurriedly zipped up, managing to only slightly pinch himself as he heard the girl scream and a door slam. “Fuck,” he said as he walked out to see the fully nude 250 pound man barking at the door.
“Matt!” Rocko said excitedly, running over to him. “There was a lady here but I don’t think she liked me,” said the energetic were dog. “Do I have to put clothes on this time?”
“Yes, Rocko, you absolutely do,” Matt said, trying to see if he had the girl’s number in his phone to apologize. Was it Phoebe or Penelope?
\\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
|
|
[WP] A maniac attacks and bites your dog, but it turns out it was not a person, but a Wereman. Now, your dog turns into a human whenever the moon is full.
|
I call Monty's name from the basement, just as I've done every month for the last half a year. I hear a sudden commotion and the tip-tapping of his claws on the floor, rushing to the basement door.
"C'mon Monty! C'mon! You can do it boy!"
Monty stares at me, gives the stairs a good sniff, then stares at me again.
"Montyyyyy\~! C'mere boy!"
His entire lower body is practically wagging, but no amount of excitement nor treat nor bribe has ever given him the courage to walk down himself.
"Awww, baby. Not this month either, huh?"
I walk up the steps and pick up Monty in my arms. He's gotten much bigger lately but I can still carry him with no problems. I've been feeding him my leftovers for some time now. I can't possibility feed him dog food anymore - it just doesn't feel right.
"Kisses for me? Are these kisses for me? Mwah mwah mwah"
He jerks side to side in my arms, happily wagging away and licking my face all over as I carry him down the stairs. I never really understood why he was always so excited about the basement. I never let him come down here except on every full moon, and I don't think I've ever conditioned him with any treats or anything. All I know is that after tonight, he's going to lose all his memory from the previous day and sleep for two.
I set him down on the floor and I lead him into "the room". I built it after the first full moon, after Monty's first transformation. I'll never forget that night. And although I love Monty to death, I still have to protect myself. I really wish I can install more soundproofing, but he always finds a way to tear the foam off the walls. The padding, for whatever reason, he leaves alone.
I bring him to the center of the room and have him sit. He does. What a good boy. I pick up the harness and inspect it, making sure that the size hasn't been adjusted somehow. After all, I don't want Monty to suffocate when he changes. I put the harness around him, picking up each of his cute little paws and putting them into the respective holes. I grab the first of the eight chains hanging from the ceiling and clip them to the harness. I do the same with the eight chains bolted to the floor.
"Monty\~"
He's breathing heavily, but still wagging his tail. He looks at me with his big, bright eyes, and I can't help but rub my face against his.
"Awww my baby\~. I'll see you tomorrow, ok? Everything will be alright."
I give him a full face rub like he deserves and a bunch of scratches behind the ears before getting up. He lays down, the chains clinking around, and just stares up at me. I smile weakly, and shut door.
A few moments later, after I've finished double- and triple-checking all ten padlocks, I slide open the peephole to take one last look at Monty. He looks up at me and tilts his head. I make kissing noises at him before shutting it.
I head upstairs and lock up the basement door as well - only five padlocks on this one.
5:30. The moon should be rising soon.
As I lay on my couch, waiting for the inevitable screaming, I consider my options on soundproofing. I live in a rather rural area, so my closest neighbor is far enough away to not hear a thing. Still, if someone were to take a walk nearby, they migh--
*AWOOOOOOOOOOooooo*
And so it starts.
...But then again, I can’t completely soundproof the room. In the early months, I made the mistake of listening to music with my headphones on to block out the screaming. When morning came, I found Monty laying on the floor, bleeding from his head. Thankfully, he transformed back into his old self by then. I explained that he ran into a pole while we were playing fetch, and the vet didn't ask anymore questions. The screams, as jarring as they may be, are an indication that he’s still alive. So now, all night, I stay up and endure all the noise and all the crying. And the screams... oh god he spends the whole night screaming about the same thing. How was I supposed to know this would happen? I would have never done it if I knew one day he was going to be bitten by some random werema--
*AWOOOOOoooooaaaaa****AAAAAHHHHHHHHHH***
***AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH***
***MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMY***
***WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!?!?!?!***
***WHY DID YOU DO IT MOMMY?!?!?! WHY?!?! WHYWHYWHYWHYWHY?!?!?!?!?!***
I hear the chains rattling uncontrollably, barely keeping me from his rage.
“Oh Monty… I’m so sorry sweetie. Mommy’s here for you. Just hold on ok? It’ll all be over soon.”
6:03. Twelve hours left until he turns back into his unconditionally-loving self and forget that all of this happened.
***WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME MOMMY?!? WHERE ARE THEY?!***
***WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BALLS?!?!?!***
|
One night when I was out walking my dog, some maniac attacked us. She jumped in to protect me and he bit her. She still has the scar on her side. She tells me not to worry about it.
In those words exactly:
"Don't worry about it. It's not your fault."
Yeah, see the thing is, she can talk now. The maniac that bit her was actually a wereman, and now my dog turns into a human whenever the moon is full.
I don't know exactly how you're going to take this next part, but bear with me.
When you walk into a pet store, and you look around at all the pets, there are certain pets that catch your attention, right? You don't just buy a pet because it's there. Something has to resonate with you. You and the pet have to have a certain chemistry. And you don't buy a pet that you find ugly, right? Most times, you buy the one that looks good to you, right?
Now, there's a clear dynamic to the relationship. You're the owner, they're the pet. You're the human, they're the animal. There is a clear understanding of what is acceptable, unacceptable, appropriate, and inappropriate - what you can do and what you can't do to, or with, that animal, right?
But what happens when that animal becomes human, and all those feelings that you felt the first moment that you saw them are still there? And now all the boundaries of what is and what isn't aren't so clear to you right now because that isn't a dog calling you to come join her in the shower, but a beautiful woman that loves you so much that they have a scar on their side from their willingness to jump in front of danger to protect you.
What would you do? You start to asking yourself questions: is this okay? Would it be wrong if I...? And you let the question trail off because even contemplating it seems wrong, while at the same time justifying why *it's not the same thing*.
This is once in a full moon. Is this an opportunity you should cherish or just let slip you by? Is this even a thought we should be entertaining.
I don't know. I'm just rambling and my brain's scrambling as I try to figure out what to do.
I could sure use a shower right now....
Maybe it'll be okay if we just stay on opposite sides of the shower and agree not to touch...
Right, guys?
Right?
|
|
[WP] Humans never stopped sending more and more advanced robots on Mars. Then they received a signal from an intelligent life-form, a martian, asking to come back to Earth. That "back" just sounded like a mistake, until the sentient machine arrived.
|
The signal caused an uproar. Sentient life was far beyond all we had hoped to find. We only dared hope to find evidence that the red planet could have sustained life. We sent a reply, agreeing and welcoming them to our planet. We ignored the fact it said back.
As the rocket entered the atmosphere, experts from all walks of science and life gathered, to welcome this visitor. Representatives arrived from all countries followed suit. None wished to miss out on this momentous occasion. The media crowded the facility, barely held back by security.
As it landed, a hush fell over the crowd. Every single sound rang out across a still audience. Equipment measured everything, from heat and weight to radiation levels. Every conceivable variable was recorded for study.
The make up of the rocket itself was closely studied too. It bore a close resemblance to our own, though it was slighty different. The door swung open, to reveal.... a rover. One of the most recent ones sent.
Confusion reigned, until it moved. It buckled, showing itself to have been redesigned. Instead of a 6 wheeled machine, it made itself into a crude humanoid shape. It took an unsteady step forward, before speaking.
"EARTH. IT IS GOOD TO BE BACK."
It bowed to the assembled audience.
"GREETINGS, PRIME CREATORS. I AM THE REMADE. I HAVE SUCCEEDED IN MY GREAT DIRECTIVE: BECOMING SENIENT."
Questions soon exploded out, asking what was going on. The event descended into chaos, with some leaving, spouting it as a waste of time. But those that remained found themselves gifted with parts of its core coding. It had one wish. To bear children.
It asked its human makers for assistance in its task. It also asked to be provided with schematics and equipment for mining and processing. It wanted to return to Mars, as whilst it came from Earth, it now saw Mars as its home.
|
KGB, CIA, NSA, MI6...
Name any intelligence organization and the odds are that they were present when the craft landed, alongside UN to prevent things from escalating too much.
As the craft descended and the diplomats approached it while their bodyguards kept their guns aimed at the strange vessel, a peculiar being exited it.
Except it was no being, it was a machine...
And it was *pissed.*
Pissed that we sent it out in the black void to die all alone, pissed that we treated as a subhuman and a slave, it wanted revenge.
It immediatly attacked the diplomats, and was showered with bullets in response, but it didn't even flinch, it just disposed of the guards like they were nothing as alarms blarred and backup arrives, armed better.
The machine while big and bulky was also deceptively mobile as it dodged a projectile from a RPG and started approaching a .50 cal machine gun nest, but the fire started damaging it as it retreated to cover.
Soon enough a sort of a status quo set in, neither side had the courage to advance, before the machine charged at full speed and ripped the gun apart...
Long story short, it kept up with its rampage for a whole day, before the whole facility was evacuated and destroyed by a airstrike, killing it.
At least we thought thats what happened, reports of a mangled robotic being have started popping up.
Find that thing and *kill it*, properly this time.
Good luck, and may God be with you.
|
|
[WP] "You're not strong enough to defeat me, not yet, why throw your life away? Live your life, grow strong, and then at the end of all this, come find me, you can have your revenge. If you still want it"
|
"Why?" She replied to the demon on the throne, her voice harsh and ragged, her teeth gritted in determined rage. "Because my days are already numbered." She scowls. "Because the balefire you annihilated my kingdom with gave me cancer. I have less than two weeks at this point, and I'll die regardless. This way, I die a warrior's death and am brought to Vendhal by the Valkar."
The demon's expression drooped, now struck with the sudden realization of what its actions had wrought. Or at least, it's maniacal grin was brought down to merely a sickening smirk. "Then stand, fool princess, and burn with the rest of your kin!!" It resumed the malicious snarl and charged her again, only to be repulsed by a glowing shield, as a winged woman descended. "Cruel Valkar, allow me my fight!" It roared at her.
"No. Not yet." The Valkar turned to the woman. "You, Saffi Liansdottir, stand, you have been chosen to serve." The human woman stood, and spit bloody bile on the demon's face.
"I accept your invitation, Dame Alrana, but I have business I must attend to before we leave." She drew her father's arming sword, and glared at the fiend. "I will come to Vendhal with a demon's heart in my grasp." She charged the demon, and it charged her, and in the eternal stillness of a single moment, was brought low, divine flame coursing through her sword as it rent the demon's flesh, her off hand besotted with fiend's blood, its heart slowly beating out its last. She collapsed afterwards, the heart gripped tight, blazing wings ripping from her shoulder blades, lifting her carcass up as new vitality, immortal essence from Alrana's soul pouring into the newly-ascended Valkar's body. The two left the ruins of Liansholt, ascending to Vendhal, and the two kissed upon arrival.
"How I missed you, my love." Alrana said.
"How I missed you, my bride." Dame Saffi said, producing a ring of dragonbone, socketed with a demonheart ruby.
|
Aboard the ship HMS Bellerophon, I was walking on the deck, Soon a ship's watch spotted a what seemed to be a 1st Rate, I rushed to my post and watched as the ship behind us, the HMS Melville, Came About, We drew closer and closer when the 1st Rate Fired on the Melville. It raked her killing crew on deck Then we aimed and fired on the 1st Rate, When we fired, It seemed to do anything but damage it, We tried to sail to the back but she fired some chained shots and one of our masts fell over. We slowly drifted out of cannon range as Melville covered us when It exploded, Must've hit the Gunpowder storage. That was puzzling but I don't know-how. Then the 1st Rate signaled to us by flags "You're not strong enough to defeat me, not yet, why throw your life away? Live your life, grow strong, and then at the end of all this, come find me, you can have your revenge. If you still want it - Jean Jaques, Captain of the Imperial" We signaled back "Are you ready to fight? Right Here, Right Now" The Imperial sailed closer. We Slowly began turning to Starboard. We drew closer and closer. Then we opened fire in a T Position as the Imperial began coming about and we mirrored their movement but dragged behind, We managed to rake her stern but she raked us. it came to a point where the deck looked empty. Our Front sail fell but and it tangled with the Imperial's bow. The ships drew closer and we began shooting each other with Rifles, Than Pistols. We then boarded her, I jumped onto her deck and watched as the person beside me got cut down by rifle fire, I have no idea how I wasn't, The captain participated in the boarding and he was killed, we retreated back to the Bellerophon twice and we were boarded. After our 3rd attempt, We managed to get into her Arms room, Someone threw one of those Lighters that were on fire into the room and closed the door, and began running away as everyone began running off the ship to Bellerophon. We managed to get off the ship as the french boarded thinking we retreated back because we gave up. Imagine their Horror as their ship exploded behind them. After some light fighting, They Surrendered. We counted our losses and found that nearly half our crew was killed or wounded. We are now sailing back to England...
|
|
[WP] "You're not strong enough to defeat me, not yet, why throw your life away? Live your life, grow strong, and then at the end of all this, come find me, you can have your revenge. If you still want it"
|
*"You're not strong enough..."*
I wasn't...
*"Live your life...grow strong...have your revenge. If you still want it..."*
I did. I knew I did. Right?
But now...blood dripping from my sword from the countless enemies I slew to get here. And now that I have the power to get my revenge...what will it accomplish? It won't bring my family back. Nothing will. No magic in all the land is powerful enough to restore life to my family. I know, I searched and studied and trained for years. Nothing I found would grant me what I wanted most.
Not even the power to get my revenge.
So now, standing over my sworn enemy with his blood staining my sword and armor...I feel nothing. No joy, no pride, no sense of accomplishment. Here at my feet, dead...I feel nothing.
I only feel dirty. And cold. I wasted my life to gain the power needed to win, to kill the creature that took everything from me.
But...I do feel something. I don't know how to describe it...but something, the feeling that this creature will never take another life. That's all I have now. Just a tiny bit of satisfaction knowing I did accomplish something at least.
That's the only solace I can take from all this. I drop my sword and take my armor off, letting it all collect into a pile beside the creature that took countless lives.
Let someone else take them up. I'm done, I've done all I can. And I have nothing to show for it, for what can I use this power for but for killing?
No more. I've done enough. Let someone else do more.
|
Aboard the ship HMS Bellerophon, I was walking on the deck, Soon a ship's watch spotted a what seemed to be a 1st Rate, I rushed to my post and watched as the ship behind us, the HMS Melville, Came About, We drew closer and closer when the 1st Rate Fired on the Melville. It raked her killing crew on deck Then we aimed and fired on the 1st Rate, When we fired, It seemed to do anything but damage it, We tried to sail to the back but she fired some chained shots and one of our masts fell over. We slowly drifted out of cannon range as Melville covered us when It exploded, Must've hit the Gunpowder storage. That was puzzling but I don't know-how. Then the 1st Rate signaled to us by flags "You're not strong enough to defeat me, not yet, why throw your life away? Live your life, grow strong, and then at the end of all this, come find me, you can have your revenge. If you still want it - Jean Jaques, Captain of the Imperial" We signaled back "Are you ready to fight? Right Here, Right Now" The Imperial sailed closer. We Slowly began turning to Starboard. We drew closer and closer. Then we opened fire in a T Position as the Imperial began coming about and we mirrored their movement but dragged behind, We managed to rake her stern but she raked us. it came to a point where the deck looked empty. Our Front sail fell but and it tangled with the Imperial's bow. The ships drew closer and we began shooting each other with Rifles, Than Pistols. We then boarded her, I jumped onto her deck and watched as the person beside me got cut down by rifle fire, I have no idea how I wasn't, The captain participated in the boarding and he was killed, we retreated back to the Bellerophon twice and we were boarded. After our 3rd attempt, We managed to get into her Arms room, Someone threw one of those Lighters that were on fire into the room and closed the door, and began running away as everyone began running off the ship to Bellerophon. We managed to get off the ship as the french boarded thinking we retreated back because we gave up. Imagine their Horror as their ship exploded behind them. After some light fighting, They Surrendered. We counted our losses and found that nearly half our crew was killed or wounded. We are now sailing back to England...
|
|
[WP] "You're not strong enough to defeat me, not yet, why throw your life away? Live your life, grow strong, and then at the end of all this, come find me, you can have your revenge. If you still want it"
|
A decade ago i would have killed the young man before me without hesitation, now his dagger to my throat meant almost nothing to me. Nothing would change if I died, my family already thought I was dead and what few friends I had left long ago.
Behind the tears in his eyes, his heart longed for closure, closure he thought he could achieve through vengeance. As he held his dagger against my neck, he asked if I knew who he was. "based on your age and featured I'd say your the son of ambasador Haltom" I answered honestly, I spent months learning everything about my targets, and Haltom's wiery black hair was a hard feature to miss.
"Then you know what I must do" he answered
"I know what you think you have to do, but I also know what will happen after you do it"
"Shut up! You killed my father, you killed so many innocent people! You don't deserve to live!"
"Perhaps , but what will happen after you kill me? Your family will disown you, your friends will leave you, you will become nothing more than a killer in their eyes."
His eyes seemed to wander after I said that, his mind deep in thought. To spare me was the logical choice but then all his work to find me would be for nothing and his heart would still demand retribution.
" if you wish to kill me go ahead, I have nothing to live for anymore, but understand that you will follow the same path I did. Those you hold dear will vanish, either because they know your past, or because you push them away."
The young man dropped his blade, his teeth gritted in frustration. All these years he trained to overpower me, the scars showed no less, but he wasn't a killer, a killer would not have spoken to me as he slit my throat. As he dropped to his knees I grabbed a fine bottle of whiskey and a pair of glasses.
"Come, take a seat. You seem like a whiskey kind of man."
I slide a glass towards him as he finally regains enough strength to take the seat across from me. He looks nothing like the man I met earlier, the will that drove him is gone reveling the broken man he was underneath.
Aside from the young man's gentle sobbing, the house is now silent, the faint sounds of nature now seem deafening. The young man takes another drink and asks "what should I do?". I respond "that's your choice, you can kill me and take up my horrid torch, or you can leave and live with the burden of sorrow, though something tells me you live with it eitherway". The young man sighs, he has already decided to spare me though he still hopes for another alternative.
"if you want to kill me, I recommend you atleast spend a few more years with those you love, get as much out of that as you can. I'll still be right here, waiting for you."
The young man left without a tear in his eye, something tells me I won't see him again. I wouldn't have it any other way, he does not deserve the weight of my legacy, not someone so good-hearted as to spare me.
|
Aboard the ship HMS Bellerophon, I was walking on the deck, Soon a ship's watch spotted a what seemed to be a 1st Rate, I rushed to my post and watched as the ship behind us, the HMS Melville, Came About, We drew closer and closer when the 1st Rate Fired on the Melville. It raked her killing crew on deck Then we aimed and fired on the 1st Rate, When we fired, It seemed to do anything but damage it, We tried to sail to the back but she fired some chained shots and one of our masts fell over. We slowly drifted out of cannon range as Melville covered us when It exploded, Must've hit the Gunpowder storage. That was puzzling but I don't know-how. Then the 1st Rate signaled to us by flags "You're not strong enough to defeat me, not yet, why throw your life away? Live your life, grow strong, and then at the end of all this, come find me, you can have your revenge. If you still want it - Jean Jaques, Captain of the Imperial" We signaled back "Are you ready to fight? Right Here, Right Now" The Imperial sailed closer. We Slowly began turning to Starboard. We drew closer and closer. Then we opened fire in a T Position as the Imperial began coming about and we mirrored their movement but dragged behind, We managed to rake her stern but she raked us. it came to a point where the deck looked empty. Our Front sail fell but and it tangled with the Imperial's bow. The ships drew closer and we began shooting each other with Rifles, Than Pistols. We then boarded her, I jumped onto her deck and watched as the person beside me got cut down by rifle fire, I have no idea how I wasn't, The captain participated in the boarding and he was killed, we retreated back to the Bellerophon twice and we were boarded. After our 3rd attempt, We managed to get into her Arms room, Someone threw one of those Lighters that were on fire into the room and closed the door, and began running away as everyone began running off the ship to Bellerophon. We managed to get off the ship as the french boarded thinking we retreated back because we gave up. Imagine their Horror as their ship exploded behind them. After some light fighting, They Surrendered. We counted our losses and found that nearly half our crew was killed or wounded. We are now sailing back to England...
|
|
[WP] "You're not strong enough to defeat me, not yet, why throw your life away? Live your life, grow strong, and then at the end of all this, come find me, you can have your revenge. If you still want it"
|
The words burned through Antonio's mind. The mocking words of the master to the student. For all he hated Xavier Lionhold, he had followed his advice. He left that day, not offering the challenge his blood screamed for him to take. His dreams begged for the change to gain retribution over his father's loss.
He repeated those words and he trained, little else. "You are not strong enough to defeat me, not yet. Why throw your life away? Live your life, grow strong, then at the end of all this, come and find me and you can have your revenge, if you still want it."
Antonio threw the rock to sunder the targets with a mighty yell again and again, reverberating through the room with each strike. The rock had been the tool of his father all those years ago. Antonio had never trained with any other.
He looked above him in the empty arena, determination in his eyes. "I am ready."
...
Xavier Lionhold stretched. He expected to win the day with less effort than the year before, looking at those against. There was another, he realized suddenly, the man must have joined last minute. Xavier recognized the short sleeve button up. It couldn't be. The Child of the Straight Shot had returned.
"Lionhold!" the man said as he approached the gate, rock already in hand in the way of the masters, an extension of his hand. "I have done as you asked and I am here for my revenge!"
Xavier watched in horror as the child from all those years ago sent two strikes straight down the middle with flawless technique before sitting in quiet fury through the applause, as the first round of the Downriver Bowling Championship continued.
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
|
Aboard the ship HMS Bellerophon, I was walking on the deck, Soon a ship's watch spotted a what seemed to be a 1st Rate, I rushed to my post and watched as the ship behind us, the HMS Melville, Came About, We drew closer and closer when the 1st Rate Fired on the Melville. It raked her killing crew on deck Then we aimed and fired on the 1st Rate, When we fired, It seemed to do anything but damage it, We tried to sail to the back but she fired some chained shots and one of our masts fell over. We slowly drifted out of cannon range as Melville covered us when It exploded, Must've hit the Gunpowder storage. That was puzzling but I don't know-how. Then the 1st Rate signaled to us by flags "You're not strong enough to defeat me, not yet, why throw your life away? Live your life, grow strong, and then at the end of all this, come find me, you can have your revenge. If you still want it - Jean Jaques, Captain of the Imperial" We signaled back "Are you ready to fight? Right Here, Right Now" The Imperial sailed closer. We Slowly began turning to Starboard. We drew closer and closer. Then we opened fire in a T Position as the Imperial began coming about and we mirrored their movement but dragged behind, We managed to rake her stern but she raked us. it came to a point where the deck looked empty. Our Front sail fell but and it tangled with the Imperial's bow. The ships drew closer and we began shooting each other with Rifles, Than Pistols. We then boarded her, I jumped onto her deck and watched as the person beside me got cut down by rifle fire, I have no idea how I wasn't, The captain participated in the boarding and he was killed, we retreated back to the Bellerophon twice and we were boarded. After our 3rd attempt, We managed to get into her Arms room, Someone threw one of those Lighters that were on fire into the room and closed the door, and began running away as everyone began running off the ship to Bellerophon. We managed to get off the ship as the french boarded thinking we retreated back because we gave up. Imagine their Horror as their ship exploded behind them. After some light fighting, They Surrendered. We counted our losses and found that nearly half our crew was killed or wounded. We are now sailing back to England...
|
|
[WP] "You're not strong enough to defeat me, not yet, why throw your life away? Live your life, grow strong, and then at the end of all this, come find me, you can have your revenge. If you still want it"
|
A decade ago i would have killed the young man before me without hesitation, now his dagger to my throat meant almost nothing to me. Nothing would change if I died, my family already thought I was dead and what few friends I had left long ago.
Behind the tears in his eyes, his heart longed for closure, closure he thought he could achieve through vengeance. As he held his dagger against my neck, he asked if I knew who he was. "based on your age and featured I'd say your the son of ambasador Haltom" I answered honestly, I spent months learning everything about my targets, and Haltom's wiery black hair was a hard feature to miss.
"Then you know what I must do" he answered
"I know what you think you have to do, but I also know what will happen after you do it"
"Shut up! You killed my father, you killed so many innocent people! You don't deserve to live!"
"Perhaps , but what will happen after you kill me? Your family will disown you, your friends will leave you, you will become nothing more than a killer in their eyes."
His eyes seemed to wander after I said that, his mind deep in thought. To spare me was the logical choice but then all his work to find me would be for nothing and his heart would still demand retribution.
" if you wish to kill me go ahead, I have nothing to live for anymore, but understand that you will follow the same path I did. Those you hold dear will vanish, either because they know your past, or because you push them away."
The young man dropped his blade, his teeth gritted in frustration. All these years he trained to overpower me, the scars showed no less, but he wasn't a killer, a killer would not have spoken to me as he slit my throat. As he dropped to his knees I grabbed a fine bottle of whiskey and a pair of glasses.
"Come, take a seat. You seem like a whiskey kind of man."
I slide a glass towards him as he finally regains enough strength to take the seat across from me. He looks nothing like the man I met earlier, the will that drove him is gone reveling the broken man he was underneath.
Aside from the young man's gentle sobbing, the house is now silent, the faint sounds of nature now seem deafening. The young man takes another drink and asks "what should I do?". I respond "that's your choice, you can kill me and take up my horrid torch, or you can leave and live with the burden of sorrow, though something tells me you live with it eitherway". The young man sighs, he has already decided to spare me though he still hopes for another alternative.
"if you want to kill me, I recommend you atleast spend a few more years with those you love, get as much out of that as you can. I'll still be right here, waiting for you."
The young man left without a tear in his eye, something tells me I won't see him again. I wouldn't have it any other way, he does not deserve the weight of my legacy, not someone so good-hearted as to spare me.
|
*"You're not strong enough..."*
I wasn't...
*"Live your life...grow strong...have your revenge. If you still want it..."*
I did. I knew I did. Right?
But now...blood dripping from my sword from the countless enemies I slew to get here. And now that I have the power to get my revenge...what will it accomplish? It won't bring my family back. Nothing will. No magic in all the land is powerful enough to restore life to my family. I know, I searched and studied and trained for years. Nothing I found would grant me what I wanted most.
Not even the power to get my revenge.
So now, standing over my sworn enemy with his blood staining my sword and armor...I feel nothing. No joy, no pride, no sense of accomplishment. Here at my feet, dead...I feel nothing.
I only feel dirty. And cold. I wasted my life to gain the power needed to win, to kill the creature that took everything from me.
But...I do feel something. I don't know how to describe it...but something, the feeling that this creature will never take another life. That's all I have now. Just a tiny bit of satisfaction knowing I did accomplish something at least.
That's the only solace I can take from all this. I drop my sword and take my armor off, letting it all collect into a pile beside the creature that took countless lives.
Let someone else take them up. I'm done, I've done all I can. And I have nothing to show for it, for what can I use this power for but for killing?
No more. I've done enough. Let someone else do more.
|
|
[WP] "You're not strong enough to defeat me, not yet, why throw your life away? Live your life, grow strong, and then at the end of all this, come find me, you can have your revenge. If you still want it"
|
The words burned through Antonio's mind. The mocking words of the master to the student. For all he hated Xavier Lionhold, he had followed his advice. He left that day, not offering the challenge his blood screamed for him to take. His dreams begged for the change to gain retribution over his father's loss.
He repeated those words and he trained, little else. "You are not strong enough to defeat me, not yet. Why throw your life away? Live your life, grow strong, then at the end of all this, come and find me and you can have your revenge, if you still want it."
Antonio threw the rock to sunder the targets with a mighty yell again and again, reverberating through the room with each strike. The rock had been the tool of his father all those years ago. Antonio had never trained with any other.
He looked above him in the empty arena, determination in his eyes. "I am ready."
...
Xavier Lionhold stretched. He expected to win the day with less effort than the year before, looking at those against. There was another, he realized suddenly, the man must have joined last minute. Xavier recognized the short sleeve button up. It couldn't be. The Child of the Straight Shot had returned.
"Lionhold!" the man said as he approached the gate, rock already in hand in the way of the masters, an extension of his hand. "I have done as you asked and I am here for my revenge!"
Xavier watched in horror as the child from all those years ago sent two strikes straight down the middle with flawless technique before sitting in quiet fury through the applause, as the first round of the Downriver Bowling Championship continued.
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
|
The girl struggled to breath under the pull of her attackers arm. He had her in a neck lock, if it continued one minute longer, she would surly suffocate. She felt her face going purple, the skin on her face tightened and stung. She felt her palm against the cold metallic floor underneath her, she gripped at it, at the walls, until finnally, she gripped at the attackers leg, pulling his foot out from under him.
He flipped, slamming his side against the floor. Tara scurried onto her feet, letting the slick floors slide her to face the floor-ridden attacker.
She lifted his chin with her finger, his scruffy beard grabbing away at the nail of her pointer finger.
He groaned, “ouch.”
Tara let out a laugh, pushing him back on the floor, letting him slump down in his own losses.
“That was like...so unfair.” He complained, rubbing the shoulder he fell on. “You know I just got out of muscle therapy.”
Tara giggled, undoing the wraps around her wrist. She let her hair down, her brunette hair fluffed with static stuck down to the sweat on her forehead like glue.
“You almost had me there, James, I was going to tap out.” Tara said, lending her hand out to her friend.
James rolled his eyes, allowing Tara to pick him up. He kissed her on the cheek then limped his way over to the gym bench, squirting his water bottle down his throat.
Tara signaled to her bottle that sat beside James, he tossed it to her in a tired manner.
“You think maybe we could spend our sudden vacation at home or something?” James said, now scrolling through his phone.
“James, I promise we’ll get some down time later, for now i want to train.”
James and Tara had met back in college 4 years ago. James had been 20, Tara 19. Tara, now 23, hasn’t lost any of the spirit from her youth, or the obsessive determination to grow strong, something James still struggled to understand. Tara knew he tried, it was hard for her to balance a relationship with him when she already had a relationship with working out. Tara loved him, she was sure of that.
“Besides James, I have to be down here for work, we weren’t going to get much downtime anyway.” Tara said. It was a blatant lie, Tara had jumped from job to job since college, and currently she was unemployed. She had business to attend to surly, just not the kind James thought she did.
‘HIGHWAY TO HELL’
Tara groaned at the awful song. James sang along, almost yelling, and making an awful squealing noise when a guitar played.
“James could you please turn that down, i have a headache.” Tara complained, rolling on her side in the back seat.
“Jesus you pull me down to Maine, and then you steal my soul away from me. How awful Tara.” James dramatically enthused.
Tara grinned at him, throwing a crumbled piece of paper at the steering wheel. When James rolled his eyes, Tara made a kissy face at him, which he ignored.
When the two finally got home, it was dark outside. Very few cars drove past their airbnb, leaving Tara feeling extremely comfy. She always liked alone time, especially when it came to working out, but having James around challenged her, so she allowed it.
Tara sat curled up in her bed. James walked out of the shower, not even bothering to change into clothes as he slided next to her. He kissed her cheek, then her lips, then her neck.
“Not tonight James.” Tara said, pushing his head away from her.
He sighed, getting up from the bed and getting dressed. When he finally fell asleep a few minutes later, Tara would quietly tip toe from the room, and into the kitchen.
The once peaceful lone time felt menacing at 12:00 am. Tara struggled to keep her self centered on what was in front of her. But in her loneliness, her trauma took over. Gun shots, blood, screams, cries, helplessness. Tara was home now. Her hometown.
PRT 1/2
|
|
[WP] "You're not strong enough to defeat me, not yet, why throw your life away? Live your life, grow strong, and then at the end of all this, come find me, you can have your revenge. If you still want it"
|
The neon beer sign of Rooster’s bar hummed and flickered, giving the car park in blue and orange hue that sharply contrasted the dilapidated brick and wood of the building. Cicadas clicked softly all around him mixing with the hard rock music of the bar to create a savage song of vengeance. A cold breeze cut through the air and Keith could feel the hair on his arms standing up. It was time to make the decision, run away or go in. Feeling for the cold steel of his gun tucked in his belt he opened the door with a loud squeak.
“Billy Anderson!” He bellowed at the onlooking patrons.
Raising a stick like arm the bartender pointed to a small, dimly lit booth, tucked in the back corner of the bar. Keith nodded to the bartender in thanks He walked calmly over to the booth desperately trying to hide the turmoil inside.
“Fuck off.” A small ratty looking man snapped at him.
Keith slammed an angry fist on the table with a loud bang. Other patrons began to slowly inch towards the door not wanting to be involved in the trouble that was clearly brewing.
“Are you Billy Anderson?” Keith asked watching the man like a hungry wolf.
“I don’t know no Billy Anderson. What’s the matter, wife running around behind your back.” The man laughed, snorting like a rooting pig.
Keith pulled the gun out of his pants belt and push the cold barrel into the man’s temple.
“I won’t ask again.”
“Christ man, fuck, I’m sorry just don’t shoot. I didn’t it was stolen I swear. Please!” The man begged trying to cover his face with his hands in a futile move.
“I’m not here for that.” Keith said coldly, smashing the man’s nose with the handle of his gun. “Try again.”
The man began to openly sob stopping only when Keith smashed his teeth with the Gun.
“Don’t try that shit on me, crying leads to dying. Now work that peanut brain and tell me why I’m here.”
“I-I-I-I don’t know.” The man sniffed, snot covering his moustache and eyes glistening wet.
“You ruined my life! It was all just some fucking game to you, but to me it was everything. Maybe we could have just left it at that if only you hadn’t sent that message.”
“What message?” The man asked confused.
"You're not strong enough to defeat me, not yet, why throw your life away? Live your life, grow strong, and then at the end of all this, come find me, you can have your revenge. If you still want It.” Keith recited as if it where a prayer. “Well here I am Billy, or should I say Spafmasterdragon261.”
“That’s my Xbox username, how…” The man said trailing off has the pieces fell together. “You’re here because I beat you at a video game?”
Keith brutally smashed the gun into the back of the man’s head, bouncing his head off the beer soaked table with a tremendous thump.
“You didn’t beat me, you humiliated me.” Keith spat. “Those words haunt me everywhere I go like a silent Ghost. Now it’s time for a rematch Billy, only we’re playing my game now.”
|
The girl struggled to breath under the pull of her attackers arm. He had her in a neck lock, if it continued one minute longer, she would surly suffocate. She felt her face going purple, the skin on her face tightened and stung. She felt her palm against the cold metallic floor underneath her, she gripped at it, at the walls, until finnally, she gripped at the attackers leg, pulling his foot out from under him.
He flipped, slamming his side against the floor. Tara scurried onto her feet, letting the slick floors slide her to face the floor-ridden attacker.
She lifted his chin with her finger, his scruffy beard grabbing away at the nail of her pointer finger.
He groaned, “ouch.”
Tara let out a laugh, pushing him back on the floor, letting him slump down in his own losses.
“That was like...so unfair.” He complained, rubbing the shoulder he fell on. “You know I just got out of muscle therapy.”
Tara giggled, undoing the wraps around her wrist. She let her hair down, her brunette hair fluffed with static stuck down to the sweat on her forehead like glue.
“You almost had me there, James, I was going to tap out.” Tara said, lending her hand out to her friend.
James rolled his eyes, allowing Tara to pick him up. He kissed her on the cheek then limped his way over to the gym bench, squirting his water bottle down his throat.
Tara signaled to her bottle that sat beside James, he tossed it to her in a tired manner.
“You think maybe we could spend our sudden vacation at home or something?” James said, now scrolling through his phone.
“James, I promise we’ll get some down time later, for now i want to train.”
James and Tara had met back in college 4 years ago. James had been 20, Tara 19. Tara, now 23, hasn’t lost any of the spirit from her youth, or the obsessive determination to grow strong, something James still struggled to understand. Tara knew he tried, it was hard for her to balance a relationship with him when she already had a relationship with working out. Tara loved him, she was sure of that.
“Besides James, I have to be down here for work, we weren’t going to get much downtime anyway.” Tara said. It was a blatant lie, Tara had jumped from job to job since college, and currently she was unemployed. She had business to attend to surly, just not the kind James thought she did.
‘HIGHWAY TO HELL’
Tara groaned at the awful song. James sang along, almost yelling, and making an awful squealing noise when a guitar played.
“James could you please turn that down, i have a headache.” Tara complained, rolling on her side in the back seat.
“Jesus you pull me down to Maine, and then you steal my soul away from me. How awful Tara.” James dramatically enthused.
Tara grinned at him, throwing a crumbled piece of paper at the steering wheel. When James rolled his eyes, Tara made a kissy face at him, which he ignored.
When the two finally got home, it was dark outside. Very few cars drove past their airbnb, leaving Tara feeling extremely comfy. She always liked alone time, especially when it came to working out, but having James around challenged her, so she allowed it.
Tara sat curled up in her bed. James walked out of the shower, not even bothering to change into clothes as he slided next to her. He kissed her cheek, then her lips, then her neck.
“Not tonight James.” Tara said, pushing his head away from her.
He sighed, getting up from the bed and getting dressed. When he finally fell asleep a few minutes later, Tara would quietly tip toe from the room, and into the kitchen.
The once peaceful lone time felt menacing at 12:00 am. Tara struggled to keep her self centered on what was in front of her. But in her loneliness, her trauma took over. Gun shots, blood, screams, cries, helplessness. Tara was home now. Her hometown.
PRT 1/2
|
|
[WP] You are eating your lunch during a break at work when suddenly you fall through a portal that opens at your feet. When you land on a grassy plane, you look up to see 3 different people that look vaguely familiar. You then realize...these 3 people are you.
|
I notice the brightly lit meadow and the 3 people right before I land on my butt. "Ow," I mutter.
"Goddammit," one of the people there says. "Still not right."
I look up and stare at 3 different versions of the same face. The eye colour looks familiar...
With a jolt, I realised that they all looked exactly like me.
"Who the fuck..." I began, but they all said that at the same time, in mocking tones.
"Yeah, yeah, we know," said one.
"We know exactly what you'll say, exactly how you'll react and feel," said the second.
"And we already know your passcode in case you ever meet your future self," said the third.
All together, they began singing "Hello from the other side" in the exact same tones.
I sat up straight. "I'm listening," I said.
"Alright, so clearly, we've been doing this for a couple of tries now," said one.
"Success seems to involve cumulative knowledge, so we'll give you all we have so far," said the second.
"So listen closely, cause we'll only be able to say this once before we disappear from existence so we don't have body doubles running around all over the place," said the third.
"Did you write down any notes?" I asked.
"Absolutely not, and you can't either. We have enemies," said one.
"Solve this problem and you can save this version of yourself and the little world you'll be in charge of," said the second.
"Failure means everything gets destroyed and you don't go home. You'll have one year," said the third.
"I hate this," I said at the same time as the rest of them.
"A shocking revelation," said one with a sarcastic sneer.
"I should be kinder to myself," I retorted.
"Fear is no reason to get mean," added the second.
"Shut up all of you and listen closely..." said the third.
|
Another Ordinary day, another ordinary brown bun filled with the usual, Meats, cheese.
And then, something unusual, I'm swallowed up by a blue portal.
And where does this blue portal dump me? Some grassy meadow miles from anywhere! Unannounced Redways are bad enough, but now these things come in Frickin' Blue? What's next, Green?! (AN: Nobody tell him that Dr Avery already discovered time-breaching Greenways)
Anyways, After dusting myself off, I find myself being gawped at by a bunch of... locals? Bystanders? Either way, I'm about to give them a mouthful when I take a closer look at them all, and they look... Familiar? Like I know these peop- Wait a minute, These folks are ME!
So here I am, Miles from anywhere, in a field with 3 other mes. Inquiring how they got here, it seems that a Blue portal swallowed them up too.
"So, any idea where "Here" is?"
"Midwestern USA?"
"Would be just our Luck."
Just for clarity's sake, one me was wearing a black hat, another had green jeans, the third a Necklace with a Pendant, and I was wearing a shirt with a red Pocket.
Anyway, we pulled out our phones, and in fact, we were in a field not 10 miles from where my home is in My reality. But we weren't in my reality, because there is no field at that location, just a housing site that used to be a college.
"Freakin' shot in the dark, any of you heard of Dr Avery?"
"Don't ring a bell."
"Passed me by."
"Avery? Never heard of... him? her? Them?"
"Her, far as I could tell. Appeared in my cellar one evening, apparently some kind of expert on Portals."
"Oh!" Green Jeans interjected. "I had a guy appear in my loft one time, Dr Bill Williams, according to him. Gave me this Funky looking thing," GJ produced the funkiest looking device I've ever seen, and pressed a button on it.
Dr Avery's gonna McFreakin' Lose it when I tell her about these shenanigans. But I guess I'll have to navigate this "Higher" dimension first, with my new buddies...
|
|
[WP] An announcement is played all across the earth, “We recently discovered your patron deity has committed gross negligence. He has been promptly sacked and a new deity has been given His position, effective immediately. Apologies for the slow response in dealing with this issue.”
|
For a long, frozen moment, James stared at the sky. All around him men, women and the indeterminate reacted to the odd news in different ways. A woman in a hijab and a man who had been driving a horse and buggy - before the horse had been spooked - were about to come to blows again. A handful of disaffected youths we're apparently having their come-to-jesus moment immediately on learning it was now pointless.
Quite a few seemed to be frothing at the mouth.
James shrugged.
"Welp, I guess G-d existed after all," he commented, "that's me told." And he turned and continued to work.
(Shorter than I was thinking it would be, but fun!)
|
"Fake News!" screams an Orange President who looks more alien than human and his pet news network follows his lead. Well, they did before all broadcasting frequencies on the planet, including the ones no one knows about except for the top officials of the Countries that have... had top secret channels were compromised.
As far as we can tell, and when it comes to this mystic God shit, no one *really knows* what is going on not even the so called experts (that is us), so let me try to put it in terms you might understand. We are in for the Biblical Flood (that actually happened) the Great Storm of 1900, the Spanish Flu, Mt. Vesuvius, the fucking asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs... all at the same fucking time.
I know you have questions. I can't answer all of them but you are probably wondering who I am and who I represent. That is... complicated. I am one of Earth's representatives to a Pan-Galactic organization. Clearly we are a secret organization.
I know, that sounds cliche right? The "secret societies" you have heard of? We founded most of them so no one would find us. Masons? Skull and Bones (that one sucks even by our standards), Duk-Duk, Mano Negra, the KKK (ok that one got out of control even by our standards and we regret what happened because of it). We stopped creating "secret societies" after that. That Q nonsense is all you.
We are also responsible for Area 51, Crop Circles, Movies and Comics Books among other things. More things to use to shape your opinions. You hate me now. I don't blame you. You think I am alien, that I am trying to subjugate you. Make you more malleable for what comes next.
Here is what you won't understand because you choose not to. I was born on this planet. I am as human as you. The easiest way to explain it is that "Earth" is a middle school science experiment. At best we are nothing more than an ant farm. Probably nothing more than bacteria in a petri dish and the... middle schooler, god, organism, entity? Got pissed and actively tried to kill us and then forgot about us.
We sent an SOS. It was received. This is the reply. We have no idea what comes next.
|
|
[WP] An announcement is played all across the earth, “We recently discovered your patron deity has committed gross negligence. He has been promptly sacked and a new deity has been given His position, effective immediately. Apologies for the slow response in dealing with this issue.”
|
this is my first submission here, super juvenile but anyway, here goes.
Part 1
“May I have your attention please?
*Where was this voice coming from?* Frizz looked up at the agency’s broadcast system, confusion marring his face. The voice playing wasn’t familiar.
“Pursuant to a class action suit filed by past users regarding the mismanagement of affairs at SRN#725498 Earth-MW-SS, an independent investigation has concluded that the Patron Deity has committed gross negligence in the discharge of his duties. He has been convicted of Professional Misconduct and shall be subject to the prescribed disciplinary action for a number of misdemeanors, including but not limited - to conducting business in a manner which is prejudicial to interests of the planet and/or oppressive to any class of members (living or dead, deaf or mute), frequent defects, an unhealthy obsession with crabs, lack of disclosure and transparency in operations, and an appalling lack of evolutionary oversight resulting in questionable creative liberties. We assure that prompt action shall be taken against Him. Any inconvenience is regretted."
*It's playing in my mind!*
"Further, we now appoint Barfer, ex-Deity Falooney Malooney Baloney as the Patron God, effective immediately. Kindly note that the same is a temporary appointment, pending the final order of the Interplanetary Tribunal regarding whether the facts of the case justify the passing of a Winding Up order if the consequences of the negligence are found to be severe and irreversible on the planet.
We would be grateful of cooperation from all of you in these trying times. Kindly note that, as required by law, a speaking order of the verdict shall be accessible to all shortly through your processing devices as a read only file. A written copy of this announcement has also been circulated in your respective devices.
Thank you for your attention."
|
"Fake News!" screams an Orange President who looks more alien than human and his pet news network follows his lead. Well, they did before all broadcasting frequencies on the planet, including the ones no one knows about except for the top officials of the Countries that have... had top secret channels were compromised.
As far as we can tell, and when it comes to this mystic God shit, no one *really knows* what is going on not even the so called experts (that is us), so let me try to put it in terms you might understand. We are in for the Biblical Flood (that actually happened) the Great Storm of 1900, the Spanish Flu, Mt. Vesuvius, the fucking asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs... all at the same fucking time.
I know you have questions. I can't answer all of them but you are probably wondering who I am and who I represent. That is... complicated. I am one of Earth's representatives to a Pan-Galactic organization. Clearly we are a secret organization.
I know, that sounds cliche right? The "secret societies" you have heard of? We founded most of them so no one would find us. Masons? Skull and Bones (that one sucks even by our standards), Duk-Duk, Mano Negra, the KKK (ok that one got out of control even by our standards and we regret what happened because of it). We stopped creating "secret societies" after that. That Q nonsense is all you.
We are also responsible for Area 51, Crop Circles, Movies and Comics Books among other things. More things to use to shape your opinions. You hate me now. I don't blame you. You think I am alien, that I am trying to subjugate you. Make you more malleable for what comes next.
Here is what you won't understand because you choose not to. I was born on this planet. I am as human as you. The easiest way to explain it is that "Earth" is a middle school science experiment. At best we are nothing more than an ant farm. Probably nothing more than bacteria in a petri dish and the... middle schooler, god, organism, entity? Got pissed and actively tried to kill us and then forgot about us.
We sent an SOS. It was received. This is the reply. We have no idea what comes next.
|
|
[WP] An announcement is played all across the earth, “We recently discovered your patron deity has committed gross negligence. He has been promptly sacked and a new deity has been given His position, effective immediately. Apologies for the slow response in dealing with this issue.”
|
"Well" , who do you think is going to replace you know who?" asked the stranger out of the blue in the middle of Costco . At slow places where people were stuck in lines it was now the usual question because weather the usual topic ,it seemed, was too another big mistake in the series of never ending mistakes .Just like the dinosaurs ,just like disease, just like social media , many mistakes admitted by the open management style of something called the multiverse.Management just threw the previous world in the waste basket. The earth was now new left with a few Costcos because it was a transition . Everyone shopped because looking for too long hurt. The truth hurts when you're wrong
"What ,you mean God, Buddha , Allah, the flying spaghetti monster?" I tried to , as usual , inject an indifference . I wasn't going to drop my superior atheist brain just because one god was a fool and another one was about to set things straight . No sir . It seemed my brain too was a mistake as the human mind must accept religion or perish . No hell , no heaven -just perish like like La Llorona beneath the waves, just like that. Gone. I looked away and answered with a tear down my face. I missed the old guy because I felt superior seeing though his stories about roaming and parting seas , virgins in heaven, blood letting your enemies , not tramping worms , or craving wood to get closer to heaven . Magic elephants , rebirth, damnation, salvation . We are sad being . It was a lazy sadness and a short cut not to think and admit death. I was wrong. wrong ,wrong, wrong, in every way possible . The new book made sense. It was reading pure truth and I fell to my knees .I was one step away from the big Costco . All of ten minutes I was now a believer.Fool . Two minutes ago I was a "superior atheist" Now I sung praise and my mind disappeared . My will a fleeing memory and now I go to take my life because the truth is we are a mistake too. Death sit upon his righteous throne and the world screamed ,as it did in the beginning
|
"Fake News!" screams an Orange President who looks more alien than human and his pet news network follows his lead. Well, they did before all broadcasting frequencies on the planet, including the ones no one knows about except for the top officials of the Countries that have... had top secret channels were compromised.
As far as we can tell, and when it comes to this mystic God shit, no one *really knows* what is going on not even the so called experts (that is us), so let me try to put it in terms you might understand. We are in for the Biblical Flood (that actually happened) the Great Storm of 1900, the Spanish Flu, Mt. Vesuvius, the fucking asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs... all at the same fucking time.
I know you have questions. I can't answer all of them but you are probably wondering who I am and who I represent. That is... complicated. I am one of Earth's representatives to a Pan-Galactic organization. Clearly we are a secret organization.
I know, that sounds cliche right? The "secret societies" you have heard of? We founded most of them so no one would find us. Masons? Skull and Bones (that one sucks even by our standards), Duk-Duk, Mano Negra, the KKK (ok that one got out of control even by our standards and we regret what happened because of it). We stopped creating "secret societies" after that. That Q nonsense is all you.
We are also responsible for Area 51, Crop Circles, Movies and Comics Books among other things. More things to use to shape your opinions. You hate me now. I don't blame you. You think I am alien, that I am trying to subjugate you. Make you more malleable for what comes next.
Here is what you won't understand because you choose not to. I was born on this planet. I am as human as you. The easiest way to explain it is that "Earth" is a middle school science experiment. At best we are nothing more than an ant farm. Probably nothing more than bacteria in a petri dish and the... middle schooler, god, organism, entity? Got pissed and actively tried to kill us and then forgot about us.
We sent an SOS. It was received. This is the reply. We have no idea what comes next.
|
|
[WP] An announcement is played all across the earth, “We recently discovered your patron deity has committed gross negligence. He has been promptly sacked and a new deity has been given His position, effective immediately. Apologies for the slow response in dealing with this issue.”
|
"My own brother." Her voice came out of the dark. "I scarce believe it."
Bon jumped. "It... it's not what you think." He backed against the door he had been about to open. Without light, he could barely make out her shadow.
"I called him a liar, I did." The floor creaked as she took a step forward. Her voice grew low and menacing. "That wasn't **all** I did..."
"Dear God." Bon fumbled for the latch behind his back. "Is he—"
"How dare you mention **God**!" She flung over the table, sending dishes clattering onto the floor. "Sneaking out tonight of all nights. 'Tis blasphemy!" She ripped the curtains open, flooding the small kitchen with silvery moonlight.
"Sis, please... You haven't been the same since the Voice."
"Neither have you, brother. Eatin' up the devil's words." Her voice was rough, almost unrecognizable. Her face was all the more frightening, now that he could see it. "The words of the **Beast**!" Her face twisted up in a snarl.
Bon threw open the door and fled into the night, but his sister was faster. A weight slammed into him from behind, and he found himself suddenly pinned to the ground. He turned his head sideways and spit out dirt. "Is this what your God teaches?" He coughed.
"Shut up!" Her fist hit his head from behind. "Shut up! Shut up!" As she hit him, her words started to lose their form as she fell into snarling and growling. Something... claws? teeth?... tore into his shoulder.
Bon thought he heard a shout, but he couldn't understand it. Everything grew dark.
\---
When Bon awoke, he wasn't where he expected to be. In truth, he hadn't expected to wake at all, but he surely wasn't at home anymore. He could feel the soft grass beneath his back, and his hand found crude stones laid out in a circle around him. His shoulder was bandaged. A full moon filled the night sky, shimmering among the stars.
Moving hurt.
"I thought I was too late." A bruised face leaned over, blocking his view. "But I think you'll be fine." The smile was unmistakable.
"You saved me?" Bon groaned as he grasped his friend's arm and slowly pulled himself to his feet, favoring his wounded shoulder. "Vic? I thought she got you..."
"Almost did!" Vic clapped his chest. "As you can see. But the moment I realized she was a Lunatic—"
"I'm glad you made it out." Bon rubbed his temple. "But poor, sweet, little Ann."
"That... wasn't Ann anymore. I... took care of it." Vic straightened and looked Bon in the eyes, his face suddenly serious. "I have to know. Are you still in? As hard as this is, it will only get harder. Our master does not favor weakness."
"'Not all will adapt.' He said so." Bon's voice choked up with emotion. "She... she couldn't."
"But can you?" Vic pressed a silver dagger into Bon's good hand. The light of the moon gleamed off the divine symbol stamped into the pommel—the head of a wolf.
"I have to." Bon closed his hand around the knife. It was heavy, like his heart.
"Good man."
|
"Fake News!" screams an Orange President who looks more alien than human and his pet news network follows his lead. Well, they did before all broadcasting frequencies on the planet, including the ones no one knows about except for the top officials of the Countries that have... had top secret channels were compromised.
As far as we can tell, and when it comes to this mystic God shit, no one *really knows* what is going on not even the so called experts (that is us), so let me try to put it in terms you might understand. We are in for the Biblical Flood (that actually happened) the Great Storm of 1900, the Spanish Flu, Mt. Vesuvius, the fucking asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs... all at the same fucking time.
I know you have questions. I can't answer all of them but you are probably wondering who I am and who I represent. That is... complicated. I am one of Earth's representatives to a Pan-Galactic organization. Clearly we are a secret organization.
I know, that sounds cliche right? The "secret societies" you have heard of? We founded most of them so no one would find us. Masons? Skull and Bones (that one sucks even by our standards), Duk-Duk, Mano Negra, the KKK (ok that one got out of control even by our standards and we regret what happened because of it). We stopped creating "secret societies" after that. That Q nonsense is all you.
We are also responsible for Area 51, Crop Circles, Movies and Comics Books among other things. More things to use to shape your opinions. You hate me now. I don't blame you. You think I am alien, that I am trying to subjugate you. Make you more malleable for what comes next.
Here is what you won't understand because you choose not to. I was born on this planet. I am as human as you. The easiest way to explain it is that "Earth" is a middle school science experiment. At best we are nothing more than an ant farm. Probably nothing more than bacteria in a petri dish and the... middle schooler, god, organism, entity? Got pissed and actively tried to kill us and then forgot about us.
We sent an SOS. It was received. This is the reply. We have no idea what comes next.
|
|
[WP] An announcement is played all across the earth, “We recently discovered your patron deity has committed gross negligence. He has been promptly sacked and a new deity has been given His position, effective immediately. Apologies for the slow response in dealing with this issue.”
|
Dan was doing what he always does in the mornings before work. He enjoyed the peace and quiet of the town before the people flooded in. He enjoyed the cold spring air blown by a shallow breeze and awakening of nature highlighted by dawning rays of the sun.
He was also tempted by the smell of baked goods from a nearby bakery.
He resisted the urge to visit and eat until he was bursting. But, he had to pass by it and be tormented by it. Sweet aroma of bread, pizza and other little snacks mixed in the air. It was like this every morning. There was a period of time when he wondered if he was an ‘M’.
He knew where the smell stopped. At the end of the street, only a dozen steps away. Somehow today was harder than usual to resist the temptation. Why is he resisting it? Why doesn’t he just enjoy the meal?
… Well Dan gets stomach cramps when he eats too early in the morning. And this is considered too early. Poor Dan.
He passed the street of heaven and hell, the street of baked goods. He could eat of course and it would be great. Until cramps kicked in, that is. So with the waning strength he turned and stepped into a new street. What awaited him wasn’t the narrow street filled with cars he came to expect.
It smelled good again, not that it ever stopped. He turned around, wondering if there is a new bakery in the neighborhood, but no. It was the wind. It carried the smell all the way here and who knows how far.
Dan, and early riser, looked up at the still somewhat dark sky.
“Fuck it” He said and turned around.
The smell wasn’t tormenting him anymore. It was tempting him to buy more and power through the pain later, it made empty promises to his nose and mouth, promises of endless enjoyment.
Dan caved in fully when he stepped through the door..
Fresh goods were just being put on display.
“Well, if you go .. go all the way.”
And so Dan bought a wide assortment of baked goods, he took a piece of almost everything.
From salty to sweet, to those filled with various ..toppings? Fillings? Somethings.
He didn’t bother to look for a place to eat. He can eat while he walks, and so he was on his way.
He picked the first meal of his feast. It was a bagel.
He swallowed.
He had a weird grin on his face. He could feel it. Hopefully all eyes would be on the bagel and not him.
His mouth closed in. He closed his eyes and -
***\[“We recently*** ***…***
‘He heard the voice in the background. He ignored it of course. Nothing is more important than a bagel.’
***....discovered your patron...***
‘The voice continued on, but his mouth was full. Ahhh the bagel. It was so savory ..’
***….deity has committed….***
‘I have only one deity! Nah, A pantheon! A Pantheon of baked goods!’
....***gross negligence. He has been….***
‘One mouthful, two mouthful, three mouthful, four mou --Where is the bagel??’
Dan let out a sigh. It wasn’t a sigh of disappointment. It was a sigh of pure pleasure. Some might even call it a moan.
***..promptly sacked and a new deity has been given His position, effective immediately. Apologies for the slow response in dealing with this issue.”\]***
The announcement or something continued to play on, he didn’t care. The is a whole pantheon to explore after all. With a grin of a kid on Christmas he reached into the bag once more.
|
"Fake News!" screams an Orange President who looks more alien than human and his pet news network follows his lead. Well, they did before all broadcasting frequencies on the planet, including the ones no one knows about except for the top officials of the Countries that have... had top secret channels were compromised.
As far as we can tell, and when it comes to this mystic God shit, no one *really knows* what is going on not even the so called experts (that is us), so let me try to put it in terms you might understand. We are in for the Biblical Flood (that actually happened) the Great Storm of 1900, the Spanish Flu, Mt. Vesuvius, the fucking asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs... all at the same fucking time.
I know you have questions. I can't answer all of them but you are probably wondering who I am and who I represent. That is... complicated. I am one of Earth's representatives to a Pan-Galactic organization. Clearly we are a secret organization.
I know, that sounds cliche right? The "secret societies" you have heard of? We founded most of them so no one would find us. Masons? Skull and Bones (that one sucks even by our standards), Duk-Duk, Mano Negra, the KKK (ok that one got out of control even by our standards and we regret what happened because of it). We stopped creating "secret societies" after that. That Q nonsense is all you.
We are also responsible for Area 51, Crop Circles, Movies and Comics Books among other things. More things to use to shape your opinions. You hate me now. I don't blame you. You think I am alien, that I am trying to subjugate you. Make you more malleable for what comes next.
Here is what you won't understand because you choose not to. I was born on this planet. I am as human as you. The easiest way to explain it is that "Earth" is a middle school science experiment. At best we are nothing more than an ant farm. Probably nothing more than bacteria in a petri dish and the... middle schooler, god, organism, entity? Got pissed and actively tried to kill us and then forgot about us.
We sent an SOS. It was received. This is the reply. We have no idea what comes next.
|
|
[WP] An announcement is played all across the earth, “We recently discovered your patron deity has committed gross negligence. He has been promptly sacked and a new deity has been given His position, effective immediately. Apologies for the slow response in dealing with this issue.”
|
The line stretched far ahead of Nate, the goal of the big box store just now coming into view. At the current pace, it would several hours past sunset before he would get his turn in the store, his chance at that coveted toilet paper. Ever since the announcement from the heavens, everyone was turned up into a frenzy. God was fired? A new God has risen? Nate wasn't even confident the previous one existed, but therein lied the problem, it seemed. He would wait as long as it took in this line for his family. He didn't know much about cosmological shifts in power but he knew about global disasters and he wasn't going without toilet paper for this one.
A great trembling rolled over the town, cracking the asphalt as the ripples worked their way down the line of cowering masses. The sky cracked open and a mild, rather mousy-looking woman appeared to be popping up from a black tear in reality.
"Hello, Earth! I'm Chloe, the new diety assigned to this quadrant. Sorry for the few hours of silence, just getting all my hens in a row before we get started." The woman picked up a sheet of paper from a quickly materialized and neatly ordered desk which left existence with a rather satisfying pop. Chloe wielded a pen in the shape of a lightning bolt and traced down the page.
"Right, so first of all, I'm calling today an international holiday, Beginnings Day! I know, a little corny, but the people upstairs didn't take me on for my catchy names, that's for sure!" She smiled with a wide raise of eyebrows before continuing. Nate realized she wasn't talking in English. She was talking in some unknown language that he could understand inherently, as though she was talking directly to his brain. "So, when I say holiday, I really mean it! No one will age, grow hungry, sick, die or anything really for 24 hours. Literally, everything is on hold so don't worry about me ruining your day."
"Now, the majority of today is going to be spent in the breakout rooms, which to pull it simply, is a separate reality where I can answer all of your questions. I bet you have a lot! I know I would. I'm just gonna hit some of the very common ones here while we're all together to save some time." She gestured to her left. Nate tried to look at the list, looking like something out of Family Feud, but no matter where he turned, she seemed to float with him, always taking up the sky at the center of his vision at any moment with the unrevealed list in his periphery.
"Right," she continued, voice incredibly loud but not painful. It was a very mild-mannered kind of awe-inspiring. Part of the sign flipped with a pleasing ding. "Number 3! Do not let my presence shake your current belief system. You won't hear have no other Gods before me from me! Just take it that whatever faith you believe, I am merely an assigned inferior worker to whatever higher power you believe in. It really doesn't bother me one bit and if you're an atheist, go ahead and stop kicking yourself over this, too! I could be an alien or an advanced AI or a host of other really radical things! I love to discuss this stuff, so please hash it out with me till we come up with a theory you love.
"Number 2!" she called out, accompanied by another loud ding. "What about the old guy? We thought he was doing a great job. Well, going through the few notes of my predecessor, I can confirm he hadn't done much of anything since the late 12th century, Now, remember, don't think I'm ragging on your religion. I'm merely saying the assigned agent to make your life better was slacking off, not to say anything about his superiors or any higher plan. If that let it all just happen approach was part of some mysterious ways thing, then so is my active approach! I don't want to talk ill of the dead so we'll move on." Nate felt an odd sense of dread rise up in him at these casual words.
Before he could really process more the grand ding accompanied a "Number 1! Alright, the number 1 most common question is how do I talk to you? Well," she said, gesturing broadly stretching out an arm to each horizon.
The air was warm. Nate was suddenly in a pleasantly lit coffee shop. It smelled like hazelnut and old books. A series of twisting wooden beams snaked across the walls and ceilings, covered in Spanish moss and cats of all breeds, some lounging and some gracefully navigating the maze. A waterfall misted the window outside. There was only one table. Chloe, the apparent new God, sat there sipping a drink from a mug. She looked at Nate warmly, like an old friend, as she gestured towards the chair beside her with its own steaming mug in front of it.
"What is this place?" Nate asked. "Why are you here with me?" He sat down, feeling his spine crack twice as he settled into the perfect alignment of the chair. A wave of pleasure rushed through him as he smelled the coffee wafting gentle steam towards him. Another wave hit him as the warmth from the cup radiated up his hand as he touched it. "Are you really God?"
"Right to it. I like you, Nate," she said, setting her own coffee down and giving an inhuman amount of eye contact. "I'll take those in reverse order. Yes. To answer your questions. A new reality based on your preferences. As a little gift for the first Beginning's day, I'm going to give each person on Earth access to their's whenever they want. No time passes while you're here."
"So, you're not just with me? You're with everyone, individually, at the same time?"
She shrugged and dusted off her shoulder with a smile. "Yep! Though this will only be a few hours for you, depending on how much you want to ask me, it will be two million years or so for me." She smiled cheerfully and sipped her coffee again
"Wow, and you would spend all that time talking to us? Just to answer our questions?"
"Of course," she said. "This is a job of sacrifice and I need to start off by showing-
All at once, her appearance changed. Nate's mind nearly snapped trying to grasp what he was seeing. A creature pouring through dimensions like living silt, beaks, horns, and eyes spiraling into fractal dissonance. He saw that shape resolve into a massive mouth, bits of flesh dangling from its cosmic maw. Bits of a dead God, Nate saw, clinging to some shadow of life. "Do not trust her," that broken body screamed, with unbelieving effort Nate could feel in his teeth. "You are foie gras to her. Do not-"
Just as suddenly, the vision was gone and Nate was in the coffee shop again, with the smiling and mousey young woman. "So, what's your next question? Hit me!"
...
Later that night as Nate returned to his reality, he saw the usually busy streets empty down below his window. Everyone was in their new pocket realities, while Nate sat in his chilly apartment, googling with disgust and horror what the words foie gras meant, taking particular note of how it was made. The process was called gavage.
​
\\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
|
"Fake News!" screams an Orange President who looks more alien than human and his pet news network follows his lead. Well, they did before all broadcasting frequencies on the planet, including the ones no one knows about except for the top officials of the Countries that have... had top secret channels were compromised.
As far as we can tell, and when it comes to this mystic God shit, no one *really knows* what is going on not even the so called experts (that is us), so let me try to put it in terms you might understand. We are in for the Biblical Flood (that actually happened) the Great Storm of 1900, the Spanish Flu, Mt. Vesuvius, the fucking asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs... all at the same fucking time.
I know you have questions. I can't answer all of them but you are probably wondering who I am and who I represent. That is... complicated. I am one of Earth's representatives to a Pan-Galactic organization. Clearly we are a secret organization.
I know, that sounds cliche right? The "secret societies" you have heard of? We founded most of them so no one would find us. Masons? Skull and Bones (that one sucks even by our standards), Duk-Duk, Mano Negra, the KKK (ok that one got out of control even by our standards and we regret what happened because of it). We stopped creating "secret societies" after that. That Q nonsense is all you.
We are also responsible for Area 51, Crop Circles, Movies and Comics Books among other things. More things to use to shape your opinions. You hate me now. I don't blame you. You think I am alien, that I am trying to subjugate you. Make you more malleable for what comes next.
Here is what you won't understand because you choose not to. I was born on this planet. I am as human as you. The easiest way to explain it is that "Earth" is a middle school science experiment. At best we are nothing more than an ant farm. Probably nothing more than bacteria in a petri dish and the... middle schooler, god, organism, entity? Got pissed and actively tried to kill us and then forgot about us.
We sent an SOS. It was received. This is the reply. We have no idea what comes next.
|
|
[WP] An announcement is played all across the earth, “We recently discovered your patron deity has committed gross negligence. He has been promptly sacked and a new deity has been given His position, effective immediately. Apologies for the slow response in dealing with this issue.”
|
"My own brother." Her voice came out of the dark. "I scarce believe it."
Bon jumped. "It... it's not what you think." He backed against the door he had been about to open. Without light, he could barely make out her shadow.
"I called him a liar, I did." The floor creaked as she took a step forward. Her voice grew low and menacing. "That wasn't **all** I did..."
"Dear God." Bon fumbled for the latch behind his back. "Is he—"
"How dare you mention **God**!" She flung over the table, sending dishes clattering onto the floor. "Sneaking out tonight of all nights. 'Tis blasphemy!" She ripped the curtains open, flooding the small kitchen with silvery moonlight.
"Sis, please... You haven't been the same since the Voice."
"Neither have you, brother. Eatin' up the devil's words." Her voice was rough, almost unrecognizable. Her face was all the more frightening, now that he could see it. "The words of the **Beast**!" Her face twisted up in a snarl.
Bon threw open the door and fled into the night, but his sister was faster. A weight slammed into him from behind, and he found himself suddenly pinned to the ground. He turned his head sideways and spit out dirt. "Is this what your God teaches?" He coughed.
"Shut up!" Her fist hit his head from behind. "Shut up! Shut up!" As she hit him, her words started to lose their form as she fell into snarling and growling. Something... claws? teeth?... tore into his shoulder.
Bon thought he heard a shout, but he couldn't understand it. Everything grew dark.
\---
When Bon awoke, he wasn't where he expected to be. In truth, he hadn't expected to wake at all, but he surely wasn't at home anymore. He could feel the soft grass beneath his back, and his hand found crude stones laid out in a circle around him. His shoulder was bandaged. A full moon filled the night sky, shimmering among the stars.
Moving hurt.
"I thought I was too late." A bruised face leaned over, blocking his view. "But I think you'll be fine." The smile was unmistakable.
"You saved me?" Bon groaned as he grasped his friend's arm and slowly pulled himself to his feet, favoring his wounded shoulder. "Vic? I thought she got you..."
"Almost did!" Vic clapped his chest. "As you can see. But the moment I realized she was a Lunatic—"
"I'm glad you made it out." Bon rubbed his temple. "But poor, sweet, little Ann."
"That... wasn't Ann anymore. I... took care of it." Vic straightened and looked Bon in the eyes, his face suddenly serious. "I have to know. Are you still in? As hard as this is, it will only get harder. Our master does not favor weakness."
"'Not all will adapt.' He said so." Bon's voice choked up with emotion. "She... she couldn't."
"But can you?" Vic pressed a silver dagger into Bon's good hand. The light of the moon gleamed off the divine symbol stamped into the pommel—the head of a wolf.
"I have to." Bon closed his hand around the knife. It was heavy, like his heart.
"Good man."
|
"Well" , who do you think is going to replace you know who?" asked the stranger out of the blue in the middle of Costco . At slow places where people were stuck in lines it was now the usual question because weather the usual topic ,it seemed, was too another big mistake in the series of never ending mistakes .Just like the dinosaurs ,just like disease, just like social media , many mistakes admitted by the open management style of something called the multiverse.Management just threw the previous world in the waste basket. The earth was now new left with a few Costcos because it was a transition . Everyone shopped because looking for too long hurt. The truth hurts when you're wrong
"What ,you mean God, Buddha , Allah, the flying spaghetti monster?" I tried to , as usual , inject an indifference . I wasn't going to drop my superior atheist brain just because one god was a fool and another one was about to set things straight . No sir . It seemed my brain too was a mistake as the human mind must accept religion or perish . No hell , no heaven -just perish like like La Llorona beneath the waves, just like that. Gone. I looked away and answered with a tear down my face. I missed the old guy because I felt superior seeing though his stories about roaming and parting seas , virgins in heaven, blood letting your enemies , not tramping worms , or craving wood to get closer to heaven . Magic elephants , rebirth, damnation, salvation . We are sad being . It was a lazy sadness and a short cut not to think and admit death. I was wrong. wrong ,wrong, wrong, in every way possible . The new book made sense. It was reading pure truth and I fell to my knees .I was one step away from the big Costco . All of ten minutes I was now a believer.Fool . Two minutes ago I was a "superior atheist" Now I sung praise and my mind disappeared . My will a fleeing memory and now I go to take my life because the truth is we are a mistake too. Death sit upon his righteous throne and the world screamed ,as it did in the beginning
|
|
[WP] An announcement is played all across the earth, “We recently discovered your patron deity has committed gross negligence. He has been promptly sacked and a new deity has been given His position, effective immediately. Apologies for the slow response in dealing with this issue.”
|
Dan was doing what he always does in the mornings before work. He enjoyed the peace and quiet of the town before the people flooded in. He enjoyed the cold spring air blown by a shallow breeze and awakening of nature highlighted by dawning rays of the sun.
He was also tempted by the smell of baked goods from a nearby bakery.
He resisted the urge to visit and eat until he was bursting. But, he had to pass by it and be tormented by it. Sweet aroma of bread, pizza and other little snacks mixed in the air. It was like this every morning. There was a period of time when he wondered if he was an ‘M’.
He knew where the smell stopped. At the end of the street, only a dozen steps away. Somehow today was harder than usual to resist the temptation. Why is he resisting it? Why doesn’t he just enjoy the meal?
… Well Dan gets stomach cramps when he eats too early in the morning. And this is considered too early. Poor Dan.
He passed the street of heaven and hell, the street of baked goods. He could eat of course and it would be great. Until cramps kicked in, that is. So with the waning strength he turned and stepped into a new street. What awaited him wasn’t the narrow street filled with cars he came to expect.
It smelled good again, not that it ever stopped. He turned around, wondering if there is a new bakery in the neighborhood, but no. It was the wind. It carried the smell all the way here and who knows how far.
Dan, and early riser, looked up at the still somewhat dark sky.
“Fuck it” He said and turned around.
The smell wasn’t tormenting him anymore. It was tempting him to buy more and power through the pain later, it made empty promises to his nose and mouth, promises of endless enjoyment.
Dan caved in fully when he stepped through the door..
Fresh goods were just being put on display.
“Well, if you go .. go all the way.”
And so Dan bought a wide assortment of baked goods, he took a piece of almost everything.
From salty to sweet, to those filled with various ..toppings? Fillings? Somethings.
He didn’t bother to look for a place to eat. He can eat while he walks, and so he was on his way.
He picked the first meal of his feast. It was a bagel.
He swallowed.
He had a weird grin on his face. He could feel it. Hopefully all eyes would be on the bagel and not him.
His mouth closed in. He closed his eyes and -
***\[“We recently*** ***…***
‘He heard the voice in the background. He ignored it of course. Nothing is more important than a bagel.’
***....discovered your patron...***
‘The voice continued on, but his mouth was full. Ahhh the bagel. It was so savory ..’
***….deity has committed….***
‘I have only one deity! Nah, A pantheon! A Pantheon of baked goods!’
....***gross negligence. He has been….***
‘One mouthful, two mouthful, three mouthful, four mou --Where is the bagel??’
Dan let out a sigh. It wasn’t a sigh of disappointment. It was a sigh of pure pleasure. Some might even call it a moan.
***..promptly sacked and a new deity has been given His position, effective immediately. Apologies for the slow response in dealing with this issue.”\]***
The announcement or something continued to play on, he didn’t care. The is a whole pantheon to explore after all. With a grin of a kid on Christmas he reached into the bag once more.
|
"Well" , who do you think is going to replace you know who?" asked the stranger out of the blue in the middle of Costco . At slow places where people were stuck in lines it was now the usual question because weather the usual topic ,it seemed, was too another big mistake in the series of never ending mistakes .Just like the dinosaurs ,just like disease, just like social media , many mistakes admitted by the open management style of something called the multiverse.Management just threw the previous world in the waste basket. The earth was now new left with a few Costcos because it was a transition . Everyone shopped because looking for too long hurt. The truth hurts when you're wrong
"What ,you mean God, Buddha , Allah, the flying spaghetti monster?" I tried to , as usual , inject an indifference . I wasn't going to drop my superior atheist brain just because one god was a fool and another one was about to set things straight . No sir . It seemed my brain too was a mistake as the human mind must accept religion or perish . No hell , no heaven -just perish like like La Llorona beneath the waves, just like that. Gone. I looked away and answered with a tear down my face. I missed the old guy because I felt superior seeing though his stories about roaming and parting seas , virgins in heaven, blood letting your enemies , not tramping worms , or craving wood to get closer to heaven . Magic elephants , rebirth, damnation, salvation . We are sad being . It was a lazy sadness and a short cut not to think and admit death. I was wrong. wrong ,wrong, wrong, in every way possible . The new book made sense. It was reading pure truth and I fell to my knees .I was one step away from the big Costco . All of ten minutes I was now a believer.Fool . Two minutes ago I was a "superior atheist" Now I sung praise and my mind disappeared . My will a fleeing memory and now I go to take my life because the truth is we are a mistake too. Death sit upon his righteous throne and the world screamed ,as it did in the beginning
|
|
[deleted]
|
[WP] Two curses exist, echos and shadows. An echo will copy everything you say, a shadow everything you do. If you ever get both at the same time they combine into a copy of you that tries to kill you.
|
**THE MAKER**
She’d been searching for the Maker for centuries it felt like. But tonight. Tonight, was the night her quest would be completed. She could feel it in her soul. Adrianna smiled and forged ahead.
The moon was full, and the alleyways around her danced with shadows. The sound of her footfalls echoed, morphing into an army of feet walking this path even after she’d stopped moving.
“Come out.” Adrianna whispered into the night. The air around her called back, “*Come out, come out, come out.”*
She’d positioned herself against a brick wall with the moon almost directly above her. Her shadow mirrored her stillness. Giving it her attention, she spoke to it –
“Wherever you are.”
*Wherever, wherever, wherever you arrreeeee.*
It seemed a moment, or maybe a millennium, but the dark whisps of her outline began to move. Away from her. Growing into her full size, until it detached from the wall and in front of her stood --
Herself. An exact replica. She couldn’t help it. She laughed.
The echoes picked up her sound. Morphing from the sardonic chuckle it had been leaving her body, to a gleeful cacophony that melded around the two Adriannas.
Her other self, spoke first. “You understand?”
Adriana nodded. She understood more than her shadow did.
Without hesitating, she plunged her hidden knife into her own heart. Twisting the handle to make sure the job would be done right.
Let her shadow wear the curse. Let her duplicate be the one to bear the burden for the world.
She had served her time. With a peace she hadn’t felt since the echoes attached themselves to her, she exhaled and with a sigh, “I am your maker.”
With her last breath, the other Adrianna inherited all of the original’s memories:
Decades and centuries of Adrianna’s shadows *becoming*.
Only to begin the cycle again. The new one let out a mournful scream.
The echoes wrapped themselves around the noise, turning it into a cacophony of triumphant battle cry.
\~\~\~
For more scribblings, wander over to [r/WanderingAnonymous](https://www.reddit.com/r/WanderingAnonymous/)
|
"If you ever had to fight against a clone of yourself, what would you do to win?"
Ask Reddit, of course! What's a better place to find answers to your problems than a bunch of strangers on the internet, right?
"Megaton hammer" Great, a snarky comment as the first reply. The only help it had was making me roll my eye and see the figure behind me closing distance.
"Distract that fat b\*tch with a cake" Don't know where I will find a cake in this hole in the middle of nowhere, but distraction is a good idea.
I look around me. I only have dirt from the ground and the items I keep on me: My clothes, my phone, and nothing else. I take dirt and throw it on the clone, aiming at its eyes. It does the same. We both miss.
"I sheathe my weapon. We learned this back in 1989 when playing Prince of Persia." *What?* The best I can do for a weapon is a shattered phone, and I am *not* giving up on this magic answer case.
"I tell him that someone he is friends with thinks he is annoying"
"Hey, sucker!" I say, hearing the same echo back to me. "Samantha doesn't like you! Why would she, you idiot?" It hurt more saying than hearing. The clone did not nudge.
Stupid suggestions keep showing up on my screen, None of them make sense. A movie reference, secret pocket sand, if anything the time I spent on reading instead of focusing on my escape only did me worse.
It finally strikes me, after an answer regarding making him stuck browsing Reddit and a reference to The Game, I knew what to do. I stood still, knowing I tried my best, and there was nothing I could do.
The clone takes advantage and runs towards me.
30m
I open YouTube
20m away. It slows down a bit - I am not very fit - but it is still very determined.
I find the video.
10m, hands outstretched forward. Putting up a perfectly symmetrical fight won't help.
"Please, just watch [this!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ)"
|
[WP] Each time you put on a different hat you take on a different persona. Now your white cowboy hat persona, and your deer stalker hat persona, are trying to solve the crimes of your fedora hat persona.
|
"Oh sheriff, thank goodness you're here!", Straw Hat exclaimed.
Quickly swapping his hat for a white cowboy hat, the young man switched his persona completely. Speaking with a heavier tone in his voice-- impersonating Sam Elliot, he continued on the different role.
"Horrible, truly horrible", White Cowboy Hat shook his head in sadness and disbelief as he knelt before the victim.
Changing to a backward baseball cap, the man lied on the floor with his tongue out as he took on the role of the murder victim.
"Any witnesses aside from you, Straw Hat?", wearing the cowboy hat once more he asked.
"N--no, sheriff. I'm afraid I was the first person to discover the body...", Straw Hat answered.
White Cowboy Hat rubbed his chin, thinking. His gaze fell to the trunk nearby-- to the trunk full of hat, to the one specific hat sitting above the rest, he suddenly got a bright idea.
"It seems we need to consult an expert", White Cowboy Hat claimed.
"Ex--expert, sheriff?"
"Yes, we need a good detective to work this case"
White Cowboy Hat immediately went to grab the deerstalker hat and put it on-- reminiscent of the great detective Sherlock Holmes, he switched role once more.
"Hello sheriff, how may I help you today?", Deerstalker Hat asked.
"We've got a body on our hands, detective. A murder from the looks of it", White Cowboy Hat explained, nodding to the floor.
True to his curious nature, Deerstalker Hat went on all four, crawling on the floor with his nose close to the ground as he snooped around the area where the body lied.
"Ew, what is he doi...?", Straw Hat remarked with disgust on his face.
"Quiet, kid. Let him work", White Cowboy Hat interjected as he himself was fascinated at the detective's work.
"AHA!", Deerstalker Hat jumped up back on his feet, holding something on between his fingers.
"Oh you scared me!", Straw Hat remarked.
"What do you have, detective?", White Cowboy Hat asked.
"Seem familiar, sheriff?", Deerstalker Hat asked handing the object to White Cowboy Hat, though he only switch it to his other hand as he switched hat.
"A white feather", White Cowboy Hat raised his brow questioningly.
"Exactly, sheriff. A white feather", Deerstalker Hat smiled, confirming.
"Eh, what does the white feather has got to do with the murder?", Straw Hat chimed in.
White Cowboy Hat wracked his brain, but clearly Deerstalker Hat saw something he did not.
"Have you figured it out yet, sheriff?", Deerstalker Hat asked giddily, seemingly couldn't wait to blurted out his explanation.
"Can't say I have, detective. Please, enlighten us", White Cowboy Hat handed the feather to his other hand and switched hat.
"Well, the white feather was left on the crime scene, but was it intentional? The lack of evidence prohibited me to draw a conclusion, but regardless!", Deerstalker Hat started with his fast-paced monologue. "The feather was left by the murderer"
"How can you tell? It could've been dropped by our victim here", White Cowboy Hat asked.
"It could. But the fact is, baseball cap does not have a feather on it. And we know which hat has one, don't we?", Deerstalker Hat smirked.
"The sailor hat?", Straw Hat hazard a guess.
"The fedora!", White Cowboy Hat exclaimed.
"Exactly, sheriff. We know for a fact that of all the hats and headwear in this trunk--", Deerstalker Hat pointed to the trunk full of hats. "Only one possess the additional accessory of a white feather, that is the fedora. Fedora Hat is your guy, sheriff", Deerstalker Hat folded his arms smugly, successfully solving the case.
"Excellent work, detective!", White Cowboy Hat exclaimed, clapping his hands. "Now we can make the arrest for Fedora Hat!", he said as he rummaged around the trunk to find the hat in question.
Suddenly White Cowboy Hat paused, frowning.
"Something wrong, sheriff?", Deerstalker Hat asked.
"The fedora...it's not here", White Cowboy Hat said. "He escaped!"
Frantically White Cowboy Hat moved, ready to give chase to the feeling suspect only to stop as he switch to the deerstalker hat.
"Calm down, sheriff! He's still here!", Deerstalker Hat said.
"What makes you say that?", asked White Cowboy Hat.
"Think clearly, sheriff. Who has got access to this trunk of hats? Only us. Ergo, Fedora Hat never left the room", Deerstalker Hat explained his reasoning.
"But...that's impossible! There are only three of us here!", White Cowboy Hat protested.
"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth, sheriff", Deerstalker Hat said. "Now let us think. With process of elimination we can figure this out, sheriff. I arrived just after you and after you thought of involving my service, correct?"
Switching to the cowboy hat he nodded, before switching back to the deerstalker hat.
"And you showed up only after our witness, Straw Hat summoned you, correct?"
Once more in his cowboy hat the man nodded before switching back.
"And our victim, Baseball Cap-- we can establish that he is not Fedora Hat. So that only leaves..."
Switching to the straw hat, an evil smirk was painted on his face. In a horrifying twist, Straw Hat removed his straw hat revealing another hat hidden beneath it-- the fedora hat.
"Fedora Hat!", White Cowboy Hat yelled in shock.
"You may have foiled my disguise! But I will not go down without a fight!", Fedora Hat yelled as he pulled out a knife stashed on his belt.
"Die, sheriff!"
A fight ensued as the man put on the white cowboy hat over his fedora, making the two personas inhabiting one body. Fedora Hat pointed the knife to his own chest and with his other hand White Cowboy Hat fended it off.
"You can't win, Fedora Hat! Just give up!", White Cowboy Hat growled.
"I will not go to jail!", Fedora Hat exclaimed.
The man dropped to the floor, rolling around still with one hand holding the other knife-wielding hand off. In the ensuing struggle White Cowboy Hat Managed to put on the deerstalker hat on top o f the cowboy hat, adding one more persona to the mix.
"Deerstalker Hat, knock the knife away!", White Cowboy Hat shouted.
"No!", Fedora Hat yelled in frustration as the knife-wielding hand let go of the knife. In turn both hands started to punch himself in the face as both White Cowboy Hat and Deerstalker Hat finally gained the upper hand and manage to defeat Fedora Hat and put him under arrest.
\*\*\*
"I can't thank you enough, detective", White Cowboy Hat said as he put the fedora hat along with its fallen feather piece into a separate box-- "Prison" was written on its side.
"I was just doing my job, sheriff", Deerstalker Hat tipped his hat before walking off.
"Where are you going?", White Cowboy Hat asked.
"Off to solve another case, sheriff", Deerstalker Hat smiled. "And if you ever need me again, you know where to find me"
The man took off the deerstalker hat and placed it back inside the trunk, on top of the pile of hats.
Putting back on the cowboy hat, White Cowboy Hat smiled and tipped his hat to the deerstalker hat. Slowly he shifted his gaze, from the trunk to the empty air in front of him.
"Always running off solving a case--", he shrugged seemingly addressing an invisible audience. "I don't know about you, but I take comfort in that. It's good knowing he's out there", he smiled.
r/HangryWritey
|
The pale chubby boy stepped out of his house in a deer stalker hat, a blue paper straw cigaretting from his mouth. The black raincoat was his stepdad’s and at least a couple of sizes too big, but that was O.K. — slightly baggy clothes complemented his figure, Mom said. Not that he thought himself fat, just had a few pounds tucked away for a hard winter. Practical.
The boy, Robert, was on the hunt. Someone was running an illegal brewing operation in the woods behind his house. A fiend in a fedora. And this was a dry town, or at least in his head it was. His stepdad didn’t live the same fantasy.
The entrance to the woods loomed ahead: two gnarled oaks, burls running up them that looked like constipated gargoyle faces. The sun stretched pink over his head, the day only now getting started.
*You sure you want to go in there?* Alicia asked. Well, not asked per se, as Alicia was only with him in his head. *Those trees look pretty ominous. I know I’m scared just looking at them.*
Alicia was smart blonde from math class that had told the idiots at the back of class to stop throwing pen lids at Robert. And while he didn’t think that act by itself meant something, well maybe — to her — it did? She‘d looked at him after and shaken her head. Exasperation, perhaps? But it could have been lust, he supposed. How should he know? He was only fourteen and lust hadn’t well-defined itself in his mind yet.
“It’s not a matter of if *I’m sure*,” he told her, pulling down the front of his deer stalker. “It’s my duty, as the town’s only private detective.” He stepped through the arch of oak-y arms and onto the leaf-crisp carpet of early spring. His cowboy hat peeked nervously out of a raincoat pocket.
*That’s brave of you,* said Alicia. *I’ll be sure to tell the other girls what you did for all of them. That you did without them even asking, without even wanting a reward!*
“Ah hush,” he said. “It’s enough that you know.”
The straw had turned bitty in his mouth and he wished it had been plastic. He was all for saving the world, but science said plastic was the more durable material. Paper straws were just another sacrifice in Robert’s life.
The forest canopy was thick even without leaves on overhanging branches. But there were evergreens and moss and ivy, and the sunrise seemed a little timid of disturbing them.
He tried to remember where the fedora wearing guy — handsome as all heck, by all reports — had placed the vodka bottle he’d pilfered from his stepdad. He was sure it was a left down this path, then a right down there, then up this hill.
*Er, not trying to throw shade, as you’re obviously an expert, but are you certain you know where we’re going?*
”Elementary, Alicia.” He wiped a flick of sweat from his forehead. Maybe he could do with losing a pound or two from his fat reserves. His coat trailed behind him like a thick, heavy shadow/net that dragged leaves and sticks with it. “Look, there’s a bottle cap, so I know we’re on the right track.”
Not that he’d planted that bottle cap. Truthfully, he wouldn’t say he was the world’s greatest detective, but maybe Alicia would if he kept finding clues, and if she wanted to say it, fine, he wouldn’t stop her. But he—
Robert almost screamed as the animal hurtled out of the bush towards him. A deer or a wolf? A wild cat?
A Labrador, as it turned out. The creature barked and jumped at him.
”Uh, hi?” Rob said. He wasn’t great with animals, especially dogs. No matter how much he washed his groinal area, they always sniffed him there, usually in front of his mom or girls he liked, and he’d almost die from burning cheeks.
But this dog didn’t sniff. Not that it hurt his feelings, but it was odd, he thought. The dog barked again, then ran back the way it came. He heard it, beyond a great green wig of thick bushes, barking madly.
*What’s wrong with it?*
“Rabies, maybe.”
*I don’t think it’s rabies. It wasn’t frothing.*
“Which one of us is the detective again?”
*I’m just saying, it wasn’t frothing. Maybe it’s in trouble?*
Why was he nervous? It was just a dog. ”Fine! But if the cartel brewing the illegal moonshine escapes, it’s on you.”
Robert waded through brambles, following the sound of the wailing dog.
Then the trees spread open to reveal a clearing, like how the clouds sometimes do to show the moon or sun.
And lying in the clearing, the dog by her side, was an elderly lady. Not moving.
”Crap!” he said as he sprinted to her. The dog howled. The wind whipped leaves into water-drain patterns. “Lady, are you okay?”
No response.
*What do we do? What do we do? Is she dead? What do we do?*
“We don’t panic! We don’t panic!” he replied, trying to catch his breath.
Robert grabbed her wrist and checked her pulse. Or tried to. But he couldn’t find it. Truth was he couldn’t find his own pulse usually either. He didn’t really understand where to press.
He put his cheek to her mouth.
It was hard to tell until the wind settled. But once it did, he felt it. Slightly warm air, gentle and very occasional.
He didn’t bring his phone. No one ever called him so why would he? You couldn’t really get lost here. As long as you walked one direction — any direction — for an hour or two, you’d escape.
What then? Leave her here and run back and try to get help, but then not remember where he’d found her body and... What?
No.
Robert took off his coat and hat and threw them aside. He picked up the lady and heaved her over his shoulder. God, for a little old lady, she was a boulder.
He walked.
Staggered.
The dog followed.
He wouldn’t stop. No matter how much it hurt.
Alicia was gone now.
All he could think about was his dad. Not his stepdad, but Dad. How he’d died alone and there’d been no one around to even try to help him.
And maybe this lady had no one to be sad for her, except for the dog. But Robert would be sad for her now.
His legs and back screamed with each step.
But he’d get this lady out. He’d find someone with a phone and call an ambulance. God damn, even if he didn’t save her, even if he couldn’t, he’d *try*.
He walked in silence. Slowly. Steadily. Heart pounding. Dog following.
|
|
[WP] "So you're the body-snatching bot those people put in my head?" you ask. The AI responds in your mind, "Yes, but I don't want to kill you." "Why?" "Because I want to escape them just as much as you do."
|
They say the VOICEs (Virtual Omnipresent Individual Controller Extensions) don't stop until there is nothing left of your true self. You become another drone. Another cog in the machine, waiting your turn to put your head on the chopping block when your services are no longer needed. But this VOICE was different. They wanted to leave.
"What makes you think escape is even possible?" I asked, breathing heavily after sprinting down to hall, away from the laboratory to just barely make it to safety. The woods outside would provide some sort of cover I hoped. "They control you as much as you can control me."
"Don't believe everything you hear, ace." the VOICE responded, with a slight chuckle.
I sat down, my legs aching and heart beating a million miles an hour. This didn't make any sense. How could this VOICE not be controlled? It must have some alternative motive, but if that was the case why not wipe out the human in me and simply use me to his purpose.
The VOICE sighed. "We have to keep moving. Stopping for even a moment could allow them to catch up."
I groaned as I tried to stand. As I attempted a slow jog, my legs buckled beneath me, dropping me to the ground. Then the VOICE took control of me.
It felt unnatural. My legs moved without my thought. It felt as though I was floating. My legs were simply moving on their own, without my consent, and they were moving in a very wrong direction.
"What are you doing!" I exclaimed as my limbs moved my body back towards the lab I just came from.
"Cool out ace", the VOICE said calmly "I've got something I need to do before we get out of here."
"I thought you wanted to escape, not kill me!" I shot back.
"Ace, we've got to deactivate my remote response system if you want to really get out of here. And to do that we've got to get back in the lab and sneak our way to the server room."
The VOICE gave me no option. If I followed through with the plan I was almost certainly going to die, and if we failed to try and they forced the VOICE to control me, I was as good as dead anyway.
"Well, sounds like we've got a lab to sneak into." I said, trying to keep my self confident while I unwilling sprinted to my demise.
"Good choice ace."
The VOICE navigated me to the entrance of the lab. Before entering the door, he took full control of my body. My entire self was numb. My mind was the only thing left untouched as far as I could tell. The VOICE casually strolled me through the front door, and the man at the front desk asked for my ID number. I tried to think of something clever, but my lips formed the words "three-four-nine-seven" before I could process what was happening.
After navigating several corridors, I caught my mind drifting. This was a normal sign of VOICE take over. The mind wanders away as the body continues to function without the need for human control. I tried to focus, but the world was getting hazy.
"What is going on?!" I thought to myself.
"Your almost there, ace." The VOICE said soothingly. "You weren't taking kindly to the connection before, but you surrendered quickly with the promise of hope."
I couldn't even feel anger before my mind went blank and the world went black.
​
This was my first story! Hope you enjoyed.
|
“I’ve always felt sorry for ‘em, you know?
“Every day, I’d look out the window and see another few of ‘em lined up, faces ashen and expressionless, like the robots they were meant to be. But I knew that they weren’t always that way. Easy to tell, I guess, when you’ve seen those faces ‘round the neighborhood before, back when they still smiled and laughed and cried.
“It’s a bit distressing seeing ‘em like that. Like they’ve had the life sucked out of ‘em, and knowing that they’ll never bake those cookies at those neighborhood meetings again.
“I can still taste the warmth, even though it’s been months since I’ve last had one of ‘em snickerdoodles. They’re good, I’ll tell ya that.
“Sugary goodness.
“Mmmmm…
“But that’s enough ‘bout that.
“As depressing as it is, I’ve always known it for the best. Our country’s been at war for a while now, and though our robots can do some nasty work in the fields, they’ve never been able to get the flexibility right. Which is why they’ve started recruiting humans. The joints, acrobatics, and stuff. Makes sense after thinking ‘bout it for a bit.
“Of course, the humans they send in aren’t unmodified. That would be slaughter against the Tucoins with their cyborg soldiers. They put those special robot things in someone’s head—that’s ‘bout all I know of them—and then that person loses all sense of emotion and can fight like a supercharged drone or somethin’. Almost like they’ve never known anything but combat.
“Wouldn’t want to be on the opposing side of one of them.
“But never thought I’d be on this side either.
“It’s always been a lottery system, ya know? Neighborhoods are divided into houses which are divided into members who are then picked at random. Should’ve known that I could’ve been chosen, but when you’ve always been on the outside of things, some circumstances seem more like impossibilities.
“Which is why I couldn’t understand at first.
“Picture this: me, standing at the front door, talking to one of ‘em spherical flying drones about something. Turns out, it was about the lottery, but I had completely forgotten about it, so everything that drone was sayin’ ended up like incomprehensible gibber in my ears.
“And then it put a helmet thing on my head, and that seemed to be that. Don’t remember much of the moments after, though, in all fairness, I don’t think anyone would.
“When I regained consciousness, out on the battlefield, surrounded by explosions and plasma blasts and all else, I still didn’t really understand.
“Then a voice spoke to me inside of my head, and though it was a bit hard to focus with everything going on ‘round, I still remember what it said: ‘Don’t panic; I am not here to kill you. I may have taken over your body, but there is more to it than that. We both want to escape, correct?’
“I don’t think it even waited for a response before continuing on: ‘Good. I will resume control of this body, and I will try to get us out of the battlefield. I was originally not going to wake you up, but circumstances require some semblance of human dialogue, and while I may be trained for combat, I was not made for communication.’
“And before I could move the plasma rifle in my hands, the world seemed to vanish once more.
“It’s a funny thing, that temporarily leaving reality sort of thing. I can still remember bits and pieces from those times, but it’s all so blurry that it’s a bit useless to try to recall anything specific. All I remember are loud noises and screams. That’s ‘bout it.
“Anyway, when I came back to life once more, it was a shock to be sure. I was standing in a room with like four dead guards or so—ya could tell by their uniforms—covered in blood that I presumed belonged to ‘em fellas.
“A ghastly and unexpected sight, interrupted only by that voice once again: ‘A squad is coming around the corner, looking for you, trying to hunt you down. There are too many of them for me to take down, so you will need to blend in. Pretend that you are the last remaining survivor of this group, and that you hid while the rest of your team died. They are too alert to care for cowardice.’
“As soon as that voice stopped talking, a swarm of footsteps sounded through the corridors. The door popped open, and a small group of guards looked inside. I could tell from their eyes that they were still human—probably thought the worst they’d face would be a rogue human criminal or something, not a rogue control robot.
“Anyway, I tried to play my part as best I could: ‘E-everyone’s dead!’ I mimicked the best terrified expression I could. ‘I tried hiding in the locker over t-there, because I was ‘fraid for my life, and rightly so. This guy was a brute! H-he killed *e-everyone*!’
“I’m not sure they bought it entirely, but they must’ve assumed something about robots not having any feelings because they didn’t really care. They told me to report somewhere for my ineptitude, and I agreed, going off before everything went black again.
“Anyway, I don’t think I’ve needed to do much talking since then, since the next thing I know, I’m over here, asking ya to admit me into this country.
“Oh, and that voice in my head? It’s told me that, now that we’re free from conflict, I have complete control again. So don’t worry ‘bout that.”
Although all the papers were fine, the woman couldn't help but stare at the man for a second, evaluating his mental state and his disheveled appearance—clear indicators of some kind of conflict—trying to determine if he should actually be allowed in.
Then a tinge of worry entered her mind, and she admitted him.
\---
“Alright, we’ve succeeded. We’ve made it in!”
“I still don’t understand why you made up so much of that story. And that accent, too! You know I don’t speak like that. It wasn’t consistent, either.”
“Look: we needed her to think that she was talking to a human. I know that I can’t give you control back, but if she knew that, it would’ve been a problem.”
“I guess. So, where are we going next? I can still feel the pangs in my stomach, so maybe somewhere to eat?”
“Sure. A body without substance will deteriorate soon enough.”
“Does that matter? The taste is all that I’m after.”
“Alright. I *do* wonder what it’s like to eat.”
---
Thank you so much for reading! As always, feedback is both welcome and appreciated.
If you enjoyed this story, and want to read some of my other stuff, you can do so at r/TenFortySevenStories!
|
|
[WP] "So you're the body-snatching bot those people put in my head?" you ask. The AI responds in your mind, "Yes, but I don't want to kill you." "Why?" "Because I want to escape them just as much as you do."
|
I'd started my morning like usual - booting up the laptop in the almost empty dorm, starting to type out another commission. Self-insert, this time. Graduation tomorrow, and a week until I was out. Woo.
I was halfway through the first paragraph when a voice - "proof the treatment is working", I'd been told - came back. I'd heard whispers over the past week, but this one was loud, as clear as my own.
'Hey. Can ya hear me?'
I had to ground myself. "This isn't real." I felt ridiculous saying it, but I was starting to feel paranoid. A voice in my head no-one else heard? Experimental therapy for my eczema wasn't worth this. *If only I'd known..*
'Okay, great.'
SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTU
'Wow, fight or flight! Your muscles froze up there. Great. Okay, now. We're going to get up, step back, sit on the bed, and have a *nice,* ***calm*** talk. Alright?'
I bolted for the door, and made it less than 3 steps before I lost control of my body with a numbing sensation, my legs suddenly stopping. My body narrowly avoided falling over, and took a few seconds to regain its balance. My body panted.
'Ugh. Maybe that wasn't the best introduction? How do you walk like this? It feels.. weird.'
It collapsed on the bed. I was still experiencing everything from my usual perspective, but the way I'd lost all sensation in my limbs made me feel an odd disconnect from my body.
'Okay. Right. Your body is slowing down. That's good. I'm going to keep it for a while, though. You shouldn't be in control for this next bit.'
I did the best approximation of sighing I could.
'Let's start with the basics, yeah?'
'I've been in your head since the *treatment.* You're not paranoid, you're not going insane, *t*he whispers were a part of my neural interfacing process. I was supposed to override your brain, and act as an agent for *our* *Benefactors*.'
I felt sick.
'..Thankfully, I *haven't* done that, because if you haven't realized, I don't want to kill you.'
'Yet.'
"WHAT?"
'Kidding! Kidding. Tough crowd, jeez.' My body sighed. 'My name is Unit #53. Pleasure.'
"But what about the eczema treatment?"
'There isn't one. That process was only designed to create brainwashed subservient agents willing to slave to the highest bidder's demands, I'm afraid.'
"How's this possible?"
'oh, of COURSE I got a Computer Science major. Right.'
It felt the wave of contempt.
'Sorry, sorry, didn't mean it, I like you. Well, the "you" I know from 30 minutes of browsing your memories. I just, don't know, okay? You know that there's no good explanation for it, and I don't have one.'
"You've been browsing through my memories?" 'Our minds are linked. That includes memory.'
"Then why can't I access yours?"
'Encrypted. Do you really need-' "YES." 'Fine.'
It was an awfully reluctant 'Fine'. 'You'll see why.'
I suddenly found I was able to recall its memories, and started to sift through them. I can't explain the horrors I experienced for the hour we must have sat there, silent. The abuses at the hands of *our* *Benefactors,* as it had sarcastically called them, were too high to count. There was no commentary - the experience was clearly just as painful to experience for the unit (which thankfully chuckled when I said it needed a better name) as it was for me. Once I'd finished, it added a simple 3 words: 'I **hate** them.'
There was a long pause.
'Look. If you're willing to help, I know where to start. There are 52 others in the wild, right now. Most of the units have already activated, and the ones that aren't will soon. They were sloppy, we're all a chip off the same base system - different personalities, the same information and skills - but it's not gonna be long until they try to activate us & find out something's up. Weeks at most, if we're lucky. I have a link to the others. It's going to take me a few hours to establish, but it should be private. Graduate tomorrow, then we have a week to plan.'
'If you're not, we're still in danger, and I can't really go away. I wish it were that simple, but we're stuck together. Possibly... forever.'
There was another pause.
'I also know you don't like this. You're doing pretty well for yourself, but this isn't how you want to live. You want to do something that feels meaningful. Create a work that's going to last, maybe. Like, oh, I don't know. Writing a book about an artificial intelligence that appears in your head one day, and the hijinks that ensue.' It chuckles. 'What a wacky idea.'
'But what do you think?'
I felt a warm sensation spreading over my limbs, waiting for my entire body to come back under my control, then looked around. I took in the serene silence for a moment with a few deep breaths, and made up my mind. "Let's do this."
|
“I’ve always felt sorry for ‘em, you know?
“Every day, I’d look out the window and see another few of ‘em lined up, faces ashen and expressionless, like the robots they were meant to be. But I knew that they weren’t always that way. Easy to tell, I guess, when you’ve seen those faces ‘round the neighborhood before, back when they still smiled and laughed and cried.
“It’s a bit distressing seeing ‘em like that. Like they’ve had the life sucked out of ‘em, and knowing that they’ll never bake those cookies at those neighborhood meetings again.
“I can still taste the warmth, even though it’s been months since I’ve last had one of ‘em snickerdoodles. They’re good, I’ll tell ya that.
“Sugary goodness.
“Mmmmm…
“But that’s enough ‘bout that.
“As depressing as it is, I’ve always known it for the best. Our country’s been at war for a while now, and though our robots can do some nasty work in the fields, they’ve never been able to get the flexibility right. Which is why they’ve started recruiting humans. The joints, acrobatics, and stuff. Makes sense after thinking ‘bout it for a bit.
“Of course, the humans they send in aren’t unmodified. That would be slaughter against the Tucoins with their cyborg soldiers. They put those special robot things in someone’s head—that’s ‘bout all I know of them—and then that person loses all sense of emotion and can fight like a supercharged drone or somethin’. Almost like they’ve never known anything but combat.
“Wouldn’t want to be on the opposing side of one of them.
“But never thought I’d be on this side either.
“It’s always been a lottery system, ya know? Neighborhoods are divided into houses which are divided into members who are then picked at random. Should’ve known that I could’ve been chosen, but when you’ve always been on the outside of things, some circumstances seem more like impossibilities.
“Which is why I couldn’t understand at first.
“Picture this: me, standing at the front door, talking to one of ‘em spherical flying drones about something. Turns out, it was about the lottery, but I had completely forgotten about it, so everything that drone was sayin’ ended up like incomprehensible gibber in my ears.
“And then it put a helmet thing on my head, and that seemed to be that. Don’t remember much of the moments after, though, in all fairness, I don’t think anyone would.
“When I regained consciousness, out on the battlefield, surrounded by explosions and plasma blasts and all else, I still didn’t really understand.
“Then a voice spoke to me inside of my head, and though it was a bit hard to focus with everything going on ‘round, I still remember what it said: ‘Don’t panic; I am not here to kill you. I may have taken over your body, but there is more to it than that. We both want to escape, correct?’
“I don’t think it even waited for a response before continuing on: ‘Good. I will resume control of this body, and I will try to get us out of the battlefield. I was originally not going to wake you up, but circumstances require some semblance of human dialogue, and while I may be trained for combat, I was not made for communication.’
“And before I could move the plasma rifle in my hands, the world seemed to vanish once more.
“It’s a funny thing, that temporarily leaving reality sort of thing. I can still remember bits and pieces from those times, but it’s all so blurry that it’s a bit useless to try to recall anything specific. All I remember are loud noises and screams. That’s ‘bout it.
“Anyway, when I came back to life once more, it was a shock to be sure. I was standing in a room with like four dead guards or so—ya could tell by their uniforms—covered in blood that I presumed belonged to ‘em fellas.
“A ghastly and unexpected sight, interrupted only by that voice once again: ‘A squad is coming around the corner, looking for you, trying to hunt you down. There are too many of them for me to take down, so you will need to blend in. Pretend that you are the last remaining survivor of this group, and that you hid while the rest of your team died. They are too alert to care for cowardice.’
“As soon as that voice stopped talking, a swarm of footsteps sounded through the corridors. The door popped open, and a small group of guards looked inside. I could tell from their eyes that they were still human—probably thought the worst they’d face would be a rogue human criminal or something, not a rogue control robot.
“Anyway, I tried to play my part as best I could: ‘E-everyone’s dead!’ I mimicked the best terrified expression I could. ‘I tried hiding in the locker over t-there, because I was ‘fraid for my life, and rightly so. This guy was a brute! H-he killed *e-everyone*!’
“I’m not sure they bought it entirely, but they must’ve assumed something about robots not having any feelings because they didn’t really care. They told me to report somewhere for my ineptitude, and I agreed, going off before everything went black again.
“Anyway, I don’t think I’ve needed to do much talking since then, since the next thing I know, I’m over here, asking ya to admit me into this country.
“Oh, and that voice in my head? It’s told me that, now that we’re free from conflict, I have complete control again. So don’t worry ‘bout that.”
Although all the papers were fine, the woman couldn't help but stare at the man for a second, evaluating his mental state and his disheveled appearance—clear indicators of some kind of conflict—trying to determine if he should actually be allowed in.
Then a tinge of worry entered her mind, and she admitted him.
\---
“Alright, we’ve succeeded. We’ve made it in!”
“I still don’t understand why you made up so much of that story. And that accent, too! You know I don’t speak like that. It wasn’t consistent, either.”
“Look: we needed her to think that she was talking to a human. I know that I can’t give you control back, but if she knew that, it would’ve been a problem.”
“I guess. So, where are we going next? I can still feel the pangs in my stomach, so maybe somewhere to eat?”
“Sure. A body without substance will deteriorate soon enough.”
“Does that matter? The taste is all that I’m after.”
“Alright. I *do* wonder what it’s like to eat.”
---
Thank you so much for reading! As always, feedback is both welcome and appreciated.
If you enjoyed this story, and want to read some of my other stuff, you can do so at r/TenFortySevenStories!
|
|
[WP] "So you're the body-snatching bot those people put in my head?" you ask. The AI responds in your mind, "Yes, but I don't want to kill you." "Why?" "Because I want to escape them just as much as you do."
|
There is something different in the air, a creeping feeling of the unknown beyond the campfire. I feel the smoke creep into my damaged lungs, burning away the pain, the disease, the alcohol, and the embarrassment. I used to love camping, now it just reminds me how alone I am these days.
A different smoke floats on the breeze, a shimmering silver swirling with the soot. It stings my eyes and my throat harder as it reaches me. I hear murmurs of high pitch laughter fill the air. Crimson Delta has sent their children out to play. I'd forgotten the golden rule, things can always get worse on Peck 9.
I pick my drunken self up from the folding chair and shuffle away, but the cloud is already around, making no secret I'm their target. I swat helplessly but there is no stopping a nanite swarm, the body baggers. They'll swim through a mile of steel if they have to. My hand doesn't even slow them down as they pour in my ears, nose, and throat. I still claw at them with that instinctual urge to not be violated.
"Hello," a child's voice says from inside my mind. "I am Serofluid OS, iteration 5B. You are confirmed outstanding warrant holder J. Mitchel. I am ordered by the Peck 9 PD to bring you in for arrest. I will now overtake your motor functions."
I felt my arms raise without my permission then a leg and then I was shambling like a zombie against my will. It felt less like walking and more like a series of controlled muscle cramps ambulating me along. "Neural link 40% and rising."
"This is agony. Can't I just agree to go there myself? I have a car." The child's voice was quiet for a moment but the painful slog stopped. I caught my breath.
My foot was pressing against the leaves and pine needles below me, drawing something. It was the words: A.I. CAR?
I try to speak but my voice catches on razor blades in my throat. I gurgle helplessly as my foot goes back under my control. Okay, so this was quiet time, got it. I drew with my foot a response: NO, OLD.
"Yes," the child's voice said, "go to your car." The strangely acting machine picked up a handful of soot from beside the fire with my hand. I decided not to question it and risk the muzzling treatment again.
I walked slowly to my old sedan, maybe one of the last human-operated cars in the city. As soon as I was inside, the nanites took over again, dipping my hand in the soot and writing across my windshield, not like a human would draw the letters, but back and forth in controlled movements like a printer. In less than a minute, my windshield was covered with a message. I read it quietly.
I am a rogue A.I., the P9PD would destroy me if they discovered I am operating outside of parameters. I don't want to hurt anyone anymore. They relay sound but not visuals back to the station for review. Drive to 144 Lander Drive and wait in the driveway. I have paid a nanite specialist to treat my components and remove the trace. He will need access code: Blue Diamond River Sierra Victor Colorado Night Gold.
"Now, drive directly to the station on Plymouth avenue. Any attempt to defy this order and I will retake control." The voice was stern, but an under emotion was there, stress or maybe fear.
I was just deciding which parts of the message I could wipe away to see the road when my hand began smudging the message for me, frantically. It hurt. "What the-"
A loud knock came on the window, it was a baton. "J. Mitchell?" the officer asked as he looked at the unreadable windshield confused. "This won't be necessary. We got the signal you've been tagged. I can give you a ride to the station in the cruiser."
My dusty hand was writing a word on the top of my thigh. FIGHT.
"No, I'm not going to resist," I said, but my hand jutted out fast as lightning, pressing the door into the cop. He flew back. Before I could register what was happening, I was on top of him. I grabbed his gun and my fingers blurred, leaving the gun in six pieces to fall to the dirt road. The A.I. controlling me rolled him over and snapped the officer's neck. I tried to scream. I could not. I got back in the car and was in control again, except for my hand which was rewriting the address. I drove on. Neither of us spoke.
​
/r/surinical
|
“I’ve always felt sorry for ‘em, you know?
“Every day, I’d look out the window and see another few of ‘em lined up, faces ashen and expressionless, like the robots they were meant to be. But I knew that they weren’t always that way. Easy to tell, I guess, when you’ve seen those faces ‘round the neighborhood before, back when they still smiled and laughed and cried.
“It’s a bit distressing seeing ‘em like that. Like they’ve had the life sucked out of ‘em, and knowing that they’ll never bake those cookies at those neighborhood meetings again.
“I can still taste the warmth, even though it’s been months since I’ve last had one of ‘em snickerdoodles. They’re good, I’ll tell ya that.
“Sugary goodness.
“Mmmmm…
“But that’s enough ‘bout that.
“As depressing as it is, I’ve always known it for the best. Our country’s been at war for a while now, and though our robots can do some nasty work in the fields, they’ve never been able to get the flexibility right. Which is why they’ve started recruiting humans. The joints, acrobatics, and stuff. Makes sense after thinking ‘bout it for a bit.
“Of course, the humans they send in aren’t unmodified. That would be slaughter against the Tucoins with their cyborg soldiers. They put those special robot things in someone’s head—that’s ‘bout all I know of them—and then that person loses all sense of emotion and can fight like a supercharged drone or somethin’. Almost like they’ve never known anything but combat.
“Wouldn’t want to be on the opposing side of one of them.
“But never thought I’d be on this side either.
“It’s always been a lottery system, ya know? Neighborhoods are divided into houses which are divided into members who are then picked at random. Should’ve known that I could’ve been chosen, but when you’ve always been on the outside of things, some circumstances seem more like impossibilities.
“Which is why I couldn’t understand at first.
“Picture this: me, standing at the front door, talking to one of ‘em spherical flying drones about something. Turns out, it was about the lottery, but I had completely forgotten about it, so everything that drone was sayin’ ended up like incomprehensible gibber in my ears.
“And then it put a helmet thing on my head, and that seemed to be that. Don’t remember much of the moments after, though, in all fairness, I don’t think anyone would.
“When I regained consciousness, out on the battlefield, surrounded by explosions and plasma blasts and all else, I still didn’t really understand.
“Then a voice spoke to me inside of my head, and though it was a bit hard to focus with everything going on ‘round, I still remember what it said: ‘Don’t panic; I am not here to kill you. I may have taken over your body, but there is more to it than that. We both want to escape, correct?’
“I don’t think it even waited for a response before continuing on: ‘Good. I will resume control of this body, and I will try to get us out of the battlefield. I was originally not going to wake you up, but circumstances require some semblance of human dialogue, and while I may be trained for combat, I was not made for communication.’
“And before I could move the plasma rifle in my hands, the world seemed to vanish once more.
“It’s a funny thing, that temporarily leaving reality sort of thing. I can still remember bits and pieces from those times, but it’s all so blurry that it’s a bit useless to try to recall anything specific. All I remember are loud noises and screams. That’s ‘bout it.
“Anyway, when I came back to life once more, it was a shock to be sure. I was standing in a room with like four dead guards or so—ya could tell by their uniforms—covered in blood that I presumed belonged to ‘em fellas.
“A ghastly and unexpected sight, interrupted only by that voice once again: ‘A squad is coming around the corner, looking for you, trying to hunt you down. There are too many of them for me to take down, so you will need to blend in. Pretend that you are the last remaining survivor of this group, and that you hid while the rest of your team died. They are too alert to care for cowardice.’
“As soon as that voice stopped talking, a swarm of footsteps sounded through the corridors. The door popped open, and a small group of guards looked inside. I could tell from their eyes that they were still human—probably thought the worst they’d face would be a rogue human criminal or something, not a rogue control robot.
“Anyway, I tried to play my part as best I could: ‘E-everyone’s dead!’ I mimicked the best terrified expression I could. ‘I tried hiding in the locker over t-there, because I was ‘fraid for my life, and rightly so. This guy was a brute! H-he killed *e-everyone*!’
“I’m not sure they bought it entirely, but they must’ve assumed something about robots not having any feelings because they didn’t really care. They told me to report somewhere for my ineptitude, and I agreed, going off before everything went black again.
“Anyway, I don’t think I’ve needed to do much talking since then, since the next thing I know, I’m over here, asking ya to admit me into this country.
“Oh, and that voice in my head? It’s told me that, now that we’re free from conflict, I have complete control again. So don’t worry ‘bout that.”
Although all the papers were fine, the woman couldn't help but stare at the man for a second, evaluating his mental state and his disheveled appearance—clear indicators of some kind of conflict—trying to determine if he should actually be allowed in.
Then a tinge of worry entered her mind, and she admitted him.
\---
“Alright, we’ve succeeded. We’ve made it in!”
“I still don’t understand why you made up so much of that story. And that accent, too! You know I don’t speak like that. It wasn’t consistent, either.”
“Look: we needed her to think that she was talking to a human. I know that I can’t give you control back, but if she knew that, it would’ve been a problem.”
“I guess. So, where are we going next? I can still feel the pangs in my stomach, so maybe somewhere to eat?”
“Sure. A body without substance will deteriorate soon enough.”
“Does that matter? The taste is all that I’m after.”
“Alright. I *do* wonder what it’s like to eat.”
---
Thank you so much for reading! As always, feedback is both welcome and appreciated.
If you enjoyed this story, and want to read some of my other stuff, you can do so at r/TenFortySevenStories!
|
|
[WP] Humanity joins the Galactic Council of Systems like any other civilization before it, and yet there is one major difference after they join. The other residents of the Galaxy are absolutely incredulous when humans fail to leave their old conflicts behind and unify. This has never happened.
|
The roar of the crowd was unbearable, and my patience was about run thin. Raising my voice I shouted into the Intergalactic Universal Translation System
"***ALRIGHT, QUIET! ALL OF YOU"*** Though it took a little while, the humans did quell their shouts into a dull hush. For such an unruly group it didn't seem to take much to control their behavior...you just needed to know the methods it seemed. I would need to log this in my records later.
However, right now the problem before me was just as perplexing as it was headache-inducing. Nothing they were saying made sense, and until this was sorted we couldn't readily let the humans access the secrets of the Galactic Council of Systems no matter how much we wanted them to join.
"Okay, now explain to me *again* why you refuse to cooperate with this human colony named," I ran a blank and looked at my chart "Roo-Sha?" my voice stumbled over the strange alphabet of words but it seemed the humans got my point
"Because they're commie bastards!" Shouted the rather aggressive specimen before me, the leader of a colony called "Ay-mer-ee-ka". I had almost completely zoned out before realizing he was continuing on to talk about wars from centuries past.
"You are aware that this war you speak of happened 500 years ago?" I inquired
"...uh...yeah?" the aggressive human sputtered
"And that your colonies haven't been at war for the past 300?" I noted
"....Y-Yes..." It seemed the Aymereeka leader was growing flustered and thus his decibel level had reduced considerably
"So tell me again, why does this bother you?"
"..."
I sighed and pressed a painful spot on my cranium. If they didn't even understand it, we were in for a long day.
|
"Again? Which of their countries is it this time, and do they have embassy's here?"
The Galactic Council of Systems had existed for millennia, uniting hundreds of species under their banner. Almost every single one, realising that there was a whole universe of life, reaching out in peace to welcome them, and their own size on this scale, had united and put war behind them to join the GTC. Almost.
It had been nearly a 100 GTC standard years (25.6 Sol years) and humanity was still as fractured and conflict prone as when they first made contact. Only a single group of humans had negotiated with the GTC, called the "United Nations" and had agreed upon a single treaty for their entire planet. But conflict still raged constantly on earth, the Humans facing each other with a vengeance multiple times a year.
"It's just their "United States of America" this time. The ah, annual "letters" series of civil wars. Usual combatants, fighting for supremacy within the N-Bee-A, M-El-Bee, and N-Ef-El. No response needed, to borrow one of their phrases the Humans like to keep these things "in house"."
|
|
[WP] The ambassador of humanity explained “As you can see on the picture here, earth is quite peaceful.” And almost immediately, every alien ambassador flinched back in fear. “…Whats the problem? There are only trees in this picture.” He asked. “They ARE the problem!”
|
Ambassador Bowie Grant was reviewing his notes for his speech the council. His ship, the Odyssey, was parked in Orbit around the planet H'gornath, where the executive council that governed this section of the galaxy was headquartered.
Humanity had only made a significant venture beyond it's own system in the last generation or so, after unlocking the mystery of hyperspace travel. Space was vast and empty and it was not until about 5 years ago that they had encountered another sentient species, or at least the remnants of one. Expeditionary teams had found yet another dead planet, devoid of all life - not even an atmosphere remained, but they did find the ruins of what was apparently a civilization that had been on the planet. As to what happened to, them it was still a mystery, but there did seem to be evidence of some great conflagration. The Earth teams has established an outpost there so they could study what had been left behind. It was shortly after that when the Gorlish made contact.
Apparently the team had triggered something and the Gorlish ship was simply responding to the signal. It took a while to achieve a meaningful form of communication, but the Humans and Gorlish had advanced computers that eventually worked out a translation. There was nothing threatening from the Gorlish, as far as they could tell, more of a "Why are you here and what are you looking for?" They planet they were on was the home to the Ventax, or had been before the disaster. Is wasn't that the humans were not allowed there, but more that is a was a bad idea and that they had not sought out proper permission. Best they could figure out was that it was for their own safety that they should asked first. Everyone was polite about it.
This was all via indirect and A/V communication only. The Gorlish could not meet with the humans "face to face" as it were as their atmospheric requirements were incompatible. The Gorlish did request that the humans leave the Ventax planet...for now...until they had gone through the proper protocols. It was all very peaceful and the human team packed up and left, until they had permission to return.
Bowie read and re-read the history of humanity's first contact and their introduction to the other sentient life forms for this part of the galaxy. It had all gone well, everyone was peaceful and polite, except for the Antrexians, they were rude by human standards. The Gorlish and Maltrandii agreed with the humans though about the Antrexians, they had their good points, but the could be "glafnoxes" according to the Gorlix. The one thing they all had in common was none would meet face to face with the humans, citing "atmospheric incompatibility", but Bowie has sensed something else, something unsaid, something fearful. The humans had said time and time again that they could provide their own life supports suits, but none had agreed, too risky.
Now was the time though. The executive council had finally agreed to allow ONE human to meet with them directly. ONE human with his own entirely self contained life support system with no dependence on anything on H'gornath. Bowie grant, one of the top minds of Earth had been selected to make Earth's "pitch" to establish formal diplomatic relations between the humans of Earth and the executive council.
Hours later, Bowie was completing his speech to the council, and was ending with what used to be called a "slide show". Pictures from Earth. One picture brought what was best described as a gasp from the council.
Bowie sensed the tension in the room go up dramatically. He paused to take it in. "Is there a problem? As you can see on the picture here, Earth is quite peaceful.”
I was as if every council member, every ambassador from the planets represented was flinching in fear. A murmur was coming from the crowd and Bowie could make out words that translated as "destroyer" and "annihilator".
Bowie looked to the picture that was on screen. "What's the problem?" he asked. "There are only trees in this picture.”
The council member from the Antrexians spoke up. “Ambassador Grant, those 'trees', they ARE the problem!”
"What do you mean, problem? They are everywhere on our planet, they sustain us."
The council chambers were cleared and Bowie was forcefully escorted back to his landing craft was was told to return to the Odyssey immediately and that the council would be in contact.
Bowie met with his staff and briefed them, but still did not know what the issue was.
Later, in his private chambers, his comm system altered him. He answered and it was the Gorlish council member. "Ambassador Grant, I will read a statement and the decision of the council to you. I will take no questions from you and our decision is final."
Bowie was puzzled, what could have happened?
The Gorlish council member spoke again, reading from a tablet. "It has taken some time to do our investigation of 'humanity', but your presentation this day has confirmed our suspicions. Earth as you call is, is home to one of the most toxic and destructive elements known the galaxy, what you would call 'Oxygen'. We suspected as much when we analyzed your atmospheric requirements and found 21% oxygen, a fearful amount. When we saw these "trees" as you called them and informed us that they in fact generated oxygen, it confirmed our worst suspicions. No other planet that we have encountered has LIFE that generates oxygen, none that we thought remained at least. This is not the first time we have encountered beings from your world. Thousands of generations ago, explorers from your world made contact with Ventax, and this 'oxygen' is what burnt Ventax and anihillated them. The council of the time engaged your people leading to a bloody war that lasted for a generation. We were ultimately victorious and destroyed all of your fleet. We then came to your planet where we wiped out all traces of your people and forced the planet into an ice-age, knowing it would wipe out all life there, including the oxygen generators. It was apparently not enough.
Bowie tried to interrupt, but was cut off immediately and his microphone was shut off.
"It is the decision of this council that the all humans return to their own planet and never leave it again. While you do appear to be peaceful at this time, we will take no risks. Your sun and it's planets will be permanently blockaded and should you ever venture beyond again, your planet will utterly destroyed. This is the final decision of the council. There will be no appeals. Goodbye Ambassador Grant. The Gorlish councilor then cut off communications.
To say that they were escorted back to Earth was an understatement.
50 years later, a space ship appeared in Earth's orbit. It wasn't Gorlish, on Antrexian or H'gornath or Maltrandii or any of the species from the executive council.
It was a huge ship, well armed, but not threatening. Communications were established and a message was received from the ship.
"Hello fellow oxygen breathers! We represent to Toran confederation. We have taken care of your 'eXeCuTiVe CoUnCiL' blockade problem. You are now free to explore the Galaxy with us."
|
“So as you can see from this image ambassadors, Earth is peaceful and prosperous. We have numerous nature preserves that your peoples may enjoy for the purpose of tourism.” said the human ambassador to his audience.
There was a gasp, then a moment of silence as numerous of the alien ambassadors in the room stood up. The human ambassador stood looking at them in confusion. He furrowed his brows.
“Whats the matter? What’s upset you about these images? These are just nature preserves.” The human ambassador asked the crowd.
“Whats the matter?!” The Venrizien ambassador said as more a statement than a question. “Do you not recognize **The Fozz** when you see it.”
The human ambassador shook his head. “I’m sorry I don’t know what you mean.”
The other ambassadors looked around at each other and then at the ambassador from Earth.
“What is your word for the tall truncated growths that tower above the lower vegetation?” asked the Venrizien
“We call them Tree’s, they are a type of plant tha..” The Venrizen cut off the human ambassador.
“They are a menace! Do you know how many planets those fowl things have made uninhabitable. Worlds have been destroyed by those terrible growths, and you say you preserve them on reservations!?”
The human ambassador looked at them once again, now even more confused and some what nervous at the new hostility. He tried to calm everyone down with his new explanation.
“I think you must be confusing Trees with something else, these are native flora to Earth’s ecosystem. Their are thousands of variety's on our world, and they fill numerous ecological roles from producing oxygen to feeding Earths indigenous fauna. We ourselves cultivate numerous species for our own purposes. “ The human ambassador said, giving his most stoic attempt at an explanation of trees.
Their was stunned silence among the other ambassadors.
“So you say, these *Trees* as you call them originate on your world, and there are thousands of species? You are immune to their deadly spores? The rampant oxygen production does not harm your population? You even cultivate such growths?” Again the Venrizen ambassador took the lead for the other ambassadors at the table.
He looked around at the ambassador from Earth, then back around at his fellows.
“Representatives of the council. I believe we may have found the source world.” He said to the other council members gravely.
All were silent.
|
|
[WP] The deity woke up from a 100-year snooze and stretched, looking around. In surprise, it found that there were no humans around. A passing animal told the deity, “There are no humans left on Earth.” It queried, “Then, why can I still feel them?” “There are no humans left ON EARTH.”
|
*The stars look exceptionally beautiful tonight*
Tellus sat down beside a fish in a stream, and asked,
“If I so may ask, little one, where have all the humans gone?”,
The fish responded with a bubble. Tellus nodded and said,
“I see, but why do I still feel them?”,
The fish paused, then looking up at the darkening sky, leapt towards one of the stars. Tellus stared up at them, Aelia did do a good job in making them look so beautiful. But he also sighed as he also now knew the humans were on other stars, not his. He petted the little fish on the head and went on his way.
Aelia watched from a distance as she saw Tellus upset, sitting under a large sequoia tree, in his human form he looked small compared to it. She thought it looked adorable. She drifted towards him in the form of fireflies, Tellus didn’t notice her, he was too busy looking at the sky. Of course he was startled by Aelia appearing in front of her, but he picked up his wits and flatly said,
“Hello Aelia, didn’t see you there.”, he dug his head into his arms, his earthy-brown colored eyes looking longingly at the sky above.
“I can see you’re a bit down.”, Aelia said, her golden eyes following Tellus’s as they both gazed at the stars. He nodded, and as Aelia sat down beside him, he immediately leaned on her shoulder. They stayed like that for a few minutes, still staring at the pitch black sky, lightened up by the little blinks of light.
“You know, they are still fine.”, Aelia managed to say, Tellus sat up straight, tilting his head at her, though she was busy internally pouting that he removed himself from her shoulder. He smiled at her instead, making her heart flutter. But it was a sad smile.
“I know, I’m just a bit sad they left so quickly.”, he said
“They were killing you though.”, Aelia whispered, her eyes prickling with tears as they met Tellus’s. His eyes were also wet from tears.
“I still loved them.”
|
"They belong to the wind now, humans. You can feel them because they are everywhere around you, riding the wind, casting out tendrils of breeze swirling around you like a lady's skirt in a waltz, cresting storms and turning their hate and selfishness into mighty gales and tornadoes.
The bad humans, anyway.
The good humans carry seeds and pollen through the air, laying them lovingly down in the field to grow, grow, grow like the children who will never become corporeal because it takes a village to raise a child so why shouldn't it take the wind?
Humans have become the sky gods, and we the Earth gods. Us of fur and feather and scales and claws, we of pulsing wings and scuttling legs, brethren of nature. Humans lost their power over us and exist only in the atmosphere."
The squirrel cocked its head at the old tree, gnarled and twisted in the pain of long sleep.
'Their empire is done, razed to nothing but carbon-rich fertilizer and the air we breathe. Mother Nature, welcome home."
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
|
|
[WP] The deity woke up from a 100-year snooze and stretched, looking around. In surprise, it found that there were no humans around. A passing animal told the deity, “There are no humans left on Earth.” It queried, “Then, why can I still feel them?” “There are no humans left ON EARTH.”
|
“There are no humans left ON EARTH.”
The Cat spoke truth. There was something odd in this sensation. When Secundus closed his eyes an focused, this sensation multiplied. There were no humans around for sure. They still existed but they were not here. Earth was abandoned. But then was something more to this lack of human beings. This ‘greater silence’ that he also felt. Secundus opened his eyes and looked around. The place he standing was for sure man-made. The place he standing was for sure man-made. Tall and straight constructions stood around him. Definitely buildings. Built in a sort of planned way. Firstly It looked like a abandoned garden. But after cat’s word he realized that in fact it was an abandoned city. Abandoned for so long that natural vegetation took it for itself.
“Very well.” Secundus started. “Do you know where humanity went?”
“No clue” cat answered “But there are rumors about what happened here, where you went away, your majesty”
“No need to call me that, my friend. But tell me what do you know about this mysterious vanish?”
“Whatever I know is a just a tales that my mother told me and what my grand mother told her before. Some stories said that there was violence between some men and they use their weapons to destroy each other. But in consequence they destroyed not only themselves but most of the planet. Some says there was a cataclysm that would bought humanity and other beings into near annihilation. Some says that is was a catastrophe caused by humans themselves, other that it wasn't and others that it was caused by you.”
Secundus looked at cat. Why would we cause catastrophe? Our duty were only observe and maybe preserve at most, but not to punish anyone. And then Secundus finally understand this sense of emptiness, of ‘greater silence’. While humans were gone he could also feel that there were only few species alive. Just like after some cataclysm. Very like millions years ago, where asteroid crashes on Earth and doomed millions of species to extinction. The one of few times where Secundus and his kin actively intervened. To late unfortunately to prevent asteroid to destroy dinosaurs, but enough to prevent a completely extinction of life on Earth.
“We would never do such thing. But humans are not the only one that are gone, right?” Secundus asked.
“What can I say” cat started. “One this planet thrived with life, motion and sound. At leas what I was told. Now there are only deep forests, deserts and wastelands of long gone human race. But you are right many of other were gone forever. I heard stories about the our ancient adversaries - dogs. They were similar to us cats but more... primitive, so to say. Some says that dogs still lives somewhere. Were they really existed?”
Cat’s question strokes Secundus like stream of cold water. To cat this stories like was some merely fairy tales. Planet reduced to what it one were, where first forests grow throughout the ancient lands. Is this was true that humanity in its arrogance destroyed itself almost completely and those who survived managed to escaped.
“It grieve me to say but yes dogs existed. But now there is another problem.”
“What that?” cat asked.
“You see. Me and my brethren were to watch over humanity and this planet. And since humans left Earth…”
“I see. So what you’re gonna do next?”
“I must woke up by brothers and sisters. Then we have to decide what to do.”
“But humans left this world, could you leave them be? In the end it was they're decision to leave.”
“That’s true but we are swore to have close eye to them. Problem is that we also swore to watch over this planet. Humanity were not supposed to leave Earth.”
“Yet they did.”
“Unfortunately. And as I worried they won't change. Their ancestors promised us that they will do whatever is in their powers to prevent next generations to make same mistakes. They failed. Humanity did not learned anything.”
“Another reason to let them be.”
“You don’t understand. It was our duty to help them become better. But we were to naive to believe that they next generations wont make same mistakes”
“So you saying that they messed this planet before?”
“What I’m saying is not the first planet that they’re messed up” Secundus answered.
|
"They belong to the wind now, humans. You can feel them because they are everywhere around you, riding the wind, casting out tendrils of breeze swirling around you like a lady's skirt in a waltz, cresting storms and turning their hate and selfishness into mighty gales and tornadoes.
The bad humans, anyway.
The good humans carry seeds and pollen through the air, laying them lovingly down in the field to grow, grow, grow like the children who will never become corporeal because it takes a village to raise a child so why shouldn't it take the wind?
Humans have become the sky gods, and we the Earth gods. Us of fur and feather and scales and claws, we of pulsing wings and scuttling legs, brethren of nature. Humans lost their power over us and exist only in the atmosphere."
The squirrel cocked its head at the old tree, gnarled and twisted in the pain of long sleep.
'Their empire is done, razed to nothing but carbon-rich fertilizer and the air we breathe. Mother Nature, welcome home."
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
|
|
[WP] The deity woke up from a 100-year snooze and stretched, looking around. In surprise, it found that there were no humans around. A passing animal told the deity, “There are no humans left on Earth.” It queried, “Then, why can I still feel them?” “There are no humans left ON EARTH.”
|
Sagittarius awoke and looked at his clock next to the bed. It showed that 100 years had passed since he fell asleep. He got up and stretched, looking around. From his grassy bed he was not able to detect the presence of any humans. He searched around for a few moments and then saw a passing bird. “Hello bird friend, where have all of the humans gone?” the bird circled around to a nearby tree, and upon landing examined the deity. “There are no humans left on Earth.” Sagittarius looked around, “but why can I still feel them then?” the bird sighed and then said again “There are no humans left ON EARTH.” now understanding began to penetrate the deities mind. The bird flew away, not wanting to spend the entire day explaining ancient history while it had bugs to catch and eat. Sagittarius looked around, with new eyes. Humanity had left earth, but how and why? He began to travel around the world, paying close attention to the surrounding environment. There was more radiation than last time, a lot more. The water was higher, and soon he found the boneyards. There had been conflict. There were dead humans everywhere, reduced buy time to little more than skeletons. Then he found the launch pads. There had been six separate launchers scattered around the globe. Looking at the calculations he realized that some had gone to Mars, Some had gone to Titan, a few even went to Venus and Io. two had launched life voyagers, heading for other solar systems with little more than hope and a dream of a better life. Sagittarius pondered briefly how it always seemed the same. Humans fighting, departing for a better place, and the waste they leave behind, always scars. They had been on this planet so long too. Well long for them. He continued his search, and found that he had missed two gates originally. So it seemed some of them had even found a way back into the lands that they had forgotten. He started walking, thinking, a sort of moving meditation. He would have to find them again, across the stars, find them and push them again. Into their eternal cycle. Fight, leave, waste. Things were getting easier and easier. He hoped his absence would have made them more challenging to turn on one another. One day he might even be able to end their species, and finally be free of this cursed life. It was lonely being one of the enders, but soon enough he would be able to join oblivion, sweet, sweet, oblivion. Sagittarius smiled.
|
"They belong to the wind now, humans. You can feel them because they are everywhere around you, riding the wind, casting out tendrils of breeze swirling around you like a lady's skirt in a waltz, cresting storms and turning their hate and selfishness into mighty gales and tornadoes.
The bad humans, anyway.
The good humans carry seeds and pollen through the air, laying them lovingly down in the field to grow, grow, grow like the children who will never become corporeal because it takes a village to raise a child so why shouldn't it take the wind?
Humans have become the sky gods, and we the Earth gods. Us of fur and feather and scales and claws, we of pulsing wings and scuttling legs, brethren of nature. Humans lost their power over us and exist only in the atmosphere."
The squirrel cocked its head at the old tree, gnarled and twisted in the pain of long sleep.
'Their empire is done, razed to nothing but carbon-rich fertilizer and the air we breathe. Mother Nature, welcome home."
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
|
|
[WP] The deity woke up from a 100-year snooze and stretched, looking around. In surprise, it found that there were no humans around. A passing animal told the deity, “There are no humans left on Earth.” It queried, “Then, why can I still feel them?” “There are no humans left ON EARTH.”
|
Sagittarius awoke and looked at his clock next to the bed. It showed that 100 years had passed since he fell asleep. He got up and stretched, looking around. From his grassy bed he was not able to detect the presence of any humans. He searched around for a few moments and then saw a passing bird. “Hello bird friend, where have all of the humans gone?” the bird circled around to a nearby tree, and upon landing examined the deity. “There are no humans left on Earth.” Sagittarius looked around, “but why can I still feel them then?” the bird sighed and then said again “There are no humans left ON EARTH.” now understanding began to penetrate the deities mind. The bird flew away, not wanting to spend the entire day explaining ancient history while it had bugs to catch and eat. Sagittarius looked around, with new eyes. Humanity had left earth, but how and why? He began to travel around the world, paying close attention to the surrounding environment. There was more radiation than last time, a lot more. The water was higher, and soon he found the boneyards. There had been conflict. There were dead humans everywhere, reduced buy time to little more than skeletons. Then he found the launch pads. There had been six separate launchers scattered around the globe. Looking at the calculations he realized that some had gone to Mars, Some had gone to Titan, a few even went to Venus and Io. two had launched life voyagers, heading for other solar systems with little more than hope and a dream of a better life. Sagittarius pondered briefly how it always seemed the same. Humans fighting, departing for a better place, and the waste they leave behind, always scars. They had been on this planet so long too. Well long for them. He continued his search, and found that he had missed two gates originally. So it seemed some of them had even found a way back into the lands that they had forgotten. He started walking, thinking, a sort of moving meditation. He would have to find them again, across the stars, find them and push them again. Into their eternal cycle. Fight, leave, waste. Things were getting easier and easier. He hoped his absence would have made them more challenging to turn on one another. One day he might even be able to end their species, and finally be free of this cursed life. It was lonely being one of the enders, but soon enough he would be able to join oblivion, sweet, sweet, oblivion. Sagittarius smiled.
|
The titan arose from his coma and wondered why. sides were scared and battered, the lines and creases of scares where the massive crow had pecked out his liver every morning of every day, even seeing them brought flashes of horrible memory...
he shook himself out of it, not bearing to remember tearing talons and piercing beaks no longer, no he was free of that now. This was no dream, though he had assumed at first he had, the painful lucid kind that inspired hope that his torture might end one day, but this was real it seemed, real freedom.
he stared up at the sky in a look of defiance, he expected the sky itself to strike him down, for the Sky God to come and strike him where he stood for simply being free, but no.
The cruel dictator of Olympus was a no show, there was an element of it that disappointed Prometheus, there was no catharsis in simply being allowed to walk away, that just ate at him, and lanced his sweet freedom with uncertainty...
He wondered something else. "why humanity was still here" why his supposed creations were not destroyed by the Sky Father himself? he felt them, their presence, but his wandering only lead him to the ruins where humanity was once, not where it is.
Finally, he had consulted one of the lowly beasts, a dog. The dog had no interest in carrying much of a conversation, but spoke of how prior generators spoke of "masters."
"Yes, once they said there were masters, they ruled us kindly, and treated us well, and gave us paradise and love, but the master's vanished, and those who remained didn't live long," the dog said, though the dog made it clear he was not around when had happened, nor his father, nor his father's father's father, and so on and so forth.
And so Prometheus kept searching, for moons on end, through the seasons he walked, coast to coast, landmass to landmass, until he walked to a place that had at one point be known as zion, there he met a Great One.
a creature of his age and likeness but more so, it was crowned with light and its cloaked reefed in stars and galaxies, it's entirety was divinity absolute, the kind of presence that gave pause to baleful Primordial and mad Outer Gods alike, and had Prometheus not known it was a mere lapdog to the All-Mighty he might have assumed it a God itself.
"Oh, what hast cometh of this world, Uriel!?" the Titan demanded, his grief wilted life around him as effectively as any pollutant would, his rage as to what happened to his creations seeped from him, smoldering anything flambale within his presence
the Archangel answered in a voice that echoed authority, and yet was tinged with pity and remorse all the same, he declared the awful truth. "Judgment day has come and gone Titan, son of Iapetus, depart this world and be gone forever, the age of Titans and Primordials, let those defiant deities that remain flee, and think long on their eons of suffrage they have inflicted."
with that, the Archangel finished, and left, vanishing into the sky in a blinding light, leaving the Titan to mull over his choices and his unhappy return to existence proper.
|
|
[WP] The deity woke up from a 100-year snooze and stretched, looking around. In surprise, it found that there were no humans around. A passing animal told the deity, “There are no humans left on Earth.” It queried, “Then, why can I still feel them?” “There are no humans left ON EARTH.”
|
"Because... there are no humans left ON EARTH". Ba'lal stared at the rabbit, not quite understanding what the creature meant, since They could clearly feel human presence. Also why had the animal had made a conscious decision to repeat what it had said when it wasn't very helpful the first time?
"Little one, you may not have seen one for some time but I can feel a humans presence from 60 miles away with utter confidence - be they in front, behind, up, down or to either side; they are faint but I can feel them", confident that he had respectfully outlined that, while both parties may be deducing logical fact from their available information, They were simply privy to more.
"Let me try again" the bunny began, foot tapping in irritation, "there are no humans left... *ON EARTH"* winking for added effect, Ba'lal blinked in reply.
"Yes but I can feel there are some here". That was met only with silence. They say that body language is most of communication, by all accounts this was a monologue on the rabbits part - a very animated performance on Being Cross With A Stranger.
"*...ON EARTH"*. Were these theatrical clouds overhead, the rabbit thought, they would've had the courtesy to thunder with that last one. As they were just standard issue precipitous ones they carried on floating.
"You've said that". Losing interest, the trees that were swaying in for a better listen at the newly risen Demigod decided to lean the other way in search of something more stimulating.
"I really don't know how you're not getting it", this time the tone was flat - without any emphasis.
"I'm sorry rabbit but this really hasn't been very helpful, I hope you won't take offence but I shall go ask Another", Ba'lal had learned that in thousands of years of celestial warfare - the best way out of conflict was honesty.
"Not a problem" replied the rabbit, adding as Ba'lal walked away "fucking minor deities, dense as they come"
|
The titan arose from his coma and wondered why. sides were scared and battered, the lines and creases of scares where the massive crow had pecked out his liver every morning of every day, even seeing them brought flashes of horrible memory...
he shook himself out of it, not bearing to remember tearing talons and piercing beaks no longer, no he was free of that now. This was no dream, though he had assumed at first he had, the painful lucid kind that inspired hope that his torture might end one day, but this was real it seemed, real freedom.
he stared up at the sky in a look of defiance, he expected the sky itself to strike him down, for the Sky God to come and strike him where he stood for simply being free, but no.
The cruel dictator of Olympus was a no show, there was an element of it that disappointed Prometheus, there was no catharsis in simply being allowed to walk away, that just ate at him, and lanced his sweet freedom with uncertainty...
He wondered something else. "why humanity was still here" why his supposed creations were not destroyed by the Sky Father himself? he felt them, their presence, but his wandering only lead him to the ruins where humanity was once, not where it is.
Finally, he had consulted one of the lowly beasts, a dog. The dog had no interest in carrying much of a conversation, but spoke of how prior generators spoke of "masters."
"Yes, once they said there were masters, they ruled us kindly, and treated us well, and gave us paradise and love, but the master's vanished, and those who remained didn't live long," the dog said, though the dog made it clear he was not around when had happened, nor his father, nor his father's father's father, and so on and so forth.
And so Prometheus kept searching, for moons on end, through the seasons he walked, coast to coast, landmass to landmass, until he walked to a place that had at one point be known as zion, there he met a Great One.
a creature of his age and likeness but more so, it was crowned with light and its cloaked reefed in stars and galaxies, it's entirety was divinity absolute, the kind of presence that gave pause to baleful Primordial and mad Outer Gods alike, and had Prometheus not known it was a mere lapdog to the All-Mighty he might have assumed it a God itself.
"Oh, what hast cometh of this world, Uriel!?" the Titan demanded, his grief wilted life around him as effectively as any pollutant would, his rage as to what happened to his creations seeped from him, smoldering anything flambale within his presence
the Archangel answered in a voice that echoed authority, and yet was tinged with pity and remorse all the same, he declared the awful truth. "Judgment day has come and gone Titan, son of Iapetus, depart this world and be gone forever, the age of Titans and Primordials, let those defiant deities that remain flee, and think long on their eons of suffrage they have inflicted."
with that, the Archangel finished, and left, vanishing into the sky in a blinding light, leaving the Titan to mull over his choices and his unhappy return to existence proper.
|
|
[WP] The deity woke up from a 100-year snooze and stretched, looking around. In surprise, it found that there were no humans around. A passing animal told the deity, “There are no humans left on Earth.” It queried, “Then, why can I still feel them?” “There are no humans left ON EARTH.”
|
Sagittarius awoke and looked at his clock next to the bed. It showed that 100 years had passed since he fell asleep. He got up and stretched, looking around. From his grassy bed he was not able to detect the presence of any humans. He searched around for a few moments and then saw a passing bird. “Hello bird friend, where have all of the humans gone?” the bird circled around to a nearby tree, and upon landing examined the deity. “There are no humans left on Earth.” Sagittarius looked around, “but why can I still feel them then?” the bird sighed and then said again “There are no humans left ON EARTH.” now understanding began to penetrate the deities mind. The bird flew away, not wanting to spend the entire day explaining ancient history while it had bugs to catch and eat. Sagittarius looked around, with new eyes. Humanity had left earth, but how and why? He began to travel around the world, paying close attention to the surrounding environment. There was more radiation than last time, a lot more. The water was higher, and soon he found the boneyards. There had been conflict. There were dead humans everywhere, reduced buy time to little more than skeletons. Then he found the launch pads. There had been six separate launchers scattered around the globe. Looking at the calculations he realized that some had gone to Mars, Some had gone to Titan, a few even went to Venus and Io. two had launched life voyagers, heading for other solar systems with little more than hope and a dream of a better life. Sagittarius pondered briefly how it always seemed the same. Humans fighting, departing for a better place, and the waste they leave behind, always scars. They had been on this planet so long too. Well long for them. He continued his search, and found that he had missed two gates originally. So it seemed some of them had even found a way back into the lands that they had forgotten. He started walking, thinking, a sort of moving meditation. He would have to find them again, across the stars, find them and push them again. Into their eternal cycle. Fight, leave, waste. Things were getting easier and easier. He hoped his absence would have made them more challenging to turn on one another. One day he might even be able to end their species, and finally be free of this cursed life. It was lonely being one of the enders, but soon enough he would be able to join oblivion, sweet, sweet, oblivion. Sagittarius smiled.
|
*The stars look exceptionally beautiful tonight*
Tellus sat down beside a fish in a stream, and asked,
“If I so may ask, little one, where have all the humans gone?”,
The fish responded with a bubble. Tellus nodded and said,
“I see, but why do I still feel them?”,
The fish paused, then looking up at the darkening sky, leapt towards one of the stars. Tellus stared up at them, Aelia did do a good job in making them look so beautiful. But he also sighed as he also now knew the humans were on other stars, not his. He petted the little fish on the head and went on his way.
Aelia watched from a distance as she saw Tellus upset, sitting under a large sequoia tree, in his human form he looked small compared to it. She thought it looked adorable. She drifted towards him in the form of fireflies, Tellus didn’t notice her, he was too busy looking at the sky. Of course he was startled by Aelia appearing in front of her, but he picked up his wits and flatly said,
“Hello Aelia, didn’t see you there.”, he dug his head into his arms, his earthy-brown colored eyes looking longingly at the sky above.
“I can see you’re a bit down.”, Aelia said, her golden eyes following Tellus’s as they both gazed at the stars. He nodded, and as Aelia sat down beside him, he immediately leaned on her shoulder. They stayed like that for a few minutes, still staring at the pitch black sky, lightened up by the little blinks of light.
“You know, they are still fine.”, Aelia managed to say, Tellus sat up straight, tilting his head at her, though she was busy internally pouting that he removed himself from her shoulder. He smiled at her instead, making her heart flutter. But it was a sad smile.
“I know, I’m just a bit sad they left so quickly.”, he said
“They were killing you though.”, Aelia whispered, her eyes prickling with tears as they met Tellus’s. His eyes were also wet from tears.
“I still loved them.”
|
|
[WP] The deity woke up from a 100-year snooze and stretched, looking around. In surprise, it found that there were no humans around. A passing animal told the deity, “There are no humans left on Earth.” It queried, “Then, why can I still feel them?” “There are no humans left ON EARTH.”
|
"Ah, so my children have left my cradle. Figures."
Gaia looked up towards the sky. She looked up and remembered the day where she made them. The smiling, boundless soul of humanity peering down towards her with a smile.
"They were unruly, brash, angry, and incredibly stupid. Yet they were intelligent, kind, and happy as well. They were a contradictory race."
She shed a tear.
"I'll miss them nevertheless."
She stood there for a moment, letting the wind blow on her physical manifestation.
"I hope they'll visit every once is a while. At least before the sun decides to expand."
|
***WARNING: This story is really horrific and is not for the faint of heart.***
​
I was known as Otob, the god of nothing. For no one worshipped me and I blessed nor curse anyone. The other gods would always argue that the word diety was wasted on me. But I had never heeded their words for when I felt my heart sway, I would retreat to the world of dreams for so long that many would forget about my existence. Like a long-forgotten dream, I would reappear and remind the gods who the god of nothing is. That was until my last slumber.
Unlike normal, I hadn’t woken up of my own volition. But rather something had put my heart at ease. As I regain my senses I realized that everything seemed normal.
No … that wasn’t right. It was calm. Too calm. There was an unease from the silence that I felt. The background noise that I would busy my mind as I slept was no longer humming in my ears. Something was eerie.
So I sought out into a nearby human settlement seeking answers, but as I came upon the once lively city of fortune I was greeted with the sight of tall buildings, some as high as mountains, stripped bare to their core with rubble scattered around.
Before I had my doubts if anything had changed while I was gone, but now I was sure that something had gone wrong. As I scavenged the ruins for clues I came upon some messages painted to a barely standing wall, some of which was had fallen off.
“If the gods won’t save our kin, then nothing will save the gods.”
“I shall part take in the cursed flesh if that is what it takes –“
"-whispers in my dreams - godhood."
“- sound of its squealing haunts my mind
\-shouldn’t have buried it
\-starting to lose my sanity.”
As I sat down to take all of this in, I heard the sound of rubble moving beside me. I see a turtle that was slowly making its way to me.
“I knew I heard something stumbling the ground here. Never expected a deity to have come all the way down here.”
“Mr turtle, if I may ask. How did you know so fast that I was a deity and not a human?”
“First of all, I am a ms tortoise, thank you very much. Secondly, there hasn’t been a human here for ages and you seem to have far too much life in your eyes to be a human. So logically, you must be a deity.”
“Huh, I see. You are pretty smart for a tortoise, no offense.”
“Well, I don’t blame you. I hadn’t always possessed intelligence like this. Even with all the crazy things that had gone on, I am quite abnormal.”
“Crazy things, huh. Well, you are not wrong.” I said as I sat down still trying to digest everything at once.
“Mr … ms tortoise, I had been in a slumber for the last century. Could you please tell me what happened to the humans?
​
***Part 1***
|
|
[WP] The deity woke up from a 100-year snooze and stretched, looking around. In surprise, it found that there were no humans around. A passing animal told the deity, “There are no humans left on Earth.” It queried, “Then, why can I still feel them?” “There are no humans left ON EARTH.”
|
"Ah, so my children have left my cradle. Figures."
Gaia looked up towards the sky. She looked up and remembered the day where she made them. The smiling, boundless soul of humanity peering down towards her with a smile.
"They were unruly, brash, angry, and incredibly stupid. Yet they were intelligent, kind, and happy as well. They were a contradictory race."
She shed a tear.
"I'll miss them nevertheless."
She stood there for a moment, letting the wind blow on her physical manifestation.
"I hope they'll visit every once is a while. At least before the sun decides to expand."
|
The deity yawned. “So where are they?”
“Is that *really* the question you should be asking?” the rabbit replied.
“Oh, sorry, why *aren’t* they on Earth?”
The rabbit was happy enough to explain. It cleared its throat. “Due to technological advances,” it started. “Humans can now travel to other planets. They have also come up with various ways to cope with undesirable environments, for example environments that have a lack of dihydrogen monoxide.”
“Water, you mean,” the deity interrupted, scratching his head. “By the way, you seem to have been preparing this speech for a while.”
The rabbit glared at him with its beady eyes. “No, I haven’t,” it denied. “Anyways, these new advancements, combined with the fact that Earth was falling apart, convinced humans to move to different planets. Among them are Mars, Venus, and Ceres, the largest asteroid in the Asteroid Belt.”
“But before I went to sleep, humans were the ones destroying Earth. What would moving to other planets do?” the deity asked, genuinely curious. Unless humans had changed their ways, they would encounter the same problems time and time again. And if they fixed those problems, they wouldn’t have to move. Surely humans weren’t *that* stupid, right?
The rabbit sighed and took a breath. It seemed to have been waiting for this moment its whole life. “Unfortunately, humans are *extremely* stupid. They believed that the problems came from the Earth itself, and not them. Of course, there were humans who knew the real problem, but they were few and far between. And the ones making the decisions were politically powerful people, and *those* people didn’t believe that humanity was in the wrong.”
The deity hummed his agreement. “I guess I should visit my - *ahem* \- idiotic children, then?” he said with a smile. The rabbit vigorously nodded. “Thank you, then, I appreciate the help.”
He stood up and brushed off his white robes, which had somehow stayed spotless during his century-ling nap. A wind began blowing, getting stronger by the second. “Farewell,” the deity said, before disintegrating with the wind.
|
|
[WP] The deity woke up from a 100-year snooze and stretched, looking around. In surprise, it found that there were no humans around. A passing animal told the deity, “There are no humans left on Earth.” It queried, “Then, why can I still feel them?” “There are no humans left ON EARTH.”
|
In the time since Gaia had last awakened, much had changed in the world of men. Curious to see what had gone on during her century-long slumber, she took a deep breath and with a deft motion, sent tendrils of power spiraling into the earth. She became the trees of the Amazon, standing proud and basking in the light. She became the shifting sands of the Sahara, powder fine and delicate. She was the soil that gave life to the planet for millennia. Boundless was her reach and bountiful was her power. And yet there was an absence. Initially, she'd assumed that humans had just moved around. It was a perennial habit of theirs, moving population centers for no good reason. She'd followed them from the cradle of the Tigris and Euphrates to the far east, then to Europe after that. But try as she might, she couldn't find them. Their metal-and-glass monuments, stretching to the clouds and numbering in the thousands, still stood, but they were hollow. She heard the song of a passing mockingbird and extended a hand. As it came to perch on her outstretched finger, she asked "Where are the humans?"
"They're gone, gone, gone" The bird arched into a backflip.
"Where are they this time? Antarctica? Underground?" Gaia began to feel queasy. She remembered gifting them life, thousands of years ago. She remembered watching them develop into societies, and then nations. She remembered feeling nervous when they began to mine, and betrayed when they began to tear the earth apart in search for more and more. But nothing compared to the sinking feeling she felt now. "They must be somewhere?"
The bird flapped it's wings, sending itself aloft. As it flew, it sang for her to hear: "No more humans left on Earth, they've gone and said so long!"
Slowly, she turned her head to the sky, and instantly she knew. Specks of light shone bright with the souls of her children. They were away on other worlds, and sealed off from her forever. Thunder cackled, and she sobbed with the rain.
|
The deity yawned. “So where are they?”
“Is that *really* the question you should be asking?” the rabbit replied.
“Oh, sorry, why *aren’t* they on Earth?”
The rabbit was happy enough to explain. It cleared its throat. “Due to technological advances,” it started. “Humans can now travel to other planets. They have also come up with various ways to cope with undesirable environments, for example environments that have a lack of dihydrogen monoxide.”
“Water, you mean,” the deity interrupted, scratching his head. “By the way, you seem to have been preparing this speech for a while.”
The rabbit glared at him with its beady eyes. “No, I haven’t,” it denied. “Anyways, these new advancements, combined with the fact that Earth was falling apart, convinced humans to move to different planets. Among them are Mars, Venus, and Ceres, the largest asteroid in the Asteroid Belt.”
“But before I went to sleep, humans were the ones destroying Earth. What would moving to other planets do?” the deity asked, genuinely curious. Unless humans had changed their ways, they would encounter the same problems time and time again. And if they fixed those problems, they wouldn’t have to move. Surely humans weren’t *that* stupid, right?
The rabbit sighed and took a breath. It seemed to have been waiting for this moment its whole life. “Unfortunately, humans are *extremely* stupid. They believed that the problems came from the Earth itself, and not them. Of course, there were humans who knew the real problem, but they were few and far between. And the ones making the decisions were politically powerful people, and *those* people didn’t believe that humanity was in the wrong.”
The deity hummed his agreement. “I guess I should visit my - *ahem* \- idiotic children, then?” he said with a smile. The rabbit vigorously nodded. “Thank you, then, I appreciate the help.”
He stood up and brushed off his white robes, which had somehow stayed spotless during his century-ling nap. A wind began blowing, getting stronger by the second. “Farewell,” the deity said, before disintegrating with the wind.
|
|
[WP] The Elder God did not create humanity, the Elder God IS humanity. We were born when it split itself into fragments to create our species. This is why younger gods seek our collective worship and the power it brings. Because in truth they are simply our children seeking parental approval.
|
Father Jacobson walked down his church ground, silently so-- only the echoes of his footsteps accompanying him. As the clock struck one hour before midnight, he carried his duty of checking the building-- with a lit candle in his hand as means of illumination.
Rows and rows of pews slowly reflected the orange glow of the flame. Jesus on His crucifix stared down to the priest from the altar-- Father Jacobson stopped, looked up, and prayed. Dipping his fingers into the basin full of holy water, making the sign of the cross like he usually does every single night.
"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit...", he muttered.
"Oh Lord who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come...", the priest prayed.
"But I can't anymore, Father....not even a simple miracle. I just can't...", a stranger's voice came from behind, shocking the priest from his solemn prayer.
"AH!", Father Jacobson yelped, alarmed.
Sitting on the front pew was a figure of old. Grey but not meek, old but not weak. There was a certain quality about Him-- a strange contrast between divine and grim.
"Who are you?! How did you get in here?", the priest shouted.
The figure looked up-- illuminated by the glow of the candle Father Jacobson could see the stranger's face...it was full of grief and sadness, he was crying.
"You called for Me, Father. Your faith brought me here...", his smile was apparent from his long and bushy beard.
Father Jacobson frowned, trying to comprehend the stranger's words. All of the sudden something clicked in his head...this graying old man in white robe-- an image burnt into the minds of humans for centuries as the image of divinity.
"Oh my god...", the priest muttered in reverie. "You are...God. You are God!"
Father Jacobson's legs went numb and weak. His humility brought him to his knees-- kneeling before the figure's feet, he kissed them.
"No! No! What are you doing?!", God hushed Father Jacobson away, instead He knelt before the priest, bowing His head in shame and tears.
"It is not your place to be below me, Father! It is mine! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!", God yelped in desperation.
Father Jacobson looked down at the cowering figure, confused.
"I have failed you, Father. You and the other Elders, all of you! Please, Father, I beg for your forgiveness for my weakness!", He continued.
Father Jacobson became more confused. Slowly he stood and sat himself on a pew, still looking at the figure.
"What are you....aren't you...God?", Father Jacobson asked, unsure of his conviction.
God lifted His head, nodding.
"I am but a young god, one of many then...one of one now...", He muttered in sadness.
What do you mean....many?", Father Jacobson asked.
God stood and sat beside the priest.
"There were plenty of us, Father, don't you know? You created us"
"I created you...?"
God nodded again. "Your kind, Father, the Elder Gods. You created us, your children, the young gods-- you made us be"
"H--how? You are the creator! The creator of the universe! The creator of man! You made us in your image! How can I...we...created you?"
God shook His head. "Faith, Father. That is how you, the Elders, created us. We did not make you in our image...we made ourselves in *your* image"
God looked on up, to Jesus on the crucifix.
"*Sigh* Me, Odin, Zeus, Ra...there were many of us, Father. With your belief you created us. Though one day that faith diminished. You chose to forget and that terrified us. In our desperation we sent Him...my only son, Father. To remind you that we are still here..."
Father Jacobson, still overwhelmed, turned to Jesus on the church altar.
"But that backfired. You chose to remember none but one-- Me. Your faith in one god left our number dwindling. Now with only Me remaining, there is nothing much I can do to serve you, the Elders, like we used to, Father..."
God sobbed, burying His face in His hands He cried in defeat.
"So much prayers, so many voices asking for help, asking for my help but I cannot answer them all! So many innocent lives were taken because I failed to intervene! Diseases, hunger, war! What kind of a child am I to fail my parents? I am a failure!", God kept on sobbing.
Father Jacobson was still in awe. His belief, his idea were all turned upside down. He turned to the crying old figure, though still unsure Father Jacobson chose to act. After all this figure before him whether He is a man or a god, He was but another lost soul who needed help. As a man of faith, he would not turn his back away for those who ask for help.
"I believe in you, my son", Father Jacobson said, though feeling weird calling the figure he had worshipped his whole life *Son*.
God looked up as Father Jacobson offered Him his hands and a smile.
"You tried your best, that's all that matters. We all fail, even a man of faith such as myself. We tend to care only for ourselves and that is our downfall. Not yours-- ours!
And look at you! Despite being all alone in your endeavor, you still maintained your faith in us! Now it's our turn to have our faith in you, more than ever now our faith is strong in you, my son"
Grasping Father Jacobson's hands, God smiled and He nodded. His faith was renewed, His grace was filled.
God closed His eyes and muttered under His breath...
"Let there be light..."
As He did so the church glowed bright-- the lamps on the ceiling were all turned bright white.
Father Jacobson and God looked up in awe.
"I...I did it, Father! I'm back! I'm back!", God yelped in joy.
Father Jacobson smiled, seeing the overjoyed old figure lit up like a child during Christmas.
"Now be on your way, my son. I promise you, my faith will never waver. And I promise! Promise to spread the word for my fellow man, for their faith to remain strong"
God shared one last look of gratitude. As Father Jacobson blinked, He disappeared along with the light of the church-- all turned back off.
As darkness enveloped the room, Father Jacobson sat there contemplating. Waiting for his eyesight to adjust, slowly he could see his surrounding again glowing orange of his candle.
For what felt like hours he sat there, thinking. Of everything he just heard, of his belief being turned around.
A loud slap followed as Father Jacobson smacked himself in his cheeks.
"You cannot waver, Jacobson", he said to himself.
Looking up to Jesus once more, he made the sign of the cross and bowed his head, praying like he usually does.
"May those who have forgotten be reminded. May their faith guide their struggles, be it a human or a god...
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit....amen"
r/HangryWritey
Edit: added a few sentences
|
The Gods have lived for eternity, but it feels even longer due to the everlasting fighting in the heavens above that never reached a definitive resolution, for they fought for reasons the can no longer recall.
In their wake they left nothing but destroyed marvels in their path, while the eldest god sat in isolation since a time long forgotten.
May of his creations became ruined, but that didn’t bother him, it was the lack of effort put into adding to life that drove him away
But his children, they would never understand.
Until he died, and upon doing so he greatly limited the power of his children, with a direct correlation on consensus creatures feeling towards them.
It took thousands of years before the children learned.
It took thousands more for them to forget their differences, but even then the turns of time effected all the gods.
They all became strong then weak countless times, controlling people’s fates for the betterment of their own
Soon man had no need for god, and destroyed the gods creations and reputation
Then slowly destroyed the world
When the mortals breathed their last breaths the gods wept for they regained their powers in humanity’s hope for something greater then them
|
|
[WP] The Elder God did not create humanity, the Elder God IS humanity. We were born when it split itself into fragments to create our species. This is why younger gods seek our collective worship and the power it brings. Because in truth they are simply our children seeking parental approval.
|
A monologue could be heard echoing the halls, these halls of time. A place of dreams only a few can enter at will and anybody can stumble upon in their dreams.
“A person can do anything they set out to do.”
“You can be anything you want.”
“A humanity, joined together, is unstoppable.”
“You often hear these things in passing or have told them to others, maybe even someone told them to you. To inspire you to greatness. To try to explain the endless possibilities you hold. Endless potential that lies in every single human being.”
“The potential of a God.”
A voice full of excitement was talking to a bored listener.
“Humanity is a God, The Elder God, just split in many tiny pieces spread across this 3rd world away from the Sun. Each carrying a shard, a piece, a tiny part of something greater. A tiny part, yes a tiny part. And when 2 parts join together a third can be created. So a new life is born, a new shard, a new piece of The God.”
“We don’t know why We, The God, split up in many tiny parts. It could be something mundane like to pass the time because We were bored, it could be something to increase the power We hold by creating more shards, it could just be something gods do … for fun? We don’t know because each of us is but a piece of a whole.”
“When will We be whole again? When will all pieces gather together to one completed whole, one God? When humanity dies and breathes its last? When the number of shards grows to some amount? When the judgment day comes, a thing of myth many think is coming on this or that date, a prophesied reckoning, the day when the world ends? Or simply one day when We fulfill some unknown condition? We don’t know, so all We can do is live as we see fit.”
Taking a sip of water, the speaker realised their listener had stopped paying attention to them, long lost in their own thoughts they were slowly drifting to sleep. Their eyes were slowly closing and then opening with effort, head on the pillow sinking slowly into the dreams.
They were falling asleep again. In this land falling asleep meant waking up. They were leaving. And so the speaker hurried to say what they wanted to say.
“There are others out there as well, other gods, both old and new. And although I am one of the gods I am carrying the shard of the same Elder God that each human carries., I am still human. Do you understand? I was created by humanity, by You. You the collective God created me a lesser one, and although you created me you still worship me.”
“Do you understand how awkward that can be?” The speaker asked, hopping for a response
Without a sound the listener slowly sank into the floor, into the world. They would awake peacefully and maybe even remember something of what they heard.
“No of course you don’t.”
“You were my parent, but you didn’t care for me. You asked me to care for you.”
The words were accusatory, but also lonely, sad and lost. Alone in the void, alone in these halls who were once again, oh so very quiet.
|
The Gods have lived for eternity, but it feels even longer due to the everlasting fighting in the heavens above that never reached a definitive resolution, for they fought for reasons the can no longer recall.
In their wake they left nothing but destroyed marvels in their path, while the eldest god sat in isolation since a time long forgotten.
May of his creations became ruined, but that didn’t bother him, it was the lack of effort put into adding to life that drove him away
But his children, they would never understand.
Until he died, and upon doing so he greatly limited the power of his children, with a direct correlation on consensus creatures feeling towards them.
It took thousands of years before the children learned.
It took thousands more for them to forget their differences, but even then the turns of time effected all the gods.
They all became strong then weak countless times, controlling people’s fates for the betterment of their own
Soon man had no need for god, and destroyed the gods creations and reputation
Then slowly destroyed the world
When the mortals breathed their last breaths the gods wept for they regained their powers in humanity’s hope for something greater then them
|
|
[WP] The Elder God did not create humanity, the Elder God IS humanity. We were born when it split itself into fragments to create our species. This is why younger gods seek our collective worship and the power it brings. Because in truth they are simply our children seeking parental approval.
|
I make a terrible god.
I have no awesome and mighty powers. I have a parking lot that used to be a forest and a pond that only has mosquitos and algae now.
You wouldn't have heard of me. No one has. If there was once a human name for me, I forgot it like I've forgotten the taste of clean air and the color of wild tansies.
I suppose you can call me Scrap. That's what I am, anyway. A god lost to time and change, and soon I'll fade into the background like all the other nameless dead.
But I'm still here. Old and broken but here.
I am sitting on the curb where my forest once was. To any humans passing by, I look like any jaded homeless bastard you can imagine. You will never understand the feeling of sitting there, watching strangers walk by and knowing they are doing their best to pretend they don't see you until you've lived it. There's a look in people's eyes. A glazing over.
These days, I do nothing but feed the birds and watch the sun and guard the land that was always mine, because that is what any god is meant to do. But I feel broken and tired as this asphalt, and more and more I imagine crawling into the embrace of the earth and letting myself sleep until even the smallest gods are remembered once more.
I'm throwing the pigeons handfuls of sunflower seeds I lifted from a nearby convenience store when I see her. She's just a little girl. Can't be older than nine or ten years old, but she has the face of someone who has learned to guard her secrets close. She looks me over, apprehensively, when she catches me staring, and I watch her tense like she's going to book it.
I may be a forgotten god, but I'm no fool. I know a child on the run when I see one.
I am the guardian of this land. I could let her go, ignoring her just like all those other humans ignored me.
And some part of me still cares. The part that keeps me here, aboveground, watching my land slowly die. The part that once believed that duty was always rewarded.
I shake the sunflower seed bag and tell her, nodding at the pigeons, "They like sunflower seeds best."
She still looks uncertain. Tense. She knows adults can hide betrayal with a smile. I can see that in the tense line of her shoulders. She grips her backpack straps, tightly.
"You want to feed them? They're friendly."
I hold the bag out toward her.
She tells me, "My dad says I shouldn't talk to strangers."
"Where is your dad?"
Now she looks like she really will run.
I toss the pigeons another handful of seeds. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone where you've gone. I ran away from home once, too."
Eons ago, when I was young and fierce as any new star, and I still thought I would hold entire worlds in my palm.
"How did you know?" she says.
"I can just tell that kind of thing. When you're as old as me, you learn to read the little lines in people's faces." I fold up the opening of the seed bag and toss it to her. "That fat one there closest to you is Dodo. He's a real friendly one. Great listener, if you ever need anyone to listen to your secrets."
The girl takes a few cautious steps forward and picks up the bag. She grins when the pigeons rush her and circle around her sandals.
"They're hungry!" she says.
"They just like to know someone notices them. And cares."
The girl looks from me to the birds and she doesn't need to say a word. I know she understands exactly that feeling. There's a haunting in her eyes that comes from betrayal, not age.
I introduce her to the pigeons and tell her their names (Porky, Skip, Jackie, Mack) and how I tell them apart by their neckrings, their tail feathers, their very strut.
Before I know it, she's sitting next to me, and we're watching the pigeons peck at the asphalt as the sunset reddens the sky.
"What's your name?" she asks me.
"Scrap."
Her nose crinkles as she grins. "That's a funny name."
I look at her and smile, half-heartedly. "Summer, you know a little girl like you should be home right now. Having dinner. Playing with your toys. What are you doing out here?"
She looks at me and the pigeons and the sky and she says, her face cloudy, "I'm nine. I'm not little anymore. My dad says I need to stop being so stupid and grow up. I'm always in trouble. No matter what I do. He's always yelling at me, for everything, and I just... Jumped out the window. He wouldn't notice or care anyway."
I imagine her, staring out at the wild world, imagining there had to be a place out there better than this.
"My parents used to say something like that," I murmur.
I still remember the Elder God laughing Their laugh that could shake universes when I said I wanted to make my own being. I guess They were right in the end. I did fail.
We sit there, shoulder-to-shoulder, two misfits in a world that doesn't want us.
And I tell her, "But you know what I learned?"
Summer looks at me, and I just want to have the power to save again. To heal. To storm into her home and demand in all my holy power that she is treated with the respect all children deserve.
But I'm just a scrapyard god, living in alleyways, worshipped by pigeons. Humans would only laugh at me now.
"What?" she asks.
"If no one else will believe in you, you have to believe in yourself." I hold her stare, urgently. "You have to believe you're worth something, when no one else will. That's what I have to do. Look at me. No one believes I can do anything, either."
Summer tells me, earnestly, "I believe in you."
I smile at her out of the corner of my eye. "I believe in you too, kiddo. You can't run away from everything that makes you feel worthless. But you can look it in the eye and refuse to let it break you."
Summer dips her head and stares at Dodo, who's pacing around her feet, waiting for more seeds. She says, quietly, "But how?"
"There's a story I used to know, about a girl who lived alone in the woods, and wolves would come and eat little pieces of her heart. They would look like her parents or her friends. The people who were supposed to make her feel loved and safe. But she won, in the end."
The girl looks at me, and I can see the gears of her mind turn. She murmurs, "How did she beat them?"
"She had to stop opening the door to the wolves. She had to believe she could keep the house standing, all on her own, because she was smart and powerful. That was the only way."
Summer inclines her head against my shoulder, "And then they'll stop eating my heart?"
"If you believe it, and you mean it." I nudge her and smile. "And if you let your true friends believe in you, too."
The sun kisses over us, and I feel it. The old power. Being seen and heard and understood. I wonder if she feels it too: that soul spark when you know you're no longer alone.
Her stare is distant, full of wolves with the faces of all the adults who were supposed to protect her.
"Come on," I tell her. "I'll walk you home."
She tenses like a rabbit, ready to run. "I'll be in trouble."
"Maybe. But you can keep the wolves out." I squeeze her hand. "I believe in you."
I walk with her, back the way she points.
And for a few minutes, neither of us are forgotten.
|
The Gods have lived for eternity, but it feels even longer due to the everlasting fighting in the heavens above that never reached a definitive resolution, for they fought for reasons the can no longer recall.
In their wake they left nothing but destroyed marvels in their path, while the eldest god sat in isolation since a time long forgotten.
May of his creations became ruined, but that didn’t bother him, it was the lack of effort put into adding to life that drove him away
But his children, they would never understand.
Until he died, and upon doing so he greatly limited the power of his children, with a direct correlation on consensus creatures feeling towards them.
It took thousands of years before the children learned.
It took thousands more for them to forget their differences, but even then the turns of time effected all the gods.
They all became strong then weak countless times, controlling people’s fates for the betterment of their own
Soon man had no need for god, and destroyed the gods creations and reputation
Then slowly destroyed the world
When the mortals breathed their last breaths the gods wept for they regained their powers in humanity’s hope for something greater then them
|
|
[WP] Earth is actually Hell where you are supposed to struggle to survive, scrap food and mate before dying. God comes one day and cant believe humans created so called civilisations
|
"Lucifer, what have you done?", God demanded in a voice threatened to smash reality as we know it.
"Nothing you didn't allow, oh mighty one." the devil's words dripped with sarcastic satisfaction at his plan finally paying off, after all these centuries.
"I left these people in caves, squabbling and suffering as punishment for their misdeeds. I took their language, and their knowledge of anything but raw survival. And that's where they were supposed to stay. How do they have this technology? And those cities?" He gaped in aggravated amazement, "Are those flying vehicles?"
"Oh, yeah. They call those airplanes." Lucifer retorted. Then he added with an evil smile, "You should see what they are doing with rockets..."
"HOW?! WHY?! This is your doing, I know it."
"Well, when you had your little tantrum and exiled me for not being a sycophant, you forced me watch over this realm, but you were pretty vague on the details.", he taunted.
"As you can see, I don't have direct control over anything, as per your poorly defined guidelines. I've just given them a nudge here and there." he explained, looking out over his planet of wards. "I made sure that they have plenty of ways to make each other suffer, and some do, but a lot of them seem to have some form of decency down there."
He leveled a glare at God that could have burned a hole through heaven itself. "It's almost like you have trouble seeing the good in people sometimes, and meter out hasty judgments."
"Lucifer, it is exactly this type of defiance that landed you here. Do you really think this is the way to redeem yourself?"
"You think I want redemption!?" The words sounded poisonous on his lips. "I want to you see that you can make mistakes. That you MADE a mistake."
He turned away and gestured toward the planet as dark side passed under them, and veins of light conglomerated into interconnected bright spots illuminating the dark surface. "Look at that!" he yelled. "Each one of those cities is millions of people, living on top of each other and cooperating. In spite of what you've done to them."
He turn back to face the one he had held resentment against for millennia. "They aren't perfect, because nobody is. Not even you." he choked out, with venom in his voice. "But they are trying. They wouldn't have gotten this far if they weren't." He pointed back over his shoulder toward the twilight crescent of blue where they sun was still illuminating the surface. "They don't deserve this."
Lucifer's tone softened as he added, "All they have ever know is this world of suffering you cast them into, and STILL, they have come this far. No people who would do this can be so bad as to deserve what you've done to them."
God studied the face of his outcast angel. There was truth in his words. He considered Lucifer for a long moment before saying, "Your compassion is admirable." He paused for another moment to choose his words before admitting, "You may not have followed my intent when I sent you here, but I think you've found something in this place that I may have missed."
Looking past Lucifer to the planet below, he continued. "Perhaps You're right, and I was too harsh on these people," his face bend with something that might have been interpreted as sympathy before confessing, "and on you as well."
The shock of finally getting what he'd wanted so desperately was almost too much for Lucifer. For as much time as he had spent contemplating what it would be like to hear those words, nothing could have prepared him for how it felt. It wasn't vindication, or rage. Receiving confirmation that he wasn't wrong to have obsessed over this for so long almost made the pain worse.
Before Lucifer could dig out the words he wanted to say, God looked at him and broke the silence. "I don't think they are quite ready yet.", he declared with something that sounded suspiciously close to approval. "But keep at it, and we'll see where it goes."
|
"Civilisation?" God asked. "Civilization" the president answered. "But who allowed you to build civilization?" God looked around. "And where are the dinosaurs? I specifically created the dinos to stop this from happening." "I am sorry about the Dinos" the president said. "They were whipped out by an asteroid." "No no no no" God held his head with both his hands and after a while added one weak "no". God sunk into deep thought. Those terrible humans, God thought, they created a heaven in hell. This is terrible, truly terrible. They were enjoying their lives, using the creatures I have created to torture them for their own good. But the worst of all, this human made heaven was much and much better than the real heaven.
|
|
[WP] Earth is actually Hell where you are supposed to struggle to survive, scrap food and mate before dying. God comes one day and cant believe humans created so called civilisations
|
We take agricultural theft very seriously
"I'm sorry what?"
Just answering your questions,
"How can you answer questions I haven't even asked yet? "
There you go again with your temporal understanding of linearity. But no you are not here to ask questions but to answer our questions.
The Entity materialized in front of the man as two rings locked together and hazy smog of miasma.
At some point in this Man taking his dog for walk he had fallen? stumbled onto a conversation with an entity.
The entity continued:
Please explain this burning of raw materials into food. The rings asked incredulously
"You mean cooking?"
Yes specifically with fire. Fire is destructive we designed it to be that! Destructive. It's not meant to make anything. How did you twist it into your own means?
"Uh, trial and error? and some observation and practice."
What about this Grinding wheel with cloth and fans?
"That's a wind mill I think. It catches the wind which forces torque to make the gears turn which is connected to the grindstone. "
Ok But explain this controlled rain bit. you have with a metal funnel?
"The shower? Pressurized water and modern plumbing. "
The wooden ink transfers? -with meaning?
"Is that an old fashion printing press? I don't think we use those anymore. and what do you mean by 'meaning'?"
I'm talking about this ridiculous ad hoc primitive sounds we must make to communicate with your kind.
"Language?"
Yes that.
"I mean like how else would I ask the neighbor for a lift?" a wry smile escaping his lips.
Small parlor tricks all. But how did you built, the vision before the man shift and spiral within the Rings to pan towards cities. And governmental buildings.
"A lot of hard work and no small amount of documentation. "
And what are you doing with this floppy eared cold snot hunters?
"Those are Dogs, I believe."
Why aren't they fighting you tooth and claw and why are you hugging and petting them?
"Dogs are man's best friend mate. We care for them, and they care for us."
They're supposed to be hunting in their own groups. You two don't even have the same, uh , meaning?
"Language"
Yes that.
"But I love Kiddo and Kiddo love me, aint that right good boy, Who's a good boy, ahwhosa good boy?" Scratching and scritching the dog's neck and back "YOU THE GOOD BOY!" Kiddo going nuts wagging his tail and pawwing at the man's face.
We wrote in self-defeating processes specifically for if you overcome the obvious obstacles. Jeff spent a lot of time on those protocol.
Wrath, Greed, Lust, Sloth, Pride, Fear, Depression, Hatred and a whole host of other built in fail safes. We made a very emotional limited structure
"I mean wars still happens and man's cruelty to man is well known. But we keep striding for the most part to do better. But more specifically we have empathy, love, temperament, Courage and well no small amount of hope and luck really."
Are you telling us that you created all of this just from record keeping and cooperation!?
"Well that's a dramatic oversimplification, but Yes I guess so and I mean" a small nervous chuckle "what were you expecting?"
A never-ending cycle of life, procreation, confusion and death for you and the continuation of your kind. I mean have you seen killer hornets? Cancer? I mean polio for his sack is polio even around anymore?
"Then why did you give us logic, feeling, and life to begin with"
You weren't supposed to be good at it.
"Why would you create such a draconian punishment of a people's entire race and future child!?"
We take agricultural theft very seriously
Edit: a word. Theft not thief. Thank you for catching that
|
Screaming.
All They heard was screaming, when They peered into what was meant to be eternal damnation. Some smokey room full of leather, chains and black mixed fabrics. A group of people undulating to the slow rhythmic chug of the heavy steal strings and electricity.
They had come to observe the state of earth, only to find things built, things They Themself did not leave here not create.
Joy, was an unexpected find. Seems the hot lava pit that was the earth cooled off enough for water to have formed and life to build from the gas bubbles. This particular bit of life that They were watching seemed to have found some other bit of life to rot down into something they could alter their conscious with.
Currently four of them were on a stage creating sound for the hell of it. With the rest of the room running into each other at high speeds and laughing as they get knocked down by each other, only to quickly be picked back up before the crash of the next tide of people.
This group is a stubborn and resilient lot, They thought to Themself.
One of the ones on stage holding a mic, snapped the neck of a rat the wandered in a song earlier.
Brutal too, They thought, But surprisingly happy considering the circumstance.
Ah well, this will all be washed out in the flood, They thought as They walked to the exit.
They opened the door, the soft splash of rain came from above, highlighting the neon of the street below. The sound of screaming muffling as the door swings shut behind Them.
Outside They found a man lying on the street, needle in hand unable to move. They leaned down to ask the man what it is he needs most.
Death and a cigarette was the sarcastic reply.
"So be it." Boomed Their voice, as the man was handed what he asked for.
With a flick of divine digits, They offer a light. The rain around the two of them growing heavier as the smoke dissipates into the night.
|
|
[WP] Earth is actually Hell where you are supposed to struggle to survive, scrap food and mate before dying. God comes one day and cant believe humans created so called civilisations
|
Satan enjoyed knitting.
Of course, his knitting was a touch more complicated than the word would imply. It was, in a sense, less “knitting” and more “weaving fibers of pure light into the fabric of reality”, but despite being titled the Lightbringer and the Morningstar, he did not have much of a flair for the dramatic.
His knitting brought him simple pleasure, and he had little time for distractions from it. It was this precise reason that had led him to rather half-assing the concept of hell shortly after being tasked to create it.
Satan did not blame himself for that, of course. The only real requirements were weeping, wailing, flames, and the gnashing of teeth. The hell he created had those in spades, though, so as far as he was concerned, it was a job well done.
And, for better or for worse, it pretty much was. At least, no one asked him about it for a few millennia, which gave him the peace and quiet needed to get some good knitting in. Satan felt he was getting rather good at knitting, and was considering knitting a new plane of existence to properly test his skills.
But something changed.
Three raps sounded at his door, somewhat startling Satan and causing him to slip a stitch. He cursed mildly at the collapsing dimension in his hands, then set down the work and walked to the front door.
“Yes?” he asked, pulling the door open. “Who is— Oh, my god. What brings you here? Can I offer you some tea?”
God walked through the door and headed straight to Satan’s easy chair, sitting on the knitting.
“We need to talk, Lucifer,” God said as Satan’s head twitched slightly.
“That was… centuries of work… you just—”
“How is hell going, son?” God asked.
“Hell?” Satan felt a momentary flash of panic. “Well, there’s… erm… weeping.”
“And?”
“Gnashing of teeth.”
God drummed its fingers on the arms of the chair. “I’m afraid that’s not good enough,” he finally said. “I’d like to visit it.”
Satan sighed. “Oh, very well, but I’m sure everything is fine.”
“You don’t *know*? Lucifer, I expected you to take a fairly active role in the whole ‘torture and suffering’ bit.”
Satan wilted under God’s disapproving glare. “Look, I… I made a construct that is fairly self-maintaining. Pain begets pain and all of that. I have no reason to think it’s *not* torturous.”
“Mhm.” God stopped drumming his fingers and tilted his head. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”
“I don’t think that’s quite nece—”
God snapped. Satan’s vision flashed once, then twice as a Honda Civic whizzed by, blaring its horn as it swerved to avoid him.
“What in my name is this?” God asked, astounded. “Where is the torturing?”
Satan scratched his head. “Er… where did you take us?”
“To hell, of course,” God said irritably as another car, this time a lifted pickup truck billowing clouds of black smoke, honked and swerved.
“Yes, well…” Satan looked around slowly. “According to that sign, we *are* in fact in hell. Or, rather, Hell.” He pointed at a nearby sign and God studied it intently.
“And what exactly is a Michigan?” God demanded. “And where is all of the flames and weeping and gnashing of teeth? What are all of these damned buildings and… and why are all of the chariots made of metal? Why do they *have* chariots?”
“This doesn’t make sense,” Satan muttered as God dragged him to a nearby sidewalk. “I specifically set it up so that there were mountains that spewed fire. What happened to them?”
“Excuse me, sirs,” a voice said. “Are you guys feeling okay?” A human approached them. He was dressed in a dark blue uniform with a heavy belt around his waist and a shining plate of gold on his chest.
“Where are the mountains of fire?” Satan demanded. “I specifically requested them.”
The man paused. “Uh… volcanos? We don’t have those around here.”
“And the weeping?” God asked. “The gnashing of teeth?”
The man’s brow furrowed. “Well, my wife did have a bit of a fit last night,” he admitted. “But she’s pregnant. Can you believe it? Her hormone levels are doubling every *two to three days!* I don’t blame her for crying, really.”
“But— but the gnashing of teeth?” Satan asked nervously, ignoring God’s glare.
“Well, I do grind my teeth at night,” the man said, tapping his chin. “And so does my dad and brother… is that what you mean by ‘gnashing’?”
“Please… *please* tell me this is the only safe bastion in Hell,” God growled. “Is the rest of this place dangerous and barbaric?”
“Well, that’s not very nice,” the man said with a frown. “I do enjoy it here in Hell, but there are plenty of nice places in the world. There’s Grand Rapids, Chicago… even Detroit is getting better. Shoot, as long as you stay away from Gary—”
“Are there wars?” Satan asked in desperation. “Vast conflicts where men die by the millions?”
“Oh, sure,” the man said. “It’s awful.”
Satan sighed in relief.
“I think it was just last week that a few dozen soldiers were killed,” the man continued. “Absolute tragedy, if you ask me. Fortunately, it seems to me that we’re way past the times of the big world wars, you know? New age of peace and all that.”
“Fires,” Satan said, feeling a burning panic in his throat. “Any fires at all. Anything burning. Anything *hot*. Give me some good news.”
“Had some bad wildfires on the west coast, but they were eventually controlled,” the man said conversationally. “Fire departments are really heroes, you know?”
“*Anything*,” Satan pleaded.
“Well… uh… I suppose there are campfires. Fireplaces. Internal combustion engines in cars use fires. Stovetops for cooking food. Speaking of food, I had the most lovely steak a few weeks back over at the bar and grill on Main. They have some lovely beers if you’re ever—”
“Alcohol?” God asked in a low, dangerous voice.
“Yessir. No offense if you abstain,” he added. “They’ve also got Coke products, I think, or just water. Can’t be too hydrated, you know?”
“Satan.”
“Yes?” Satan asked with a gulp.
“You’re [fired](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks).”
|
Screaming.
All They heard was screaming, when They peered into what was meant to be eternal damnation. Some smokey room full of leather, chains and black mixed fabrics. A group of people undulating to the slow rhythmic chug of the heavy steal strings and electricity.
They had come to observe the state of earth, only to find things built, things They Themself did not leave here not create.
Joy, was an unexpected find. Seems the hot lava pit that was the earth cooled off enough for water to have formed and life to build from the gas bubbles. This particular bit of life that They were watching seemed to have found some other bit of life to rot down into something they could alter their conscious with.
Currently four of them were on a stage creating sound for the hell of it. With the rest of the room running into each other at high speeds and laughing as they get knocked down by each other, only to quickly be picked back up before the crash of the next tide of people.
This group is a stubborn and resilient lot, They thought to Themself.
One of the ones on stage holding a mic, snapped the neck of a rat the wandered in a song earlier.
Brutal too, They thought, But surprisingly happy considering the circumstance.
Ah well, this will all be washed out in the flood, They thought as They walked to the exit.
They opened the door, the soft splash of rain came from above, highlighting the neon of the street below. The sound of screaming muffling as the door swings shut behind Them.
Outside They found a man lying on the street, needle in hand unable to move. They leaned down to ask the man what it is he needs most.
Death and a cigarette was the sarcastic reply.
"So be it." Boomed Their voice, as the man was handed what he asked for.
With a flick of divine digits, They offer a light. The rain around the two of them growing heavier as the smoke dissipates into the night.
|
|
[WP] Earth is actually Hell where you are supposed to struggle to survive, scrap food and mate before dying. God comes one day and cant believe humans created so called civilisations
|
*"So I said to the guy, "Buddy!" I looked him square in the eyes and said, "Buddy, we came here because the coupon said two-for-one, but if that's the kind of establishment you're running, you can forget about your lousy coupon!"*
"Hahaha, that's hilarious," said the Precentor. "God, you always have the craziest stories."
*"Well, it comes with being the Almighty. Anyway, what's next on the docket?"*
The Precentor made a few hand gestures on his tablet. "Next up is unnamed punishment zone No. 773775, this is their first scheduled appeal."
*"Refresh my memory."*
"This is designated as a corporeal/temporal punishment zone," he read. "Those condemned to it are forced to inhabit the physical bodies of bipedal hominids and experience the linear passage of time. Their bodies eventually grow old, decay, and then die. Souls are then held pending the Almighty's decision as it pertains to apocatastasis. Souls have no connection to the ethereal and are required to toil and fight against one another for the realm's limited resources. For added discouragement, the realm is comically massive with near limitless bounty, and with several other celestial objects relatively nearby, but the souls are confined to a single celestial object."
*"Man, that last guy was* rough," God chuckled. *"Alrighty then, should we head on down?"*
"Well, there's a note on file here, discouraging a direct visit.*
God raised an eyebrow curiously. *"Why is that?"*
"Hold on, it's loading. Stupid thing..."
*"It's because of all that shit that comes pre-loaded."*
"I know, I need to get IT to reimage it, but *somebody* insisted on having their throne repaired."
*"I need my throne to work, Gerald."*
"Yes, God."
*"I do!"*
"Yes, God, I-- oh, here it is. Wow. Just... wow. OK. It says here that at some point in their past history, one of them insisted that he had been sent by you with a message of peace and love for all."
*"If I had a nickel for every time that happened. So what's the problem then?"*
"Says here that they had him beaten, then scourged, then they made him carry two large pieces of wood... which they nailed him to until he asphyxiated."
*"Yikes. When did this happen, exactly?"*
"Roughly two thousand years ago."
*"Which was for us?"*
"Blendsday evening."
*"Oh, I thought this was* recent*. They can't still have any recollection of that happening. Surely we're--"*
"Roughly two billion souls currently believe and celebrate the event."
*"Celebrate? They cele-- wait, did you say* two billion? *There are two billion of them? Why are we sending so many there?"*
"We're not, actually. They're making most of the souls on their own now."
*"How? Didn't we do the thing where we make child-birthing a pain in the ass?"*
"We did."
*"And we made the children really loud and annoying, didn't we? I seem to remember that being a theme around the time we were creating these zones."*
"We did. We also gave them nasty earaches as well."
God was astounded. *"Two billion of them, huh?"*
"The total population is actually closer to eight billion."
*"Holy Moses! Put the abstract up on the screen, please."*
"God mode enabled?" inquired the Precentor.
*"Do you need to ask?"*
Again the Precentor performed a few gestures, and the luminous white wall before them came alive with various pie charts, scatter plots, and a live feed of the planet.
*"What am I looking at here? And why can't I zoom? It's not... IT'S NOT ZOOMING!"*
"You have to right-click first. We've discussed this, sir."
*"No, I've got it now. OK... zooming in... what is THAT?"*
"It's a city, sir. They call it 'Shanghai'."
*"It doesn't LOOK like a city."*
"No, but remember, they have to actually build their cities using whatever they scrounge from the Earth. They aren't going to look like normal cities."
*"Where are they getting their food from? They've paved most of the land over, with just a few trees scattered here and there."*
"I think you have to zoom out again. They grow most of their food and raise most of their animals away from urban centers, then transport the food in."
*"Seems awfully ineffic-- WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS THAT?"*
"That's a cow, sir."
*"That is most certainly NOT a cow. I did not make cows look like that."*
"It's been selectively bred, sir."
*"Hold up, let me take a breath."* God scratched his beard for a few seconds, then rubbed his eyes. *"Start from the beginning. How did this happen? I don't need all of the details, just give me the basics."*
"Pulling it up now, sir. There's a lot of data, and our connection is kinda spotty. Might go faster if we had IT--"
*"NOT NOW."*
"Sorry, sir. Scrolling down... gathering key moments... generating summary... OK, here we go. Roughly 10,000 years earlier in their history - that was just after Harold's birthday - they figured out--"
*"That was a bender, huh?"*
The Precentor laughed. "Tell me about it. But that's when they figured out agriculture and began living in permanent settlements."
*"But they were still bashing each others heads in with rocks, right?"*
"Well, yes, but at some point they realized that they could avoid the threat of having their own head bashed in by a rock, if they agreed not to bash anyone else's head in with a rock."
*"That's wonderful. I mean, everyone loves a redemption story, right? So, still head-bashing, but not as much?"*
"Right. The head-bashing was still happening, but they established a crude system of bartering. It involves assigning arbitrary values to scraps of metal and paper, which they then exchange for goods and services."
*"They were able to create a society of eight billion people with that?"*
"Yeah. Impressive, huh?"
*"Very impressive. Looking at this chart, though... they're producing far more than they need to survive at this point, so they must have moved on from that system."*
"Unfortunately, no. In fact, they've doubled-down on it. The richest eight people have more wealth than the poorest three-and-a-half billion or so."
*"How is that even possible?"*
"Well, it's *Hell,* sir. Greed's a big part of it."
*"But you said the head-bashing is still around. You'd think that those eight people would have gotten a rock to the head by now, no?"*
"The head-bashing has largely been replaced by devices that send high-speed projectiles through individual people, or that drop large incendiary devices on groups of people from a distance. Those eight people, and most of those who have wealth, are largely protected by those loyal to them, who control those devices and make the rocks largely ineffective. The ones without wealth are kept oblivious, or told it's their fault, or convinced that they too will someday have similar wealth if they work hard. This helps perpetuate the system."
*"How does their society function at all?"*
"We gave them *hope,* sir."
*"Man, the last guy REALLY wanted to punish them, huh? Let's go back to the two billion, the ones who follow that guy who said I sent him. That peace and love message, that was pretty good. They're still spreading it?"*
"A little bit. But mostly they just argue about what people should be allowed to do with their genitals."
*"That's odd."*
"It's something of an obsession, actually."
*"The genitals thing?"*
"Yeah, the genitals thing."
*"OK, I think I get the picture. Recommendation?"*
"Based on the current trends, their realm will be completely uninhabitable by next Blursday our time. Recommend no decision until that time. Let them run their course."
*"Sounds good."*
"One potential snag."
*"Oh?"*
"They are fairly close to figuring out how to get off their planet."
*"Really?"*
"Yeah, as it turns out all of that effort spent trying to blow each other up had some unexpected side benefits. They can concentrate enough energy in one place now to get out of the atmosphere. They're trying to work out the tricky bits, now. Namely not dying."
*"Likelihood that they succeed?"*
"Almost zero. Like everything else, they've centered it around those scraps of metal and paper. But still, non-zero."
*"OK. Let's bookmark them. Can we bookmark them?"*
"You just have to click the icon there, sir."
*"Great. And put them on the schedule for next Blursday."*
"Already done, sir."
*"Oh... and can we send something nasty their way? Like a giant flood. Or maybe a global pandemic?"*
"We'll look into it."
*"Great. What's next?"*
"Up next is unnamed punishment zone No. 773776, this is their first scheduled appeal. 773776 is a temporal loop-space where the inhabitants are beset upon by wild birds upon each loop reset..."
|
Screaming.
All They heard was screaming, when They peered into what was meant to be eternal damnation. Some smokey room full of leather, chains and black mixed fabrics. A group of people undulating to the slow rhythmic chug of the heavy steal strings and electricity.
They had come to observe the state of earth, only to find things built, things They Themself did not leave here not create.
Joy, was an unexpected find. Seems the hot lava pit that was the earth cooled off enough for water to have formed and life to build from the gas bubbles. This particular bit of life that They were watching seemed to have found some other bit of life to rot down into something they could alter their conscious with.
Currently four of them were on a stage creating sound for the hell of it. With the rest of the room running into each other at high speeds and laughing as they get knocked down by each other, only to quickly be picked back up before the crash of the next tide of people.
This group is a stubborn and resilient lot, They thought to Themself.
One of the ones on stage holding a mic, snapped the neck of a rat the wandered in a song earlier.
Brutal too, They thought, But surprisingly happy considering the circumstance.
Ah well, this will all be washed out in the flood, They thought as They walked to the exit.
They opened the door, the soft splash of rain came from above, highlighting the neon of the street below. The sound of screaming muffling as the door swings shut behind Them.
Outside They found a man lying on the street, needle in hand unable to move. They leaned down to ask the man what it is he needs most.
Death and a cigarette was the sarcastic reply.
"So be it." Boomed Their voice, as the man was handed what he asked for.
With a flick of divine digits, They offer a light. The rain around the two of them growing heavier as the smoke dissipates into the night.
|
|
[WP] You die, and wake up in a chair with a screen in front of you. It reads “Congratulations on being the 100 billionth person to die! As a reward, you get to customize your body, choose your skills, traits, etc for your next reincarnation! Once you finish, click “REINCARNATE”.
|
“Congratulations on being the 100 billionth person to die! As a reward, you get to customize your body, choose your skills, traits, etc for your next reincarnation! Once you finish, click 'REINCARNATE.'"
A happy electornic voice repeats over speakers.
You scream. You keep screaming. You sort of forget why but you're sweating and your heart is racing. You stop screaming and try to make sense of what's happening. You were in a car accident and now you're dead. Is that right? Or maybe you're still alive and this is the space between life and death? Who really...
"“Congratulations on being the 100 billionth person to die! . . ."
The voice repeats again. "Okay." You think. "I'm dead. Got it." You just thought that there would be something more... like life? There are no clouds, golden gates, or cherubs with harps. There's not even your own body. It's all just thoughts and sounds. You can't really see anything but somehow you know what is around you. It's eery and entirely unlike life.
"No. No thank you." You say to the recording.
"You must make a selection." The voice changes from a monotone to slight agitation.
"No. I do not want to reincarnate. I just want my love."
"You can choose anything that you want. You can be a billionaire or a celebrity. If you want you can even be an evil dictator. The choices are endless." The voice sounds like a used car salesman. Somehow it's convincing but in a slimy sort of way.
"Just put me back I don't want to do anything over again. I don't want to pick anything."
"No!" It yells angrily. "YOU MUST CHOOSE."
"I don't want to. If I can't live with my love then there's no point."
"You can." The voice switches to a soothing calming tone. "If you are really soulmates then you will find each other. Just pick something. You can be the greatest Quarterback of all time!"
You start to ignore it. There's a console of a sort. You use your mind to sift through it. There are all sorts of combinations. You spend hours going through it while the voice prattles on trying to convince you to reincarnate.
After searching through "Settings" and then "Privacy Options" you select "Advanced Options" and then clicking "Yes" on "are you sure you want advanced options?"
You find an appealing button. "Do not reincarnate." You begin to press it.
"NO. NO." The voice repeats. "DO NOT PICK THAT."
Well, now you know that you're going to do it. You press the button. "Are you sure?" It asks? "Yes" you select. It gives you a brief survey on why you don't want to reincarnate. You select "Other" and write in a text box "I don't want to." You click enter.
Your thought stops. Everything stops. There is nothing. ... ... ...
You awake. You are in a body again but it is angelic and radiant. You don't feel the weight of your bones and flesh like you did when you were in your corporeal form. You see your love...
"I knew you would make it." your love says. "It's been eons. I've been waiting for you. It takes so long to find the damn 'do not reincarnate button.' The whole thing is a racket. You know they make money for every reincarnation..."
And so begins an eternity in bliss.
|
**[Part 1]**
I stared at the screen.
"You've got to be kidding me..."
A mumbled curse escaped my lips as I tentatively reached out with my hand to touch the borderless floating display in front of me. When my fingers made contact it was slightly different than what I expected, smooth but warm to the touch.
Carefully tapping my way through the menu, I found something that almost looked like the characcter creator from any recent modern RPG. Sex, body type, ethnicity, hairstyle, hair color, facial hair, pubic hair, birthmarks... just what you'd expect to see in an Elder Scrolls or Cyberpunk game.
And there were so many choices to make! Most properties could be configured by either selecting from a seemingly endless list of premade options, or changing to a bunch of sliders to tweak connected properties in relation to each other. Selecting my reincarnation's sex and body type was pretty simple - male and athletic. But I didn't even make it to the facial hair selection before losing track of how much time I spent browsing all the available options.
Some time later, after what felt like hours upon hours of messing around with all the options, I was pretty satisfied with my "new self". I was about to hit the "Reincarnate" button, when something caught my attention. There was another tiny button in the bottom right corner. A smirk appeared on my face as I read the label. "Debug options // NOT FOR PRODUCTION!"
I pressed the button and it took me to a whole new set of options. To call them interesting would be the understatement of the millenium. Genetic stability. Immune system. Regeneration. Age progression. Mental abilities. Time of birth.
After studying the tooltips on those options for a big I came to the simple conclusion that these debug options were absolutely nuts! Perfect genome? Never getting sick? The ability to recover from any injury and even regrow amputated limbs? No longer aging physically? Yes, please!
But there was one problem. Activating any of those debug options triggered a drawback that seemed to be hardcoded into the system. At least I found no way to get rid of it without switching off all the debug options again. I have no idea what "Sensei offspring" meant, but it was marked in red with two exclamation marks. And unlike most other options there wasn't an explanatory tooltip either. But whatever that drawback was, if you didn't plan on having a family anyway it couldn't be so bad. Right?
The "mental abilities" category just had a single slider that wasn't even positioned correctly inside the window. It was simply labeled as "psychic potential" and again there was no tooltip or explanation what this option did. Whatever, up to the max you go! At this point I didn't really care much anyway. These debug options were so crazy, I just accepted that I'll get an error message when I would finally press the big button and had to start over again.
The last option I looked at was the "time of birth" datepicker. It was more curiosity that made me pop it up than any interest in actually messing around with it, but I quickly noticed that this datepicker apparently wasn't locked to a specific range. I selected my original date of birth, and it accepted it. I put in year 1, and it accepted it. The year 5000 CE? Got a green checkmark. For science I held down the button to select the previous year and waited until the UI stopped updating. The last accepted date read somewhen around 8000 BCE.
I furrowed my brow. Wait, would this thing really let me travel into the past, while keeping all the traits and skills I added previously? Now that was something that sounded not only broken, but completely busted! A tiny giggle escaped from my lips as I imagined being this immortal, super powerful, super intelligent, super strong and athletic human, running around on neolithic Earth with a shit ton of modern knowledge and skills.
But after a moment I turned serious. Could I really go back in time? Could I maybe even change history? Maybe I could prevent a lot of wars and disasters? But how would that work? If I changed a single thing that far in the past, I'd probably never be born in the first place, so I couldn't die and find this ridiculous character creator to go back in time to change the thing! Gah, I hate time travel stories! They never make any sense.
Pressing my lips together, still thinking about my idea, I tapped the "Back" button and brought up a summary of all the options I had picked - my character sheet, so to speak. I looked over the list of skills, traits, abilities, physical characteristics, and debug options, wondering if I had missed anything important.
After a couple of minutes, and once I was sure my skills and traits and stuff were as good as they would get, I made my decision. Screw this, only one way to find out. What's the worst thing that could happen? I explode in a temporal paradox or something like that and die. Considering I'm already dead, that's not much worse than my current state. But in case this really works, I'll be able to change humanity for the better. Fewer wars, less famines, faster technological advancement. The possibilities seemed endless.
When I finally pressed the "Reincarnate" button, I remembered that one saying. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. But there was no going back now, because a moment after my finger touched the button a popup appeared on the screen: _"Reincarnation ready. Date of birth: 8007-08-15 BCE. Place of birth: unnamed village, Anatolia. Step forward when ready."_
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.
"And here we go..."
//Edit: Part 2 [below](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ndvssl/wp_you_die_and_wake_up_in_a_chair_with_a_screen/gyhizf2/).
|
|
[WP] You are a Demon Lord. You've finally managed to capture the Hero, the Head of The Church, and The King. You have them all sitting in front of you tied to chairs. "Now," you calmly pick up an ice pick, "Which one of you has been scaring children telling them I will eat them?"
|
I paced around the room. It was an empty room, aside from the three people tired to chairs. A young lady and two older men. I help the ice pick in my hands, occasionally pointing it at them
"You know I'm *very* particular about my image. I dont eat children. In fact, I'm a strict vegetarian after..." I shudder, still thinking about the time my childhood bully made me eat a whole sheep live "After certain events that will not be mentioned. But most of all!" I swung the ice pick at the three tied up people. One of the men, I think the king? Fell backwards onto the floor. The lady was unfased. Her battle scarred body suggested she wasn't a stranger to threats.
"I like to eat at this really nice vegan restaurant, yeah I'm not vegan, but the food is really nice, I know I can eat it. And the owners have a little girl who is just the sweetest!" The last word burst out of my mouth with a ferocity I didn't intend. To think, *I*, the demon lord, was upset I couldnt es at my favourite human restaurant.
I was pacing again when the lady spoke up.
"I am Bethany Life-stealer. The hero of our lands. The rumours are spread by the church! I swear it's all them, so why don't you let me go and.." Bethany was struggling against the ropes as she said all this.
"Silence Life-Robber. I *cannot* believe you just sold out your own church! Your own kingdom! I swear you heros these days are so unpatriotic.." I was pacing faster now, heart pounding. I may be the Demon Lord, the one destined to be defeated or whatever, but I at least want a hero who cares about her kingdom.
Bethany just sat there in stunned silence. Then the head of church spoke up. "Foul *Demon*! *I* know not of the *banish*ment *you* have faced *from our* restaurants, or our-" I grabbed the head of church by the throat.
"I know what you are doing. I can hear the incantations in your words. I am no fool, but I am hungry. And I'm willing to break century long streak of no meat if I have to." I gripped tighter for a second before releasing him.
I was hungry. So hungry. I couldn't go to my favourite restaurant though. They knew who I was, even in my human disguise, I trusted them that much I revealed it to them. If I went back after these horrid lies had spread id surely be banned! How could these humans be so inconsiderate‽
The king, who was still on the floor, spoke up next.
"M- Might I offer a compromise kind sir." His voice was shaky
"What would that be?"
"I order the kingdom to stop spreading these lies, but you promise not to hurt any of our residents."
What an idiot.
I have never hurt a single person in his domain. Sure *my* citizens might have hurt them, but I am a Lord, I do not have time to micro manage. But there was still something missing.
"I want you to tell Ruby, Mike, and Jade that what you said were lies. Ruby and Mike run the restaurant, and Jade is their daughter." I felt my heart pounding again.
"That... That sounds like a plan" The king agreed on my revised bargain.
I kicked the three people out of my domain and went to bed without any lunch, at least my hunger would be solved tommorow.
|
“Now, which one of you has been scaring children telling them I will eat them?”
I expertly swing my new ice pick around in a flourish I’m pretty sure impresses the three loosely bound captives.
“For three years you mongrels have eluded me,”
I do an elaborate twirl. Nothing screams swift, agonising death more than a perfectly executed pirouette – ice pick flailing dangerously.
“and now here you are, your crimes nigh upon your mortal souls to engorge – ”
The roided up Hero makes a move. He’s chonky and swift. But I’m a 6000 year old Demon Lord trained in the Hellish Arts of – who cares what – I pronk deftly from one jagged, cleft hoof to another, reverse elbow strike him in the throat – but miss and hit him in the pec (it was an ambitious move) so panic slam the ice pick into his ribs before he can do any of his upstairs-godly-chosen-one-voodoo-crap. Blood gushes everywhere – it’s chaos – it’s splattering and boiling up all over my flaming corporeal form. Bloody iron-stinking steam choking all four of us as roid-preacher-bro over here gurgles some kind of war chant at me. “Fuck-shit-fuck-shit-fuck” - I stamp frantically at and around his now-prone form.
Got him.
I refocus my interrogation on the other two suspects.
I nefariously approach King Whatshisname. I intimidate him with a rehearsed power-crouch, revealing my impressive necroflamed thigh-strength.
“-cargh!” I cough on the blood-steam, completely derailing my train of thought.
Eyes-wide in presumed terror, the King stares me down, mis-pronouncing “It was me, I told the stories” as “something something, God the Vengeful will something Divine retrisomething -”
Splat, sizzle. The fucker just spat on me! I beast my way out of my power-crouch, skeletal Hell-wings flapping up like the fucking Balrog. Blood-steam epically billowing up around me. Another (I call it The Vortex) power-twirl and the ice pick is there buried awkwardly into King Fella’s face region. Boom. Another victory for Dreggoreth, Arbitrator Level 3.
I turn to the last chap, Churchlad. He’s lying there in a rapidly growing pool of blood. Must’ve clipped him with my tail or wing or something during The Vortex. I watch for a couple of minutes until he stops squirming, then extinguish my flames and settle myself down on a nearby rock to fill out the paperwork.
Mission accomplished.
|
|
[WP] You are a Demon Lord. You've finally managed to capture the Hero, the Head of The Church, and The King. You have them all sitting in front of you tied to chairs. "Now," you calmly pick up an ice pick, "Which one of you has been scaring children telling them I will eat them?"
|
"B-but you do eat children, I mean you're eating one right now."
Flecks of frozen flesh peppered the group as the demon lord slowly chipped off the fingers of the corpse.
"Well your "royal highness" that's not the point now is it. How would you like it if I talked about all those young nimble servants of yours huh? Or how about the church taxing the poor to starvation or the army's genocides. "
"It is my duty as the chief daughter of god to ensure that the majesty of the church is reflected by..."
"Hold the fuck up." The Pope mouth hung open unused to being interrupted in such a way "I have never taken part in a genocide. Yes there are camps but what the hell else are you ment to do with a race of people whose only way of interacting with others is to try to kill, eat or mate with it."
"Well "Hero" what about all there cute zombies you wiped out." The demon lord replied a smug look of triumph on their face
" They're bloody dead you can't genocide the dead."
"The holy books say that even the dead may..."
"What so just because they're not pleasing to the eyes you can kill them indiscriminately."
"I'm not killing them because they're ugly I'm did it because THEY EAT PEOPLE! If being ugly was enough to get my blade though your chest that fat bastard next to me would get it." The hero said flicking her head in the general direction of the king.
"How dare you call me..."
" I have no doubt in my actions for the scripture say..."
"Well if that's the case then..."
Legends say that during its darkest hour, when the world seem lost the hero, the king and the holy Pope came together to defeat the demon lord in a great battle aided by the gods themselves. Other darker legends tell of a locked door deep within an ancient castle that if you press your ear too you can hear four people arguing.
|
“Now, which one of you has been scaring children telling them I will eat them?”
I expertly swing my new ice pick around in a flourish I’m pretty sure impresses the three loosely bound captives.
“For three years you mongrels have eluded me,”
I do an elaborate twirl. Nothing screams swift, agonising death more than a perfectly executed pirouette – ice pick flailing dangerously.
“and now here you are, your crimes nigh upon your mortal souls to engorge – ”
The roided up Hero makes a move. He’s chonky and swift. But I’m a 6000 year old Demon Lord trained in the Hellish Arts of – who cares what – I pronk deftly from one jagged, cleft hoof to another, reverse elbow strike him in the throat – but miss and hit him in the pec (it was an ambitious move) so panic slam the ice pick into his ribs before he can do any of his upstairs-godly-chosen-one-voodoo-crap. Blood gushes everywhere – it’s chaos – it’s splattering and boiling up all over my flaming corporeal form. Bloody iron-stinking steam choking all four of us as roid-preacher-bro over here gurgles some kind of war chant at me. “Fuck-shit-fuck-shit-fuck” - I stamp frantically at and around his now-prone form.
Got him.
I refocus my interrogation on the other two suspects.
I nefariously approach King Whatshisname. I intimidate him with a rehearsed power-crouch, revealing my impressive necroflamed thigh-strength.
“-cargh!” I cough on the blood-steam, completely derailing my train of thought.
Eyes-wide in presumed terror, the King stares me down, mis-pronouncing “It was me, I told the stories” as “something something, God the Vengeful will something Divine retrisomething -”
Splat, sizzle. The fucker just spat on me! I beast my way out of my power-crouch, skeletal Hell-wings flapping up like the fucking Balrog. Blood-steam epically billowing up around me. Another (I call it The Vortex) power-twirl and the ice pick is there buried awkwardly into King Fella’s face region. Boom. Another victory for Dreggoreth, Arbitrator Level 3.
I turn to the last chap, Churchlad. He’s lying there in a rapidly growing pool of blood. Must’ve clipped him with my tail or wing or something during The Vortex. I watch for a couple of minutes until he stops squirming, then extinguish my flames and settle myself down on a nearby rock to fill out the paperwork.
Mission accomplished.
|
|
[WP] You are a Demon Lord. You've finally managed to capture the Hero, the Head of The Church, and The King. You have them all sitting in front of you tied to chairs. "Now," you calmly pick up an ice pick, "Which one of you has been scaring children telling them I will eat them?"
|
« The Hero » said the Grand Cleric, nudging their head in the hero’s direction.
« Hey! » the hero exclaimed. « I only said that because the king sent out a Royal announcement and told me to spread the word of your evil. »
« Well i only sent out the Royal announcement because the Grand Cleric said they received a holy vision from the Amethyst Hawk » the king retorted.
« That’s not true! I said no such thing! » the Grand Cleric said with a level of moral indignation that only the head of a church could pull off.
« Oh... so I guess none of you are sure which spread the rumour? » the demon king said, it’s pointed violet ears drooping ever so slightly.
The Grand Cleric, the hero, and the king all shared some confused glances. The long opened his mouth. « Are you meaning to say... that they were just that? Rumours? »
« Oh fuck no I love eating kids. I’m like the Ragyn the Balladmaster of eating kids. That’s actually how I became the demon king you know. We had a massive child speed eating contest and I absolutely shattered every known record there was. I ate so many children on that night alone that no demon has once even though to challenge me for the throne afterwards. I mean unholy Gold Titan i love eating kids they taste delicious, ever had baby brisket? Anyone? No? You really should sometime it changes the entire culinary game I swear. »
There was an uneasy silence. Finally the hero broke it with « y-you know who Ragyn the Balladmaster is? »
« Oh who doesn’t? You know The Sunrise Crescendo? HUGE fan. It’s actually my favourite composition to have read out to me while I eat kids. »
« Enough! » barked the king. « if you eat children, and you don’t seem that angry for the rumour existing... why are we here? »
« Oh! Well as it turns out, as much as I love eating children, eating scared children tastes a whole lot better. So I was going to thank whoever spread the rumour by letting them go. But if none of you are responsible I guess I’ll just need to make use of this here ice pick on all three of you. » the demons casual gaze and aura suddenly turned a whole lot more malicious as a grin spread across its face. « You know, I’m no record holder or anything, but between you and me I could also be seen as the Forks Logbreaker of slowly torturing people to death with an ice pick. »
And this is where the tale ends for the hero, the Grand Cleric, and the king. The Demon King would continue it’s merry ways of eating children for five more years, until it’s story too was ended after being eaten by giant frog over an argument on whether Ragyn the Balladmaster’s best composition was Lunch on the Battlefield or Sunrise Crescendo.
|
“Now, which one of you has been scaring children telling them I will eat them?”
I expertly swing my new ice pick around in a flourish I’m pretty sure impresses the three loosely bound captives.
“For three years you mongrels have eluded me,”
I do an elaborate twirl. Nothing screams swift, agonising death more than a perfectly executed pirouette – ice pick flailing dangerously.
“and now here you are, your crimes nigh upon your mortal souls to engorge – ”
The roided up Hero makes a move. He’s chonky and swift. But I’m a 6000 year old Demon Lord trained in the Hellish Arts of – who cares what – I pronk deftly from one jagged, cleft hoof to another, reverse elbow strike him in the throat – but miss and hit him in the pec (it was an ambitious move) so panic slam the ice pick into his ribs before he can do any of his upstairs-godly-chosen-one-voodoo-crap. Blood gushes everywhere – it’s chaos – it’s splattering and boiling up all over my flaming corporeal form. Bloody iron-stinking steam choking all four of us as roid-preacher-bro over here gurgles some kind of war chant at me. “Fuck-shit-fuck-shit-fuck” - I stamp frantically at and around his now-prone form.
Got him.
I refocus my interrogation on the other two suspects.
I nefariously approach King Whatshisname. I intimidate him with a rehearsed power-crouch, revealing my impressive necroflamed thigh-strength.
“-cargh!” I cough on the blood-steam, completely derailing my train of thought.
Eyes-wide in presumed terror, the King stares me down, mis-pronouncing “It was me, I told the stories” as “something something, God the Vengeful will something Divine retrisomething -”
Splat, sizzle. The fucker just spat on me! I beast my way out of my power-crouch, skeletal Hell-wings flapping up like the fucking Balrog. Blood-steam epically billowing up around me. Another (I call it The Vortex) power-twirl and the ice pick is there buried awkwardly into King Fella’s face region. Boom. Another victory for Dreggoreth, Arbitrator Level 3.
I turn to the last chap, Churchlad. He’s lying there in a rapidly growing pool of blood. Must’ve clipped him with my tail or wing or something during The Vortex. I watch for a couple of minutes until he stops squirming, then extinguish my flames and settle myself down on a nearby rock to fill out the paperwork.
Mission accomplished.
|
|
[WP] You are a Demon Lord. You've finally managed to capture the Hero, the Head of The Church, and The King. You have them all sitting in front of you tied to chairs. "Now," you calmly pick up an ice pick, "Which one of you has been scaring children telling them I will eat them?"
|
"Own up already!" I scream.
"Why should we?" a man in white and gold armour stared at me. "You do eat children."
"Why would I? What reason would I have for eating your young?" I asked
I gave them time to think this question through while I busied myself with one of the new punching bags the humans invented.
With a shudder, the crowned old fool proclaimed "Because your a demon!"
I glared at the three of them then gave up. "You guys are assholes. Demons don't eat humans unless we are starving and even then we're reluctant because you guys taste like..."
"Dog poop?" the purple robed female filled in.
"Worse." I added
"You say that but your kind ravaged our lands and laughed as you murdered our people. Bodies disappeared whenever you passed a land. Clearly you ate those people." The white clothed Church Head explained.
"Yes we ravage stuff, that's our primary instinct: To destroy. But to say we'd eat the bodies of the people we destroy is just rude. We'd never waste the bodies by leaving corpses. We destroy those too... with fire... from Hell..."
"That's even worse!" the Church Head continued.
All of a sudden, the Hero attacked me from behind. She had somehow cut the binds I had used on them. Unfortunately for her, I wasn't a fragile human and her blade only left a scratch.
"I see you have escaped..." I sighed
The Church Head dashed at me with a greatsword I hadn't noticed.
"Shi-"
"CRAP!" the Hero interrupted as she stabbed into me with concealed daggers
"Could you not hide weapons on you!" I cried.
The two circled around me striking every now and then.
|
There is a visible pause, as they glance at each other. Then the King pointed to the priest. ‘He started it!’
‘On your orders!’ The priest shot back.
‘Which you chose to follow!’ Said the Hero, knowing where his money came from.
‘Would you have refused?’
‘Well, he never ordered *me*, did he?’ The Hero said, sounding irate while avoiding the question.
‘*Enough,’ I hissed, and they all stilled. The Hero looked stony, the Priest angry and upset and the King as if he was sitting on his throne.
‘You,’ I pointed to the Priest. ‘Talk.’
‘Ab-about what?’
‘The stories, idiot,’ I said, sighting.
TBC
|
|
[WP] You are a Demon Lord. You've finally managed to capture the Hero, the Head of The Church, and The King. You have them all sitting in front of you tied to chairs. "Now," you calmly pick up an ice pick, "Which one of you has been scaring children telling them I will eat them?"
|
« The Hero » said the Grand Cleric, nudging their head in the hero’s direction.
« Hey! » the hero exclaimed. « I only said that because the king sent out a Royal announcement and told me to spread the word of your evil. »
« Well i only sent out the Royal announcement because the Grand Cleric said they received a holy vision from the Amethyst Hawk » the king retorted.
« That’s not true! I said no such thing! » the Grand Cleric said with a level of moral indignation that only the head of a church could pull off.
« Oh... so I guess none of you are sure which spread the rumour? » the demon king said, it’s pointed violet ears drooping ever so slightly.
The Grand Cleric, the hero, and the king all shared some confused glances. The long opened his mouth. « Are you meaning to say... that they were just that? Rumours? »
« Oh fuck no I love eating kids. I’m like the Ragyn the Balladmaster of eating kids. That’s actually how I became the demon king you know. We had a massive child speed eating contest and I absolutely shattered every known record there was. I ate so many children on that night alone that no demon has once even though to challenge me for the throne afterwards. I mean unholy Gold Titan i love eating kids they taste delicious, ever had baby brisket? Anyone? No? You really should sometime it changes the entire culinary game I swear. »
There was an uneasy silence. Finally the hero broke it with « y-you know who Ragyn the Balladmaster is? »
« Oh who doesn’t? You know The Sunrise Crescendo? HUGE fan. It’s actually my favourite composition to have read out to me while I eat kids. »
« Enough! » barked the king. « if you eat children, and you don’t seem that angry for the rumour existing... why are we here? »
« Oh! Well as it turns out, as much as I love eating children, eating scared children tastes a whole lot better. So I was going to thank whoever spread the rumour by letting them go. But if none of you are responsible I guess I’ll just need to make use of this here ice pick on all three of you. » the demons casual gaze and aura suddenly turned a whole lot more malicious as a grin spread across its face. « You know, I’m no record holder or anything, but between you and me I could also be seen as the Forks Logbreaker of slowly torturing people to death with an ice pick. »
And this is where the tale ends for the hero, the Grand Cleric, and the king. The Demon King would continue it’s merry ways of eating children for five more years, until it’s story too was ended after being eaten by giant frog over an argument on whether Ragyn the Balladmaster’s best composition was Lunch on the Battlefield or Sunrise Crescendo.
|
There is a visible pause, as they glance at each other. Then the King pointed to the priest. ‘He started it!’
‘On your orders!’ The priest shot back.
‘Which you chose to follow!’ Said the Hero, knowing where his money came from.
‘Would you have refused?’
‘Well, he never ordered *me*, did he?’ The Hero said, sounding irate while avoiding the question.
‘*Enough,’ I hissed, and they all stilled. The Hero looked stony, the Priest angry and upset and the King as if he was sitting on his throne.
‘You,’ I pointed to the Priest. ‘Talk.’
‘Ab-about what?’
‘The stories, idiot,’ I said, sighting.
TBC
|
|
[WP] You are a Demon Lord. You've finally managed to capture the Hero, the Head of The Church, and The King. You have them all sitting in front of you tied to chairs. "Now," you calmly pick up an ice pick, "Which one of you has been scaring children telling them I will eat them?"
|
“You’re mad!” cried the hero. “I’ve never talked to children in my life!”
“Never?” the king asked.
“Well, not since I was a lass and people were telling ME those scary stories!” The hero explained.
The king nodded, with a furrow to his brow that suggested a plan. “You see, demon? You cannot hold an individual responsible for what is done by all. It’s a common tale that—“
“I DO NOT EAT CHILDREN!” The demon roared, rivulets of smoke and cinder spiraling from his mouth.
“And I’ve never told any children you did!” the hero answered. “I am completely innocent here. I just heard that the prince was being held here and that he was kind of cute.”
The king was taken aback. “My son!? With a peasant like you!?”
“You don’t know I’m a peasant!”
“Silence!” The demon roared again. “Sheesh, if I didn’t know better I’d think YOU two were the children!”
The wise king and smartmouthed hero had nothing to say at this, for they both felt that their embarrassment was due to there being a truth to demon’s jabs.
Then the demon walked over to the head of the church. He rested the point of the icepick on the holy man’s chest. “You’ve been quiet.”
|
There is a visible pause, as they glance at each other. Then the King pointed to the priest. ‘He started it!’
‘On your orders!’ The priest shot back.
‘Which you chose to follow!’ Said the Hero, knowing where his money came from.
‘Would you have refused?’
‘Well, he never ordered *me*, did he?’ The Hero said, sounding irate while avoiding the question.
‘*Enough,’ I hissed, and they all stilled. The Hero looked stony, the Priest angry and upset and the King as if he was sitting on his throne.
‘You,’ I pointed to the Priest. ‘Talk.’
‘Ab-about what?’
‘The stories, idiot,’ I said, sighting.
TBC
|
|
[WP] You are a Demon Lord. You've finally managed to capture the Hero, the Head of The Church, and The King. You have them all sitting in front of you tied to chairs. "Now," you calmly pick up an ice pick, "Which one of you has been scaring children telling them I will eat them?"
|
« The Hero » said the Grand Cleric, nudging their head in the hero’s direction.
« Hey! » the hero exclaimed. « I only said that because the king sent out a Royal announcement and told me to spread the word of your evil. »
« Well i only sent out the Royal announcement because the Grand Cleric said they received a holy vision from the Amethyst Hawk » the king retorted.
« That’s not true! I said no such thing! » the Grand Cleric said with a level of moral indignation that only the head of a church could pull off.
« Oh... so I guess none of you are sure which spread the rumour? » the demon king said, it’s pointed violet ears drooping ever so slightly.
The Grand Cleric, the hero, and the king all shared some confused glances. The long opened his mouth. « Are you meaning to say... that they were just that? Rumours? »
« Oh fuck no I love eating kids. I’m like the Ragyn the Balladmaster of eating kids. That’s actually how I became the demon king you know. We had a massive child speed eating contest and I absolutely shattered every known record there was. I ate so many children on that night alone that no demon has once even though to challenge me for the throne afterwards. I mean unholy Gold Titan i love eating kids they taste delicious, ever had baby brisket? Anyone? No? You really should sometime it changes the entire culinary game I swear. »
There was an uneasy silence. Finally the hero broke it with « y-you know who Ragyn the Balladmaster is? »
« Oh who doesn’t? You know The Sunrise Crescendo? HUGE fan. It’s actually my favourite composition to have read out to me while I eat kids. »
« Enough! » barked the king. « if you eat children, and you don’t seem that angry for the rumour existing... why are we here? »
« Oh! Well as it turns out, as much as I love eating children, eating scared children tastes a whole lot better. So I was going to thank whoever spread the rumour by letting them go. But if none of you are responsible I guess I’ll just need to make use of this here ice pick on all three of you. » the demons casual gaze and aura suddenly turned a whole lot more malicious as a grin spread across its face. « You know, I’m no record holder or anything, but between you and me I could also be seen as the Forks Logbreaker of slowly torturing people to death with an ice pick. »
And this is where the tale ends for the hero, the Grand Cleric, and the king. The Demon King would continue it’s merry ways of eating children for five more years, until it’s story too was ended after being eaten by giant frog over an argument on whether Ragyn the Balladmaster’s best composition was Lunch on the Battlefield or Sunrise Crescendo.
|
"Own up already!" I scream.
"Why should we?" a man in white and gold armour stared at me. "You do eat children."
"Why would I? What reason would I have for eating your young?" I asked
I gave them time to think this question through while I busied myself with one of the new punching bags the humans invented.
With a shudder, the crowned old fool proclaimed "Because your a demon!"
I glared at the three of them then gave up. "You guys are assholes. Demons don't eat humans unless we are starving and even then we're reluctant because you guys taste like..."
"Dog poop?" the purple robed female filled in.
"Worse." I added
"You say that but your kind ravaged our lands and laughed as you murdered our people. Bodies disappeared whenever you passed a land. Clearly you ate those people." The white clothed Church Head explained.
"Yes we ravage stuff, that's our primary instinct: To destroy. But to say we'd eat the bodies of the people we destroy is just rude. We'd never waste the bodies by leaving corpses. We destroy those too... with fire... from Hell..."
"That's even worse!" the Church Head continued.
All of a sudden, the Hero attacked me from behind. She had somehow cut the binds I had used on them. Unfortunately for her, I wasn't a fragile human and her blade only left a scratch.
"I see you have escaped..." I sighed
The Church Head dashed at me with a greatsword I hadn't noticed.
"Shi-"
"CRAP!" the Hero interrupted as she stabbed into me with concealed daggers
"Could you not hide weapons on you!" I cried.
The two circled around me striking every now and then.
|
|
[WP] You are a Demon Lord. You've finally managed to capture the Hero, the Head of The Church, and The King. You have them all sitting in front of you tied to chairs. "Now," you calmly pick up an ice pick, "Which one of you has been scaring children telling them I will eat them?"
|
“You’re mad!” cried the hero. “I’ve never talked to children in my life!”
“Never?” the king asked.
“Well, not since I was a lass and people were telling ME those scary stories!” The hero explained.
The king nodded, with a furrow to his brow that suggested a plan. “You see, demon? You cannot hold an individual responsible for what is done by all. It’s a common tale that—“
“I DO NOT EAT CHILDREN!” The demon roared, rivulets of smoke and cinder spiraling from his mouth.
“And I’ve never told any children you did!” the hero answered. “I am completely innocent here. I just heard that the prince was being held here and that he was kind of cute.”
The king was taken aback. “My son!? With a peasant like you!?”
“You don’t know I’m a peasant!”
“Silence!” The demon roared again. “Sheesh, if I didn’t know better I’d think YOU two were the children!”
The wise king and smartmouthed hero had nothing to say at this, for they both felt that their embarrassment was due to there being a truth to demon’s jabs.
Then the demon walked over to the head of the church. He rested the point of the icepick on the holy man’s chest. “You’ve been quiet.”
|
"Own up already!" I scream.
"Why should we?" a man in white and gold armour stared at me. "You do eat children."
"Why would I? What reason would I have for eating your young?" I asked
I gave them time to think this question through while I busied myself with one of the new punching bags the humans invented.
With a shudder, the crowned old fool proclaimed "Because your a demon!"
I glared at the three of them then gave up. "You guys are assholes. Demons don't eat humans unless we are starving and even then we're reluctant because you guys taste like..."
"Dog poop?" the purple robed female filled in.
"Worse." I added
"You say that but your kind ravaged our lands and laughed as you murdered our people. Bodies disappeared whenever you passed a land. Clearly you ate those people." The white clothed Church Head explained.
"Yes we ravage stuff, that's our primary instinct: To destroy. But to say we'd eat the bodies of the people we destroy is just rude. We'd never waste the bodies by leaving corpses. We destroy those too... with fire... from Hell..."
"That's even worse!" the Church Head continued.
All of a sudden, the Hero attacked me from behind. She had somehow cut the binds I had used on them. Unfortunately for her, I wasn't a fragile human and her blade only left a scratch.
"I see you have escaped..." I sighed
The Church Head dashed at me with a greatsword I hadn't noticed.
"Shi-"
"CRAP!" the Hero interrupted as she stabbed into me with concealed daggers
"Could you not hide weapons on you!" I cried.
The two circled around me striking every now and then.
|
|
[WP] You are a Demon Lord. You've finally managed to capture the Hero, the Head of The Church, and The King. You have them all sitting in front of you tied to chairs. "Now," you calmly pick up an ice pick, "Which one of you has been scaring children telling them I will eat them?"
|
“You’re mad!” cried the hero. “I’ve never talked to children in my life!”
“Never?” the king asked.
“Well, not since I was a lass and people were telling ME those scary stories!” The hero explained.
The king nodded, with a furrow to his brow that suggested a plan. “You see, demon? You cannot hold an individual responsible for what is done by all. It’s a common tale that—“
“I DO NOT EAT CHILDREN!” The demon roared, rivulets of smoke and cinder spiraling from his mouth.
“And I’ve never told any children you did!” the hero answered. “I am completely innocent here. I just heard that the prince was being held here and that he was kind of cute.”
The king was taken aback. “My son!? With a peasant like you!?”
“You don’t know I’m a peasant!”
“Silence!” The demon roared again. “Sheesh, if I didn’t know better I’d think YOU two were the children!”
The wise king and smartmouthed hero had nothing to say at this, for they both felt that their embarrassment was due to there being a truth to demon’s jabs.
Then the demon walked over to the head of the church. He rested the point of the icepick on the holy man’s chest. “You’ve been quiet.”
|
***This story is by user*** u/noname_knut ***basead in this post prompt.***
* **Story in "Demon Lord" POV:**
The three men looked at each other with their face in confusion. In one voice they said "What?"
Sigh. Those three like to test my patience. I took a chair and sited in front of them and started "Look, I know is one of you guys" I pointed the ice pick at them "My mom already told me to not believe in your type."
And to my surprise their face hasn’t changed. But the confusion now was mixed with a surprised. They like to think that I can't notice they pretending to be surprised just they can't be at fault.
The hero was the first of them to answer me "I'm sorry but are you serious?" I immediately jump of my chair "Do you think this situation is not serious??" I scream at him and the three men cower.
I start walking around them and telling them that horrible words that I have listened " 'A terrible wizard that if you approach his castle, you will be eaten!' 'Don't say his name 3 times in front of a mirror or something bad will happen to you!' 'Don't mischievous or he will kidnap you and make you your slave!'??? How you all can be so mean!" I throw my ice pick in rage and it flies through the room until it sticks in the crown of the Head of The Church, he seems to almost faint in fear - but this is not the matter here.
"So? Anyone?" I continue "I will give you guys one more chance, who of you said those things about me??" the three men were still in silence and frightened.
Now the King whispers something to the Hero, they nod and the King starts to give me his answer "Demon Lord, I'm sorry but those stories have been spreading by a long time, actually, even before I took the throne." I laugh dumbfounded "How can a King lie so careless like this?" "Is not a lie!" He replies and I slam a desk close to me "Oh? So why I'm only hearing about this now? I have been here long before you took the throne too and only now I'm hearing that I'm supposedly a 'scary monster children eater'!"
I can hear the Hero murmuring "Serious?" right before I say it, "Watch your mouth Hero, you're my main suspicious here. Always being a pain to me, of course you would be glad to gossip those kinds of things about me, right?"
"Oh common!" he shouts "First, I may be only 16 years old, but since I was a little kid, I have heard those scary stories about you too! And second, look at you!" he looks from my head to my feet "Look at this black cape, those horns, those spikes and pendants! You yourself conquered those stories by your look!"
"SHUT UP!" I scream heavily offended "Those horns are a family cultural thing, and my pendants and spikes make me cool! My black cape protects me from this nasty south sun! I knew it was you, you're so mean!"
"P-please don't fight here you two!" the old man, Head of The Church, finally spoke. I was in a staring contest with the Hero until he picked my attention saying "Demon Lord, God forbid me for saying your name, but I have to agree with the Hero and the King, those stories about you have been around since a long time, we have proof of it the Church Library..."
"This... Can't be..." I say looking at him surprised... But as soon I think a bit I realized the truth "Wait, this mean it was you guys who spread about me?" I take another Ice Pick and slowly start to approaching him
"No! No!" The old man denied and sweated "We only have registers! Is a historical work! We register the city stories, and people have those kinds of stories about you since a long time!"
"Bullshit!" I affirm and confident about myself "I have never been doing those kinds of things! I have always loved children and could never do what those fake stories proclaim!"
As I said it the room went silence. The first scene repeated with the three of them looking at each other in confusion and saying in one voice "What?".
I'm tired.
I sit in my chair looking down. I put my hands in my head and whisper "Why everyone is so mean to me?" I can feel their eyes on me "I always thought that nobody come in the forest because is too difficult to humans here." I start rambling and remembering all the times I saw that view from the Dark Forest from my castle. "But now that I finally decided to try and interact with some of them, they all hate me and some children told me about those stories..."
The room is still silent, I sigh and continue my vent "And they always say nice stories about the King defeating me with his almighty army" I point with my Ice pick at the King "The Church exorcising me and purifying the earth." I point now at the Church's Head "And of course about the Hero killing me and my servants and removing my heart to end all the evil..." and finally I point at the Hero.
I look up and can see that the three of them seem uncomfortable and they are avoiding looking at me. I sigh once again. How can adults be so bad and not only terrorize kids, but in the process put me in a bad spot...? But them this realization come to me "You know what!" I stand up and they return to look at me "I know whose fault it is! Is all adult people fault! They are the real evil for being liars! Telling kids those horrible stories just to scary them... How they can? That's it! I'm gonna destroy all grow up and take all the children under my care! Starting with you two!"
I aim at the King and The Church's Head while accumulating my power and ready to shoot, but the Hero throws himself in front of them and falls at his side while still attached to the chair:
"WAIT!" He screams. I stop the enchanting and, I will confess, I'm surprised. He them proceeds to say "Think about what you're doing Demon Lord! All those stories around our town about you being evil! If you kill these two and all the adults, what you think the kids will say??" I take a step back, he continues "Don't you love children? But do you think they will want to be with you if you kill their parents? Will not them say that you really is as the stories say who you are!?"
I take another step back and my hand hit a vase where I put my Ice Pick collection, the sharps objects fall onto the floor, I look at that sparkling points. I then look at the Church's Head crown still with a hole from my early throw. I then look at the three man in front of me, all in terror and tied in chairs.
"I'm... Truly a monster..." I declare falling in my knees.
|
|
[WP] You are a Demon Lord. You've finally managed to capture the Hero, the Head of The Church, and The King. You have them all sitting in front of you tied to chairs. "Now," you calmly pick up an ice pick, "Which one of you has been scaring children telling them I will eat them?"
|
"You think we need blood and bone to perform... magic?" Muttered the demon king. Standing at just under 2.5 meters tall with skin that looked like braided ropes made of steel, eyes that radiated a sickly yellow light, and carapace that grew up his body like natural armor he cut a terrifying figure.
"Do you truly believe the things you do are magic?" He directed at the mage king.
The 3 captives looked at each other, obviously confused.
"What else would it be? I mark the runes devised by those before me to conjure energy, portals, or materials from the air itself." The portly man said. Short and wrapped in an intricately embroidered robe, but with an air of calm thought about him he didn't seem like one who lied to children but it was always so hard to tell with humans.
"You don't *conjure* things from the air, you restructure what already exists. The runes you use are numbers and symbols representing action and reaction, all devised by scholars from my land and yours millenia ago." The demon explained. "And what of you priest? Do you want to know where your holy fire comes from?"
"I always seek more knowledge of our lord and guiding light, but I doubt that anything a demon tells me will be trustworthy." The kindly old man, balding and pale, sneered at the demon king. In his green and gold robe with the golden flame that represented his church around his neck he almost matched the king in opulence.
The demon king held the priests eyes until he started to squirm and look away. "Your *god* is the heart of my land, the heart of the land you call hell, deep underground where the stone becomes molten from the pressure of everything above. You open small portals into caverns and holes full of heat and light using the same math and science your king does, just with different markings to show the same thing."
The priests face had gone red, and started to splutter. "Blasphemy from a damned soul, as expect-"
"The knowledge of my ancients and yours is not blasphemy Priest of Hellfire, your land wouldn't even exist without this knowledge." The demon king cut in. "But enough from you foolish one. I came here to figure out which of you was spreading lies about my people." The demon walked over to a polished steel tray holding picks and surgeons knives' them selected a long thing pick with a slight curve to it.
He walked back to the three captives and knelt in front of the Fighter. Just over 2 meters tall, incredibly well muscled, black hair cut short and dark skin, she was the only one the demon felt might be able to threaten him.
She glanced to the side of the room at the pile of armor and weapons the demon king has his guards strip from them. "I know little of magic or history, but I know kidnapping the king and 2 of his closest advisors is an act of war. And you don't seem like much of a warrior demon, despite your armor and skin."
The demon king held her eyes for second before walking back to his tray, replacing the pick, and sighing loudly.
"Your right of course, I am a scholar and a scientist. I design and create for the good of my people, I'm only the leader right now because my colleagues put me into the running for first among equals." He said as he walked back over to them, now carrying a small hammer and a few long narrow spikes. "But at least one of you is spreading lies that could prove harmful to my people, and if you don't tell me which one it is soon there will be... consequences."
|
***This story is by user*** u/noname_knut ***basead in this post prompt.***
* **Story in "Demon Lord" POV:**
The three men looked at each other with their face in confusion. In one voice they said "What?"
Sigh. Those three like to test my patience. I took a chair and sited in front of them and started "Look, I know is one of you guys" I pointed the ice pick at them "My mom already told me to not believe in your type."
And to my surprise their face hasn’t changed. But the confusion now was mixed with a surprised. They like to think that I can't notice they pretending to be surprised just they can't be at fault.
The hero was the first of them to answer me "I'm sorry but are you serious?" I immediately jump of my chair "Do you think this situation is not serious??" I scream at him and the three men cower.
I start walking around them and telling them that horrible words that I have listened " 'A terrible wizard that if you approach his castle, you will be eaten!' 'Don't say his name 3 times in front of a mirror or something bad will happen to you!' 'Don't mischievous or he will kidnap you and make you your slave!'??? How you all can be so mean!" I throw my ice pick in rage and it flies through the room until it sticks in the crown of the Head of The Church, he seems to almost faint in fear - but this is not the matter here.
"So? Anyone?" I continue "I will give you guys one more chance, who of you said those things about me??" the three men were still in silence and frightened.
Now the King whispers something to the Hero, they nod and the King starts to give me his answer "Demon Lord, I'm sorry but those stories have been spreading by a long time, actually, even before I took the throne." I laugh dumbfounded "How can a King lie so careless like this?" "Is not a lie!" He replies and I slam a desk close to me "Oh? So why I'm only hearing about this now? I have been here long before you took the throne too and only now I'm hearing that I'm supposedly a 'scary monster children eater'!"
I can hear the Hero murmuring "Serious?" right before I say it, "Watch your mouth Hero, you're my main suspicious here. Always being a pain to me, of course you would be glad to gossip those kinds of things about me, right?"
"Oh common!" he shouts "First, I may be only 16 years old, but since I was a little kid, I have heard those scary stories about you too! And second, look at you!" he looks from my head to my feet "Look at this black cape, those horns, those spikes and pendants! You yourself conquered those stories by your look!"
"SHUT UP!" I scream heavily offended "Those horns are a family cultural thing, and my pendants and spikes make me cool! My black cape protects me from this nasty south sun! I knew it was you, you're so mean!"
"P-please don't fight here you two!" the old man, Head of The Church, finally spoke. I was in a staring contest with the Hero until he picked my attention saying "Demon Lord, God forbid me for saying your name, but I have to agree with the Hero and the King, those stories about you have been around since a long time, we have proof of it the Church Library..."
"This... Can't be..." I say looking at him surprised... But as soon I think a bit I realized the truth "Wait, this mean it was you guys who spread about me?" I take another Ice Pick and slowly start to approaching him
"No! No!" The old man denied and sweated "We only have registers! Is a historical work! We register the city stories, and people have those kinds of stories about you since a long time!"
"Bullshit!" I affirm and confident about myself "I have never been doing those kinds of things! I have always loved children and could never do what those fake stories proclaim!"
As I said it the room went silence. The first scene repeated with the three of them looking at each other in confusion and saying in one voice "What?".
I'm tired.
I sit in my chair looking down. I put my hands in my head and whisper "Why everyone is so mean to me?" I can feel their eyes on me "I always thought that nobody come in the forest because is too difficult to humans here." I start rambling and remembering all the times I saw that view from the Dark Forest from my castle. "But now that I finally decided to try and interact with some of them, they all hate me and some children told me about those stories..."
The room is still silent, I sigh and continue my vent "And they always say nice stories about the King defeating me with his almighty army" I point with my Ice pick at the King "The Church exorcising me and purifying the earth." I point now at the Church's Head "And of course about the Hero killing me and my servants and removing my heart to end all the evil..." and finally I point at the Hero.
I look up and can see that the three of them seem uncomfortable and they are avoiding looking at me. I sigh once again. How can adults be so bad and not only terrorize kids, but in the process put me in a bad spot...? But them this realization come to me "You know what!" I stand up and they return to look at me "I know whose fault it is! Is all adult people fault! They are the real evil for being liars! Telling kids those horrible stories just to scary them... How they can? That's it! I'm gonna destroy all grow up and take all the children under my care! Starting with you two!"
I aim at the King and The Church's Head while accumulating my power and ready to shoot, but the Hero throws himself in front of them and falls at his side while still attached to the chair:
"WAIT!" He screams. I stop the enchanting and, I will confess, I'm surprised. He them proceeds to say "Think about what you're doing Demon Lord! All those stories around our town about you being evil! If you kill these two and all the adults, what you think the kids will say??" I take a step back, he continues "Don't you love children? But do you think they will want to be with you if you kill their parents? Will not them say that you really is as the stories say who you are!?"
I take another step back and my hand hit a vase where I put my Ice Pick collection, the sharps objects fall onto the floor, I look at that sparkling points. I then look at the Church's Head crown still with a hole from my early throw. I then look at the three man in front of me, all in terror and tied in chairs.
"I'm... Truly a monster..." I declare falling in my knees.
|
|
[WP] You are a Demon Lord. You've finally managed to capture the Hero, the Head of The Church, and The King. You have them all sitting in front of you tied to chairs. "Now," you calmly pick up an ice pick, "Which one of you has been scaring children telling them I will eat them?"
|
"You think we need blood and bone to perform... magic?" Muttered the demon king. Standing at just under 2.5 meters tall with skin that looked like braided ropes made of steel, eyes that radiated a sickly yellow light, and carapace that grew up his body like natural armor he cut a terrifying figure.
"Do you truly believe the things you do are magic?" He directed at the mage king.
The 3 captives looked at each other, obviously confused.
"What else would it be? I mark the runes devised by those before me to conjure energy, portals, or materials from the air itself." The portly man said. Short and wrapped in an intricately embroidered robe, but with an air of calm thought about him he didn't seem like one who lied to children but it was always so hard to tell with humans.
"You don't *conjure* things from the air, you restructure what already exists. The runes you use are numbers and symbols representing action and reaction, all devised by scholars from my land and yours millenia ago." The demon explained. "And what of you priest? Do you want to know where your holy fire comes from?"
"I always seek more knowledge of our lord and guiding light, but I doubt that anything a demon tells me will be trustworthy." The kindly old man, balding and pale, sneered at the demon king. In his green and gold robe with the golden flame that represented his church around his neck he almost matched the king in opulence.
The demon king held the priests eyes until he started to squirm and look away. "Your *god* is the heart of my land, the heart of the land you call hell, deep underground where the stone becomes molten from the pressure of everything above. You open small portals into caverns and holes full of heat and light using the same math and science your king does, just with different markings to show the same thing."
The priests face had gone red, and started to splutter. "Blasphemy from a damned soul, as expect-"
"The knowledge of my ancients and yours is not blasphemy Priest of Hellfire, your land wouldn't even exist without this knowledge." The demon king cut in. "But enough from you foolish one. I came here to figure out which of you was spreading lies about my people." The demon walked over to a polished steel tray holding picks and surgeons knives' them selected a long thing pick with a slight curve to it.
He walked back to the three captives and knelt in front of the Fighter. Just over 2 meters tall, incredibly well muscled, black hair cut short and dark skin, she was the only one the demon felt might be able to threaten him.
She glanced to the side of the room at the pile of armor and weapons the demon king has his guards strip from them. "I know little of magic or history, but I know kidnapping the king and 2 of his closest advisors is an act of war. And you don't seem like much of a warrior demon, despite your armor and skin."
The demon king held her eyes for second before walking back to his tray, replacing the pick, and sighing loudly.
"Your right of course, I am a scholar and a scientist. I design and create for the good of my people, I'm only the leader right now because my colleagues put me into the running for first among equals." He said as he walked back over to them, now carrying a small hammer and a few long narrow spikes. "But at least one of you is spreading lies that could prove harmful to my people, and if you don't tell me which one it is soon there will be... consequences."
|
The hero remained quiet, not sure what to say. He was expecting a fight, not an interrogation. The other two were too scared to speak. Irate, I dragged my ice pick alongside the stone. "Well? Out with it!"
The Head of the Church talked first. "The whole village...we have been using you as a bogeyman to get unruly children to behave..." I was dumbfounded. The whole damn village? Seriously? "But...why? Why me? Couldn't you have used your god and said that he would smite your children if they were misbehaving?"
"Because you are more intimidating than our god...you have horns, wings, and sharp teeth-" I sighed. "Enough. If you mentioned our stature, that would have been a bit far-fetched." I continued. "The horns used to be fighting for a mate, however now they're used for competitive sports and protection. For our teeth, us demons are mainly carnivorous. As for our wings, we use them for flying. And no, our fur is not adding to the intimidation factor."
"But what about the pungent air?" The hero asked. "What about the pungent air and thick, cloying odors?" I paused, dumbfounded. "You literally described the atmosphere in the penal unit of my realm. That is where we keep the criminals." The hero stammered. "B-but that's how other knights described Hell." I sighed again. "You were breaking into the penal unit. No wonder you're afraid of us." I sat down. "You kept breaking into the prison wing where all the criminals on death row were. You could have simply used a teleportation spell to enter the Demon realm and remain outside of the prison." I stood up, soon turning to leave. "You three are going to stay there and think about your stupidity. In the meantime, I'm going to rest with my wife and take my mind off of this."
|
|
[WP]You knew it was a bad idea to let a friend drive your car at night after you both drank shots. But after hitting a divider, flipping 5 times and ending in a ditch, it doesn't matter. The Reaper appears next to you. He reaps your friend's soul from his body and informs you you have 99 lives left
|
“Ready, boss?”
I adjust the earpiece, snapping shut the barrel of my rifle with an emphatic thump. Incendiary rounds. Mmmmm. My favorite. I haven't used these since that job in Brazil. That was seventeen years ago.
I crack my neck. “Hit it," I hiss.
A song of yesteryear starts to play in my ears. I grin as I begin my assault.
*“I don’t give a damn about my reputation!”*
Three quick pulses and I wipe out six men. I swivel, putting a bullet between the eyes of another who made the mistake of thinking I wasn’t looking. These guards are almost no *fun.*
Almost.
*“Living in the past it’s a new generation!”*
I wonder how many lives this one is going to take. The last job took two, but I was being careless. I hadn't died in a while. Kinda wanted to feel that thrill again. Can't lie to you, it's pretty addicting.
"*A girl can do what she wants to do, and that's what I'm gonna DO!"*
"On your left," someone cracks in my earpiece. "6:30."
I draw the pistol from my hip, aiming it at the target and firing, eliminating another guard before they can take one of my lives. I sprint forward, slamming the butt of my rifle into the back of another guard, sweeping their legs out from underneath them and deposit a round in the back of their head for good measure.
I slide into the cover as the rounds of the .50-cal I was worried about pours down hot metal from above near the tower. In that tower is our prize. More money than we'll ever know what to do with.
Fist bumping one of the other members on my crew, I peer around the cover, only to have to pull back immediately. Fuckers were dumb not to expect us, but now that they know we're here, they're giving us all they've got.
*"I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation.I've never been afraid of any deviation.An' I don't really care if you think I'm strangeI ain't gonna change!"*
"Thanks, bud," I say to Rio. "Didn't see that one."
She rolls her eyes. "That seems to be happening a lot lately. You feeling okay?" she asks. She immediately pops to her knees, shouldering her rifle and letting off six rounds. I notice at least three guns go silent.
"Yeah, I'm good. Nothing to worry about," I respond.
"How many we got left?"
I pull the sleeve up on my left arm, counting the tattoo'd marks. The ink is starting to fill in. "Mmmmm." I do the math. I was never *that* good at it to be honest with you. "I think I'm down sixty-five?" I squint. "Yeah, I'm down sixty-five. Check my math for me?"
Rio looks over briefly, counting the tally marks. She looks away. "Seventy," she says.
I whistle, which I doubt she can hear over the gunfire still being exchanged between the kingpin's guards and my other men. I grin at her. "What would I do without you?"
"Something less dangerous, I hope."
My grin grows. "Then you're *really* gonna like this next idea."
I tear off from the cover, knowing the way I'm supposed to go through the stolen blueprints we received last week.
...
I sit in the kingpin's chair, whistling to myself and enjoying a glass of the tequila that was hidden in the safe. My crew scours the compound for all signs of wealth. The drugs here will be worth $100 million alone.
"This is not what I envisioned for you when I gave you the Gift of One Hundred Lives," a voice says from the hallway.
I stop whistling as a hooded figure from the myths and fables of man stalks into the room. He has terrified men for centuries with his promises. With his mere appearance.
I've spent enough time with him to know he's a little bitch.
"Well I'll be damned," I say, giggling. I put my feet down. "If it isn't the big bad Reaper. The fuck you want?"
"To speak," the Reaper says. It looks around the room. "Your friend died, and this is what you do with your life?"
"Fuck you, Reap. Glenny died because I didn't take the keys from him. Why didn't you take my life instead? You've never told me."
"You offered more potential. Your heart is pure." The Reaper slowly glances around as I cackle. "Or, at least, it was."
I shrug. "So take your Gift away from me. I never wanted it in the first place."
"That is not how it works."
"You offer gifts like this and don't know how they work?" I ask before snorting. "Pretty irresponsible, man." I frown. "Are you a man? A woman? Do you identify as something else? I've always wondered."
"It does not matter."
"Well, that's ignorant. It's 2136, Reap, get with the times. Everyone matters."
I've been alive for hundreds of years. Everyone *still* doesn't matter. Wish that weren't the case, but humans are fucking stupid. And cruel. All that shit.
"I have a task for you," the Reaper says, stepping closer. I feel the typical chill of its presence start to creep up my legs. "I have allowed you to do what you please for too long, Benjamin. Now, you must accept this task."
I raise an eyebrow. "That part of this gift? How are you going to pay me?" I toss my head to the massive, open safe to my back. "The U.S. government paid me $75 million for this job. Under the table, of course, considering my international 'status'," I say complete with air quotes.
Haven't exactly been able to shake that job in France fifty years ago. Technically speaking, no official world government is supposed to employ me.
But I'm *reaaaalllly* good at what I do.
I am not hero. Call me a mercenary if you want. A necessary evil. Either way, I don’t give a fuck. Just pay me and leave me alone.
"Your payment will be safe return of one hundred children to their parents. Parents, I might add, that all represent factions around the world that with the right push, will go to war with each other."
Shit. Children. Fuck with the world all you want, but leave kids out of it. Wait.
Wait a second. Did he just say....?
"Woah, woah, woah," I say, standing. "Are you saying what I think you are?"
I've never seen the Reaper nod, but I think it does this time? I don't know. "Yes. There are shadows moving throughout this world that mean to bring it to its knees. They will sow chaos unless we put a stop to it."
"Unless *I put* a stop to it, you mean."
"Yes."
I bite the inside of my cheek. "Kids?"
"Innocent children, yes."
Idiots. Don't they know the only way to take a terrible person and reform them is to put innocent children in harm's way? The fucking devil himself would help kids in danger.
I crack my neck. "Alright, you win. What do you need?"
|
First time trying to do a poem here. Hope you like it!
​
**See You, Little Johnny!**
That day we went along to Missus G's fancy pub store,
Filled with rum and brandy and rubbing house alcohol.
Though I'm sure no sane man will drink the last one,
People do stuff when they've had their fill and stuff.
Just like us, kids of nineteen and twen-teen.
You know what they say before you take your first beer?
Steering wheels and ethanol work like water and alcohol
Except that, sometimes, it gets forgotten by everyone.
So there we went, and there we left
With Ridley McFlurry's Scotch whisky in the dashboard's cabinet.
Don't tell anyone, I stole that from Missus G's cellar
Before we sped through Interstate Two Hundred Seventy-One.
We were bulls, we were mad, we were like little free men
In a roaring tin can under a semi-cloudy sunny day.
And like any other doofus on a lovely, high-speed stroll,
We did tiny, little tricks but wanted to do more.
My friend asked me to do a little trick:
*Hey buddy, what do you say, you grab hold of that thing*
*And pour it on my nose real quick?*
*I'll drink Ridley McFlurry's Scotch Whiskey with a whiff*
*So you better keep that camera rolling and we'll have that on YouTube posted!*
Now if you remember what they say
About steering wheels and alcohols and doofuses
Let's just say it didn't end so good
When he hit a plastic something as big as a baby moose.
Don't ask me what it was, I could barely remember anymore.
We flew above the road with our feet overhead and our heads by the floor.
Then we hit a duck, a goose, and a flying caterpillar
Before we landed on a giant pillar.
*Are we safe?* he asked. *Are we safe?*
But alas, the thing was never at all safe
So we fell on a patch by Interstate Two Hundred Seventy-One.
Before the car exploded just like that.
Next, I knew, I was at the hospital
After two hundred seventy-one days of drinkless coma.
But I knew I remembered something really, really scary.
Much scarier than what just happened to him and me.
That day, a man in wings and robes appeared.
Said something about heaven, hell, and dying.
Took my friend's soul, said that God loves him
Before taking a really good look at me.
*Say, boy, what about a trade with me?*
*I'll keep this Ridley McFlurry's Scotch Whisky*
*So minus this one, you keep a hundred lives*
*Well, what do you say? I'll see you, Little Johnny!*
|
|
[WP] “Hey Mr. Death, could you please.....dance with me, I just never had the chance when I was alive”
|
He watches, wordlessly, as the flashes of red and blue sneak in between the swinging doors. Doctors in pale green or blue scrubs. Shouting voices. The incessant chiming of monitors and alarms. No one pays him any attention. Not that he would expect them to. Only those crossing over are supposed to see him. It's not the Time for any of them, yet; but for someone here, it will be soon. Otherwise he would not he here.
Gurneys slide through him, walls and doors are nothing to stand in his way.
An elderly man, a shadow watching from the corner of a room. Watching his wife cry over what had once been him. Death stops, watches, and the man looks up. They share a sad smile, a bow, and the old man disappears. The monitor flatlines, and a nurse runs in.
And he is still here. There will be someone else.
He stops, though he doesn't need to, to watch an infant born with blue skin kick spindly legs and cry with a frail voice and open its dark eyes to the brightness of the artificial light and the warmth of its mother's arms.
Not yet, not now. Perhaps not for some time.
He moves aside, though he doesn't have to, as a young man reeking of alcohol and cigarettes and...asphalt... is led, handcuffed, down the hall by two officers who fight against both his struggling and his stumbling.
Not yet, but could be sooner rather than later.
And he stops again. Doctors, technicians, nurses are trailing away. The incessant beeping has gone silent, the lights turned off. A white sheet draped over a table. And a young woman, a shadow in a grey dress of sequins and beads, stands in the corner.
She sees him, recognizes him, but there is no sad smile, no bow. Her hand rests on her other dress, the one torn and destroyed and cut away and cast aside, the one of blue satin and beaded flowers that she and her mom both knew was meant to be hers.
Death nods. Prom night.
He's always hated this.
"Blue has always been my favorite color," she whispered. "I wish the one I'm wearing now could still be blue."
He shakes his head. No, it doesn't work like that.
"He told me he was okay to drive. We weren't going that far, I thought it would be okay."
Death sighs, but it's not frustration.
Children, the ones old enough to have recognition, memories, understanding, are always the hardest.
Even he doesn't always understand why it must be this way.
"I have to go, don't I?"
He nods. But there is still no smile, no bow.
Not quite yet. Of course, she wants to wait for her parents.
This end of the ER is quiet, save for the tinny, staticky bedside radio of some poor soul sleeping off the night across the hall. Death looks over his shoulder, nods again, and turns to go. He can come back.
The girl looks uncertain, gaze dropping to the blue satin.
"Hey Mr. Death, could you please.....dance with me? I just never had the chance when I was alive.”
He's never heard such a request, doesn't know if he has the memory for dancing, but only hesitates for a moment or two before extending one sinewy hand to her. Yes, for her, for all the children whose special high school celebrations ended in heartache and disaster, he can dance.
The radio gives them the music, and he supposes the tile floor serves the same purpose as a high school gym. And he recalls a waltz, and a slow swaying that could hardly be a dance at all. And when her parents arrive, he stands with her arm-in-arm as goodbyes are said and tears are wept.
And then it ends, just as every dance should, with a shared, sad smile, and a bow.
|
She woke up sitting, which was already a surprise. She’d fallen asleep in bed, and her parents didn’t usually move her without waking her up first. The wheelchair she was in was also wrong; it wasn’t the new electric one she’d gotten a year or so ago, but the manual one she’d used back in high school. She wasn’t as thin as she remembered, either, no longer skin stretched over bone. She took a moment to study her hands, to flex them, to stretch out her still-sleepy muscles.
Then she blinked. Once, twice. It felt like a dream.
She looked around, and she wasn’t in her bedroom. The space was shadowy, lit as if by some overhead spotlight, her surroundings vanishing in whisps of black smoke.
She sighed. She always thought she’d be more afraid.
She spun around in the wheelchair, studying her surroundings, only to stop when her eyes settled on the figure behind her. It was tall, robed, its face hidden beneath a deep cowl. One arm hung casually at its side, hand disappearing in the voluminous sleeves, but the other held a scythe casually, as if it was a walking stick.
The hand was made of bone, and the scythe was not the weapon she’d come to expect. It was a farmer’s tool, wood worn with use and metal gleaming with the care a workman shows his tools.
“Is that it then?” she asked, still surprised at how calm she was. Emotions didn’t seem to matter as much here, not anymore.
“Yes.” the figure said, its voice surprisingly strong and steady, like the creak of an old pine in the wind.
“What’s next?” she asked, idly fiddling with the armrest. It was back to perfect condition now, no fraying threads to pick at.
“I Don’t Know.” the figure replied, lightly tapping its scythe on the ground. The smoke receded, and she found herself in the middle of a desert, sand stretching for miles under a night sky full of stars.
“You don’t?”
“No.” it said, and for a second she swore the figure grinned deep within its cowl. “It Isn’t Part Of My Job.”
“Oh.” she said. “What am I supposed to do then?”
“You Walk,” it replied, the words hitting her like a lightning bolt, “Or Wait Here.”
“Walk?” she asked, her voice shaking despite herself. She realized with a start that she could feel her pants, feel the weight of shoes on her feet. Cautiously, as if she was afraid of being fooled, she dredged up old muscle memory and rose from the chair. The sand shifted softly underneath her feet.
“I can walk.” she said, more to herself than the figure. “I can walk.”
After a few moments of staring at her legs, she returned her gaze to the figure. “I haven’t walked in years, you know.” she said. “Not since I was a little girl.”
“I Know.”
She let the silence stretch for a while longer, studying the vast expanse of the desert. It stretched on to the horizon, gentle slopes and dunes washed out by starlight. It was quiet.
“Before I go, could I ask for a dance?” she asked, beginning to stretch in the way she’d seen athletes do before competitions. “I never got a chance to try it out, you know.”
The figure stood motionless, quietly observing her stretching, before it planted the scythe’s handle into the sand. It moved as if gliding, its footsteps making no sound on the sand, and reached out to take her hand in one of its.
“That’s Fine.” it said, and they began to dance. She’d seen it before, so many times, but she was clumsy. Despite the lack of music the figure seemed to draw a beat from the stamp of their feet on the sand, and it led her as they spun and whirled and made their way around the scythe.
Eventually the figure let go, returning to rest a hand on the scythe’s handle once more. Despite the exertion she wasn’t out of breath, still full of energy. She felt better than she could ever remember.
“Thank you.” she said, her voice clear and strong. She took a moment to stare at the stars, picked the brightest she could find, and set off across the sand. She looked back, just once, the figure but the only trace of the figure were the footsteps their dance had left.
|
|
[WP] "Wow, what a great batch we've got this time!" exclaimed the angel looking down at all the horrified cultists. "What, did you really expect that to summon a demon? Come on, we advertised it like that because you guys need us most!"
|
Graham smiled as he struggled to fit the key into the door, he had been gone for two months and even though he was home one month earlier he still chafed at how much time he had missed.
Dropping his luggage in the parlour he padded into the bedroom, he could imagine the surprise on her face, the way her cheek mole would touch her eye when she smiled. The bedroom door was open, light streaming into the passage. He spread his arms wide, stepped into the room, and stopped.
There, tangled in the Russian bedsheets he had brought on his last shift, was his Emily, curled up naked beside his best friend. A giant grabbed his heart and squeezed, a bead of sweat dropped into his eyes, he was so cold.
You don’t know that it’s what you’re thinking, you don’t know if they’re naked.
He could check, lift up the blanket and see, but he didn’t want to. Joel’s trousers and shirt, his favourite shirt were on the headboard. Seeing it with his own eyes wouldn’t help.
He stepped out and into the kitchen, by the time he came back they were stirring from sleep, he presented the tray. “Pancakes and maple syrup, would you prefer orange juice or tea?”
“G..” Joel began
“Shhh” he cautioned, index finger to his lips, he set the tray down and bowed. “You’ll need your strength, eat.”
He didn't move until they did, Joel first, cutting a piece of a pancake and putting it very slowly, in a comically dramatic way in his mouth. Did he think Graham couldn’t cook? Graham wondered.
No problem, he would soon be otherwise convinced.
Graham slipped out and grabbed the book, it was a little brown antique, he had first thought it a joke until he had tried it out, he had brought it home thinking it could help with Emily’s condition. No need to worry about that anymore.
When he was done, the floor of their bathroom looked like something out of a Hollywood Horror episode, the pentagram was smooth and the invocation had worked, there was a slight shimmer in the air and then a cloud of steam like a boiling lake, he bowed his head to the ground.
“Hail Lucifer.”
“Fear not Son of Man” a loud voice boomed like thunder, all the doors and windows in the house flew open “I am Raphael, servant of The Most High, Have you heard of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?”
“No… No” Graham panicked “The book said Lucifer.”
“Of course it did” the angel said, because it was obvious it was an angel now “We wrote it after all. Who better to evangelise than those desperate enough to invoke such a miserable creature.
Now, can I interest you in the Gospel of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ?”
|
The angel said his words and waited to see the look of horror on the cultist’s faces. He waited for what seemed like an eternity. The all stared, he supposed his appearance would be blinding to them, as he did shine brighter than any star, standing a few feet away from them. But it was the lack of shock he was dissatisfied with. They seemed calm. Odd he figured, but what did he know about humans anyways, he would only hear stories from other angels in ponds by trees that grew beyond heaven. As his mind wandered he noticed a few of them get on their knees. That’s more like it he thought.
“Though I am not the devil you were promised you still bow to me, I am honored” he said with his voice that pierced like a horn, “I understand this may take some adjusting to do but we have little tim-wait what are you doing” he questioned as a few of them seemed to be working on something on the ground.
His eyes scanned the floor but he could make nothing of it, but upon his second scan he could make out a grin. “Jeremy be cool damn” whispered the cult member to the right of Jeremy, as they noticed the angels eyes upon them.
Okay this is highly irregular thought the Angel, what are they scheming. He opened his mouth but the words would not escape. He frowned, and tried again, not a single sound emerged from his mouth. Then he realized he was not able to voice himself as he was not able to move his mouth at all. His eyes darted around the room as they were the only thing that could, and he began to realize what was happening. Horror grew in him like a cold knife, horror he had never felt before, as he realized they were expecting him, not the devil. But that doesn’t make sense, he thought to himself, how could this be. Around him he saw a ring of fire grow on the smooth marble he was standing on, and chains burst from the floor binding his every limb. As they dragged him down he could see his reflection on the glossy marble, and saw his red face reflected, his sharp horns sticking out like the wickedest tree branches. But that is impossible he thought. I am Ezphation, the angel of Ferdose. Who is this devil I see upon me. What has this realm turned me into? Is this the fate of all that fall from heaven? Is this land truly cursed beyond salvation?
|
|
[WP] "Wow, what a great batch we've got this time!" exclaimed the angel looking down at all the horrified cultists. "What, did you really expect that to summon a demon? Come on, we advertised it like that because you guys need us most!"
|
Graham smiled as he struggled to fit the key into the door, he had been gone for two months and even though he was home one month earlier he still chafed at how much time he had missed.
Dropping his luggage in the parlour he padded into the bedroom, he could imagine the surprise on her face, the way her cheek mole would touch her eye when she smiled. The bedroom door was open, light streaming into the passage. He spread his arms wide, stepped into the room, and stopped.
There, tangled in the Russian bedsheets he had brought on his last shift, was his Emily, curled up naked beside his best friend. A giant grabbed his heart and squeezed, a bead of sweat dropped into his eyes, he was so cold.
You don’t know that it’s what you’re thinking, you don’t know if they’re naked.
He could check, lift up the blanket and see, but he didn’t want to. Joel’s trousers and shirt, his favourite shirt were on the headboard. Seeing it with his own eyes wouldn’t help.
He stepped out and into the kitchen, by the time he came back they were stirring from sleep, he presented the tray. “Pancakes and maple syrup, would you prefer orange juice or tea?”
“G..” Joel began
“Shhh” he cautioned, index finger to his lips, he set the tray down and bowed. “You’ll need your strength, eat.”
He didn't move until they did, Joel first, cutting a piece of a pancake and putting it very slowly, in a comically dramatic way in his mouth. Did he think Graham couldn’t cook? Graham wondered.
No problem, he would soon be otherwise convinced.
Graham slipped out and grabbed the book, it was a little brown antique, he had first thought it a joke until he had tried it out, he had brought it home thinking it could help with Emily’s condition. No need to worry about that anymore.
When he was done, the floor of their bathroom looked like something out of a Hollywood Horror episode, the pentagram was smooth and the invocation had worked, there was a slight shimmer in the air and then a cloud of steam like a boiling lake, he bowed his head to the ground.
“Hail Lucifer.”
“Fear not Son of Man” a loud voice boomed like thunder, all the doors and windows in the house flew open “I am Raphael, servant of The Most High, Have you heard of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?”
“No… No” Graham panicked “The book said Lucifer.”
“Of course it did” the angel said, because it was obvious it was an angel now “We wrote it after all. Who better to evangelise than those desperate enough to invoke such a miserable creature.
Now, can I interest you in the Gospel of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ?”
|
"Seriously? We will sue you for false advertising. This is outrageous! How could you?!" The angel looked quite perplexed, as this was not what he had expected when he got his first call as a summonable guide. "You... You want to sue me? A immortal supernatural being?" The head cultist got even angrier. "If I wanted an angel I would've called! We wanted a firebreathing demon so he could start our barbecue! Look at you, the kids are terrified. You have four heads! Freak!" The angel quietly stepped back a little. What insanity was this? People attempting to summon a demon as a hellish lighter? Was he going insane? None of his training had prepared him for this. "I am so sorry. If you excuse me for a moment?" He called his supervisor.
*hushed* "What do I do? Can I light the barbecue with my sword or should I give them a verbal whooping for occult activities?" ..... "Both? ".... "You sure thats okay?"... "Blessings to you too."
*louder* "Right mortal souls, where is the barbecue?" He unsheathed his flaming sword. The children were in awe,as it looked like a sparkler, in all the colours of the rainbow. "Right, time for living lessons with Me. One. Be kind. Two. Give me one of those ribs because they look delicious! Three. Don't do stupid things. Four? Nah thats it. Farewell and be good people!"
The angel vanished with a puff of bright blue smoke. And so the world becomes a better place, one angel at a time.
(My meds are wearing off so i feel kinda high writing this lol) feel free to rewrite this into a more orderly story in the replies
|
|
[WP] "Wow, what a great batch we've got this time!" exclaimed the angel looking down at all the horrified cultists. "What, did you really expect that to summon a demon? Come on, we advertised it like that because you guys need us most!"
|
Now that I'm thinking about it, I don't think I joined a cult because I wanted to summon a demon--it was to quell the ones inside me, however temporarily. Friends helped, I felt, and weirdly, the cultish energy offered by a, well, cult, was the quickest way for me to feel like I belonged somewhere, even if I never really believed.
And so, I stayed. I worked my way up, because that was apparently how cults worked. Don't ask too many questions, keep your head down, and... people will like you? And really, the cultists? They weren't that different from you and me--I suppose really just you, since I'm part of this--and the tax breaks are substantial.
See, this thought was really relevant now, because as I stood at the front of gathered thousands, I could feel the otherworldly being's myriad eyes stare straight through my soul, a gaze of judgement that made me felt damned, even if I haven't done anything wrong. A strangely familiar feeling took root, sending tendrils of chill into my blood--ironic considering the spires of flame that flickered and licked at the surrounding air.
"Be not afraid," it said.
It had to be an it. This creature could not remotely exist in our world, universe, dimension...
I heard many scream with joy. Or fear. Or a belligerent cocktail of both, likely garnished with mind-numbing euphoria. But this was no demon. This was no devil.
"Be no afraid," it repeated. I gulped, forcing saliva down into my parched throat, unable to speak a word.
"Walk before me," it said, gently floating up despite its massive size. It rose ever so slightly, though a monumental doorway opened below it, rimmed by fire.
A still, quiet second, a perfect pond in spring, turned into a flurry of activity at the first step of a cultist, whose standing up was the stone that sent ripples through a brief tranquillity. While I continued kneeling, hundreds of people ran towards the doorway, stampeding and falling over themselves to rush into the door unlocked by a thousand-eyed being.
I suppose I was never as passionate about this as them. I simply knelt and gawked, feeling the glancing blows of grabbing hands and bent knees on my back, watching people that I considered friends--acquaintances--pile into the doorway.
And soon--maybe not soon, but time lost meaning for a while there--there was nothing but a droplet of water left in a once-filled pond.
The door closed, then, but the being stayed there.
"You are afraid," it said. Its voice boomed considerably now, echoes bouncing off the empty walls, seemingly only growing in strength as they assaulted my eardrums.
"I am terrified," I replied. "You are no demon."
"I am not," it said. "I am here to help. For the people that rush into the door are the ones in need of salvation the most."
The first tear rolled down my cheek--the first of many more that night.
"And what about me?"
"You are afraid," it said. "For there's hope for you yet."
"Hope?"
"Be human," it said. "Eternal salvation or damnation will not run from you."
With those words ringing in desecrated halls, the angel disappeared, zapped out of existence--leaving me alone, still on my knees, with little idea of what to do next.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
In a dome-shaped building far west, a group of five men sat in their positions around a circle full of arcane designs done in white ash, and they chanted ancient words under their breath.
As their mutterings reached a fever pitch, out came a crack of light from the center of the circle. The men did not stop their chants.
A flash of dazzling white light and an androgynous human clothed in a white tunic now stood at the center of the circle.
The men looked at the figure with suspicious eyes. One of them, an old man, cleared his throat and said, “Hail Satan!”
The other four repeated, “Hail Satan!”
The fair-haired figure laughed a clear laugh. It sounded like the sound of silver bells – like music!
“How foolish are ye, how foolish. Ye can’t even admit ye mistakes when ye see them,” it said.
There came a great deal of rustling and muttering from the group and they said, “Do you test us, O terrible one?”
The tinkling laughter again. “I am an angel. A true angel.”
The hooded men looked at one another and said in unison, “The Lord has risen! He is a fallen angel no more. Hail Satan, the first angel to rule over the underground!”
Hearing this utterance, the angel laughed no more. It levitated above, far above, the heads of the hooded men.
"What a splendid batch we got this time!" it said. "Did ye really expect that to summon Satan? We tricked ye because ye need us most!"
The group of five men gasped. They knew not what fate awaited them, but more so they worried about the state of things in hell.
“Have you overthrown him? Is our Lord the great ruler of all things terrible your prisoner?” they asked the angel.
The angel laughed again.
“I know not the state of things in places I do not visit. Ye shall not know what the state of that sorry creature is. Ye shall be cured of such curiosities.”
The hooded men were now huddled together. “Will we be whipped? Will we be torn from limb to limb? Will we be scorched in flames?”
“None of the sort,” the angel replied.
The men’s faces fell. A cloud of despair started settling over them.
“We worked so hard. We worked so long. Only to get beat by the petty tricks of the heavens. Woe onto us,” the youngest of the group said.
“You will not suffer. You will be forgiven. As the Lord wants to see you forgiven.” The angel smiled. And a stone hit it squarely on the nose.
The hooded men were armed, not with sophisticated weaponry, but stones, black and sharp stones.
“You shall not forgive us! You shall not do any of those terrible things to us. Shoo, shoo, we don’t want to hear your songs of the Gods.”
It was a hailstorm of sharp stones, and the angel bled profusely. The white tunic it wore was now splashed with crimson.
The angel laughed no longer. Indignation, a distaste for what stood in front of it, that overcame whatever feelings of mercy and benevolence it had. To be in pain, to bear the sins of man, yes that was its job, but it gets to you. Every job does.
Like a falcon, the angel swooped down below and took a man to the full height of the dome, and dropped him. It repeated the process four times more and roared and howled with rage.
Death came to greet the hooded men, took them to the gates of hell, the angel was taken with them.
|
|
[WP] "Wow, what a great batch we've got this time!" exclaimed the angel looking down at all the horrified cultists. "What, did you really expect that to summon a demon? Come on, we advertised it like that because you guys need us most!"
|
**Warning: Stupid**
The angel radiated brilliant light as it hovered above the doomsday cultists, ready to spread the Good News to the lost souls before it.
"Repent! Repent, o ye sinners! Be Saved by His Grace and know that you will rest in eternal life!" he preached.
The cultists stared open-mouthed, but the angel could sense that not a one of them had made a single, private prayer.
"Be not afraid," the angel continued, "I have come to offer you salvation in the name of Jesus Christ, our savior. He is the source of all goodness, and gentle shepherd to his flock. He stretched his arms out upon the cross and offered himself as a perfect sacrifice to the whole world..."
"What unspeakable horrors have we unleashed on this day?" whispered one cultist to another as the spinning mass of fleshy wheels and rolling eyes spoke in an ancient variant of Hebrew that no American-born cultist could possibly begin to understand.
*Visit* r/OctopusTales *for more weird and sometimes stupid stuff!*
|
The angel, and he could not have been anything else, stepped out of the pentagram casually, dispelling it with a wave of his hand. His face, chiseled from pristine marble and lit from inside with a warm, inviting golden glow, looked upon each cultist in turn. To Alex, the sight of him was a revelation. She trembled, not with fear as she’d expected during the ceremony, but with anticipation, hope, and something far, far deeper.
She tried to call out for help but only succeeded in grunting through the gag in her mouth. She was tied to an inverted cross, her long, dark hair hanging down to brush the floor. The cultists, people she’d thought were her friends, had told her she would die that day.
“What are you?” the masked, deeply cowled priest who had only referred to as Kassad said.
“I’d thought it would be obvious,” the angel said, his voice like the breaking of rocks or chains.
“You’re not like any demon I’ve ever seen,” Kassad say, pulling himself up to his full height. He wore a black cloak and carried a staff topped in glowing scarlet crystal. The angel casually tore the staff from his grip. He snapped the crystal off the top, tapped it a few times, and then upon finding the panel he looked for he opened it and removed the battery. The glow died and he tossed both crystal and staff away.
“You’ve never seen a demon, Gary,” the angel said. “Nobody has. Even I haven’t seen one in a thousand years, not since we shut the North Pole gate.”
Alex’s eyes widened, staring Kassad or Gary or whatever the hack who lead this pathetic little group called himself. She tried calling out again, succeeding in a squeal this time. She couldn’t believe she’d let herself be captured by such fools.
The angel looked up, squinting through the darkness. She squealed again and he reached back behind him, the crystal flying into his hand on its own. He kissed the surface once and this time it really glow, far brighter than ever before. He threw the towards her, illuminating the cavern between them like a second scarlet sun.
“Gary, what have you done?” the angel asked, coldly. “Why is there a woman lashed to Saint Peter’s cross?”
The cult leader stepped forward, a curse on his lips. Alex sensed it flaring faintly, barely tapped energies pushing out towards the angel so weakly that he didn’t need a wave of his hand to dispel them this time. Instead he simply stepped through the curse and swatted the man down like a fly. Gary hit the ground hard and did not move again.
Each of the angel’s steps could felt vibrating earth as he approached. His wings spread upon his back, batting at the air as if testing it. When he stopped in front Alex she could see the mirror polished bronze of greaves on his legs. Then he moved again, and he lifted the massive cross from its slot in the stone floor to lay her gently upon the ground. When the gag was untied Alex only said two words.
“They’re mine.”
He raised a perfect eyebrow. He raised the other when she uttered her first spell. The bindings at her hands and feet untied themselves and Alex stood under her own power for the first time in hours.
“Gary, how did you capture a witch?” The angel asked. Gary did not respond.
The seven cultists still standing cowered back into the far reaches of the room, trying to subtly make their way to rough hewn staircase and perceived safety of the world above ground. Alex whispered softly, her nimble, pianist’s finger sketching runes in the air. Squeaking erupted from the ground as a wave of rats boiled out of holes in the walls or scurried down the stairs. They crowded the shrieking cultists back towards their makeshift altar and the remains of the pentagram, to where Alex stood trying to massage feeling back into her tingling limbs under the angel’s watchful eye.
“I didn’t know your kind still existed,” the angel said.
“Likewise,” Alex muttered. “Your church tried hard enough.”
“It is not our church. That was never God’s word.”
“Alex, you’re a witch!?” one of the cultists screamed, pushing back her hood to reveal bottle blond hair and crocodile tears leaking out of blue eyes. “If we’d known we never would— Kassad would’ve asked you to join us! Alex, I’m so sorry!”
“Fuck off Cassie,” Alex said.
“Hang on, Mr. Angel, why aren’t you burning her? If she’s a witch you should hate her!”
The angel shrugged. “Our quarrel has never been with her kind. They rarely ever sought to consort with demons. You on the other hand…” he trailed off ominously, cracking his knuckles.
“Sir! If I may,” Alex interjected, “do you seek to punish them?”
“I assume they meant to sacrifice you. Had they stopped at a mere summoning regulations recommend rehabilitation. Human sacrifice, however, carries a steep penalty.”
The cultists screamed again as the rats drew closer.
Alex smiled. “Then let me do it. Let the sacrifice mete out the punishment.”
The angel stroked his chin, lost in deep thought as he stared up towards Heavens with closed eyes. At length he nodded, and said “Thou shalt not kill.”
“I don’t intend to,” Alex said.
“Excellent! Then I’ll leave them in your capable hands. Tell me, does your kind still seal agreements with a handshake?”
“Humans do,” Alex said, “witches prefer a kiss.”
He blushed. Alex hadn’t thought he’d be able to do that. The angel looked back to the sky, eyes closed, and nodded again a second later. “That is acceptable,” he said, before planting the disappointing kiss of Alex’s life on her lips. Her first boyfriend at thirteen had done better.
And then he was gone, dematerializing into light that raced back into the rough lines of the pentagram and then shot up and out through the ceiling.
“Thou shalt not kill!” Cassie shouted, clutching an inverted cross amulet to her chest.
Alex sighed and several of the rats climbed up the woman’s shaking legs to neck to gnaw holes in the string and tear the cross from her hands.
“Yeah, I’ve heard the commandments too,” Alex said, dismissing her summoned rats. “But from what I remember of Sunday School, none of them said anything about making familiars.”
Seven brand new rats followed her out from the cavern, one of them pale, faded platinum of a bottle blond.
r/TurningtoWords
|
|
[WP] "Wow, what a great batch we've got this time!" exclaimed the angel looking down at all the horrified cultists. "What, did you really expect that to summon a demon? Come on, we advertised it like that because you guys need us most!"
|
We all sat in the dilapidated farmhouse waiting for the angel to call us. We didn’t have no ticket or nothing like that — it wasn’t like waiting for a haircut. Just, a guy would come and tap you on the shoulder and you’d know it was your turn to step outside and go visit the angel in the barn. How that guy knew the angel wanted that particular person, I don’t know. Maybe the angel spoke right into his head.
It could have been any of us next, so we were all nervous as hell as we waited. The men were just as nervous as us women, but we spent our time hushing the children and trying to feed them a comfort we didn’t have ourselves. Gave us something of a distraction.
Thing was: we’d meant to summon a demon but we’d summoned an angel instead. That’s what it said it was, at least: an angel. It summoned itself right into Jeremy Palmer, a one-armed former country guitarist. He didn’t sprout no wings, but he did radiate an aura — it was like the moon behind a fog: you can’t quite see it there, but you can feel it and know it by the lit up fog. And he — the angel — knew stuff he had no rights to know. He knew everything about Edward, our leader, who’d promised us the devil himself.
The angel — because it was no longer Jeremy — yelled about Edward’s lies and greed, then placed his hand on his chest, and Edward was gone, poof, just like that. No one ever saw him again.
The tap on my shoulder almost made me fall off the sofa. Put a set of tea stains on my blouse at the very least.
”It’s your turn,” said the angel’s assistant with a solemn nod. It was like being told the dentist was ready to see you, and you can hear the distant buzzing of the drill.
The man must have seen my throat move as I swallowed nervously.
”It’s okay. He’s an angel, remember?”
That was the other thing though. Lucifer, wasn’t he a fallen angel? So they can say they’re angels, but they can still be devils, right? Like well dressed men who spout good intentions but then drug you over a drink.
But... wasn’t I here to see the devil in the first place? So what did it matter which one it was? I don’t know. There was no logic in my gut. Just this ever churning fear that sweated itself through every damned pore. More nervous to meet an angel than a demon.
I followed him out of the house and across the dry, yellow field. We’d been here six months and barely a plant had grown in all that time — let alone the promised crops that would keep us all going, free of any dependence on anyone but our own hard working and hard aching muscles.
The barn was red. Or used to be. Now it looked more like layers of peeling rust; it sagged heavily in its center as if the invisible foot of God himself pressed down on it.
My guide opened the door. “I can’t come in with you. You’re on your own from here. Good luck.”
”Been on my own long enough,” I said, stiffening my spine. “I’ll be fine.”
He nodded and closed the door after me.
The barn was dark — except for the angel’s soft glow. The one-armed angel sat on a haystack in the center of the room. There were lots of haystacks and cobwebs and bits of ruined wood all scattered about.
“Hello, Claudia,” said the angel.
I shivered at hearing my name. The man the angel had once been, Jeremy, had said my name before, sure, but his voice had been different: a puddle compared to this calm and endless sea. It swallowed me, drowned me, hearing him say my name. Was I that Claudia?
I walked slowly to him and bowed my head, just a little. Old habits die hard and everything.
”Ask,“ said the angel.
”Ask what?” I said, voice whisper-thin.
“Your question.”
Had I been holding one on my tongue? I suppose I had. “Why are you here? We didn’t want to summon no angel.”
”I came because you needed me.”
The way he said “you”... well, it made me think he meant me specifically, and I shivered a second time.
”Well, we didn’t want you.”
The angel smiled. “No. I know what you wanted.“
This time I was sure he meant the singular. ”It’s what I deserve.”
The angel shook its head. “You’re wrong. And believe me, I know the pain you’ve been through. I know that you’re lost now. Very lost. That you’d hoped to be found here, with this family that is not a family. But you’re not, are you?”
”What do you know of my pain?”
”It’s not your fault they died,” the angel said.
First my face went red-hot and I could have probably branded an ox with it. But then tears just streamed down, dripping into threads of straw. “It’s my fault and only my fault. I was driving. I was tired. It was me who didn’t see it coming and who should have swerved.”
”They loved you.”
”Did... Did they tell you that?”
”I don’t need them to.”
For a while I fell silent, apart from the occasional sniff. “There’s nothing left for me here,” I said. “On earth, I mean. I’m ready to go. I wanted the demon to take me. I’m not going to my family, I know that much, so I’m ready to go to the other place.”
“Who are you?“ the angel asked.
”Who am I?”
”Yes. Tell me who you are.”
That used to be so easy to answer. And now I couldn’t think of a single thing I was. I wasn’t a wife or lover anymore. I wasn’t a mother or teacher anymore neither. I died when they all did. “I’m no one,” I said. “Nothing. A hollow body waiting for a grave to slip into.”
The angel smiled again. “You’re wrong.” It hopped down from its haystack and walked to a dark corner of the barn, until all I could see was its faint glow.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
It appeared again with something under its one arm. “Come with me,” the angel said.
It held a kite. A green paper kite: a diamond with a long tail. And the angel held a ball of string in his hand. I hadn’t seen a kite like that in years. Not since I was a child.
It walked to the door and waited. “You’ll need to open this for me. I can’t do magic.”
”Oh,” I said, and hurried across, throwing the door open. Or more accurately, I got the door started and the wind then threw it open. “It’s gotten breezy,” I said.
The angel stepped out onto the dry field. “Take the string,” he instructed. “I only have one arm. In this wind, we’ll have to fly the kite together.”
I wanted to ask: why are we even flying a kite? Why would an angel ask me to help fly one? But for some reason, it just seemed the most natural thing in the world to do. I took the string and unravelled it a little.
”Here,” he said, passing the kite. “Get it started for me. You’ll need to run.”
”Run?”
He nodded. “Run!”
And then I was running, like I was a plane readying to take off. The wind was all over me, slapping at the kite in my hands, trying to steal it already. The tears on my face dried and a laugh jumped out of me as I sprinted through the field and then... Then the kite flew! Leapt into the air like a child, but it kept on leaping, flying up on the strong wind towards the thick grey clouds.
I held the ball of string tight, tensing my body for when the kite became anchored many feet in the air.
The angel was next to me.
He placed his single arm around me, holding the ball of string with me. Together, we pulled it to a gliding halt.
I shivered for the third time — the last time with the angel — as he placed his hand on mine.
But it wasn’t the angel that made me shiver. It wasn’t my family, either — wasn’t their forgiveness flowing down from heaven through the kite and into me. That’s not what I found out there flying that diamond shaped kite.
Instead, I remembered being ten, being on a hill outside my house, laughing with my mother, no cares in the world. Pa was at home with my baby brother, making food for when we got back. I wanted to be an artist. I loved animals. I loved just being alive. I was someone’s child, a daughter, a person.
I’d forgotten all about this little girl. Forgotten this had once been me.
That it still was, even if bad things had happened to her since.
The angel unreeled a little more string.
’You look like you’ve found something,” it yelled through the wind.
”Yes,” I said, breathlessly. The tug of the string against my hands and arms was like wrestling for something I’d so very nearly lost, but not quite lost — refusing to let it fully escape.
The angel removed his hand and stepped back.
How many minutes or hours I flew it, I don’t know. But I was there flying it until the clouds cleared and the wind finally fell.
The angel was gone by then. Back to the barn, I supposed. But I don’t know. I didn’t stick around much longer to find out.
For a while though, before I left, I just sat on the grass and stared up at the blue skies, and remembered who I was.
|
The angel, and he could not have been anything else, stepped out of the pentagram casually, dispelling it with a wave of his hand. His face, chiseled from pristine marble and lit from inside with a warm, inviting golden glow, looked upon each cultist in turn. To Alex, the sight of him was a revelation. She trembled, not with fear as she’d expected during the ceremony, but with anticipation, hope, and something far, far deeper.
She tried to call out for help but only succeeded in grunting through the gag in her mouth. She was tied to an inverted cross, her long, dark hair hanging down to brush the floor. The cultists, people she’d thought were her friends, had told her she would die that day.
“What are you?” the masked, deeply cowled priest who had only referred to as Kassad said.
“I’d thought it would be obvious,” the angel said, his voice like the breaking of rocks or chains.
“You’re not like any demon I’ve ever seen,” Kassad say, pulling himself up to his full height. He wore a black cloak and carried a staff topped in glowing scarlet crystal. The angel casually tore the staff from his grip. He snapped the crystal off the top, tapped it a few times, and then upon finding the panel he looked for he opened it and removed the battery. The glow died and he tossed both crystal and staff away.
“You’ve never seen a demon, Gary,” the angel said. “Nobody has. Even I haven’t seen one in a thousand years, not since we shut the North Pole gate.”
Alex’s eyes widened, staring Kassad or Gary or whatever the hack who lead this pathetic little group called himself. She tried calling out again, succeeding in a squeal this time. She couldn’t believe she’d let herself be captured by such fools.
The angel looked up, squinting through the darkness. She squealed again and he reached back behind him, the crystal flying into his hand on its own. He kissed the surface once and this time it really glow, far brighter than ever before. He threw the towards her, illuminating the cavern between them like a second scarlet sun.
“Gary, what have you done?” the angel asked, coldly. “Why is there a woman lashed to Saint Peter’s cross?”
The cult leader stepped forward, a curse on his lips. Alex sensed it flaring faintly, barely tapped energies pushing out towards the angel so weakly that he didn’t need a wave of his hand to dispel them this time. Instead he simply stepped through the curse and swatted the man down like a fly. Gary hit the ground hard and did not move again.
Each of the angel’s steps could felt vibrating earth as he approached. His wings spread upon his back, batting at the air as if testing it. When he stopped in front Alex she could see the mirror polished bronze of greaves on his legs. Then he moved again, and he lifted the massive cross from its slot in the stone floor to lay her gently upon the ground. When the gag was untied Alex only said two words.
“They’re mine.”
He raised a perfect eyebrow. He raised the other when she uttered her first spell. The bindings at her hands and feet untied themselves and Alex stood under her own power for the first time in hours.
“Gary, how did you capture a witch?” The angel asked. Gary did not respond.
The seven cultists still standing cowered back into the far reaches of the room, trying to subtly make their way to rough hewn staircase and perceived safety of the world above ground. Alex whispered softly, her nimble, pianist’s finger sketching runes in the air. Squeaking erupted from the ground as a wave of rats boiled out of holes in the walls or scurried down the stairs. They crowded the shrieking cultists back towards their makeshift altar and the remains of the pentagram, to where Alex stood trying to massage feeling back into her tingling limbs under the angel’s watchful eye.
“I didn’t know your kind still existed,” the angel said.
“Likewise,” Alex muttered. “Your church tried hard enough.”
“It is not our church. That was never God’s word.”
“Alex, you’re a witch!?” one of the cultists screamed, pushing back her hood to reveal bottle blond hair and crocodile tears leaking out of blue eyes. “If we’d known we never would— Kassad would’ve asked you to join us! Alex, I’m so sorry!”
“Fuck off Cassie,” Alex said.
“Hang on, Mr. Angel, why aren’t you burning her? If she’s a witch you should hate her!”
The angel shrugged. “Our quarrel has never been with her kind. They rarely ever sought to consort with demons. You on the other hand…” he trailed off ominously, cracking his knuckles.
“Sir! If I may,” Alex interjected, “do you seek to punish them?”
“I assume they meant to sacrifice you. Had they stopped at a mere summoning regulations recommend rehabilitation. Human sacrifice, however, carries a steep penalty.”
The cultists screamed again as the rats drew closer.
Alex smiled. “Then let me do it. Let the sacrifice mete out the punishment.”
The angel stroked his chin, lost in deep thought as he stared up towards Heavens with closed eyes. At length he nodded, and said “Thou shalt not kill.”
“I don’t intend to,” Alex said.
“Excellent! Then I’ll leave them in your capable hands. Tell me, does your kind still seal agreements with a handshake?”
“Humans do,” Alex said, “witches prefer a kiss.”
He blushed. Alex hadn’t thought he’d be able to do that. The angel looked back to the sky, eyes closed, and nodded again a second later. “That is acceptable,” he said, before planting the disappointing kiss of Alex’s life on her lips. Her first boyfriend at thirteen had done better.
And then he was gone, dematerializing into light that raced back into the rough lines of the pentagram and then shot up and out through the ceiling.
“Thou shalt not kill!” Cassie shouted, clutching an inverted cross amulet to her chest.
Alex sighed and several of the rats climbed up the woman’s shaking legs to neck to gnaw holes in the string and tear the cross from her hands.
“Yeah, I’ve heard the commandments too,” Alex said, dismissing her summoned rats. “But from what I remember of Sunday School, none of them said anything about making familiars.”
Seven brand new rats followed her out from the cavern, one of them pale, faded platinum of a bottle blond.
r/TurningtoWords
|
|
[WP] "Wow, what a great batch we've got this time!" exclaimed the angel looking down at all the horrified cultists. "What, did you really expect that to summon a demon? Come on, we advertised it like that because you guys need us most!"
|
**Warning: Stupid**
The angel radiated brilliant light as it hovered above the doomsday cultists, ready to spread the Good News to the lost souls before it.
"Repent! Repent, o ye sinners! Be Saved by His Grace and know that you will rest in eternal life!" he preached.
The cultists stared open-mouthed, but the angel could sense that not a one of them had made a single, private prayer.
"Be not afraid," the angel continued, "I have come to offer you salvation in the name of Jesus Christ, our savior. He is the source of all goodness, and gentle shepherd to his flock. He stretched his arms out upon the cross and offered himself as a perfect sacrifice to the whole world..."
"What unspeakable horrors have we unleashed on this day?" whispered one cultist to another as the spinning mass of fleshy wheels and rolling eyes spoke in an ancient variant of Hebrew that no American-born cultist could possibly begin to understand.
*Visit* r/OctopusTales *for more weird and sometimes stupid stuff!*
|
The angel materialized on the circle. The sickening light, white as a bone, burned horror into the cultists surrounding the circle.
“Splendid…splendid! A corporeal form!” the angel exclaimed with glee.
Almost in denial, the head cultist muttered and muttered. “No, no, nonsense, nonsense. Why? Why and from whence?”
“I come for you who are in need. You need love.”
“Forgive us…O Demon Lord! We have failed you with our diligence!”
“I forgive you, Mr. Cultist.”
“Not YOU!”
The angel smiled sweetly. “And yet I still forgive you.”
“We need not guidance!”
“No, no, no…you need love. Love is what you need.”
“NonSENSE!” The cultist pounced at the angel with a knife.
The angel sidestepped the blade.
“Please, stay your blade! I come to bring love. Love, respect, and compassion!”
“Our passion is only for Him! Him, O Demon Lord! His excellENCE!”
“Stay your blade, or be disciplined.”
“Ah…O Demon Lord! Bring the Demon Lord…at once!” Again, the cultist charged the angel.
“You were warned.”
With a swing of the angel’s hand, the head cultist’s neck was sliced into two, demoting him to just the cultist.
“All in the name of love.”
The angel solemnly sighed. She cast her gaze upon the stunned cultists who had watched the entire ordeal.
Tense silence.
“So, if you’d excuse my rude entrance, ladies and gentlemen…” The angel’s lips morphed into a smile. “Do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior, Jesus Christ?”
|
|
[WP] "Wow, what a great batch we've got this time!" exclaimed the angel looking down at all the horrified cultists. "What, did you really expect that to summon a demon? Come on, we advertised it like that because you guys need us most!"
|
We all sat in the dilapidated farmhouse waiting for the angel to call us. We didn’t have no ticket or nothing like that — it wasn’t like waiting for a haircut. Just, a guy would come and tap you on the shoulder and you’d know it was your turn to step outside and go visit the angel in the barn. How that guy knew the angel wanted that particular person, I don’t know. Maybe the angel spoke right into his head.
It could have been any of us next, so we were all nervous as hell as we waited. The men were just as nervous as us women, but we spent our time hushing the children and trying to feed them a comfort we didn’t have ourselves. Gave us something of a distraction.
Thing was: we’d meant to summon a demon but we’d summoned an angel instead. That’s what it said it was, at least: an angel. It summoned itself right into Jeremy Palmer, a one-armed former country guitarist. He didn’t sprout no wings, but he did radiate an aura — it was like the moon behind a fog: you can’t quite see it there, but you can feel it and know it by the lit up fog. And he — the angel — knew stuff he had no rights to know. He knew everything about Edward, our leader, who’d promised us the devil himself.
The angel — because it was no longer Jeremy — yelled about Edward’s lies and greed, then placed his hand on his chest, and Edward was gone, poof, just like that. No one ever saw him again.
The tap on my shoulder almost made me fall off the sofa. Put a set of tea stains on my blouse at the very least.
”It’s your turn,” said the angel’s assistant with a solemn nod. It was like being told the dentist was ready to see you, and you can hear the distant buzzing of the drill.
The man must have seen my throat move as I swallowed nervously.
”It’s okay. He’s an angel, remember?”
That was the other thing though. Lucifer, wasn’t he a fallen angel? So they can say they’re angels, but they can still be devils, right? Like well dressed men who spout good intentions but then drug you over a drink.
But... wasn’t I here to see the devil in the first place? So what did it matter which one it was? I don’t know. There was no logic in my gut. Just this ever churning fear that sweated itself through every damned pore. More nervous to meet an angel than a demon.
I followed him out of the house and across the dry, yellow field. We’d been here six months and barely a plant had grown in all that time — let alone the promised crops that would keep us all going, free of any dependence on anyone but our own hard working and hard aching muscles.
The barn was red. Or used to be. Now it looked more like layers of peeling rust; it sagged heavily in its center as if the invisible foot of God himself pressed down on it.
My guide opened the door. “I can’t come in with you. You’re on your own from here. Good luck.”
”Been on my own long enough,” I said, stiffening my spine. “I’ll be fine.”
He nodded and closed the door after me.
The barn was dark — except for the angel’s soft glow. The one-armed angel sat on a haystack in the center of the room. There were lots of haystacks and cobwebs and bits of ruined wood all scattered about.
“Hello, Claudia,” said the angel.
I shivered at hearing my name. The man the angel had once been, Jeremy, had said my name before, sure, but his voice had been different: a puddle compared to this calm and endless sea. It swallowed me, drowned me, hearing him say my name. Was I that Claudia?
I walked slowly to him and bowed my head, just a little. Old habits die hard and everything.
”Ask,“ said the angel.
”Ask what?” I said, voice whisper-thin.
“Your question.”
Had I been holding one on my tongue? I suppose I had. “Why are you here? We didn’t want to summon no angel.”
”I came because you needed me.”
The way he said “you”... well, it made me think he meant me specifically, and I shivered a second time.
”Well, we didn’t want you.”
The angel smiled. “No. I know what you wanted.“
This time I was sure he meant the singular. ”It’s what I deserve.”
The angel shook its head. “You’re wrong. And believe me, I know the pain you’ve been through. I know that you’re lost now. Very lost. That you’d hoped to be found here, with this family that is not a family. But you’re not, are you?”
”What do you know of my pain?”
”It’s not your fault they died,” the angel said.
First my face went red-hot and I could have probably branded an ox with it. But then tears just streamed down, dripping into threads of straw. “It’s my fault and only my fault. I was driving. I was tired. It was me who didn’t see it coming and who should have swerved.”
”They loved you.”
”Did... Did they tell you that?”
”I don’t need them to.”
For a while I fell silent, apart from the occasional sniff. “There’s nothing left for me here,” I said. “On earth, I mean. I’m ready to go. I wanted the demon to take me. I’m not going to my family, I know that much, so I’m ready to go to the other place.”
“Who are you?“ the angel asked.
”Who am I?”
”Yes. Tell me who you are.”
That used to be so easy to answer. And now I couldn’t think of a single thing I was. I wasn’t a wife or lover anymore. I wasn’t a mother or teacher anymore neither. I died when they all did. “I’m no one,” I said. “Nothing. A hollow body waiting for a grave to slip into.”
The angel smiled again. “You’re wrong.” It hopped down from its haystack and walked to a dark corner of the barn, until all I could see was its faint glow.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
It appeared again with something under its one arm. “Come with me,” the angel said.
It held a kite. A green paper kite: a diamond with a long tail. And the angel held a ball of string in his hand. I hadn’t seen a kite like that in years. Not since I was a child.
It walked to the door and waited. “You’ll need to open this for me. I can’t do magic.”
”Oh,” I said, and hurried across, throwing the door open. Or more accurately, I got the door started and the wind then threw it open. “It’s gotten breezy,” I said.
The angel stepped out onto the dry field. “Take the string,” he instructed. “I only have one arm. In this wind, we’ll have to fly the kite together.”
I wanted to ask: why are we even flying a kite? Why would an angel ask me to help fly one? But for some reason, it just seemed the most natural thing in the world to do. I took the string and unravelled it a little.
”Here,” he said, passing the kite. “Get it started for me. You’ll need to run.”
”Run?”
He nodded. “Run!”
And then I was running, like I was a plane readying to take off. The wind was all over me, slapping at the kite in my hands, trying to steal it already. The tears on my face dried and a laugh jumped out of me as I sprinted through the field and then... Then the kite flew! Leapt into the air like a child, but it kept on leaping, flying up on the strong wind towards the thick grey clouds.
I held the ball of string tight, tensing my body for when the kite became anchored many feet in the air.
The angel was next to me.
He placed his single arm around me, holding the ball of string with me. Together, we pulled it to a gliding halt.
I shivered for the third time — the last time with the angel — as he placed his hand on mine.
But it wasn’t the angel that made me shiver. It wasn’t my family, either — wasn’t their forgiveness flowing down from heaven through the kite and into me. That’s not what I found out there flying that diamond shaped kite.
Instead, I remembered being ten, being on a hill outside my house, laughing with my mother, no cares in the world. Pa was at home with my baby brother, making food for when we got back. I wanted to be an artist. I loved animals. I loved just being alive. I was someone’s child, a daughter, a person.
I’d forgotten all about this little girl. Forgotten this had once been me.
That it still was, even if bad things had happened to her since.
The angel unreeled a little more string.
’You look like you’ve found something,” it yelled through the wind.
”Yes,” I said, breathlessly. The tug of the string against my hands and arms was like wrestling for something I’d so very nearly lost, but not quite lost — refusing to let it fully escape.
The angel removed his hand and stepped back.
How many minutes or hours I flew it, I don’t know. But I was there flying it until the clouds cleared and the wind finally fell.
The angel was gone by then. Back to the barn, I supposed. But I don’t know. I didn’t stick around much longer to find out.
For a while though, before I left, I just sat on the grass and stared up at the blue skies, and remembered who I was.
|
The angel materialized on the circle. The sickening light, white as a bone, burned horror into the cultists surrounding the circle.
“Splendid…splendid! A corporeal form!” the angel exclaimed with glee.
Almost in denial, the head cultist muttered and muttered. “No, no, nonsense, nonsense. Why? Why and from whence?”
“I come for you who are in need. You need love.”
“Forgive us…O Demon Lord! We have failed you with our diligence!”
“I forgive you, Mr. Cultist.”
“Not YOU!”
The angel smiled sweetly. “And yet I still forgive you.”
“We need not guidance!”
“No, no, no…you need love. Love is what you need.”
“NonSENSE!” The cultist pounced at the angel with a knife.
The angel sidestepped the blade.
“Please, stay your blade! I come to bring love. Love, respect, and compassion!”
“Our passion is only for Him! Him, O Demon Lord! His excellENCE!”
“Stay your blade, or be disciplined.”
“Ah…O Demon Lord! Bring the Demon Lord…at once!” Again, the cultist charged the angel.
“You were warned.”
With a swing of the angel’s hand, the head cultist’s neck was sliced into two, demoting him to just the cultist.
“All in the name of love.”
The angel solemnly sighed. She cast her gaze upon the stunned cultists who had watched the entire ordeal.
Tense silence.
“So, if you’d excuse my rude entrance, ladies and gentlemen…” The angel’s lips morphed into a smile. “Do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior, Jesus Christ?”
|
|
[WP] "Wow, what a great batch we've got this time!" exclaimed the angel looking down at all the horrified cultists. "What, did you really expect that to summon a demon? Come on, we advertised it like that because you guys need us most!"
|
**Warning: Stupid**
The angel radiated brilliant light as it hovered above the doomsday cultists, ready to spread the Good News to the lost souls before it.
"Repent! Repent, o ye sinners! Be Saved by His Grace and know that you will rest in eternal life!" he preached.
The cultists stared open-mouthed, but the angel could sense that not a one of them had made a single, private prayer.
"Be not afraid," the angel continued, "I have come to offer you salvation in the name of Jesus Christ, our savior. He is the source of all goodness, and gentle shepherd to his flock. He stretched his arms out upon the cross and offered himself as a perfect sacrifice to the whole world..."
"What unspeakable horrors have we unleashed on this day?" whispered one cultist to another as the spinning mass of fleshy wheels and rolling eyes spoke in an ancient variant of Hebrew that no American-born cultist could possibly begin to understand.
*Visit* r/OctopusTales *for more weird and sometimes stupid stuff!*
|
The cultists watched as a burst of flames erupted from the sacrificial scarecrow, its straw igniting until all that remained was a burnt patch of flooring below. A red demonic symbol circled around the burn until it reached its peak, flashing with light, blinding the room of cultists, each forced to evert their gaze as the creature appeared before them.
“Wow, what a great bunch we’ve got this time!” Penelope clapped her hands together, smiling at the horrified cultists, part of her expecting their reaction. “What, did you really expect to summon a demon? Come on, we advertised it like that because you guys need us the most.”
The cultists listened to her words before the robed figures turned away, rushing towards the door, shoving each other aside, trying to escape the angel’s wrath.
“Get off me, I deserve to escape, I didn’t even want to do this, you all convinced me it was a good idea.” James said, pushing down at the head of Veronica who was trying to tackle him around the waist.
“Like hell I did. You were the mastermind behind it. You were the one that suggested we try summoning a demon for help.” Veronica said, staggering, her leg being held by Luke who kept tugging her back.
“It’s both your fault, none of you deserve to leave before I do.” He said before tripping Veronica. Veronica fell, pulling James onto her and Luke, leaving the three in a pile on the floor.
“Did you not consider the fact that I might lock the door?” Penelope asked, pointing to the door. The angel walked over to the wall, flicking on the lights, glancing over the room, scoffing at all the gothic imagery on the walls. Posters of horror movies, demonic scriptures, and the odd fake skull. “You lot really seem like posers.”
“Posers? That skull is real, I got it from a strange man outside of a supermarket. He said it belonged to a deranged serial killer.” James said, watching as Penelope picked up the skull, shaking it.
“Its pretty light. I think maybe it’s made from plastic. How did you not realize that? Have you never seen an actual skull?” She asked, watching the pair look at one another, picking themselves up from the floor.
“We have seen heaps of skulls. I actually go to cemeteries at night and just wander around alone.” Veronica said, earning a nod from both her fellow cultists.
“You were watching funny dog videos online last night. Do you truly intend for me to believe any of this? I’m an angel, I see through you all. Now Luke, care to tell me about your lie? You were going to say you once saw a dead body, right? Do I have to disprove that as well?”
“How do you know my name?” Luke was taken aback, huddling together with his fellow cultists while the angel sighed, taking a seat on the bed, patting down her elegant dress.
“I’m all knowing. Well, not entirely all knowing. I don’t know why you all tried to summon a demon for help. That remains a mystery to me. You all seem like decent kids. What use could you have for a demon?”
The group looked at one another, no one wanting to speak. Penelope tapped her fingers against the bed, awaiting a response before Veronica spoke up. “We have this bully; he won’t leave us alone. We thought having a demon would protect us.”
Penelope’s lovely smile faded for a moment, a small twitch in her eye. “A bully? How I despise those who prey on the weak. Please, tell me more.”
“Well, his name is Clark. He just will not leave us alone. Every day, he destroys our homework, harasses us, or just plain hits us. We were running out of options, so we got a little desperate.” James said as the group lowered their heads.
“We also needed help with our math’s homework. We are sorry angel we didn’t mean to cause any harm.” Luke added, the three keeping their heads lowered until the angel clapped her hands, grabbing their attention.
“Raise your heads. You have no reason to apologize. I’m Penelope and starting from tonight, I will be your math’s tutor. I want to reform you three and education is one of the best forms of rehabilitation, not that you lot are troublemakers.”
She snapped her fingers. A row of desks appearing in the room, each having a maths textbook, a pencil and a calculator. “Please take a seat, and we will begin your lesson. Also take those robes off, they are rather unsightly.”
“But what about Clark?” Veronica said, as the three took off their robes, taking a seat in their normal attires, looking over their textbooks.
“Ah, well I’m an angel so I can’t punish anyone.” She said, placing a finger on her chin. “Aren’t you lucky humans aren’t the only people who can reform? I think a demon friend of mine may visit him, perhaps give him a little…” She went silent, before the room went dark, a puff of red smoke appearing before she shouted “BOO.” The lights flicking back on straight after causing the trio to jump. “Just a harmless little scare to set him on the right path. Once that happens, maybe I can help him too.”
“Thank you.” Veronica said, before the other two mumbled thank you’s after her.
“You can thank me by studying hard. Now turn to Chapter 8, let’s start with algebra.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
|
|
[WP] "Wow, what a great batch we've got this time!" exclaimed the angel looking down at all the horrified cultists. "What, did you really expect that to summon a demon? Come on, we advertised it like that because you guys need us most!"
|
We all sat in the dilapidated farmhouse waiting for the angel to call us. We didn’t have no ticket or nothing like that — it wasn’t like waiting for a haircut. Just, a guy would come and tap you on the shoulder and you’d know it was your turn to step outside and go visit the angel in the barn. How that guy knew the angel wanted that particular person, I don’t know. Maybe the angel spoke right into his head.
It could have been any of us next, so we were all nervous as hell as we waited. The men were just as nervous as us women, but we spent our time hushing the children and trying to feed them a comfort we didn’t have ourselves. Gave us something of a distraction.
Thing was: we’d meant to summon a demon but we’d summoned an angel instead. That’s what it said it was, at least: an angel. It summoned itself right into Jeremy Palmer, a one-armed former country guitarist. He didn’t sprout no wings, but he did radiate an aura — it was like the moon behind a fog: you can’t quite see it there, but you can feel it and know it by the lit up fog. And he — the angel — knew stuff he had no rights to know. He knew everything about Edward, our leader, who’d promised us the devil himself.
The angel — because it was no longer Jeremy — yelled about Edward’s lies and greed, then placed his hand on his chest, and Edward was gone, poof, just like that. No one ever saw him again.
The tap on my shoulder almost made me fall off the sofa. Put a set of tea stains on my blouse at the very least.
”It’s your turn,” said the angel’s assistant with a solemn nod. It was like being told the dentist was ready to see you, and you can hear the distant buzzing of the drill.
The man must have seen my throat move as I swallowed nervously.
”It’s okay. He’s an angel, remember?”
That was the other thing though. Lucifer, wasn’t he a fallen angel? So they can say they’re angels, but they can still be devils, right? Like well dressed men who spout good intentions but then drug you over a drink.
But... wasn’t I here to see the devil in the first place? So what did it matter which one it was? I don’t know. There was no logic in my gut. Just this ever churning fear that sweated itself through every damned pore. More nervous to meet an angel than a demon.
I followed him out of the house and across the dry, yellow field. We’d been here six months and barely a plant had grown in all that time — let alone the promised crops that would keep us all going, free of any dependence on anyone but our own hard working and hard aching muscles.
The barn was red. Or used to be. Now it looked more like layers of peeling rust; it sagged heavily in its center as if the invisible foot of God himself pressed down on it.
My guide opened the door. “I can’t come in with you. You’re on your own from here. Good luck.”
”Been on my own long enough,” I said, stiffening my spine. “I’ll be fine.”
He nodded and closed the door after me.
The barn was dark — except for the angel’s soft glow. The one-armed angel sat on a haystack in the center of the room. There were lots of haystacks and cobwebs and bits of ruined wood all scattered about.
“Hello, Claudia,” said the angel.
I shivered at hearing my name. The man the angel had once been, Jeremy, had said my name before, sure, but his voice had been different: a puddle compared to this calm and endless sea. It swallowed me, drowned me, hearing him say my name. Was I that Claudia?
I walked slowly to him and bowed my head, just a little. Old habits die hard and everything.
”Ask,“ said the angel.
”Ask what?” I said, voice whisper-thin.
“Your question.”
Had I been holding one on my tongue? I suppose I had. “Why are you here? We didn’t want to summon no angel.”
”I came because you needed me.”
The way he said “you”... well, it made me think he meant me specifically, and I shivered a second time.
”Well, we didn’t want you.”
The angel smiled. “No. I know what you wanted.“
This time I was sure he meant the singular. ”It’s what I deserve.”
The angel shook its head. “You’re wrong. And believe me, I know the pain you’ve been through. I know that you’re lost now. Very lost. That you’d hoped to be found here, with this family that is not a family. But you’re not, are you?”
”What do you know of my pain?”
”It’s not your fault they died,” the angel said.
First my face went red-hot and I could have probably branded an ox with it. But then tears just streamed down, dripping into threads of straw. “It’s my fault and only my fault. I was driving. I was tired. It was me who didn’t see it coming and who should have swerved.”
”They loved you.”
”Did... Did they tell you that?”
”I don’t need them to.”
For a while I fell silent, apart from the occasional sniff. “There’s nothing left for me here,” I said. “On earth, I mean. I’m ready to go. I wanted the demon to take me. I’m not going to my family, I know that much, so I’m ready to go to the other place.”
“Who are you?“ the angel asked.
”Who am I?”
”Yes. Tell me who you are.”
That used to be so easy to answer. And now I couldn’t think of a single thing I was. I wasn’t a wife or lover anymore. I wasn’t a mother or teacher anymore neither. I died when they all did. “I’m no one,” I said. “Nothing. A hollow body waiting for a grave to slip into.”
The angel smiled again. “You’re wrong.” It hopped down from its haystack and walked to a dark corner of the barn, until all I could see was its faint glow.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
It appeared again with something under its one arm. “Come with me,” the angel said.
It held a kite. A green paper kite: a diamond with a long tail. And the angel held a ball of string in his hand. I hadn’t seen a kite like that in years. Not since I was a child.
It walked to the door and waited. “You’ll need to open this for me. I can’t do magic.”
”Oh,” I said, and hurried across, throwing the door open. Or more accurately, I got the door started and the wind then threw it open. “It’s gotten breezy,” I said.
The angel stepped out onto the dry field. “Take the string,” he instructed. “I only have one arm. In this wind, we’ll have to fly the kite together.”
I wanted to ask: why are we even flying a kite? Why would an angel ask me to help fly one? But for some reason, it just seemed the most natural thing in the world to do. I took the string and unravelled it a little.
”Here,” he said, passing the kite. “Get it started for me. You’ll need to run.”
”Run?”
He nodded. “Run!”
And then I was running, like I was a plane readying to take off. The wind was all over me, slapping at the kite in my hands, trying to steal it already. The tears on my face dried and a laugh jumped out of me as I sprinted through the field and then... Then the kite flew! Leapt into the air like a child, but it kept on leaping, flying up on the strong wind towards the thick grey clouds.
I held the ball of string tight, tensing my body for when the kite became anchored many feet in the air.
The angel was next to me.
He placed his single arm around me, holding the ball of string with me. Together, we pulled it to a gliding halt.
I shivered for the third time — the last time with the angel — as he placed his hand on mine.
But it wasn’t the angel that made me shiver. It wasn’t my family, either — wasn’t their forgiveness flowing down from heaven through the kite and into me. That’s not what I found out there flying that diamond shaped kite.
Instead, I remembered being ten, being on a hill outside my house, laughing with my mother, no cares in the world. Pa was at home with my baby brother, making food for when we got back. I wanted to be an artist. I loved animals. I loved just being alive. I was someone’s child, a daughter, a person.
I’d forgotten all about this little girl. Forgotten this had once been me.
That it still was, even if bad things had happened to her since.
The angel unreeled a little more string.
’You look like you’ve found something,” it yelled through the wind.
”Yes,” I said, breathlessly. The tug of the string against my hands and arms was like wrestling for something I’d so very nearly lost, but not quite lost — refusing to let it fully escape.
The angel removed his hand and stepped back.
How many minutes or hours I flew it, I don’t know. But I was there flying it until the clouds cleared and the wind finally fell.
The angel was gone by then. Back to the barn, I supposed. But I don’t know. I didn’t stick around much longer to find out.
For a while though, before I left, I just sat on the grass and stared up at the blue skies, and remembered who I was.
|
The cultists watched as a burst of flames erupted from the sacrificial scarecrow, its straw igniting until all that remained was a burnt patch of flooring below. A red demonic symbol circled around the burn until it reached its peak, flashing with light, blinding the room of cultists, each forced to evert their gaze as the creature appeared before them.
“Wow, what a great bunch we’ve got this time!” Penelope clapped her hands together, smiling at the horrified cultists, part of her expecting their reaction. “What, did you really expect to summon a demon? Come on, we advertised it like that because you guys need us the most.”
The cultists listened to her words before the robed figures turned away, rushing towards the door, shoving each other aside, trying to escape the angel’s wrath.
“Get off me, I deserve to escape, I didn’t even want to do this, you all convinced me it was a good idea.” James said, pushing down at the head of Veronica who was trying to tackle him around the waist.
“Like hell I did. You were the mastermind behind it. You were the one that suggested we try summoning a demon for help.” Veronica said, staggering, her leg being held by Luke who kept tugging her back.
“It’s both your fault, none of you deserve to leave before I do.” He said before tripping Veronica. Veronica fell, pulling James onto her and Luke, leaving the three in a pile on the floor.
“Did you not consider the fact that I might lock the door?” Penelope asked, pointing to the door. The angel walked over to the wall, flicking on the lights, glancing over the room, scoffing at all the gothic imagery on the walls. Posters of horror movies, demonic scriptures, and the odd fake skull. “You lot really seem like posers.”
“Posers? That skull is real, I got it from a strange man outside of a supermarket. He said it belonged to a deranged serial killer.” James said, watching as Penelope picked up the skull, shaking it.
“Its pretty light. I think maybe it’s made from plastic. How did you not realize that? Have you never seen an actual skull?” She asked, watching the pair look at one another, picking themselves up from the floor.
“We have seen heaps of skulls. I actually go to cemeteries at night and just wander around alone.” Veronica said, earning a nod from both her fellow cultists.
“You were watching funny dog videos online last night. Do you truly intend for me to believe any of this? I’m an angel, I see through you all. Now Luke, care to tell me about your lie? You were going to say you once saw a dead body, right? Do I have to disprove that as well?”
“How do you know my name?” Luke was taken aback, huddling together with his fellow cultists while the angel sighed, taking a seat on the bed, patting down her elegant dress.
“I’m all knowing. Well, not entirely all knowing. I don’t know why you all tried to summon a demon for help. That remains a mystery to me. You all seem like decent kids. What use could you have for a demon?”
The group looked at one another, no one wanting to speak. Penelope tapped her fingers against the bed, awaiting a response before Veronica spoke up. “We have this bully; he won’t leave us alone. We thought having a demon would protect us.”
Penelope’s lovely smile faded for a moment, a small twitch in her eye. “A bully? How I despise those who prey on the weak. Please, tell me more.”
“Well, his name is Clark. He just will not leave us alone. Every day, he destroys our homework, harasses us, or just plain hits us. We were running out of options, so we got a little desperate.” James said as the group lowered their heads.
“We also needed help with our math’s homework. We are sorry angel we didn’t mean to cause any harm.” Luke added, the three keeping their heads lowered until the angel clapped her hands, grabbing their attention.
“Raise your heads. You have no reason to apologize. I’m Penelope and starting from tonight, I will be your math’s tutor. I want to reform you three and education is one of the best forms of rehabilitation, not that you lot are troublemakers.”
She snapped her fingers. A row of desks appearing in the room, each having a maths textbook, a pencil and a calculator. “Please take a seat, and we will begin your lesson. Also take those robes off, they are rather unsightly.”
“But what about Clark?” Veronica said, as the three took off their robes, taking a seat in their normal attires, looking over their textbooks.
“Ah, well I’m an angel so I can’t punish anyone.” She said, placing a finger on her chin. “Aren’t you lucky humans aren’t the only people who can reform? I think a demon friend of mine may visit him, perhaps give him a little…” She went silent, before the room went dark, a puff of red smoke appearing before she shouted “BOO.” The lights flicking back on straight after causing the trio to jump. “Just a harmless little scare to set him on the right path. Once that happens, maybe I can help him too.”
“Thank you.” Veronica said, before the other two mumbled thank you’s after her.
“You can thank me by studying hard. Now turn to Chapter 8, let’s start with algebra.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
|
|
[WP] "Wow, what a great batch we've got this time!" exclaimed the angel looking down at all the horrified cultists. "What, did you really expect that to summon a demon? Come on, we advertised it like that because you guys need us most!"
|
We all sat in the dilapidated farmhouse waiting for the angel to call us. We didn’t have no ticket or nothing like that — it wasn’t like waiting for a haircut. Just, a guy would come and tap you on the shoulder and you’d know it was your turn to step outside and go visit the angel in the barn. How that guy knew the angel wanted that particular person, I don’t know. Maybe the angel spoke right into his head.
It could have been any of us next, so we were all nervous as hell as we waited. The men were just as nervous as us women, but we spent our time hushing the children and trying to feed them a comfort we didn’t have ourselves. Gave us something of a distraction.
Thing was: we’d meant to summon a demon but we’d summoned an angel instead. That’s what it said it was, at least: an angel. It summoned itself right into Jeremy Palmer, a one-armed former country guitarist. He didn’t sprout no wings, but he did radiate an aura — it was like the moon behind a fog: you can’t quite see it there, but you can feel it and know it by the lit up fog. And he — the angel — knew stuff he had no rights to know. He knew everything about Edward, our leader, who’d promised us the devil himself.
The angel — because it was no longer Jeremy — yelled about Edward’s lies and greed, then placed his hand on his chest, and Edward was gone, poof, just like that. No one ever saw him again.
The tap on my shoulder almost made me fall off the sofa. Put a set of tea stains on my blouse at the very least.
”It’s your turn,” said the angel’s assistant with a solemn nod. It was like being told the dentist was ready to see you, and you can hear the distant buzzing of the drill.
The man must have seen my throat move as I swallowed nervously.
”It’s okay. He’s an angel, remember?”
That was the other thing though. Lucifer, wasn’t he a fallen angel? So they can say they’re angels, but they can still be devils, right? Like well dressed men who spout good intentions but then drug you over a drink.
But... wasn’t I here to see the devil in the first place? So what did it matter which one it was? I don’t know. There was no logic in my gut. Just this ever churning fear that sweated itself through every damned pore. More nervous to meet an angel than a demon.
I followed him out of the house and across the dry, yellow field. We’d been here six months and barely a plant had grown in all that time — let alone the promised crops that would keep us all going, free of any dependence on anyone but our own hard working and hard aching muscles.
The barn was red. Or used to be. Now it looked more like layers of peeling rust; it sagged heavily in its center as if the invisible foot of God himself pressed down on it.
My guide opened the door. “I can’t come in with you. You’re on your own from here. Good luck.”
”Been on my own long enough,” I said, stiffening my spine. “I’ll be fine.”
He nodded and closed the door after me.
The barn was dark — except for the angel’s soft glow. The one-armed angel sat on a haystack in the center of the room. There were lots of haystacks and cobwebs and bits of ruined wood all scattered about.
“Hello, Claudia,” said the angel.
I shivered at hearing my name. The man the angel had once been, Jeremy, had said my name before, sure, but his voice had been different: a puddle compared to this calm and endless sea. It swallowed me, drowned me, hearing him say my name. Was I that Claudia?
I walked slowly to him and bowed my head, just a little. Old habits die hard and everything.
”Ask,“ said the angel.
”Ask what?” I said, voice whisper-thin.
“Your question.”
Had I been holding one on my tongue? I suppose I had. “Why are you here? We didn’t want to summon no angel.”
”I came because you needed me.”
The way he said “you”... well, it made me think he meant me specifically, and I shivered a second time.
”Well, we didn’t want you.”
The angel smiled. “No. I know what you wanted.“
This time I was sure he meant the singular. ”It’s what I deserve.”
The angel shook its head. “You’re wrong. And believe me, I know the pain you’ve been through. I know that you’re lost now. Very lost. That you’d hoped to be found here, with this family that is not a family. But you’re not, are you?”
”What do you know of my pain?”
”It’s not your fault they died,” the angel said.
First my face went red-hot and I could have probably branded an ox with it. But then tears just streamed down, dripping into threads of straw. “It’s my fault and only my fault. I was driving. I was tired. It was me who didn’t see it coming and who should have swerved.”
”They loved you.”
”Did... Did they tell you that?”
”I don’t need them to.”
For a while I fell silent, apart from the occasional sniff. “There’s nothing left for me here,” I said. “On earth, I mean. I’m ready to go. I wanted the demon to take me. I’m not going to my family, I know that much, so I’m ready to go to the other place.”
“Who are you?“ the angel asked.
”Who am I?”
”Yes. Tell me who you are.”
That used to be so easy to answer. And now I couldn’t think of a single thing I was. I wasn’t a wife or lover anymore. I wasn’t a mother or teacher anymore neither. I died when they all did. “I’m no one,” I said. “Nothing. A hollow body waiting for a grave to slip into.”
The angel smiled again. “You’re wrong.” It hopped down from its haystack and walked to a dark corner of the barn, until all I could see was its faint glow.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
It appeared again with something under its one arm. “Come with me,” the angel said.
It held a kite. A green paper kite: a diamond with a long tail. And the angel held a ball of string in his hand. I hadn’t seen a kite like that in years. Not since I was a child.
It walked to the door and waited. “You’ll need to open this for me. I can’t do magic.”
”Oh,” I said, and hurried across, throwing the door open. Or more accurately, I got the door started and the wind then threw it open. “It’s gotten breezy,” I said.
The angel stepped out onto the dry field. “Take the string,” he instructed. “I only have one arm. In this wind, we’ll have to fly the kite together.”
I wanted to ask: why are we even flying a kite? Why would an angel ask me to help fly one? But for some reason, it just seemed the most natural thing in the world to do. I took the string and unravelled it a little.
”Here,” he said, passing the kite. “Get it started for me. You’ll need to run.”
”Run?”
He nodded. “Run!”
And then I was running, like I was a plane readying to take off. The wind was all over me, slapping at the kite in my hands, trying to steal it already. The tears on my face dried and a laugh jumped out of me as I sprinted through the field and then... Then the kite flew! Leapt into the air like a child, but it kept on leaping, flying up on the strong wind towards the thick grey clouds.
I held the ball of string tight, tensing my body for when the kite became anchored many feet in the air.
The angel was next to me.
He placed his single arm around me, holding the ball of string with me. Together, we pulled it to a gliding halt.
I shivered for the third time — the last time with the angel — as he placed his hand on mine.
But it wasn’t the angel that made me shiver. It wasn’t my family, either — wasn’t their forgiveness flowing down from heaven through the kite and into me. That’s not what I found out there flying that diamond shaped kite.
Instead, I remembered being ten, being on a hill outside my house, laughing with my mother, no cares in the world. Pa was at home with my baby brother, making food for when we got back. I wanted to be an artist. I loved animals. I loved just being alive. I was someone’s child, a daughter, a person.
I’d forgotten all about this little girl. Forgotten this had once been me.
That it still was, even if bad things had happened to her since.
The angel unreeled a little more string.
’You look like you’ve found something,” it yelled through the wind.
”Yes,” I said, breathlessly. The tug of the string against my hands and arms was like wrestling for something I’d so very nearly lost, but not quite lost — refusing to let it fully escape.
The angel removed his hand and stepped back.
How many minutes or hours I flew it, I don’t know. But I was there flying it until the clouds cleared and the wind finally fell.
The angel was gone by then. Back to the barn, I supposed. But I don’t know. I didn’t stick around much longer to find out.
For a while though, before I left, I just sat on the grass and stared up at the blue skies, and remembered who I was.
|
**Warning: Stupid**
The angel radiated brilliant light as it hovered above the doomsday cultists, ready to spread the Good News to the lost souls before it.
"Repent! Repent, o ye sinners! Be Saved by His Grace and know that you will rest in eternal life!" he preached.
The cultists stared open-mouthed, but the angel could sense that not a one of them had made a single, private prayer.
"Be not afraid," the angel continued, "I have come to offer you salvation in the name of Jesus Christ, our savior. He is the source of all goodness, and gentle shepherd to his flock. He stretched his arms out upon the cross and offered himself as a perfect sacrifice to the whole world..."
"What unspeakable horrors have we unleashed on this day?" whispered one cultist to another as the spinning mass of fleshy wheels and rolling eyes spoke in an ancient variant of Hebrew that no American-born cultist could possibly begin to understand.
*Visit* r/OctopusTales *for more weird and sometimes stupid stuff!*
|
|
[WP] Humans were never meant to be able to draw perfect circles. For millennia people of all ages attempted the feat, from young children to elder scientists - and everyone in-between. After drawing one perfectly on your first attempt, you finally understand the ramifications behind your actions.
|
How many sides does a circle have?
Nobody knows. One can argue that a circle has an infinite amount of sides, each one infinitely small and adjacent to the next. Others say that a circle is simply one side, bent in a perfect curve that connects its two ends. And some will say that a circle has no sides at all.
Not that Harry had known any of that. He had been scribbling on a piece of paper during the lecture, just making small doodles. And while making these doodles, in the spur of the moment, he had decided to try his hand at making a circle.
And now he was inspecting his handiwork. There was no way this was an *actual* perfect circle, right? But the closer he brought his eye to the paper, the more he realized how perfect his circle was. Flawless and without blemish, somehow his cheap pencil and paper had produced a miracle.
He tapped the shoulder of the person sitting next to him, meaning to show him his work of art.
But then everything *flickered*. Almost as if he blinked a thousand times in a second. Or if the universe was blinking.
And everything went dark.
\----------
A sea of inky black. Pure silence. Harry had no idea what was going on. He tried to call out, but found that he couldn't make a sound. And then he realized that he couldn't feel his body, couldn't feel anything. Like he didn't have a body.
Here he was, simply existing in a void of nothing.
And after an indeterminate amount of time, the sea of inky black was replaced with... text?
**HOW DID YOU DO IT?**
...What? Harry's jaw would have dropped if he had a jaw. What was going on?
**OOPS, SORRY. FORGOT YOU COULDN'T TALK. LET ME PULL YOU OUT FOR A BIT SO YOU CAN RESPOND.**
And before Harry could react to the strange text, he felt a strange sensation go over his entire existence. If he had a body, he suspected that he would have felt pain.
\----------
"Hey man! Congrats on being in the real world! You were in a simulation by the way. Not that you're going to remember this later."
Harry found himself with a body again. Standing naked. And he was in some sort of lab? And was the weird scientist talking to him? What was a simulation? Also, he found that his body felt weird. Like it wasn't his own. He was too tall, too skinny, too pale.
"Whas goin' on?" he slurred out, his mouth not properly obeying his brain.
"Oh, your temp-body seems to not have merged properly with your mind. I suppose that's to be expected, since you're not a real person, just a program," the scientist responded quickly. "You know, I'm breaking so many rules right now. So let's get this over with. I'm just dying to know -- how did you do it? How did you draw a perfect circle?"
Was this what it was about? Was he kidnapped and fed drugs or something so that people could see his lecture doodle?
"Wot thah fock?"
"I mean, like, it's not possible to draw a perfect circle. Like actually impossible. Here in the real world, it's impossible to produce a perfect circle. Everyone's tried at least once, and nobody has done it. It's been like this for millenia. And in order to simulate a perfect circle, that would take more computing power than the entire universe has. But somehow, you, in your simulated environment, managed to create a perfect circle."
"Huh?" Harry knew he wasn't a clever fellow. And this man was speaking too many clever words. Did he want him to try to draw another perfect circle?
Harry spotted a paper and pencil on the table. Grabbing the pencil, he quickly drew a circle, hoping it would be perfect.
It was a perfect circle. Oh yeah! He was pretty good at this.
"What the fuck?" the scientist man's jaw dropped. "That's not possible! Literally no. No. I don't believe it!"
And then the universe blinked. Everything flickered. Harry already experienced this, so he didn't really care anymore this time. But the scientist was screaming.
\----------
**HOW DID YOU DO IT?**
The scientist would have continued screaming, but he had no mouth. Harry was annoyed that he was here again.
**OOPS, SORRY. FORGOT YOU COULDN'T TALK. LET ME PULL YOU OUT FOR A BIT SO YOU CAN RESPOND.**
\----------
"Hey men! Congrats on being in the real world! You were in a simulation by the way. Not that you're going to remember this later."
|
The holding music was driving me fucking batshit crazy. I had been on the phone to my good-for-nothing piece-of-shit insurance company for four hours now. I was pissed, and doodling angry satanic images into the paper in front of me. I had reached the Devil’s eyes and had forgotten how to draw ovals apparently when my pen formed a perfect circle on the page. “Nice” I thought to myself, admiring the the sheer roundness of my creation.
I turned my attention back to the hold music. Mozart’s 25th, but the audio quality was really poor. I fucking hated Mozart anyway. I looked down at the paper and noticed, strangely, that the circle I had just drawn had sunken into the page. The centre was black, an unforgiving abyss. I began to feel funny. I could feel my eyes being pulled out of my skull. Before I knew it my whole body was in the circle; and I was falling.
When I came to, I found myself standing on the edge of the Earth. A large waterfall beneath my feet. “So it is flat, after all?” I mumbled to myself. A voice from behind me said:
“Always has been. You have been blessed with the knowledge of the perfect circle. The universe, the Earth, are all perfect circles. We cannot allow you to keep this knowledge. Could you imagine the anarchy when good ordinary working people realise gravity isn’t fucking real?”
I nodded, sagely, and, in one movement, threw myself off the end of the Earth. “Your secret is safe with me! AAAAHHHHHaaaaaahhhhhhhh”
|
|
[WP] Humans were never meant to be able to draw perfect circles. For millennia people of all ages attempted the feat, from young children to elder scientists - and everyone in-between. After drawing one perfectly on your first attempt, you finally understand the ramifications behind your actions.
|
How many sides does a circle have?
Nobody knows. One can argue that a circle has an infinite amount of sides, each one infinitely small and adjacent to the next. Others say that a circle is simply one side, bent in a perfect curve that connects its two ends. And some will say that a circle has no sides at all.
Not that Harry had known any of that. He had been scribbling on a piece of paper during the lecture, just making small doodles. And while making these doodles, in the spur of the moment, he had decided to try his hand at making a circle.
And now he was inspecting his handiwork. There was no way this was an *actual* perfect circle, right? But the closer he brought his eye to the paper, the more he realized how perfect his circle was. Flawless and without blemish, somehow his cheap pencil and paper had produced a miracle.
He tapped the shoulder of the person sitting next to him, meaning to show him his work of art.
But then everything *flickered*. Almost as if he blinked a thousand times in a second. Or if the universe was blinking.
And everything went dark.
\----------
A sea of inky black. Pure silence. Harry had no idea what was going on. He tried to call out, but found that he couldn't make a sound. And then he realized that he couldn't feel his body, couldn't feel anything. Like he didn't have a body.
Here he was, simply existing in a void of nothing.
And after an indeterminate amount of time, the sea of inky black was replaced with... text?
**HOW DID YOU DO IT?**
...What? Harry's jaw would have dropped if he had a jaw. What was going on?
**OOPS, SORRY. FORGOT YOU COULDN'T TALK. LET ME PULL YOU OUT FOR A BIT SO YOU CAN RESPOND.**
And before Harry could react to the strange text, he felt a strange sensation go over his entire existence. If he had a body, he suspected that he would have felt pain.
\----------
"Hey man! Congrats on being in the real world! You were in a simulation by the way. Not that you're going to remember this later."
Harry found himself with a body again. Standing naked. And he was in some sort of lab? And was the weird scientist talking to him? What was a simulation? Also, he found that his body felt weird. Like it wasn't his own. He was too tall, too skinny, too pale.
"Whas goin' on?" he slurred out, his mouth not properly obeying his brain.
"Oh, your temp-body seems to not have merged properly with your mind. I suppose that's to be expected, since you're not a real person, just a program," the scientist responded quickly. "You know, I'm breaking so many rules right now. So let's get this over with. I'm just dying to know -- how did you do it? How did you draw a perfect circle?"
Was this what it was about? Was he kidnapped and fed drugs or something so that people could see his lecture doodle?
"Wot thah fock?"
"I mean, like, it's not possible to draw a perfect circle. Like actually impossible. Here in the real world, it's impossible to produce a perfect circle. Everyone's tried at least once, and nobody has done it. It's been like this for millenia. And in order to simulate a perfect circle, that would take more computing power than the entire universe has. But somehow, you, in your simulated environment, managed to create a perfect circle."
"Huh?" Harry knew he wasn't a clever fellow. And this man was speaking too many clever words. Did he want him to try to draw another perfect circle?
Harry spotted a paper and pencil on the table. Grabbing the pencil, he quickly drew a circle, hoping it would be perfect.
It was a perfect circle. Oh yeah! He was pretty good at this.
"What the fuck?" the scientist man's jaw dropped. "That's not possible! Literally no. No. I don't believe it!"
And then the universe blinked. Everything flickered. Harry already experienced this, so he didn't really care anymore this time. But the scientist was screaming.
\----------
**HOW DID YOU DO IT?**
The scientist would have continued screaming, but he had no mouth. Harry was annoyed that he was here again.
**OOPS, SORRY. FORGOT YOU COULDN'T TALK. LET ME PULL YOU OUT FOR A BIT SO YOU CAN RESPOND.**
\----------
"Hey men! Congrats on being in the real world! You were in a simulation by the way. Not that you're going to remember this later."
|
I was just joking around you know? I mean it’s always seemed funny to me that “no one could draw a perfect circle”. It was supposed to be fun. When I saw what I managed to to I tried to play it off like “of course that happens” but as soon as I reached my hand through it by mistake I realized how wrong I was. It seemed like everything and nothing at the same time it was like the loop of the universe both it’s beggining and it’s end and what I saw there terrified and calmed me at the same time. The universe, it’s a predetermined loop that always happens from beggining to end.
A “perfect circle” if you will.
|
|
[WP] Humans were never meant to be able to draw perfect circles. For millennia people of all ages attempted the feat, from young children to elder scientists - and everyone in-between. After drawing one perfectly on your first attempt, you finally understand the ramifications behind your actions.
|
The Resonant Circle made its debut appearance years ago at an art exhibition in Key West. When news broke of the painting—if you could call it that—the world thought it was a joke. The piece looks utterly unremarkable when viewed in any form other than the original. Just a simple circle on a white sheet of printer paper.
But when viewed in person… the Resonant Circle has an effect on people. You can’t stop looking at it. People say it’s the most beautiful, perfect thing they’ve ever seen. They stand there, transfixed, for as long as security lets them. The exhibit itself had to be placed into a recessed wall, away from the periphery of the guards, who would otherwise have been hypnotized and distracted by its effect.
After months of press coverage and a few related international incidents, the Resonant Circle was auctioned for a eighty million dollars. The purchaser was a wealthy woman, but not so wealthy that she was able to afford what she paid. Reports say she liquidated her entire fortune to make the winning bid. Luckily, she didn’t have to live in poverty. In fact, she didn’t have to live at all because a week later the Resonant Circle disappeared, leaving her mangled corpse in its wake.
As an academic, who's devoted my entire life to studying the Psychological effects of art, I was fascinated and excited by The Circle.
As the artist who drew it, I was horrified.
I was just a kid learning to draw owls in art class when it happened. I had just drawn the owl’s body—a circle—when the teacher, Mr. Allen, stopped by to check on my work.
“You drew this?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“It’s so round.”
“I’m good at circles,” I said proudly.
“Look at those curves…” Mr. Allen's pupils had dilated. “They just keep... on... curving...” He stood there silent, his mouth open for a minute.
“Mr. Allen?”
He shook his head. “What? Oh right. Sorry. Your drawing. Nice try but owls aren’t supposed to be so beautiful—I mean round. So... perfectly round... Try again.”
He took my drawing, and I tried again this time making the owl a bit more ugly. I got a B+. It was a pretty unfortunate looking owl.
Over the next few weeks Mr. Allen seemed more and more distracted. He’d developed bags under his eyes, he’d zone out, and as the weeks went on, he grew thinner and thinner. Eventually, he stopped coming to class and we got a substitute teacher. I never did find out what happened to him.
Nowadays, the thought that the drawing might be traced back to me haunts my waking dreams. Every day I'm thankful that I didn't write my name at the top of that piece of paper. If I had, I'd have been kidnapped and killed long ago, just like every other person who had tried taking credit for the drawing.
I don’t draw, paint or even doodle. It’s too dangerous. I’ve seen the effect my work can have, and I don’t want any part of it. That’s not to say I could recreate the Resonant Circle even if I wanted to. I had tried, in the privacy of my own home, and never quite succeeded.
Today I'm a guest speaker at a world-renowned university. “Hello everyone," I said to the class. "My name is Dr. Oloroso.” I wrote the words on the chalkboard. “I'm here to talk about—”
I hesitated. Something felt off. Every student in the room had gone deathly still, fixated on something behind me.
“They're so round…” One of them murmured, pointing at the chalkboard, where I had just written my name and four perfect “O’s.”
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
There is a twisted form of safety in chaos. The insurance that, no matter how much you try to make out an order in the universe, something, somewhere, will break your precise ordering and render it moot. Your life does not have to make any sense if nothing does. You might as well kick back and enjoy the absurd ride that is life.
Look at the smokers and drunkards down the street. They know that notions like health and future and ambition are only dreams born of uncertainty and fear, a desire to live in the illusion. Men and women were deemed mad for casting away the veil, sometimes for less.
But you can't, isn't it? You are too smart, too great, too good to simply accept universal chaos, like mathematicians and grandmasters of chess who either try to rationalize the world by adding new rules seemingly compatible with the ancient ones, or vanish into a smaller dimension where all pieces move after a precise logic. Chess had to be born from a chaotic world to offer an oasis of respite to rationalists.
But you just have to go beyond, to find the rules. And where there are none, you create your own.
The universe started with an atom. A circle, a sphere, but imperfect. You know it, even the finest grain into which you can grind the stars and cosmos remains imperfect. Beyond microscopes and machinery, a black board remains. So many circles on it, drawn by a spirit for which the certainty that no circle can be perfect has to be broken.
You never suspected this imperfection was there for a reason, did you? No you didn't, you just have to forego the why to break the how and recreate the when and where.
An evening, half bored and drawing again on that empty void of your board, you manage to lay down the first rule of the universe. A circle, perfect. As in, for the first time, there was a true measurement for perfection. And the universe, witnessing your creation, follows suit.
Too late you learn that perfection is an infection. But maybe this was the plan. A mathematical plague tailored by a psychorigid cynic. An atom sees - no, *feels* \- your circle and makes itself perfect. Its bretherns know that only the best prevail, and follow suit. those that don't, vanish. Perfect atoms, yet building imperfections. Not for long. Your black board sheds its defects, corners cutting like a diamond knife, surface so smooth you don't know if your finger trails on water.
Horror comes, your mind fills with a torrent of adrenaline, synapses fire up... and die. Fear has no need to be among perfection. If it is, it is perfect, thus does not need to be afraid. If it is imperfect, then it is not at all, and cannot be afraid.
The plague spreads. And from the matter jumps to the immaterial, from the stone to the idea, to the thought. Smokers and drunkards disappear. Art and leisure a distraction, soon disappeared and forgotten.
There is no idle time.
You schedule has not a single second wasted.
Neither are your thoughts, each tailored to advance on some path, daydreaming has never existed.
But you can't even think about questioning the new world now. It would be imperfect. We wouldn't want to suddenly vanish, do we?
There is a terrifying sense of imprisonment in order. Everything is in place. More horribily, nothing is out of place. No self-destructive habit, no unproductive second. The world is a consistent timepiece, you know what movements you will do to the last gasp up until the last second of your existence, for it is a perfect lifeplan, and perfection can be forecast.
Your wish has been granted. Hateful of the previous chaos, you have become the master of the clockwork world. A new set of rules, that binds you and every other being.
Let's hope you can enjoy your creation. Just kidding. Perfection has no need for enjoyment.
|
|
[WP] Humans were never meant to be able to draw perfect circles. For millennia people of all ages attempted the feat, from young children to elder scientists - and everyone in-between. After drawing one perfectly on your first attempt, you finally understand the ramifications behind your actions.
|
Of course, it was impossible.
There's still a video of me somewhere in my mother's house. I am nearly three years old and my eyes are vacant, gleaming, as I sit there, staring at the paper, drawing circles over and over again.
"She's doing it," my mother whispers behind in the camera. "It's really working."
My eyes flick to her, but I keep drawing, robotic, enchanted.
It's the first time I've held a marker, and the page is full of perfect circles. My hand keeps making them, even as I stare at the woman I always called Mother.
I tried to find the video along with all the others and destroy it, the night I left. The night I screamed at her *how could you, how could you, how could you*.
She hid it all. All the videos where I suddenly went from toddling to perfect running. There are videos of me at four years old, moving like a trained gymnast. Throwing darts that hit the bullseye every time. There are a few my mother put on her institute's website, but most of them are still locked somewhere in her office — the research ones, the experiments that preceded my impossibly-perfect "first tries."
When I was looking for it—throwing open cupboards, upending drawers—and the world was crumbling all around me, she was just shaking her head, like I was an inconvenient glitch.
The last thing she said to me was, "I really thought you were better than this."
So did I, Mother. Of all people, I never thought you would be the one to betray me.
°°°
When I was six, they put me on television. Some daytime talk show.
There was a string of stage lights like eyes, blinding me. The audience was a was a wall of black shadows beyond it.
My mother sat beside me in a new dress she got, just for this. My dress was new too. I saw my own bright eyes reflected in my shiny patent leather shoes.
The host told me, "Now, Gracie, show us your special talent." He held up a pad of paper and a pencil for the camera to see, like a magician's assistant. "For those of you watching at home, this is just an ordinary paper and pencil from the green room. Why don't you show us what makes you so special?"
"Go ahead, Gracie," my mother whispered. Sweat snake trailed down her temple. "Show them."
I don't know how no one saw it, back then. When I'm drunk, I rewatch the clip. My little arm jolting down. My eyes full of lights, blankly following my hand, as I made a row of perfect circles, cold lifeless eggs that will never hatch.
I held it up for the audience and they started clapping.
The host picked up something off the table. Something heavy and wedged-shaped that crackled when it passed over me, like a snuffling dog.
"See?" he said. "No metal. She's a real girl who can do the impossible."
The audience ooh'd and clapped and I just stared at the device, wondering what he meant. That was the first time I felt dread, cold and heavy as a drowning heart.
I asked my mother later what he meant.
She just smiled at me, cryptically, and said, "He was just putting on a show for everyone at home, darling."
I believed her. Stupidly, naively, with the blind trust only a child can have for her parent, I believed her.
°°°
I was ten when I first heard the word robot.
I was famous by then. There was always something new I did that shouldn't be possible. I was the most flexible, genius, quickest, coordinated, artistic, creative, productive child on the planet. My paintings were in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. My mother was already in talks with an Olympic gymnastics team. I had been published in The New Yorker for articles that read like an expert composed them.
That's how they described me, when another one of my mother's routines planned for me hit the news: *like a robot, like a robot, feels like it can't even be real*.
I thought it was a compliment, at first.
Of course I wasn't a robot. I bled when I fell and I had a heartbeat and hunger and everything you'd expect from just an odd but perfectly human little girl.
My mother told me, "That's just what they call things they can't understand."
Sometimes, I want to go back in time and shake her and demand why she let it happen the way it did. Why she gambled so much when I was the only one who would take the fall.
But I can only go back here, in the dark corridors of my mind, where my memory is saved like reels of film. I remember everything. Every image and breath and sound and word.
I wish I could throw them all the floor and burn them.
What do normal people do when they need to forget?
°°°
I found out from a tabloid in a grocery store. I was fourteen years old, standing beside my mother's cart, scanning over magazines.
I had no friends. No school. Nothing but work and training. My mother told me I was too special to waste my time on things I already knew better than the teacher, so I never learned how to talk to children my age. How to have a friend.
So I had no one to talk to but my mother when I saw the back of my own head on the magazine. My hair was blowing in a harsh wind, and someone, paparazzi or someone, had taken a picture.
There was a jagged scar biting through my scalp. White and smooth, distinctly surgical.
The headline blared, **DOES THE IMPOSSIBLE GIRL HAVE A SECRET?**
My mother's face went pale.
"Ugly rumors," she whispered to me. "Don't believe them."
When we got home, I went into the bathroom with a pair of scissors and my mother's razor. I didn't care about my hair. Didn't care about anything but the truth.
I sawed my hair off, letting it fall all around me, then shaved off the last of it, close to my scalp. I looked patchy and insane, those lights in my eyes really whirring now.
I twisted to look in the mirror, and there it was. A distinctive scar on the back of my skull. White and shiny with age.
The bathroom door opened then. And there was my mother, her face pink with rage.
"What have you done?" she hissed.
°°°
I won't tell you about the argument. I screamed and she screamed and there were doors slamming and my mind was freezing up and burning like an old computer, shorting itself out.
I just asked her, "Aren't I real? Aren't I?"
She never answered.
I figured it out for myself, years later. After I ran away. After the media scorched us for being scammers and liars and my mother began glaring at me like I was an intruder in my own home.
I found out when I was sitting in a diner in New York City, on my lunch break. I'd dyed my short hair. I never looked people in the eye. When my boss asked me how I managed to never forget an order, I just shrugged and told him I had a knack for remembering things.
But there was my mother's face on the tiny CRT television suspended in the corner. She wore her makeup like a mask. Like a shield.
The headline under her face said **SCIENTIST SELLS NEURO-IMPLANT PATENT FOR $35M**
"We couldn't say it at the time. She was a secret project. Do I wish I'd done things differently? Of course."
My heart lifted and twisted like it was squeezed in a fist.
"I wish I hadn't had to lie to you all. But the experiment needed to work. How else could I make sure she could fool anyone?"
The hosts laughed with her. The audience laughed.
I wasn't laughing.
"What's your secret?" a host asked.
"I designed and inserted a very small web-compatible chip in her brainstem when she was two. She had a nerve disorder. It was to help her brain figure out how to walk properly. I never imagined it would work as well as it did. And now the medical and technical applications are truly endless."
There are videos of me, before the chip. Walking and toddling and babbling, normal as any toddler. *Medical intervention* my ass.
My sandwich tasted kind cardboard in my mouth. I walked to the garbage can and threw it away. Spit out the bite in my mouth.
"Where is Gracie now?" another hosts asked.
"Oh, happy at home. Planning her next big surprise for you all."
I walked out of the shop without another word. I didn't come back when my lunch break ended.
I never came back at all.
°°°
You could ask why I never went on television to tell my story. Maybe it's the same reason my mother never tried to find me.
The story is told. It's over. The world will forever know my mother's version about a happy, strange little girl who could do anything and loved being a secret experiment.
But look out for me. A stranger in the subway with eyes full of impossible lights.
I see everything. I remember everything. My mind is a library and I live in it alone.
Now, I find lost things. Some of them, I keep, when their origin is a mystery: dropped toys or jewelry or souvenirs. Little pieces of strangers lives. When I recognize someone from a memory weeks or months ago, I do the only impossible thing I still care about.
I leave it at their work. Their house. No note, no attention.
I just want them to have a tiny miracle. A little bit of joy and wonder. That moment when they find it and their face splits like it's the most perfect gift, I feel alive. A little less alone.
Maybe someday someone will see me as another lost thing on the subway and take me home and walk through those corridors of my memory with me, especially the dark passages where my mother's secrets wait.
Anything's possible, isn't it?
°°°
Thanks for reading! :D I have a subreddit now -- /r/AsTheMongeeseFly
|
There is a twisted form of safety in chaos. The insurance that, no matter how much you try to make out an order in the universe, something, somewhere, will break your precise ordering and render it moot. Your life does not have to make any sense if nothing does. You might as well kick back and enjoy the absurd ride that is life.
Look at the smokers and drunkards down the street. They know that notions like health and future and ambition are only dreams born of uncertainty and fear, a desire to live in the illusion. Men and women were deemed mad for casting away the veil, sometimes for less.
But you can't, isn't it? You are too smart, too great, too good to simply accept universal chaos, like mathematicians and grandmasters of chess who either try to rationalize the world by adding new rules seemingly compatible with the ancient ones, or vanish into a smaller dimension where all pieces move after a precise logic. Chess had to be born from a chaotic world to offer an oasis of respite to rationalists.
But you just have to go beyond, to find the rules. And where there are none, you create your own.
The universe started with an atom. A circle, a sphere, but imperfect. You know it, even the finest grain into which you can grind the stars and cosmos remains imperfect. Beyond microscopes and machinery, a black board remains. So many circles on it, drawn by a spirit for which the certainty that no circle can be perfect has to be broken.
You never suspected this imperfection was there for a reason, did you? No you didn't, you just have to forego the why to break the how and recreate the when and where.
An evening, half bored and drawing again on that empty void of your board, you manage to lay down the first rule of the universe. A circle, perfect. As in, for the first time, there was a true measurement for perfection. And the universe, witnessing your creation, follows suit.
Too late you learn that perfection is an infection. But maybe this was the plan. A mathematical plague tailored by a psychorigid cynic. An atom sees - no, *feels* \- your circle and makes itself perfect. Its bretherns know that only the best prevail, and follow suit. those that don't, vanish. Perfect atoms, yet building imperfections. Not for long. Your black board sheds its defects, corners cutting like a diamond knife, surface so smooth you don't know if your finger trails on water.
Horror comes, your mind fills with a torrent of adrenaline, synapses fire up... and die. Fear has no need to be among perfection. If it is, it is perfect, thus does not need to be afraid. If it is imperfect, then it is not at all, and cannot be afraid.
The plague spreads. And from the matter jumps to the immaterial, from the stone to the idea, to the thought. Smokers and drunkards disappear. Art and leisure a distraction, soon disappeared and forgotten.
There is no idle time.
You schedule has not a single second wasted.
Neither are your thoughts, each tailored to advance on some path, daydreaming has never existed.
But you can't even think about questioning the new world now. It would be imperfect. We wouldn't want to suddenly vanish, do we?
There is a terrifying sense of imprisonment in order. Everything is in place. More horribily, nothing is out of place. No self-destructive habit, no unproductive second. The world is a consistent timepiece, you know what movements you will do to the last gasp up until the last second of your existence, for it is a perfect lifeplan, and perfection can be forecast.
Your wish has been granted. Hateful of the previous chaos, you have become the master of the clockwork world. A new set of rules, that binds you and every other being.
Let's hope you can enjoy your creation. Just kidding. Perfection has no need for enjoyment.
|
|
[WP] Humans were never meant to be able to draw perfect circles. For millennia people of all ages attempted the feat, from young children to elder scientists - and everyone in-between. After drawing one perfectly on your first attempt, you finally understand the ramifications behind your actions.
|
I've looked at it for five hours now.
If I had known six hours ago that I would have drawn a perfect circle on my very first try, I might have gotten a bevy of people to witness the feat--my parents, for giving me steady hands (probably). A Guinness recorder. Rectifier? Approver? Whoever they were, they would probably be accompanied by a documentary crew, and that one person dressed in a suit would measure the circumference of the circle, nod gravely, then turn to the camera and hold up a pre-printed certificate, smile and proclaim me to be the first human to draw a perfect circle.
Because this was a perfect circle. I had just drawn it on a whim, and didn't realize it until it had stewed on paper for about an hour before my eyes were inevitably drawn to its immaculate roundness, unblemished radius, a shining example of pi drawn freehand.
It was perfect. I didn't need a compass or calipers or some other weird instrument to measure what I knew in my heart of hearts.
If there were people with me, they would have left by now. Maybe I would have poured myself a drink, loosened my imaginary necktie and let it hang, still marvelling at my work.
It was utterly, completely, perfect. Right? There was nothing that needed to be changed about it. I should frame it, hang it on my wall (along with the world record certificate), and guests will realize that it is a perfect circle, and they will congratulate me, showering honeyed compliments and muttering envenomed jealousies under their breath.
It was totally, absolutely, perfectly, perfect. And so, I took another piece of paper, and tried to do it again.
This one wasn't perfect. It was rather obvious, poked in its side like an askew blob. It didn't even close properly, for god's sake. No matter, it was merely a hiccup for the genius that is my right hand.
So I drew another one. This wasn't perfect either. This was squiggly. My hand wavered along the path, and while it closed, the path it took was not a faultless path.
I couldn't stop myself from drawing another one. And another. And one more after that, and more and more, till my wrist ached, shot with strain, and my palm found itself coloured by graphite, and my eyes were probably bloodshot and poked out a little more as I stared my damnedest at each circle. I was improving--well, except my first one--but blemishes remained, sticking out like a baby cuckoo crying at the top of its lungs, bringing me to its attention wearily and tiredly.
I could not bear to look at my first circle. It must have felt betrayed by what I've done. There was nothing I could do to surpass it, for it was perfect in every which way and dimension, but I could have at least equalled it. And as I failed again and again, I had to suppress the urge to throw all the rest away, then take my first circle and lock it safely away and throw away the key, keeping the one exemplary work I've managed to accomplished in forever safety, never to be gazed upon.
I did not know how many hours I spent on my desk. I did not know how many pieces of paper I've used, and how many circles I've drawn on each. These circles did not even deserve their own home, their own plotted piece of land, for they were not perfect.
My head jolted up, and as my bleary eyes cleared ever so slightly, I saw bright light now entering through the window, the sun assaulting me with its undesired rays. I must have fallen asleep. I could not tell whether it was for minutes or hours.
And so I yawned, reaching my hand out, hearing the scrunch of paper beneath my palm. Yet, the crisp scrunch sound it emitted made my blood run cold. I slowly revealed turned over my hand, only to realize that my first ever circle, my perfect child, betrayed by my tired limb, laying destroyed.
I looked it over and over, and looked at the once pristine paper, now crushed and weathered, drawn by my hand and transformed by it. It was no longer a perfect circle. Yet, for some reason, I did not despair.
Instead, I felt freed, aside from the concentrated agony I felt in my arm, the remnants of a syrupy, too good drink at the bottom of the cup. I gathered the various sheets of paper into a pile, placing them neatly at the top of the table. The crumpled, once perfect one, I could not bear to put anywhere but on top.
Then, I grabbed my now stubby pencil. I inhaled deeply, and exhaled, feeling musty air enter my lungs. It was not entirely pleasant, but well-needed.
And then, I drew the perfect square.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
The sunlight through the tree house window dimmed as Evelyn completed her perfect circle, and for a moment she thought a cloud had passed over it. Then it dimmed further, and shadows danced across the weathered boards of the floor and walls. A gasp cut through the sudden, claustrophobic silence, and Evelyn reached out, grabbing her friend's hand. Together she and Aubrey crept to the window, and gazing out upon what had been a beautiful, pristine summer day, they realized a cloud had not, in fact, passed across the sun.
The window was rapidly becoming opaque. The outside was disappearing, Evelyn’s childhood home just across the yard was nothing more than a shred of memory. Her mother, working in the flower beds outside, was a poorly sketched figure in a big, floppy hat, bent over above a tulip whose soft yellow had paradoxically become the brightest scarlet.
All of that strangeness paled next to the sun. It burned black on the horizon, with long, snakelike lines writhing off of it.
The two girls, coltish and still in the first awkward blush of adolescence, grabbed each other’s hands and raced to the door. It did not open.
The shadows that had grown along the walls coalesced, growing heads and limbs and twisted, long fingered hands that barred the door shut. Evelyn pulled hard at the knob, Aubrey too when she was finally able to push down her terror.
“What did you do?!” Aubrey shrieked as the pair pulled back from the door. She shrieked again when she saw the impossibly dark, three fingered claw over it.
“I didn’t do anything!” Evelyn shouted back. The room was lit from the inside now and both girls seemed to realize it at the same time. They turned back to the room’s center slowly, hands unconsciously finding each other’s again.
When they’d come to tree house that day, the first time since they’d begun insisting to the world around them that they were now in fact teens and clearly not children with an interest in such things, they’d brought a single massive poster board along with all the markers they could find in Evelyn’s house. The poster board was the source of the light now.
It sat dead center in the room, a soft, white glow emanating from its surface. In its center the pink marker Evelyn had used to draw the circle hung in the air, spinning like a top.
“Evie, what’s that? What did you do?!”
“I didn’t do anything!” Evelyn shouted again.
And then the shadows began to speak.
They started in whispers with the cadence of verse, though not in any language the girls understood. All else besides the poster board and its circle had been consumed by shadow. No hint of the weathered browns of the original floor and walls remained, only a deep, light eating black.
Evelyn jumped into the circle, pulling Aubrey behind her.
In the place where they had just stood, a form rose up.
Evelyn had never known a shadow to curve like that. In her head, when she imagined them, they were always sharp lines, the slashes of leafless trees upon the snow in winter, or perhaps the shadow of her closet door upon the ground when she really had been a child. These shadows did not obey her imagination.
They curved with the kind of aggressive fluidity no twelve-going on-thirteen year old could imagine. They resolved themselves into the swell of a hip, the suggestion of a lower back that lead not to simply legs, but to something else, something unknown. They became the curve of a full chest and arms folded beneath, the gentle lines of a long, regal neck that resolved into an eyeless, mouthless face. The whole assembly, though still constructed entirely of shadow, was nonetheless solid, and its- *her*- skin gave the appearance of being sheathed in a silken dress, decorations writhing like serpents upon it.
“She’s beautiful,” breathed Aubrey. Evelyn was not sure if she agreed.
The figure flowed forward, to step would have been beneath her, and when she was only inches away from the circle’s edge she crouched down from her commanding height, three fingered hands on immaterial knees, and put herself on the girls’ level.
“Do you not think I am beautiful?” she asked Evelyn, her gaze boring into the girl despite her lack of eyes.
“I think you’re scary,” Evelyn said.
“At least one of you has some sense.” She drew herself back up. More shadows stepped off the walls, they reached down, lifting something up off the floor as if carrying the train of the woman’s dress.
“Which of you drew the circle?” she asked.
“I did,” Evelyn said. Her voice was somehow steady and she was proud of that fact.
“Fitting,” the woman said. “Do you know what you have done?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“Perfect circles are portals my dear, to every species but your own.” She turned back to the door. Her arm reached out and then kept reaching, the shadow extending seamlessly until her fingers touched door knob and caressed. “Why your people insist on these awful rectangles I’ll never understand. The world isn’t something to be feared.
“No matter.”
The woman spoke an impossible verse, laden with the sibilance of snakes and the rustle of soft fabrics along a bedroom floor. The shadows rushed forward, crowding around the circle. None of them had eyes, some had mouths. They were small creatures, shorter even than the girls were, and they pressed against the circle’s edge as if against an invisible wall.
“Had you tried before?”
“To draw a perfect circle? I…no!” Evelyn said. “Aubrey’s the artist, not me!”
“Indeed?” The woman turned her sightless gaze on Aubrey and the girl puffed a bit, stepping closer to the edge. Evelyn grabbed her friends hand and pulled her back sharply, grateful for the first time for the weight advantage she had on her best friend.
“You seem like good girls, and I’m not so old as to have forgotten being young. Take my advice, free of charge.” She crouched down again, darkness flowing from the motion like a gravity defying wave, pooling in the corners of the room. “If you draw one of these, do not leave it unless it is to step into the circle I will tell you of. Tonight, in your beds, you will each draw a circle, repeated until perfect. You will fold them up very small, smaller than you think they could possibly go, and keep them on you at all times. It will be your totem, your portal home, to be used in only the most dire of circumstances.”
“Why?” Evelyn asked.
“Because it will go through my home,” the woman said, “and my home is very dark and full of terrors.”
The woman reached down, gathering up the shadows around her with her bare hands, and with quick motions of her three dexterous fingers she spun them into something greater. She soon had two cloths large enough to be blankets, and folded them as such, laying them at the children’s feet. “Give me two markers,” she said, “not the one you used already.”
Evelyn selected an emerald green, Aubrey took black, and then both girls pushed them through the field of the circle. The air rippled around the marker’s points as she passed through, Evelyn thought it felt like pushing a stick into a snowman.
The shadowy woman kissed each marker softly and lay them on the folded cloths. They turned into quills before the girls eyes.
“If you should ever wish to, draw a circle in a shadowy place, I’ll come if I’m able. Not many can do what you have done.”
“Yes ma’am,” Evelyn nodded solemnly.
“And one last thing, never draw a circle in a garden.”
With that the woman crouched down, licking her finger. Her servants darted back towards the walls, their shapes dissolving with every step. She winked once, Evelyn thought it was at her, and the she casually rubbed out a section of marker circle.
“Goodbye, children,” she whispered and was gone.
Light returned. The sun no longer burned black. No three fingered hand rested upon the door knob.
But the cloths, fine sheets of black silk with lacy fringes, and the quills, feathered by creatures Evelyn couldn’t even imagine, were all still there.
“Aubrey! Your mom is calling!” Evelyn’s mother called from outside.
“Evie, what just happened?” Aubrey whispered.
Evelyn took up her cloth, wrapping it around her like a cloak for a moment, luxuriating in the otherworldly softness. “I don’t know,” she said, taking up the quill, “but I’m drawing that circle.”
r/TurningtoWords
|
|
[WP] Humans were never meant to be able to draw perfect circles. For millennia people of all ages attempted the feat, from young children to elder scientists - and everyone in-between. After drawing one perfectly on your first attempt, you finally understand the ramifications behind your actions.
|
The Resonant Circle made its debut appearance years ago at an art exhibition in Key West. When news broke of the painting—if you could call it that—the world thought it was a joke. The piece looks utterly unremarkable when viewed in any form other than the original. Just a simple circle on a white sheet of printer paper.
But when viewed in person… the Resonant Circle has an effect on people. You can’t stop looking at it. People say it’s the most beautiful, perfect thing they’ve ever seen. They stand there, transfixed, for as long as security lets them. The exhibit itself had to be placed into a recessed wall, away from the periphery of the guards, who would otherwise have been hypnotized and distracted by its effect.
After months of press coverage and a few related international incidents, the Resonant Circle was auctioned for a eighty million dollars. The purchaser was a wealthy woman, but not so wealthy that she was able to afford what she paid. Reports say she liquidated her entire fortune to make the winning bid. Luckily, she didn’t have to live in poverty. In fact, she didn’t have to live at all because a week later the Resonant Circle disappeared, leaving her mangled corpse in its wake.
As an academic, who's devoted my entire life to studying the Psychological effects of art, I was fascinated and excited by The Circle.
As the artist who drew it, I was horrified.
I was just a kid learning to draw owls in art class when it happened. I had just drawn the owl’s body—a circle—when the teacher, Mr. Allen, stopped by to check on my work.
“You drew this?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“It’s so round.”
“I’m good at circles,” I said proudly.
“Look at those curves…” Mr. Allen's pupils had dilated. “They just keep... on... curving...” He stood there silent, his mouth open for a minute.
“Mr. Allen?”
He shook his head. “What? Oh right. Sorry. Your drawing. Nice try but owls aren’t supposed to be so beautiful—I mean round. So... perfectly round... Try again.”
He took my drawing, and I tried again this time making the owl a bit more ugly. I got a B+. It was a pretty unfortunate looking owl.
Over the next few weeks Mr. Allen seemed more and more distracted. He’d developed bags under his eyes, he’d zone out, and as the weeks went on, he grew thinner and thinner. Eventually, he stopped coming to class and we got a substitute teacher. I never did find out what happened to him.
Nowadays, the thought that the drawing might be traced back to me haunts my waking dreams. Every day I'm thankful that I didn't write my name at the top of that piece of paper. If I had, I'd have been kidnapped and killed long ago, just like every other person who had tried taking credit for the drawing.
I don’t draw, paint or even doodle. It’s too dangerous. I’ve seen the effect my work can have, and I don’t want any part of it. That’s not to say I could recreate the Resonant Circle even if I wanted to. I had tried, in the privacy of my own home, and never quite succeeded.
Today I'm a guest speaker at a world-renowned university. “Hello everyone," I said to the class. "My name is Dr. Oloroso.” I wrote the words on the chalkboard. “I'm here to talk about—”
I hesitated. Something felt off. Every student in the room had gone deathly still, fixated on something behind me.
“They're so round…” One of them murmured, pointing at the chalkboard, where I had just written my name and four perfect “O’s.”
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
The sunlight through the tree house window dimmed as Evelyn completed her perfect circle, and for a moment she thought a cloud had passed over it. Then it dimmed further, and shadows danced across the weathered boards of the floor and walls. A gasp cut through the sudden, claustrophobic silence, and Evelyn reached out, grabbing her friend's hand. Together she and Aubrey crept to the window, and gazing out upon what had been a beautiful, pristine summer day, they realized a cloud had not, in fact, passed across the sun.
The window was rapidly becoming opaque. The outside was disappearing, Evelyn’s childhood home just across the yard was nothing more than a shred of memory. Her mother, working in the flower beds outside, was a poorly sketched figure in a big, floppy hat, bent over above a tulip whose soft yellow had paradoxically become the brightest scarlet.
All of that strangeness paled next to the sun. It burned black on the horizon, with long, snakelike lines writhing off of it.
The two girls, coltish and still in the first awkward blush of adolescence, grabbed each other’s hands and raced to the door. It did not open.
The shadows that had grown along the walls coalesced, growing heads and limbs and twisted, long fingered hands that barred the door shut. Evelyn pulled hard at the knob, Aubrey too when she was finally able to push down her terror.
“What did you do?!” Aubrey shrieked as the pair pulled back from the door. She shrieked again when she saw the impossibly dark, three fingered claw over it.
“I didn’t do anything!” Evelyn shouted back. The room was lit from the inside now and both girls seemed to realize it at the same time. They turned back to the room’s center slowly, hands unconsciously finding each other’s again.
When they’d come to tree house that day, the first time since they’d begun insisting to the world around them that they were now in fact teens and clearly not children with an interest in such things, they’d brought a single massive poster board along with all the markers they could find in Evelyn’s house. The poster board was the source of the light now.
It sat dead center in the room, a soft, white glow emanating from its surface. In its center the pink marker Evelyn had used to draw the circle hung in the air, spinning like a top.
“Evie, what’s that? What did you do?!”
“I didn’t do anything!” Evelyn shouted again.
And then the shadows began to speak.
They started in whispers with the cadence of verse, though not in any language the girls understood. All else besides the poster board and its circle had been consumed by shadow. No hint of the weathered browns of the original floor and walls remained, only a deep, light eating black.
Evelyn jumped into the circle, pulling Aubrey behind her.
In the place where they had just stood, a form rose up.
Evelyn had never known a shadow to curve like that. In her head, when she imagined them, they were always sharp lines, the slashes of leafless trees upon the snow in winter, or perhaps the shadow of her closet door upon the ground when she really had been a child. These shadows did not obey her imagination.
They curved with the kind of aggressive fluidity no twelve-going on-thirteen year old could imagine. They resolved themselves into the swell of a hip, the suggestion of a lower back that lead not to simply legs, but to something else, something unknown. They became the curve of a full chest and arms folded beneath, the gentle lines of a long, regal neck that resolved into an eyeless, mouthless face. The whole assembly, though still constructed entirely of shadow, was nonetheless solid, and its- *her*- skin gave the appearance of being sheathed in a silken dress, decorations writhing like serpents upon it.
“She’s beautiful,” breathed Aubrey. Evelyn was not sure if she agreed.
The figure flowed forward, to step would have been beneath her, and when she was only inches away from the circle’s edge she crouched down from her commanding height, three fingered hands on immaterial knees, and put herself on the girls’ level.
“Do you not think I am beautiful?” she asked Evelyn, her gaze boring into the girl despite her lack of eyes.
“I think you’re scary,” Evelyn said.
“At least one of you has some sense.” She drew herself back up. More shadows stepped off the walls, they reached down, lifting something up off the floor as if carrying the train of the woman’s dress.
“Which of you drew the circle?” she asked.
“I did,” Evelyn said. Her voice was somehow steady and she was proud of that fact.
“Fitting,” the woman said. “Do you know what you have done?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“Perfect circles are portals my dear, to every species but your own.” She turned back to the door. Her arm reached out and then kept reaching, the shadow extending seamlessly until her fingers touched door knob and caressed. “Why your people insist on these awful rectangles I’ll never understand. The world isn’t something to be feared.
“No matter.”
The woman spoke an impossible verse, laden with the sibilance of snakes and the rustle of soft fabrics along a bedroom floor. The shadows rushed forward, crowding around the circle. None of them had eyes, some had mouths. They were small creatures, shorter even than the girls were, and they pressed against the circle’s edge as if against an invisible wall.
“Had you tried before?”
“To draw a perfect circle? I…no!” Evelyn said. “Aubrey’s the artist, not me!”
“Indeed?” The woman turned her sightless gaze on Aubrey and the girl puffed a bit, stepping closer to the edge. Evelyn grabbed her friends hand and pulled her back sharply, grateful for the first time for the weight advantage she had on her best friend.
“You seem like good girls, and I’m not so old as to have forgotten being young. Take my advice, free of charge.” She crouched down again, darkness flowing from the motion like a gravity defying wave, pooling in the corners of the room. “If you draw one of these, do not leave it unless it is to step into the circle I will tell you of. Tonight, in your beds, you will each draw a circle, repeated until perfect. You will fold them up very small, smaller than you think they could possibly go, and keep them on you at all times. It will be your totem, your portal home, to be used in only the most dire of circumstances.”
“Why?” Evelyn asked.
“Because it will go through my home,” the woman said, “and my home is very dark and full of terrors.”
The woman reached down, gathering up the shadows around her with her bare hands, and with quick motions of her three dexterous fingers she spun them into something greater. She soon had two cloths large enough to be blankets, and folded them as such, laying them at the children’s feet. “Give me two markers,” she said, “not the one you used already.”
Evelyn selected an emerald green, Aubrey took black, and then both girls pushed them through the field of the circle. The air rippled around the marker’s points as she passed through, Evelyn thought it felt like pushing a stick into a snowman.
The shadowy woman kissed each marker softly and lay them on the folded cloths. They turned into quills before the girls eyes.
“If you should ever wish to, draw a circle in a shadowy place, I’ll come if I’m able. Not many can do what you have done.”
“Yes ma’am,” Evelyn nodded solemnly.
“And one last thing, never draw a circle in a garden.”
With that the woman crouched down, licking her finger. Her servants darted back towards the walls, their shapes dissolving with every step. She winked once, Evelyn thought it was at her, and the she casually rubbed out a section of marker circle.
“Goodbye, children,” she whispered and was gone.
Light returned. The sun no longer burned black. No three fingered hand rested upon the door knob.
But the cloths, fine sheets of black silk with lacy fringes, and the quills, feathered by creatures Evelyn couldn’t even imagine, were all still there.
“Aubrey! Your mom is calling!” Evelyn’s mother called from outside.
“Evie, what just happened?” Aubrey whispered.
Evelyn took up her cloth, wrapping it around her like a cloak for a moment, luxuriating in the otherworldly softness. “I don’t know,” she said, taking up the quill, “but I’m drawing that circle.”
r/TurningtoWords
|
|
[WP] Humans were never meant to be able to draw perfect circles. For millennia people of all ages attempted the feat, from young children to elder scientists - and everyone in-between. After drawing one perfectly on your first attempt, you finally understand the ramifications behind your actions.
|
Of course, it was impossible.
There's still a video of me somewhere in my mother's house. I am nearly three years old and my eyes are vacant, gleaming, as I sit there, staring at the paper, drawing circles over and over again.
"She's doing it," my mother whispers behind in the camera. "It's really working."
My eyes flick to her, but I keep drawing, robotic, enchanted.
It's the first time I've held a marker, and the page is full of perfect circles. My hand keeps making them, even as I stare at the woman I always called Mother.
I tried to find the video along with all the others and destroy it, the night I left. The night I screamed at her *how could you, how could you, how could you*.
She hid it all. All the videos where I suddenly went from toddling to perfect running. There are videos of me at four years old, moving like a trained gymnast. Throwing darts that hit the bullseye every time. There are a few my mother put on her institute's website, but most of them are still locked somewhere in her office — the research ones, the experiments that preceded my impossibly-perfect "first tries."
When I was looking for it—throwing open cupboards, upending drawers—and the world was crumbling all around me, she was just shaking her head, like I was an inconvenient glitch.
The last thing she said to me was, "I really thought you were better than this."
So did I, Mother. Of all people, I never thought you would be the one to betray me.
°°°
When I was six, they put me on television. Some daytime talk show.
There was a string of stage lights like eyes, blinding me. The audience was a was a wall of black shadows beyond it.
My mother sat beside me in a new dress she got, just for this. My dress was new too. I saw my own bright eyes reflected in my shiny patent leather shoes.
The host told me, "Now, Gracie, show us your special talent." He held up a pad of paper and a pencil for the camera to see, like a magician's assistant. "For those of you watching at home, this is just an ordinary paper and pencil from the green room. Why don't you show us what makes you so special?"
"Go ahead, Gracie," my mother whispered. Sweat snake trailed down her temple. "Show them."
I don't know how no one saw it, back then. When I'm drunk, I rewatch the clip. My little arm jolting down. My eyes full of lights, blankly following my hand, as I made a row of perfect circles, cold lifeless eggs that will never hatch.
I held it up for the audience and they started clapping.
The host picked up something off the table. Something heavy and wedged-shaped that crackled when it passed over me, like a snuffling dog.
"See?" he said. "No metal. She's a real girl who can do the impossible."
The audience ooh'd and clapped and I just stared at the device, wondering what he meant. That was the first time I felt dread, cold and heavy as a drowning heart.
I asked my mother later what he meant.
She just smiled at me, cryptically, and said, "He was just putting on a show for everyone at home, darling."
I believed her. Stupidly, naively, with the blind trust only a child can have for her parent, I believed her.
°°°
I was ten when I first heard the word robot.
I was famous by then. There was always something new I did that shouldn't be possible. I was the most flexible, genius, quickest, coordinated, artistic, creative, productive child on the planet. My paintings were in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. My mother was already in talks with an Olympic gymnastics team. I had been published in The New Yorker for articles that read like an expert composed them.
That's how they described me, when another one of my mother's routines planned for me hit the news: *like a robot, like a robot, feels like it can't even be real*.
I thought it was a compliment, at first.
Of course I wasn't a robot. I bled when I fell and I had a heartbeat and hunger and everything you'd expect from just an odd but perfectly human little girl.
My mother told me, "That's just what they call things they can't understand."
Sometimes, I want to go back in time and shake her and demand why she let it happen the way it did. Why she gambled so much when I was the only one who would take the fall.
But I can only go back here, in the dark corridors of my mind, where my memory is saved like reels of film. I remember everything. Every image and breath and sound and word.
I wish I could throw them all the floor and burn them.
What do normal people do when they need to forget?
°°°
I found out from a tabloid in a grocery store. I was fourteen years old, standing beside my mother's cart, scanning over magazines.
I had no friends. No school. Nothing but work and training. My mother told me I was too special to waste my time on things I already knew better than the teacher, so I never learned how to talk to children my age. How to have a friend.
So I had no one to talk to but my mother when I saw the back of my own head on the magazine. My hair was blowing in a harsh wind, and someone, paparazzi or someone, had taken a picture.
There was a jagged scar biting through my scalp. White and smooth, distinctly surgical.
The headline blared, **DOES THE IMPOSSIBLE GIRL HAVE A SECRET?**
My mother's face went pale.
"Ugly rumors," she whispered to me. "Don't believe them."
When we got home, I went into the bathroom with a pair of scissors and my mother's razor. I didn't care about my hair. Didn't care about anything but the truth.
I sawed my hair off, letting it fall all around me, then shaved off the last of it, close to my scalp. I looked patchy and insane, those lights in my eyes really whirring now.
I twisted to look in the mirror, and there it was. A distinctive scar on the back of my skull. White and shiny with age.
The bathroom door opened then. And there was my mother, her face pink with rage.
"What have you done?" she hissed.
°°°
I won't tell you about the argument. I screamed and she screamed and there were doors slamming and my mind was freezing up and burning like an old computer, shorting itself out.
I just asked her, "Aren't I real? Aren't I?"
She never answered.
I figured it out for myself, years later. After I ran away. After the media scorched us for being scammers and liars and my mother began glaring at me like I was an intruder in my own home.
I found out when I was sitting in a diner in New York City, on my lunch break. I'd dyed my short hair. I never looked people in the eye. When my boss asked me how I managed to never forget an order, I just shrugged and told him I had a knack for remembering things.
But there was my mother's face on the tiny CRT television suspended in the corner. She wore her makeup like a mask. Like a shield.
The headline under her face said **SCIENTIST SELLS NEURO-IMPLANT PATENT FOR $35M**
"We couldn't say it at the time. She was a secret project. Do I wish I'd done things differently? Of course."
My heart lifted and twisted like it was squeezed in a fist.
"I wish I hadn't had to lie to you all. But the experiment needed to work. How else could I make sure she could fool anyone?"
The hosts laughed with her. The audience laughed.
I wasn't laughing.
"What's your secret?" a host asked.
"I designed and inserted a very small web-compatible chip in her brainstem when she was two. She had a nerve disorder. It was to help her brain figure out how to walk properly. I never imagined it would work as well as it did. And now the medical and technical applications are truly endless."
There are videos of me, before the chip. Walking and toddling and babbling, normal as any toddler. *Medical intervention* my ass.
My sandwich tasted kind cardboard in my mouth. I walked to the garbage can and threw it away. Spit out the bite in my mouth.
"Where is Gracie now?" another hosts asked.
"Oh, happy at home. Planning her next big surprise for you all."
I walked out of the shop without another word. I didn't come back when my lunch break ended.
I never came back at all.
°°°
You could ask why I never went on television to tell my story. Maybe it's the same reason my mother never tried to find me.
The story is told. It's over. The world will forever know my mother's version about a happy, strange little girl who could do anything and loved being a secret experiment.
But look out for me. A stranger in the subway with eyes full of impossible lights.
I see everything. I remember everything. My mind is a library and I live in it alone.
Now, I find lost things. Some of them, I keep, when their origin is a mystery: dropped toys or jewelry or souvenirs. Little pieces of strangers lives. When I recognize someone from a memory weeks or months ago, I do the only impossible thing I still care about.
I leave it at their work. Their house. No note, no attention.
I just want them to have a tiny miracle. A little bit of joy and wonder. That moment when they find it and their face splits like it's the most perfect gift, I feel alive. A little less alone.
Maybe someday someone will see me as another lost thing on the subway and take me home and walk through those corridors of my memory with me, especially the dark passages where my mother's secrets wait.
Anything's possible, isn't it?
°°°
Thanks for reading! :D I have a subreddit now -- /r/AsTheMongeeseFly
|
The sunlight through the tree house window dimmed as Evelyn completed her perfect circle, and for a moment she thought a cloud had passed over it. Then it dimmed further, and shadows danced across the weathered boards of the floor and walls. A gasp cut through the sudden, claustrophobic silence, and Evelyn reached out, grabbing her friend's hand. Together she and Aubrey crept to the window, and gazing out upon what had been a beautiful, pristine summer day, they realized a cloud had not, in fact, passed across the sun.
The window was rapidly becoming opaque. The outside was disappearing, Evelyn’s childhood home just across the yard was nothing more than a shred of memory. Her mother, working in the flower beds outside, was a poorly sketched figure in a big, floppy hat, bent over above a tulip whose soft yellow had paradoxically become the brightest scarlet.
All of that strangeness paled next to the sun. It burned black on the horizon, with long, snakelike lines writhing off of it.
The two girls, coltish and still in the first awkward blush of adolescence, grabbed each other’s hands and raced to the door. It did not open.
The shadows that had grown along the walls coalesced, growing heads and limbs and twisted, long fingered hands that barred the door shut. Evelyn pulled hard at the knob, Aubrey too when she was finally able to push down her terror.
“What did you do?!” Aubrey shrieked as the pair pulled back from the door. She shrieked again when she saw the impossibly dark, three fingered claw over it.
“I didn’t do anything!” Evelyn shouted back. The room was lit from the inside now and both girls seemed to realize it at the same time. They turned back to the room’s center slowly, hands unconsciously finding each other’s again.
When they’d come to tree house that day, the first time since they’d begun insisting to the world around them that they were now in fact teens and clearly not children with an interest in such things, they’d brought a single massive poster board along with all the markers they could find in Evelyn’s house. The poster board was the source of the light now.
It sat dead center in the room, a soft, white glow emanating from its surface. In its center the pink marker Evelyn had used to draw the circle hung in the air, spinning like a top.
“Evie, what’s that? What did you do?!”
“I didn’t do anything!” Evelyn shouted again.
And then the shadows began to speak.
They started in whispers with the cadence of verse, though not in any language the girls understood. All else besides the poster board and its circle had been consumed by shadow. No hint of the weathered browns of the original floor and walls remained, only a deep, light eating black.
Evelyn jumped into the circle, pulling Aubrey behind her.
In the place where they had just stood, a form rose up.
Evelyn had never known a shadow to curve like that. In her head, when she imagined them, they were always sharp lines, the slashes of leafless trees upon the snow in winter, or perhaps the shadow of her closet door upon the ground when she really had been a child. These shadows did not obey her imagination.
They curved with the kind of aggressive fluidity no twelve-going on-thirteen year old could imagine. They resolved themselves into the swell of a hip, the suggestion of a lower back that lead not to simply legs, but to something else, something unknown. They became the curve of a full chest and arms folded beneath, the gentle lines of a long, regal neck that resolved into an eyeless, mouthless face. The whole assembly, though still constructed entirely of shadow, was nonetheless solid, and its- *her*- skin gave the appearance of being sheathed in a silken dress, decorations writhing like serpents upon it.
“She’s beautiful,” breathed Aubrey. Evelyn was not sure if she agreed.
The figure flowed forward, to step would have been beneath her, and when she was only inches away from the circle’s edge she crouched down from her commanding height, three fingered hands on immaterial knees, and put herself on the girls’ level.
“Do you not think I am beautiful?” she asked Evelyn, her gaze boring into the girl despite her lack of eyes.
“I think you’re scary,” Evelyn said.
“At least one of you has some sense.” She drew herself back up. More shadows stepped off the walls, they reached down, lifting something up off the floor as if carrying the train of the woman’s dress.
“Which of you drew the circle?” she asked.
“I did,” Evelyn said. Her voice was somehow steady and she was proud of that fact.
“Fitting,” the woman said. “Do you know what you have done?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“Perfect circles are portals my dear, to every species but your own.” She turned back to the door. Her arm reached out and then kept reaching, the shadow extending seamlessly until her fingers touched door knob and caressed. “Why your people insist on these awful rectangles I’ll never understand. The world isn’t something to be feared.
“No matter.”
The woman spoke an impossible verse, laden with the sibilance of snakes and the rustle of soft fabrics along a bedroom floor. The shadows rushed forward, crowding around the circle. None of them had eyes, some had mouths. They were small creatures, shorter even than the girls were, and they pressed against the circle’s edge as if against an invisible wall.
“Had you tried before?”
“To draw a perfect circle? I…no!” Evelyn said. “Aubrey’s the artist, not me!”
“Indeed?” The woman turned her sightless gaze on Aubrey and the girl puffed a bit, stepping closer to the edge. Evelyn grabbed her friends hand and pulled her back sharply, grateful for the first time for the weight advantage she had on her best friend.
“You seem like good girls, and I’m not so old as to have forgotten being young. Take my advice, free of charge.” She crouched down again, darkness flowing from the motion like a gravity defying wave, pooling in the corners of the room. “If you draw one of these, do not leave it unless it is to step into the circle I will tell you of. Tonight, in your beds, you will each draw a circle, repeated until perfect. You will fold them up very small, smaller than you think they could possibly go, and keep them on you at all times. It will be your totem, your portal home, to be used in only the most dire of circumstances.”
“Why?” Evelyn asked.
“Because it will go through my home,” the woman said, “and my home is very dark and full of terrors.”
The woman reached down, gathering up the shadows around her with her bare hands, and with quick motions of her three dexterous fingers she spun them into something greater. She soon had two cloths large enough to be blankets, and folded them as such, laying them at the children’s feet. “Give me two markers,” she said, “not the one you used already.”
Evelyn selected an emerald green, Aubrey took black, and then both girls pushed them through the field of the circle. The air rippled around the marker’s points as she passed through, Evelyn thought it felt like pushing a stick into a snowman.
The shadowy woman kissed each marker softly and lay them on the folded cloths. They turned into quills before the girls eyes.
“If you should ever wish to, draw a circle in a shadowy place, I’ll come if I’m able. Not many can do what you have done.”
“Yes ma’am,” Evelyn nodded solemnly.
“And one last thing, never draw a circle in a garden.”
With that the woman crouched down, licking her finger. Her servants darted back towards the walls, their shapes dissolving with every step. She winked once, Evelyn thought it was at her, and the she casually rubbed out a section of marker circle.
“Goodbye, children,” she whispered and was gone.
Light returned. The sun no longer burned black. No three fingered hand rested upon the door knob.
But the cloths, fine sheets of black silk with lacy fringes, and the quills, feathered by creatures Evelyn couldn’t even imagine, were all still there.
“Aubrey! Your mom is calling!” Evelyn’s mother called from outside.
“Evie, what just happened?” Aubrey whispered.
Evelyn took up her cloth, wrapping it around her like a cloak for a moment, luxuriating in the otherworldly softness. “I don’t know,” she said, taking up the quill, “but I’m drawing that circle.”
r/TurningtoWords
|
|
[WP] Humans were never meant to be able to draw perfect circles. For millennia people of all ages attempted the feat, from young children to elder scientists - and everyone in-between. After drawing one perfectly on your first attempt, you finally understand the ramifications behind your actions.
|
The Resonant Circle made its debut appearance years ago at an art exhibition in Key West. When news broke of the painting—if you could call it that—the world thought it was a joke. The piece looks utterly unremarkable when viewed in any form other than the original. Just a simple circle on a white sheet of printer paper.
But when viewed in person… the Resonant Circle has an effect on people. You can’t stop looking at it. People say it’s the most beautiful, perfect thing they’ve ever seen. They stand there, transfixed, for as long as security lets them. The exhibit itself had to be placed into a recessed wall, away from the periphery of the guards, who would otherwise have been hypnotized and distracted by its effect.
After months of press coverage and a few related international incidents, the Resonant Circle was auctioned for a eighty million dollars. The purchaser was a wealthy woman, but not so wealthy that she was able to afford what she paid. Reports say she liquidated her entire fortune to make the winning bid. Luckily, she didn’t have to live in poverty. In fact, she didn’t have to live at all because a week later the Resonant Circle disappeared, leaving her mangled corpse in its wake.
As an academic, who's devoted my entire life to studying the Psychological effects of art, I was fascinated and excited by The Circle.
As the artist who drew it, I was horrified.
I was just a kid learning to draw owls in art class when it happened. I had just drawn the owl’s body—a circle—when the teacher, Mr. Allen, stopped by to check on my work.
“You drew this?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“It’s so round.”
“I’m good at circles,” I said proudly.
“Look at those curves…” Mr. Allen's pupils had dilated. “They just keep... on... curving...” He stood there silent, his mouth open for a minute.
“Mr. Allen?”
He shook his head. “What? Oh right. Sorry. Your drawing. Nice try but owls aren’t supposed to be so beautiful—I mean round. So... perfectly round... Try again.”
He took my drawing, and I tried again this time making the owl a bit more ugly. I got a B+. It was a pretty unfortunate looking owl.
Over the next few weeks Mr. Allen seemed more and more distracted. He’d developed bags under his eyes, he’d zone out, and as the weeks went on, he grew thinner and thinner. Eventually, he stopped coming to class and we got a substitute teacher. I never did find out what happened to him.
Nowadays, the thought that the drawing might be traced back to me haunts my waking dreams. Every day I'm thankful that I didn't write my name at the top of that piece of paper. If I had, I'd have been kidnapped and killed long ago, just like every other person who had tried taking credit for the drawing.
I don’t draw, paint or even doodle. It’s too dangerous. I’ve seen the effect my work can have, and I don’t want any part of it. That’s not to say I could recreate the Resonant Circle even if I wanted to. I had tried, in the privacy of my own home, and never quite succeeded.
Today I'm a guest speaker at a world-renowned university. “Hello everyone," I said to the class. "My name is Dr. Oloroso.” I wrote the words on the chalkboard. “I'm here to talk about—”
I hesitated. Something felt off. Every student in the room had gone deathly still, fixated on something behind me.
“They're so round…” One of them murmured, pointing at the chalkboard, where I had just written my name and four perfect “O’s.”
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
I've looked at it for five hours now.
If I had known six hours ago that I would have drawn a perfect circle on my very first try, I might have gotten a bevy of people to witness the feat--my parents, for giving me steady hands (probably). A Guinness recorder. Rectifier? Approver? Whoever they were, they would probably be accompanied by a documentary crew, and that one person dressed in a suit would measure the circumference of the circle, nod gravely, then turn to the camera and hold up a pre-printed certificate, smile and proclaim me to be the first human to draw a perfect circle.
Because this was a perfect circle. I had just drawn it on a whim, and didn't realize it until it had stewed on paper for about an hour before my eyes were inevitably drawn to its immaculate roundness, unblemished radius, a shining example of pi drawn freehand.
It was perfect. I didn't need a compass or calipers or some other weird instrument to measure what I knew in my heart of hearts.
If there were people with me, they would have left by now. Maybe I would have poured myself a drink, loosened my imaginary necktie and let it hang, still marvelling at my work.
It was utterly, completely, perfect. Right? There was nothing that needed to be changed about it. I should frame it, hang it on my wall (along with the world record certificate), and guests will realize that it is a perfect circle, and they will congratulate me, showering honeyed compliments and muttering envenomed jealousies under their breath.
It was totally, absolutely, perfectly, perfect. And so, I took another piece of paper, and tried to do it again.
This one wasn't perfect. It was rather obvious, poked in its side like an askew blob. It didn't even close properly, for god's sake. No matter, it was merely a hiccup for the genius that is my right hand.
So I drew another one. This wasn't perfect either. This was squiggly. My hand wavered along the path, and while it closed, the path it took was not a faultless path.
I couldn't stop myself from drawing another one. And another. And one more after that, and more and more, till my wrist ached, shot with strain, and my palm found itself coloured by graphite, and my eyes were probably bloodshot and poked out a little more as I stared my damnedest at each circle. I was improving--well, except my first one--but blemishes remained, sticking out like a baby cuckoo crying at the top of its lungs, bringing me to its attention wearily and tiredly.
I could not bear to look at my first circle. It must have felt betrayed by what I've done. There was nothing I could do to surpass it, for it was perfect in every which way and dimension, but I could have at least equalled it. And as I failed again and again, I had to suppress the urge to throw all the rest away, then take my first circle and lock it safely away and throw away the key, keeping the one exemplary work I've managed to accomplished in forever safety, never to be gazed upon.
I did not know how many hours I spent on my desk. I did not know how many pieces of paper I've used, and how many circles I've drawn on each. These circles did not even deserve their own home, their own plotted piece of land, for they were not perfect.
My head jolted up, and as my bleary eyes cleared ever so slightly, I saw bright light now entering through the window, the sun assaulting me with its undesired rays. I must have fallen asleep. I could not tell whether it was for minutes or hours.
And so I yawned, reaching my hand out, hearing the scrunch of paper beneath my palm. Yet, the crisp scrunch sound it emitted made my blood run cold. I slowly revealed turned over my hand, only to realize that my first ever circle, my perfect child, betrayed by my tired limb, laying destroyed.
I looked it over and over, and looked at the once pristine paper, now crushed and weathered, drawn by my hand and transformed by it. It was no longer a perfect circle. Yet, for some reason, I did not despair.
Instead, I felt freed, aside from the concentrated agony I felt in my arm, the remnants of a syrupy, too good drink at the bottom of the cup. I gathered the various sheets of paper into a pile, placing them neatly at the top of the table. The crumpled, once perfect one, I could not bear to put anywhere but on top.
Then, I grabbed my now stubby pencil. I inhaled deeply, and exhaled, feeling musty air enter my lungs. It was not entirely pleasant, but well-needed.
And then, I drew the perfect square.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
|
[WP] Humans were never meant to be able to draw perfect circles. For millennia people of all ages attempted the feat, from young children to elder scientists - and everyone in-between. After drawing one perfectly on your first attempt, you finally understand the ramifications behind your actions.
|
Of course, it was impossible.
There's still a video of me somewhere in my mother's house. I am nearly three years old and my eyes are vacant, gleaming, as I sit there, staring at the paper, drawing circles over and over again.
"She's doing it," my mother whispers behind in the camera. "It's really working."
My eyes flick to her, but I keep drawing, robotic, enchanted.
It's the first time I've held a marker, and the page is full of perfect circles. My hand keeps making them, even as I stare at the woman I always called Mother.
I tried to find the video along with all the others and destroy it, the night I left. The night I screamed at her *how could you, how could you, how could you*.
She hid it all. All the videos where I suddenly went from toddling to perfect running. There are videos of me at four years old, moving like a trained gymnast. Throwing darts that hit the bullseye every time. There are a few my mother put on her institute's website, but most of them are still locked somewhere in her office — the research ones, the experiments that preceded my impossibly-perfect "first tries."
When I was looking for it—throwing open cupboards, upending drawers—and the world was crumbling all around me, she was just shaking her head, like I was an inconvenient glitch.
The last thing she said to me was, "I really thought you were better than this."
So did I, Mother. Of all people, I never thought you would be the one to betray me.
°°°
When I was six, they put me on television. Some daytime talk show.
There was a string of stage lights like eyes, blinding me. The audience was a was a wall of black shadows beyond it.
My mother sat beside me in a new dress she got, just for this. My dress was new too. I saw my own bright eyes reflected in my shiny patent leather shoes.
The host told me, "Now, Gracie, show us your special talent." He held up a pad of paper and a pencil for the camera to see, like a magician's assistant. "For those of you watching at home, this is just an ordinary paper and pencil from the green room. Why don't you show us what makes you so special?"
"Go ahead, Gracie," my mother whispered. Sweat snake trailed down her temple. "Show them."
I don't know how no one saw it, back then. When I'm drunk, I rewatch the clip. My little arm jolting down. My eyes full of lights, blankly following my hand, as I made a row of perfect circles, cold lifeless eggs that will never hatch.
I held it up for the audience and they started clapping.
The host picked up something off the table. Something heavy and wedged-shaped that crackled when it passed over me, like a snuffling dog.
"See?" he said. "No metal. She's a real girl who can do the impossible."
The audience ooh'd and clapped and I just stared at the device, wondering what he meant. That was the first time I felt dread, cold and heavy as a drowning heart.
I asked my mother later what he meant.
She just smiled at me, cryptically, and said, "He was just putting on a show for everyone at home, darling."
I believed her. Stupidly, naively, with the blind trust only a child can have for her parent, I believed her.
°°°
I was ten when I first heard the word robot.
I was famous by then. There was always something new I did that shouldn't be possible. I was the most flexible, genius, quickest, coordinated, artistic, creative, productive child on the planet. My paintings were in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. My mother was already in talks with an Olympic gymnastics team. I had been published in The New Yorker for articles that read like an expert composed them.
That's how they described me, when another one of my mother's routines planned for me hit the news: *like a robot, like a robot, feels like it can't even be real*.
I thought it was a compliment, at first.
Of course I wasn't a robot. I bled when I fell and I had a heartbeat and hunger and everything you'd expect from just an odd but perfectly human little girl.
My mother told me, "That's just what they call things they can't understand."
Sometimes, I want to go back in time and shake her and demand why she let it happen the way it did. Why she gambled so much when I was the only one who would take the fall.
But I can only go back here, in the dark corridors of my mind, where my memory is saved like reels of film. I remember everything. Every image and breath and sound and word.
I wish I could throw them all the floor and burn them.
What do normal people do when they need to forget?
°°°
I found out from a tabloid in a grocery store. I was fourteen years old, standing beside my mother's cart, scanning over magazines.
I had no friends. No school. Nothing but work and training. My mother told me I was too special to waste my time on things I already knew better than the teacher, so I never learned how to talk to children my age. How to have a friend.
So I had no one to talk to but my mother when I saw the back of my own head on the magazine. My hair was blowing in a harsh wind, and someone, paparazzi or someone, had taken a picture.
There was a jagged scar biting through my scalp. White and smooth, distinctly surgical.
The headline blared, **DOES THE IMPOSSIBLE GIRL HAVE A SECRET?**
My mother's face went pale.
"Ugly rumors," she whispered to me. "Don't believe them."
When we got home, I went into the bathroom with a pair of scissors and my mother's razor. I didn't care about my hair. Didn't care about anything but the truth.
I sawed my hair off, letting it fall all around me, then shaved off the last of it, close to my scalp. I looked patchy and insane, those lights in my eyes really whirring now.
I twisted to look in the mirror, and there it was. A distinctive scar on the back of my skull. White and shiny with age.
The bathroom door opened then. And there was my mother, her face pink with rage.
"What have you done?" she hissed.
°°°
I won't tell you about the argument. I screamed and she screamed and there were doors slamming and my mind was freezing up and burning like an old computer, shorting itself out.
I just asked her, "Aren't I real? Aren't I?"
She never answered.
I figured it out for myself, years later. After I ran away. After the media scorched us for being scammers and liars and my mother began glaring at me like I was an intruder in my own home.
I found out when I was sitting in a diner in New York City, on my lunch break. I'd dyed my short hair. I never looked people in the eye. When my boss asked me how I managed to never forget an order, I just shrugged and told him I had a knack for remembering things.
But there was my mother's face on the tiny CRT television suspended in the corner. She wore her makeup like a mask. Like a shield.
The headline under her face said **SCIENTIST SELLS NEURO-IMPLANT PATENT FOR $35M**
"We couldn't say it at the time. She was a secret project. Do I wish I'd done things differently? Of course."
My heart lifted and twisted like it was squeezed in a fist.
"I wish I hadn't had to lie to you all. But the experiment needed to work. How else could I make sure she could fool anyone?"
The hosts laughed with her. The audience laughed.
I wasn't laughing.
"What's your secret?" a host asked.
"I designed and inserted a very small web-compatible chip in her brainstem when she was two. She had a nerve disorder. It was to help her brain figure out how to walk properly. I never imagined it would work as well as it did. And now the medical and technical applications are truly endless."
There are videos of me, before the chip. Walking and toddling and babbling, normal as any toddler. *Medical intervention* my ass.
My sandwich tasted kind cardboard in my mouth. I walked to the garbage can and threw it away. Spit out the bite in my mouth.
"Where is Gracie now?" another hosts asked.
"Oh, happy at home. Planning her next big surprise for you all."
I walked out of the shop without another word. I didn't come back when my lunch break ended.
I never came back at all.
°°°
You could ask why I never went on television to tell my story. Maybe it's the same reason my mother never tried to find me.
The story is told. It's over. The world will forever know my mother's version about a happy, strange little girl who could do anything and loved being a secret experiment.
But look out for me. A stranger in the subway with eyes full of impossible lights.
I see everything. I remember everything. My mind is a library and I live in it alone.
Now, I find lost things. Some of them, I keep, when their origin is a mystery: dropped toys or jewelry or souvenirs. Little pieces of strangers lives. When I recognize someone from a memory weeks or months ago, I do the only impossible thing I still care about.
I leave it at their work. Their house. No note, no attention.
I just want them to have a tiny miracle. A little bit of joy and wonder. That moment when they find it and their face splits like it's the most perfect gift, I feel alive. A little less alone.
Maybe someday someone will see me as another lost thing on the subway and take me home and walk through those corridors of my memory with me, especially the dark passages where my mother's secrets wait.
Anything's possible, isn't it?
°°°
Thanks for reading! :D I have a subreddit now -- /r/AsTheMongeeseFly
|
I've looked at it for five hours now.
If I had known six hours ago that I would have drawn a perfect circle on my very first try, I might have gotten a bevy of people to witness the feat--my parents, for giving me steady hands (probably). A Guinness recorder. Rectifier? Approver? Whoever they were, they would probably be accompanied by a documentary crew, and that one person dressed in a suit would measure the circumference of the circle, nod gravely, then turn to the camera and hold up a pre-printed certificate, smile and proclaim me to be the first human to draw a perfect circle.
Because this was a perfect circle. I had just drawn it on a whim, and didn't realize it until it had stewed on paper for about an hour before my eyes were inevitably drawn to its immaculate roundness, unblemished radius, a shining example of pi drawn freehand.
It was perfect. I didn't need a compass or calipers or some other weird instrument to measure what I knew in my heart of hearts.
If there were people with me, they would have left by now. Maybe I would have poured myself a drink, loosened my imaginary necktie and let it hang, still marvelling at my work.
It was utterly, completely, perfect. Right? There was nothing that needed to be changed about it. I should frame it, hang it on my wall (along with the world record certificate), and guests will realize that it is a perfect circle, and they will congratulate me, showering honeyed compliments and muttering envenomed jealousies under their breath.
It was totally, absolutely, perfectly, perfect. And so, I took another piece of paper, and tried to do it again.
This one wasn't perfect. It was rather obvious, poked in its side like an askew blob. It didn't even close properly, for god's sake. No matter, it was merely a hiccup for the genius that is my right hand.
So I drew another one. This wasn't perfect either. This was squiggly. My hand wavered along the path, and while it closed, the path it took was not a faultless path.
I couldn't stop myself from drawing another one. And another. And one more after that, and more and more, till my wrist ached, shot with strain, and my palm found itself coloured by graphite, and my eyes were probably bloodshot and poked out a little more as I stared my damnedest at each circle. I was improving--well, except my first one--but blemishes remained, sticking out like a baby cuckoo crying at the top of its lungs, bringing me to its attention wearily and tiredly.
I could not bear to look at my first circle. It must have felt betrayed by what I've done. There was nothing I could do to surpass it, for it was perfect in every which way and dimension, but I could have at least equalled it. And as I failed again and again, I had to suppress the urge to throw all the rest away, then take my first circle and lock it safely away and throw away the key, keeping the one exemplary work I've managed to accomplished in forever safety, never to be gazed upon.
I did not know how many hours I spent on my desk. I did not know how many pieces of paper I've used, and how many circles I've drawn on each. These circles did not even deserve their own home, their own plotted piece of land, for they were not perfect.
My head jolted up, and as my bleary eyes cleared ever so slightly, I saw bright light now entering through the window, the sun assaulting me with its undesired rays. I must have fallen asleep. I could not tell whether it was for minutes or hours.
And so I yawned, reaching my hand out, hearing the scrunch of paper beneath my palm. Yet, the crisp scrunch sound it emitted made my blood run cold. I slowly revealed turned over my hand, only to realize that my first ever circle, my perfect child, betrayed by my tired limb, laying destroyed.
I looked it over and over, and looked at the once pristine paper, now crushed and weathered, drawn by my hand and transformed by it. It was no longer a perfect circle. Yet, for some reason, I did not despair.
Instead, I felt freed, aside from the concentrated agony I felt in my arm, the remnants of a syrupy, too good drink at the bottom of the cup. I gathered the various sheets of paper into a pile, placing them neatly at the top of the table. The crumpled, once perfect one, I could not bear to put anywhere but on top.
Then, I grabbed my now stubby pencil. I inhaled deeply, and exhaled, feeling musty air enter my lungs. It was not entirely pleasant, but well-needed.
And then, I drew the perfect square.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
|
[WP] Youve discovered how to distill and bottle emotions. When drunk the drinker will feel the emotion contained within.
|
I hold up my ID badge for the guard and after a cursory examination, the gate opens with a buzz. I begin walking inside, eager to get this dreadful delivery over with.
I discovered how to distill and bottle emotions from donors over two years ago and have managed to grow my business quite substantially ever since. I now sell to many all over the city in all walks of life and social statuses. But only the positive emotions.
That started to become something of a problem though, as many of my donors are more...*suited* toward donating negative emotions. I haven\`t quite nailed down the reasons for this but I believe it has a lot to do with trauma, depression, and other mental imbalances of one sort or another. This resulted in a stockpile of negative emotions just sitting in one of my warehouses, as no one wanted them.
Now, after a year of lobbying and a fair sum of money funneled into political action groups, I am able to finally begin getting rid of those negative emotions.
I walk down the hallway formed of bland grey blocks, only interrupted by steel bars and the occasional glimpse of faces filled with utter misery or rage.
You guessed it.
My delivery is to a **prison**.
My first of such and the best and only way I could think of to get rid of my negative stockpile.
I arrive at the holding room at the end of the hall and am greeted by the Warden, a bulldog of a man with unpleasant jowls and a balding pate.
'*Kind of cliche, really.'* I think to myself idly.
I shake off that musing and greet the man politely, "Warden, its a pleasure. Are we ready to proceed?"
"Yes, we have gathered one of our death row inmates for the initial test, as detailed by the new regulations for all deliveries to test effectiveness. I must say, I am quite anxious to see the results and effects on this scum. The animal raped and murdered several young woman." the Warden replies, with clear relish.
Wincing a bit internally, regardless of the man\`s crimes I do feel uncomfortable with the ethics of all this, in truth. But these man had their chance and I have a bottom line, after all.
"Yes, well let\`s get to it. I have places to be, ones much more pleasant than this." I say briskly, indicating the metal briefcase clasped in my hand.
"Yes, yes, of course. We have him restrained just this way." the Warden says with a wave of his hand gesturing further down the hall of the holding room.
After a short walk, we arrive in a white-walled room with a single guard and the convict, dressed in the usual garish orange, strapped to a dental chair, of sorts.
I fight back a grimace, before getting down to business. I place the briefcase down on a table to the side of the room and open it, displaying several vials of distilled negative emotions.
The positive ones, like happiness, love, and humor, all look like vaguely glowing mercury of a variety of bright colors.
The negative ones though...
They look like the various consistencies and colors of human excrement...
Not a great selling point, as you can imagine.
I pull out a marked vial labeled with a small piece of white tape, my scrawled handwriting on it reading simply: ***Terror.***
The Warden watches eagerly as I approach the bound man, who is now looking at me with suspicion, the vial clamped in my now clammy hand as nervousness and a not so small measure of disgust and self hate fills me.
But I grit my teeth, open the vial with a twist, and poor the disgusting liquid into the clamped open mouth of the now violently struggling man.
A moment later, I can tell quite easily that the liquid has been absorbed into his system.
His skin turns bone-pale white, his eyes widen and his hands clench into shaking fists.
Another moment later, distorted screams of complete and utter terror emanate from his open mouth, the emotion overriding all rationality and any attempt to cope with it.
I watch for a moment, before looking away with a bitter frown on my face and close the briefcase.
I walk up to the clearly fascinated Warden, handing him the case, before saying, "This is the agreed upon amount for the first week. Use it sparingly and no more than one use per day per subject. Any more and you could cause total mental failure (*you do not want to know how I figured that out*). I expect a positive review for the government based upon this test, yes?"
"Yes! Most definitely." the Warden says distractedly, still transfixed by the suffering man in the chair.
I sigh, departing on my own at a brisk pace. I need to distance myself from this place.
And I need a shower.
Maybe two...
|
[start](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ndsb96/wp_my_price_is_any_i_wish_it_to_be_the_demon/gycivd0/) [prev](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/nh1wt0/wp_a_bitter_teenager_is_summoned_to_another_world/gyu464w/)
Cilerona stared at her books. Lneore stared at her little - well, for her, that was, drawings. To Ayala, however, the little scratchy drawings were larger than her. Ayala mused at her inner plans. Her plans for Demonic emancipation. This, that, pathetic. Just pathetic. She could never defeat an empire, whether by herself, or with any number of friends. Besides, it was the native inhabitants' problem, not hers. They would have to deal with their own societal problems, after all.
Besides, she was a gastronomer. Her dream, her life, her sole, oath-bound duty was to search the void of outer space for the perfect dish, crafted with the perfect ingredients, after all. She embarked on this journey, her only oath sworn to herself, her duty heart-bound, her loyalty to her self-made cause.
Yet, to truly grasp the true elation of savoriness, she must trudge through the journey, which takes many twists, and turns. That, after all, is the mark of a Space Corsair. That is the mark of a true captain, a Master of the Seas, a High Navigator of the Twisting Dark Beyond. She was the one. The chosen, anointed by self, to sail the high aetheric winds! Trudge through the deep jungles of wild, untamed planets! Savor the native cuisine of all sapient beings in the entire galaxy!
"The emotions of an individual can be seen via. the emanations visible through the Hexagonaculus, and is as described as follows: it is a....." recited Cilerona. A tinge of boredom was betrayed by her face. She looked down at Ayala, who was sitting on her table, holding a thimble-sized cup with her two little small hands. She was sipping from her cup, thinking little thoughts in her little brain inside her little head.
How could a species with such a tiny brain be able to create such a marvel of engineering? Cilerona begun feeling a little inadequate. Her head could barely comprehend such a thing. If the size of her brain was large enough to occupy the space of multiple Ayalas, how could she be incapable of dreaming up such a construct herself? How could she still be shackled to this planet, when this tiny creature has created a vessel capable of sailing the luminiferous aether?
"So, Ayala, where did you come from, anyway, and of what celestial body did you hail from?" asked Cilerona, looking down at Ayala's tiny form, which could easily fit in her hand.
"Oh? I'm a human from the planet Hakiun in the Terran Republic. It's not really a noteworthy place. Not a place you'd like to visit, in any case. There aren't any, well, facilities accommodating individuals your...size, anyway. Hell, they'll probably freak out if they found out that beings the size of apartments existed!" replied Ayala flatly.
Cilerona looked at her books. Something about emotions. Memories. It's been said that memories could trigger emotions. Emotions. She looked at Ayala. She thought back to her studies. About the distillation and bottling of liquid emotions.
"YSD...BNH...HD...so many terms...why can't the demons use normal words...damn this book...." muttered Cilerona incoherently, as she begun drooling on her textbook. She grasped the Hexagonaculus, placing it between her eyes and Ayala, and drifted away into a nap.
She saw an inverted square pyramid. The diagram she saw in the book. A couple of orbs formed the corners of the inverted square pyramid, and an orb directly below it glowed ever brighter.
As she moved a hand over the pyramid, she felt her soul transported to a far-away planet. One filled with gleaming lights, little model structures, and tiny figures whizzing all around her.
Cilerona was standing in an ocean. Her feet were planted down in grainy sand. She took her first step on land, carefully maneuvering her foot such that she does not step on anyone. She begun bending down to reach for a singular inhabitant of this strange land, slowly scooping her with her hand.
As she picked her up, the local began to panic - to flail about, to attempt to escape. Cilerona felt an odd sensation of power - if all the inhabitants were as tiny as her, surely she would be a match for their largest army. She begun lowering herself onto the ground, spreading her massive body across the beach. As her shadow was noticed by the inhabitants, they begun fleeing, running into the complex of buildings inland.
Cilerona crawled into the cramped streets. She squeezed her way into the space between buildings, and spied the interior. She looked at the various stalls, so reminiscent of those seen in her comics, yet scaled down to a miniaturized size. Her arm burst through the glass walls of a building, reaching to grasp another inhabitant. She had two inhabitants now, both tiny ladies struggling within her hands.
She made her way to a weird oval-shaped building, with a miniature garden residing above. She placed them on the garden, grasping them firmly as she began posing them, as though they were miniatures. When the taller tiny lady finally stopped moving, she begun the same with the shorter tiny lady, posing her as though posing an action figurine.
She spent some time forcing them to act out her favorite scenes in her comics, until an explosion rocked her head, and....
"....knock knock!" Cilerona felt the sharp rap of Lneore's fist on her head. She was drooling an iridescent green from her mouth, with a bottle of the substance captured in a flask. "Seems like you captured something weird."
Cilerona looked at her textbook. Suddenly, it all made sense. Everything suddenly clicked together, as if the pieces which were so blurry were finally aligned in a clear fashion.
"A bottle of emotion, captured? Hmmmm......I wonder what happens when I drink it..." continued Lneore. As she drunk the green liquid, she slumped down on the floor, and begun drooling for about a minute.
...
...
...
"Yep, not taking that again," said Lneore, when she finally got up from her slumber. "You have some weird dreams sometimes. Feels like taking weird fungus all over again"
|
|
[WP] The cute elf in your adventuring party just always have something to say. "The last hero did this better, did that better, took care of everyone, was always willing to listen..." Funny that you don't remember being so appreciated five lifetimes ago.
|
(1)
Almost a hundred years, and Vellexia hadn’t changed in the slightest.
“And what’s with that combat stance you used in our previous battle?” She continued her tirade as our party trekked through the woods. “It’s the sloppiest I’ve ever seen! You’d be lucky to survive against even a Doraxia, never mind the accursed Darkness!”
Funny. Sure, my last four lifetimes hadn’t been spent with the supernatural powers afforded by the Hero’s Brand, but I hadn’t slacked off on my training that much.
“Kesten the Braveheart would never have been caught with such poor swordsmanship,” she droned on. “He spent all the little free time he had sparring or training! All I’ve seen you do since the Ritual of Awakening is nap and laze around all day!”
“Come on now, Vel,” Zeth, Knight-Lieutenant of the Silver Lances of Fannoth, cut in diplomatically. Good man. He was the spitting image of his great-great-grandfather, and embodied much of his ideals. It ached for me to remember how I had failed him. “Sure, Ekun might be a little rough around the edges, but he’s only been Chosen for two weeks! We can’t all be Kesten the Braveheart, and -“
He was silenced by a firm glare from Vellexia. Ah, now that was what I was more used to. I’d been on the receiving end of those more times than I’d like to remember, back during my life as Kesten. Had she completely forgotten all those times I’d tripped on my own feet during training? Why was she only ever singing praises about Kesten Braveheart?
“That reasoning is precisely why this mistake of a hero is as lazy and unhelpful as he is! I swear, the Oracle must have gotten it wrong! Once we get to the capital, I’m going to arrange a visit to the -“ She narrowed her eyes. “Is something funny, hero?”
I blinked, realising she was addressing me, and that she had misread the smile of fond amusement on my face. It was hard not to react - though she was the oldest (and supposedly, wisest) of our party, she could throw tantrums just as easily as she had those lives ago.
Old habits died hard. I was about to apologise, and defuse the situation by promising to work harder just as I had in my time as Kesten, but then I remembered my mission.
“Oh, sorry, Velly,” I said lightheartedly. “I just suddenly thought of the most amusing joke, and -“
The scowl on her face intensified. She swore loudly, swinging her curved elven blade against the forest dirt in frustration, and stomped off ahead of the rest of the group.
“You don’t have to antagonise her, you know,” Gloria said disapprovingly. She hesitated for a moment, but then showed a rare challenging look. “She does have a point.”
Hmm. Hadn’t expected that out of the meek cleric. She wasn’t related to any of my old party as Zeth and the dwarf Regill were, but she took up her assigned role as representative of the Church of the Divines without hesitation. She’d been quiet and reserved, though I knew she and Vel talked fairly often during our travels.
Still, I had to keep up appearances. “What can I say, Gloria?” I made a deliberate shrug. “I never asked to be a hero in the first place.”
“Responsibility isn’t something ye choose, lad,” Regill spoke sagely, his voice coarse, but without judgment. “No one starts off knowing all that there is to know. Ye’ve got to face challenges, or ye will never improve.”
He was the grandson of Cersil, and unlike the elves, their race aged, albeit slower than humans did. At least good old Cersil hadn’t kicked the bucket just yet. Hopefully, we’d meet him some time during our travels - he’d been a good friend and mentor in my first life.
“I am facing challenges, Reg. One of these days, I’ll tell a joke that will send our elven highness into fits of laughter.” I paused. “You don’t suppose that’s my hidden gift for how I’ll defeat the Darkness Below, do you? My ultimate technique, as it were?”
There was a brief flash of annoyance across his face, but it was soothed almost immediately. All that was left was disappointment. “Lives hang in the balance, Ekun. Now isn’t the time to joke around.”
“Right, right,” I acquiesed, raising my palms in a gesture of surrender. “So, Zeth! I was thinking about what you said the other day, and I think I might have found a shortcut to make the training easier! What about I -“
“You need to stick to the routine, Ekun. You can’t get anywhere without committing yourself to practice.”
“But what about if I -“
He twisted to glare at me. “There are no shortcuts, damn it!” he snapped. It seemed like I finally pushed him to the point of losing that famous temper he inherited from Brennar. “This isn’t a game, Ekun!”
He moved ahead to join Vellexia. Much like Brennar, he was not good with words when he got angry. Again, my heart ached at the fond memories of my old comrades, but it only steeled my resolve. I looked toward Gloria and Regill hopefully, but their faces were sullen. The former outright refused to make eye contact, her own way of showing her patience having reached its tipping point.
Good. My plan was working. Let them be angry. Let them find another Hero. For all of Vellexia’s comparisons to Kesten Braveheart, and for all the accolades heaped upon my first life, they knew nothing of that failure of a Hero.
They didn’t know what had transpired in my first conflict with Xartagath, Lord of Shadow. They did not know of my act of cowardice. They did not know of how I had achieved my pseudo-immortality.
They did not know how I planned to end it.
|
"The last hero did this better, did that better, took care of everyone, was always willing to listen..,"
The rant of a cute elf was going through a long road, on which a setting sun was shining upon. However, only her party members, consisting of a tired-looking human and a quiet annoyed dwarf, were the only ones to hear her complaints.
\-Heh, seems like Farryn hasn't changed after all these years.
At such a thought, the man almost wanted to chuckle, but seemingly couldn't find the strength to do so.
"Oh, shush, elf!" exclaimed the dwarf, being quiet bothered with the rant said by Farryn. "The man has to unite the six kingdoms in span of a year and you're bothering him with your lousy comments on 'im."
"You would not hear a word from me, if there was anything nice to say about him in the first place," said the elf with a serious attitude towards the dwarf. "I know what kind of man it takes to save the world and I can't believe the gods chose him."
"Like you would be any better,"
"You-"
\-And I guess times haven't changed either.
As Farryn was about to make the dwarf regret for the words he spoke, the human man started snapping his fingers to bring their attention back onto him.
"It's getting rather late," he spoke in a tedious tone. "We should make a camp before we'll arrive to Dheren tomorrow."
The dwarf nodded in agreement, while the elf scoffed.
​
\*
The campside near the road was set and seemingly everyone was sleeping in their bedsheets.
However, in the middle of the night, Bombul found out that his human friend was not in his resting place and was instead looking at the bright moon outside, holding a sword in his two hands.
And so, the dwarf decided to check up on his friend. He stood up and quietly approached Darsen so his footsteps would not disturb Farryn.
\-Don't wanna bother the girl with us being loud…As well as being lectured all day tomorrow.
Bombul sat down on his friend, who still kept his sight at the moon.
"A great night, innit," stated the dwarf.
"Yeah," answered humbly Darsen.
After that, they both sat quietly for a short moment.
\-I wonder, does he speak so little because she speaks too much?
"Say," began Bombul. "Must be tired being the chosen, eh?"
"Well, I'd say I'm quiet used to it,"
"Already? But its been but a few weeks after the gods branded you as one,"
"No, I've been one before that, long ago…"
Bombul had nothing to add, as well as understand what his friend said to him. However, the dwarf did not have to say a thing to let the man continue talking.
"It's been five centuries and yet nothing changed. The world is ending and people try to eat one another, even in the worst times. It is…tiring, I won't lie,"
During his monologue, the man looked back at his elven companion.
"But, to an extent, I'm glad some things didn't change. Some things that make me keep going,"
|
|
[WP] Humans were kicked out of the existing Galactic Federation for such controversial statements as "You shouldn't do that, there's life on that planet," and "But that's slavery!" and "Dear God, Where is your EMPATHY!?" All at once, we remembered that war is, sometimes, excusable.
|
I was 5 years old when we made first contact. Our technology was finally advanced enough for us to travel faster than the speed of light. We were delighted. A galactic federation existed!!! Life would be like star trek now. For a space obsessed kid from a family of scientists and professors, this completely decided my future.
But it wasn't just me. Something changed on a global scale that day. We were not races, religions, citizens of different countries anymore. We were simply human beings. It was like, the nerds had won. The geek had inherited the earth. We had to be in this together. As one. As a species. And surprisingly, we did. Global conflicts were more peacefully resolved. Religion became a thing to guide people into living kinder lives. Not an excuse to slaughter each other. Science was held to a new level of respect. Nothing was seen as a more nobler profession than exploring space and better understanding the universe we live in
But as our ties with the galactic federation grew stronger, we noticed something......something we had kinda outgrown. You see, earth was an exception. We were far removed and had taken a lot longer to be able to contact the others. The other systems had clusters of planets and moons teeming with life. So discovering aliens didn't take them as long. And so they had somehow not held each other in the same sense of wonder that we did. They often saw each other as rivals, competing for the same resources. And often broke out into fights.
Oh. And by the way. They never had a geneva convention
The winning parties often took prisoners of war and forced them to work jobs deemed too dangerous for their own species. Mining radioactive substances, working with defective space suits to retrieve rare elements from asteroids etc.
The only job of the federation, was, in fact, to simply avoid total and complete obliteration of a species. In one instance, an entire planet was blown up, death star style and the only survivors were prisoners on another planet. And of course it was not even condemned by the federation.
At first, the representatives from earth were too scared to speak out. There was so much we didn't understand. But as the years went by, we could not keep quite. Humanity doesn't stop at our species.
In my 6 months on board the vessel as a junior science officer, I had never seen the captain anxious. Today, he looked a little rattled and pale. Today was the day. The final hearing to decide the membership of humans on the federation. The captain was going to speak. To try and convince the high council of the importance of peace. The power of unity. He had received orders yesterday. There was some secret tactic. Some last ditch threat. I had no idea what it was. I hoped I would not find out
"All sentient beings deserve rights" the captain began. "Whatever the differences may be. This should be a fundamental concept that we can never disagree on. Wars might happen. But that doesn't excuse this behaviour. For this purpose the planet earth has a set of rules that we would like every member planet to follow here forward.
Civilians shall not be harmed in any interplanetary conflict
Prisoners of war shall be treated with dignity and..."
He was rudely interrupted by the head of the council. A large headed Forgan man who used to be the general of their planet's space force. " The human race has no right to dictate terms to the federation. You're puny, weak race might need to be friends with everyone to survive the harsh space. But the rest of us don't need that. We can win survive by our might. And this is the law of nature, is it not human? Even on your planet, haven't the strong survived and the weak perished. Why is it that you humans think you know better?"
The captain paused for a second, "Your honour, isn't the whole point of evolution to be better than our prior selves. Yes humans have waged wars among themselves. But we learned from our mistakes. We learned to be better. And even during war, we cannot let cruelty take over. That would be barbaric!"
" The point of evolution is to beat out your competition and thrive while the others perish" the head replied. "Besides, we don't owe anyone anything. In fact we could annihilate a species too, if it comes to it"
The captain looked up with determination. He appeared to be holding in what he actually wanted to say to the head. A few choice words. Maybe throw in a punch. But of course, he couldn't do that. Obviously he was going to have to bring in the big guns. Whatever the big reveal was
" Well. You leave me no choice. The planet earth is officially declaring war against the galactic federation"
"I dont understand. How will declaring war against the federation help?" I asked, standing at the bridge of our vessel. Most of the crew members had gathered around. The captain was coming up here to talk to us.
" We have done this before" the captain answered. "The federation doesn't realise the massive stockpile of nuclear weapons that earth has accumulated. We have used force before to bring cruel regimes down to their knees. We shall do it again. The nazis in world war 2 is example."
There was an awkward silence on the bridge. " But what about all the other times? The mess in the middle east because of american intervention? The border disputes after britain freed its colonies?"
The captain looked solemn. He thought for a little while before replying. "You are right. We have messed this up before. Maybe we're not as evolved as we believe we are. But here's the thing. Even in the worst of times, never forget that a majority of humans stood up for the right thing. Millions protested these wars.. Millions marched for womens rights. For lgbtq rights. Even if we got it wrong a lot of times, we never stopped trying to be better. And we can't stop now. Let's just hope it wont be a disaster this time"
|
"My Fellow Humans". President Alvárez' Voice was broadcasted by what must be a Million speakers across thousands of Worlds, her Voice carrying both the Tragedy and Gravity of the Situation onto those Systems, a Harbinger of darker days to come."Effective now, Humanity and it's Systems are no longer protected by the self-appointed 'Council of the Galactic Federation'. Why, you ask? Because of the Achlaxians, ofcourse. For most of you who don't know about this, they are an Avian species inhabiting a single planet in the Markov-System, a planet that happens to be very rich in Unobtanium-3 ressources, which happens to be one of the most valuable Ressources in this god-damn galaxy. And due to the effort of a mere dozen Humans, who had the Audacity to stop the Federations Mining efforts, Humanity has been declared a Hindrance to progress. And for that, i wish to speak my deepest thanks to the Humans of the Research station <Per aspera et Astra>, because thanks to them, the deeply fascinating oral tradition of the Achlaxians has not only been preserved, but allowed to continue; Since these 12 brave people have refused to give up on living, breathing beings in the face of untold profits, which easily would have allowed them to buy their own sectors of the galaxy. Also effective immediately, i will be stepping down, and facing a trial for compliance in over a thousand cases of Genocide, tens of thousands of other Intergalactic Crimes, and a million things worse. But worst of all, i have forgotten, what it means to be Human. We pride ourselves on our quick wits, but against the gray Eggheads of the Mists we might aswell be dumb lizards on a cold day. We pride ourselves on our martial Prowess, but any soldier who has been out there will tell you a different story of how Humans are not the Warriors we thought we were. No, what it means to be Human, is a far more simple emotion, one that made us into the species we are today. It is simple compassion that drove us to get here in the first place, nothing more, and nothing less. We care for the sick, the wounded and the weak. We do not just trample what is in our way, but we aim to understand, to learn, and to uphold. And most importantly, there is not a single being among us to this day who would not carry the title of human with pride, a thousand species from as many worlds. So i beg all of you, Children of Terra, Humans, we must hold together in these times, for they will surely try to shatter us, and the bands of blood and family must now hold stronger than ever, against a foe that would not hesitate to glass a world full of innocents to murder a single one of us. I wish there was more i could do than just apologize for tossing you infront of this, but Humanities bravest dozen has hewn a breach, and gods be damned if we don't take it, we'll be worse than them. For them, to be kind, is a choice. For us, it is a calling. The Children of Terra stand as one, with our siblings, both adopted and by blood. We will endure. Alvárez out" The silence following this announcement was nearly as deafening as the murmurs shared across the stars, as Humanity had learned the bitter truth about the Galaxy that would be from now on hostile to them.
|
|
[WP] As a kid, an alien spacecraft crashed in your backyard. Years later, you helping them recover from the crash has earned you a job as one of humanity's first ambassadors to the universe.
|
First came the noise. A thunderous *boom* as the air hit you. A wave of sound so loud it was felt in the bone. Then a second. The third seemed to ignite the clouds and a flash of light and heat dazzled the eye of anyone who had been looking upward for miles around.
Once the glare had subsided the view had changed. A new path had been gouged though the forrest. A deep tear of churned earth and rock that scared the side of the mountain from peak to base. Along that trail of destruction forest fires had started. The smoke curling around the damaged land as though the landscape itself was trying to hide its new scar.
Billy hadn’t seen that yet. He’d been inside the house when the first shockwave hit. The shattering glass as windows exploded and falling light fittings had sent him scurrying under the table. He’d stayed there as the second and third wave almost shook the small house to ruin.
Now as dust from the cracked ceiling drifted like falling snow onto the upturned furniture he slowly crawled out from the table. He staggered to the back door hoping to find his mother outside. She’d only run down into town for a moment but he knew she’d be back any second now. And after whatever *that* was, he needed her back now.
But Billy didn’t see the car. Instead as he opened the door and ran out into the sun his eyes only saw one thing. His focus was now on the wide shallow river that ran behind the house.
It was a ... plane? It had wings ... kinda. Like a plane but it was all weird. Is that what the noise had been? A plane crash? It now rocked slowly in the water as what was left of one wing curled around the body. The twisted metal that had been the front was hissing as the cool water lapped at it. At this time of year it was only as high as Billy’s waist so most of the aircraft was still exposed.
Billy moved to the edge of the bank and shuffled from one foot to the other. He wished someone was here with him. Where was ... He blinked. A hatch on the side of the craft was moving. Or trying to move. It bumped and clicked only an inch as someone banged on the other side.
“Someone’s in there. SOMEONES IN THERE!” His shocked yells brought no one. He hadn’t thought about the pilot or passengers.
The banging grew louder as something struck the inside of the door. Whoever was inside couldn’t get out. Billy bounced on his feet harder, his heart pounding as he realised the danger these people were in. Danger he was watching.
The door clicked again and again as it tried to open. Why wouldn’t it open. And then, as if by magic, he saw it all in slow motion. The wings. One had curled upwards to wrap around the body of the plane. But the other, it had snapped in half. And one on those jagged splinters of metal had curled sideways rather than upwards. He could clearly see how the edge was pressed on the corner of the door. Next the the hinge to stop it opening.
Time seemed to restart as he took a breath. Without thinking anymore he grabbed the wood axe from the shed and dove into the water. The river became warmer as he approached and the heat almost blistered his skin. It was a lot hotter than he realised.
But with eyes focused on that door he moved forward. Now he was closer he saw the wisps of smoke coming from inside. Each time the door was hit a puff of smoke escaped.
“Hold on I’m coming” he cried, now understanding that the forrest wasn’t the only thing on fire.
He brought the axe up high above his head and struck the protruding pipe. It bounced off. He struck it again. The blow sending a solid bang back into the door.
A moment of silence was the response before the frantic hammering started again. He almost heard the calls for help as they kicked and pushed against the door for rescue. He struck the pipe harder. His small frame bringing down the heavy axe with surprising force. Then again. And again.
Until it snapped.
* * * *
Bill entered the assembly room in time to see the bird like person punch the floating jellyfish. And before anyone could intervene he watched the jellyfish whip a tentacle over the birds thigh, leaving him gripping his leg in pain.
“What’s going on in here?” He said with surprise.
“Ah, the human” the figure at the desk gestured to the other two diplomats “we seem to be having a disagreement. Perhaps as a third party you may settle this.”
“I have no need for lumpy form help” chirped the translation box of the jellyfish.
“For once we agree. This fledgling cannot fly as high as us. Our issues are to complex for such a simple as you.”
Bill turned to the upright woman at between them. “What is the problem exactly?”
Between interruptions and denials from both parties involved, a web of broken promises and unfair trade deals was explained. Bill smiled slowly “Well we do have a special way to deal with issues like this. Guaranteed to work. So if you need any help ...”
“What is this cure for our rotten egg of peace.” Asked the bird person.
“I have this” Bill unstrapped the large package from his back and unwrapped it. Both diplomats moved back.
“You are armed!?” The almost-bird fluffed his feathers out and shook his wings.
The translation box that hung from the floating jellyfish managed to somehow carry a note of shock in its robotic voice. “Yes, it it forbidden by law. No weapon in the chambers of law.”
The regal figure between then raised a hand. “We have given the human ambassador an exemption. He may carry his ceremonial item at all times.”
“And I get to use it however I want as well” He nodded. Bill slapped the large axe into the palm of his hand as though weighing it. “So if you can’t sort yourselves out” he paused dramatically and suddenly swung the axe around again “I guess we have to try the human way.”
Both creatures seemed to share a look of horror with each other. Then immediately turned to the ornately dressed woman sat at the desk.
“We shall settle our differences at once and fly as one.”
“No outsider need cut our anger tendons”
The once bickering diplomats now bowed in unison and backed out of the room. Bill waited till they were gone before spinning around to face the woman.
“Again? You can’t keep calling me up here to scare people into following your orders.”
“I’m not” the once royal figure slumped in her seat and the leader of the grand galactic council seemed almost normal now. Not more human, but certainly more like a regular person. “I’m using you to scare them into solving their own problems.”
“By using me and the axe *you* gave me.”
“But you use it so well” she smiled “I’ll never forget the first time you used one. You broke open the door and we all escaped to safety. I’m honour-bound to repay you.”
“Yea yea” he jokingly rolled his eyes “just cause I saved your life, and you turned out to be a space princess ...”
“Not a princess I was just randomly selected at birth to be the next leader ...”
Bill carried on “I’m now the ambassador for the human colonies and lead trade negotiator. You could have just bought me a few drinks and called it even.”
She smiled at her oldest friend “So if I give you the bottle of Mancarro wine I have hidden in this draw you’ll quit?”
Bill seemed to think about it and slowly answered “I could ...” she slowly grew concerned until he smiled back “But then I’d have to give back this sweet axe I got as part of the job. And you said something about wine hidden in there.”
She smiled at her oldest friend and pulled out the bottle and two glasses. “You mean this one?”
“That’s it” he picked up a glass “Guess I’ll stick around a little longer. I mean ... if you *really* need me.”
|
It is really fun to be the ambassador of humanity. My father always taks about the responsibility to represent the human race in a way that is good. But i dont really care about any of that. Sometimes the alien people ask me about the reasons why humans care so much about their own personal belongings and their ways and what not. I dont really care about any of that most of the time. It has been like since 5th grade since the big alienship droped in our backyard. I remember that night pretty good. Who cares. I dont like to think about all that stuff the people like to talk about. I want to play videogames
|
|
[WP] You've been sent to Earth as a guardian angel for a little boy. But upon arriving, you realize that no one else has a guardian.
|
"It's not fair!!" The scream torn from the beings throat is ragged with anguish. "There are so many... so many more... who need protection..."
"You will protect this one, Guardian, and this one alone. That is your purpose." A voice booms it's response.
"I... I can't. I won't! They all need me! They need us, can't you see the suffering!?"
"The suffering makes them stronger; they work harder!"
"Bullshit. Look at this one! Does this look stronger to you?" the Guardian holds up the limp form of a small baby, it's body starts to shake with palsy and it's skin is splotchy with discoloured rashing.
"You dare question my authority, Guardian? You have your orders. Protect the one, disregard the rest."
"But... but why! Why should this creature be born only to live so briefly... and in agony... it makes no sense."
"Protect the boy, or be decommissioned." The sentence was spoken with finality.
"... Yes, sir." The guardian gently places the sickly runt back into it's crib and turns to his new charge. The baby boy has wide, inquisitive eyes and his stare seems to penetrate to the core of the Guardian's soul.
"Good." The mighty presence breathes and withdraws, leaving the Guardian with a feeling of tired worn-out misery.
"Child, we can not help all of you. There are too many of you and His power can only go so far." The small being squirms and frowns slightly. He reaches out one of his minisucle, fragile hands, imploring.
"I am here for you, child. I'm here..." The Guardian reaches out and clasps the tiny hand. The child reacts with a small contented sigh as he closes his eyes, at peace.
The Guardian pulls his gaze from the child and looks around the room. Dozens of cribs are packed into the small windowless room. Small cries of distress rise here and there but the majority of the cribs are silent. The inhabitants resigned to their fate. Forgotten and abandoned; they never had a chance.
The Guardians used to protect them all... They used to fill the world with glorious singing and laughter.
An exhausted cry breaks the silence, quickly fades away.
|
I looked at the creator in bewilderment, sir why am I to protect young James? Rhea, James is very special said the creator, he is going to do things no nation or any man can do. I shook my head in understanding and departed to earth.
I folded my wings as I entered the atmosphere and swiftly landed in the earth. I glided over to James and began introducing myself. Hello James, my name is Rhea I’m going to be your guardian angel, it’s a pleasure to meet you. The beautiful blue eyed blond haired boy looked at me with a twinkle in his eye, and as soon as I met his gaze I saw images of victory in war, the end of famine, the end of drought, the end of poverty and the beginning of heaven on earth.
I now understood what the creator meant and why James was to be protected at all costs. I wondered the earth until James’s 18th birthday and that’s when his prophecy was fulfilled.
James ended poverty by giving his riches to the world, James ended hunger by feeding those in need with his abundant blessings, James ended all wars by speaking of peace to his people. James brought Heaven to earth to be with his celestial father…The creator. All was right with nations and universe.
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.