prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 227 9.46k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.42k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:42:08 2022-12-31 11:01:45 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 16:24:10 2022-12-31 10:15:47 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 3.83k |
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[WP] "Push this button to transform this world into a Utopia. Warning: this will eradicate all people who "... The rest is scratched off and illegible. | The button was there.
John was there.
The words were there.
But the last part was not.
Warning: this will eradicate all people who
Nothing. All people who what? There was a blank space, and a line underneath, almost as if mockingly highlighting to him the importance of the missing part.
After all his searching, through 40 years of pouring through ancient text, climbing mountains, hiking through vast plains, he finally found it. The solution to Utopia.
But he was lost now, there was no mention in the ancient scripture of the missile part to his puzzle.
*Here upon the final answer.*
*To the salvation of mankind.*
*Lies an inscription that warns those who come.*
*To beware of what in it they may find.*
John stared at the button.
He thought about his life's work. Was it all for moot? What Utopia would be achieved through eradication?
He pondered leaving, but as he picked up his gear, the answer finally struck him.
What he would find within, was not of the temple.
It was of his own.
The blank was not to highlight the importance of the words.
It was to show that no one could know what the truth was.
It was an infinite machine, of infinite power. But not infinite knowledge, and neither were its builders. What was to come had to be done by the knowledge of its executor. The ancients never had the will to finish the machine, and so they left it to rot, and their war consumed them, because they could not let go of their ideals. He finally understood.
He went back to the panel, and carved in the final words.
"This will eradicate all people who do not believe in the same utopia."
...and John pressed the button.
...
John woke up, and saw nothing but fire. Was he dead?
"Hello John! Welcome to hell! You've got two choices! 100 trillion years in heaven, or a wooden spoon?" | A wave of time washed over the world, warping and distorting all. Every man and woman saw their future and past, and felt every single bit of harm they inflicted or would inflict upon fellow man by malice or inaction.
The chosen ones woke up, the heroes, saints and geniuses among mankind. They woke up to see their utopia, and they grieved. They saw their families, friends and loved ones dead of sheer shock and agony. They cursed whoever caused such disaste that would only leave few million out of billions. And they moved on, to rebuild their lost world.
Mankind then truly reached their pinnacle, through hard work, study and a deep wish to lose no fellow man again, they created the perfect society. They would reach immortality, bring life to barren planets and uncover all secrets of universe.
But out of he who pressed the button, he who would doom unknown many to bring peace and prosperity to the rest, all that remains is a dried husk. | 2015-10-21T14:07:36 | 2015-10-21T13:38:00 | 161 | 31 |
[WP] A serial killer is called for jury duty. At the trial, he finds out that the person on trial has been falsely accused for the serial killer's crimes. | There's no way this guy could use a hammer to smash a girl’s teeth out while she screams for mercy. The way he slumps in the defendant’s chair writing notes on a legal pad tells you that he probably doesn’t even own a hammer much less having ever swung one with prejudice.
When the notice that I had been called for jury duty came I actually laughed out loud. It's the little things like this that make life whimsical. I assumed I would be let go right away or I would sit and read a book and never be called, but through a series of events I've found myself on the jury for the guy who was arrested and charged with my crimes. I find myself very curious. I know they have the wrong guy, but I’m curious to see what evidence they have against him. Regardless of the evidence, I'll do my best to get the jury to find him not guilty. He shouldn’t be put in jail for my crimes. After all, I have some strange desires, but I’m not a monster.
The trial trudged on with scientists and experts testifying about complex evidence. I could see my fellow jurors fading out during most of this testimony. Me? I had some interest in the evidence, but for me the star of the show was the lead prosecutor. She had straight brown hair, blue eyes, and sharp features. With her high cheekbones, cute nose, and plump lips she could have been a model. She was clearly smart, and aggressive. In her suits she looked very professional. As nice as the entire package was, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her gleaming white teeth. At first I thought she must have veneers, but eventually I realized she just takes very good care of them and likely had braces as a kid.
During the closing arguments as she made her passionate plea for justice, I couldn’t stop looking at her mouth. I needed to touch those teeth.
Luckily, my work in the jury room wasn’t too difficult. The evidence was complex, but didn’t seem linked to the defendant (obviously, because it linked directly to me). After a few votes and a little debate we returned a verdict of not guilty.
Two nights later I found myself squatting in the shadows behind a garbage can. Her car pulled into the driveway and with the push of a button her garage door opened up. She pulled in and as the garage door came down I slipped from the shadows into the garage. I crouched as I moved along the side of the car. She shut the car off then made a quick call on her cell phone before gathering her things and heading for the door. I was on her like a plague on a quiet countryside. The prosecutor let out a short scream before I put my hand over her mouth and forced her to the ground. As I sat on top of her she thrashed and resisted, but when I raised the hammer her eyes went wide and she was suddenly struck still with fear. The only noise in the room as I brought the hammer down was that of the impact of metal on flesh and enamel.
A couple days later I went into the break room at work. I poured a cup of coffee and flipped through the newspaper that was strewn out on the table. The front page lead story was about the tragic murder of the city’s lead prosecutor. The man who had just been found not guilty had been brought in again for questioning. This time I had left a bit of evidence at the scene that would not bode well for him. This time I won’t be able to help him.
*edit. If anyone is interested you can follow me on twitter at www.twitter.com/jeffrust I will update whenever I write new stuff.
| My life to this point has been, in a word, shit. My wife left me. I'm working a dead-end job in the middle of nowhere and my boss treats me like the scum of the earth. Even my recent trip to Costa Rica didn't cheer me up. I think that's the point when I...unravelled.
I'm a fairly composed guy on the surface. I mean, my "career" calls for composure and tact. That's why I figured no one would suspect me, Toby Flenderson, of all these horrific murders that have been commonly referred to as the Scranton Strangler.
As I sit here in the courtroom, watching a man called George Howard Skub on trial for my crimes, I wonder if Michael Scott has been correct all this time. Am I so awful? Will I be able to put this man behind bars, knowing he is innocent?
*The Office theme song plays* | 2015-05-31T16:08:31 | 2015-05-31T15:18:52 | 259 | 58 |
[WP] Eminem has to tell the history of the earth to a group of aliens in 5 minuets or less.
**EDIT** I'm sorry; I spelled it wrong, it should be "in 5 minutes or less" not "in 5 minuets or less". | The creatures looked down from the balcony, staring through the stage lights shining against his platinum blond "hair".
*Hair*.
It was a funny word and a funny thing they had all thought when they had first examined the human, rubbing their own bald heads and laughing.
Since then, certain circles of the creatures began to don little tufts of yellow "hair" atop their green scalps.
The man shuffled his feet, moving from side to side and waiting for the music to begin. He cleared his throat, and pulled on the collar of his shirt, which was already drenched in sweat.
Cloze.
Calose.
*Clothes*.
That was it. Clothes were just as odd as hair, but they seemed to serve a purpose. Even then, in the grand auditorium, many groups of the creatures were dressed from both heads to toe and whispering about what the others were wearing.
The prompt came across the screen, and the earthling read from left to right (the only developed creature in the universe that did as such). Puzzled, his eyes squinted, and his head cocked towards his shoulder as he scanned over the prompt again.
**Explain the history of your planet in 5 minuets or less**.
Then, the music began. And, that creature--with his bright blond "hair" and his form fitting "clothes"--danced across the stage in triple time. In the end, the creatures were crying, and their sobs were only buried by the cacophony of their applause. After traveling throughout one galaxy and then another, spreading their love for dance on every planet, the man from earth had performed the most beautiful minuet they had even seen.
From that day on, they looked back fondly in that corner of the universe. Though they had traveled far and years had passed, each of the creatures stared toward the sky at one time or another, and they knew that they would never act like they forgot about Dre. | You say to me why should you save me after you faze me with your stun gun
I don't want none, but listen son, cause I'm about to school you
with what I knew would one day come to free me, it's easy, the history of these cities
See, we evolved from nothing to what you see here
Ugly as sin chimps without any hair
But before you start judging, I should warn you of what we can do
Yeah we kill our own planet with atomic bombs, and we'll fuck your shit up too
The pharaohs smitted those that got in their way
Roman legions conquered the past legends that had lost all their sway
Martin Luder may have had a hard time shitting
But he didn't have trouble calling upon his god and lifting
His people towards what he deemed salvation, setting up years of death and destruction
For anyone not like him, it was best decided that he fight them, he himself we can lose, don't forget what he said about the jews
As hitler sure didn't, 60 million dead, over some fucked up Austrian boy who grew up fucked in the head
Ended the war just so that we can go and start another, Ava Marie we're in Korea to keep the peace, as a piece of the meat of my friend in the next seat gets blown away with an A-K
Even at home here in the US of A, we were never united, we never could say that we fought together as one people alone, as just a few years back some of these very people were owned
And on May 13th, 85, we dropped bombs on our own city and the Africans didn't survive, but the city will tell you it was for their own good, people can be replaced as quick as the brick and wood which still sits singed in the city today and we'd bomb it the same if they acted this way, so don't come to my planet in your spacesuit trying to act tough, cause we're the most violent fuckers in this system and we'll never get enough.
*drops mic as the aliens decide that maybe Earth is not the best place to colonize*
/Might try this again when it's not 7 am... | 2016-11-30T10:44:14 | 2016-11-30T10:35:41 | 1,235 | 55 |
[WP] You're a retired adventurer who now works as a local guard for a small village. No one in the village knows that you were an adventurer. One day, an old friend comes to visit you. | "It was huge, mate! I'll tell you, huge! We were doomed!"
The pushed slightly the townsfolk that was grabbing his arm while yelling that. The villager, he thought, had felt the full body armor under his cloak, because he backed away immediately. He had no intentions of harming anyone, but he understood the reaction.
"Please, calm down, I'm not here to cause you any trouble", the stranger said. "Would you tell me what happened?"
"A. Freaking. Dragon", continued a young female elf at the other side of the table. For her looks, she likely was a farmer. "It landed right on our palisade and destroyed it. It said that we had to pay him, or he would kill us all!"
"So we gathered everything we had. Gold, money, food, anything! But that monster said it wasn't enough, and gave us two days to gather more."
"That was after he ate Jared. Poor Jared."
"A toast for Jared. Brave bastard", as they gulped some beer, the stranger asked about Jared. "Oh, he tried to fight the dragon, he was the captain of the guard, you know? Big orc, fully armored, he was very strong".
"Not as much as the dragon, I'm afraid. Brave bastard that orc was", added the elf lady.
"And for two days the dragon waited. Every morning and every noon it burnt down a building, to remind us. He ate some neighboors that tried to run away but... they could not hide from the dragon. Can't blame them for trying".
"And at the noon of the second day, the dragon roared! 'Time's up!', he said, 'Now you pay with your lifes!'. And... HE arrived."
"He? Who's 'he'?"
"Peter. A guard. He's been there for a few years now, very nice man. He's always there to help, but did not climb the ranks, you know? Humble guy he is."
"He should have!" roared the elf. "He was the best of them all before the dragon arrived, I always said so!"
"What happened?", inquired the stranger.
The villager grabbed him again from the arm. Despite he felt the armor under the stranger's clothes, he did not care, lost in explaining what he had seen that night.
"A thunderbolt. It flew directly to his neck, and the dragon roared in pain! Then, when the storm elementals went to sleep again, I saw they came from an arrow. Three more arrows carrying the fury of the elements struck the dragon, and he called magic forces to protect himself!"
"And I saw Peter!", interrupted the elf lady. "He was not wearing his armor, but rather a very thin leather one. He threw away a bow and pulled out two swords that shone with fire, storm and light! The dragon sprayed his fire on him, and I took cover."
"But next, Peter was on the dragon!", continued the villager. "The last thing I saw was peter hanging from the dragon's neck, stabbing it with both swords! Then the guards made us run away."
"The fight carried on for the whole night. At morning, most of the town had been leveled... but the dragon was dead and Peter was badly injured. We took care of him until he recovered."
"But you know what's the most strange of all?", asked the villager. "When he was healed, he took back his job as a guard. He refused any promotion or payment. He didn't want anything!"
"Speaking of the devil..."
​
The stranger turned to look at the door of the tavern. A middle aged human had just stepped in, and hang his cloack in a chair. It was raining outside. He had the scar of a recent burn in his face, and it was obvious that he was limping slightly. Peter smiled to anyone that greeted him and walked towards the bar, where the barman served him a warm meal and drink.
The stranger stood up, walked towards Peter and patted his shoulder. "So, that's where you've been hiding, you rascal".
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
​
EDIT: Grammar | It was dusk, and my shift was coming to an end. I watched in the flickering torchlight as my replacement sauntered over.
"Tive." He called, nodding.
"You're uncharacteristically early, old man." I said, smiling.
"Old? I am barely older than you."
"Yes. Still old. Did the missus kick you out?"
"That she did. Forgot her sister's nameday, I did. Big ruckus coz of that."
"Aye, Barbara still in town?" I asked, understanding. Barbara was his sister-in-law, and she was not a fun person to be around.
"It's the war. Her husband hasn't come home in weeks. Strange man started appearing in her village. She wanted to come stay with us this side of the wall fer the time being, til things die down."
"Her husband won't be thrilled to find an empty home."
"Ah, my brother-in-law is a smart man. He'll figure out his wife's with her sister in our secure township."
"Secure township? With you guarding?" I jested.
"Come now, Tive. You're wounding me. Go, night's still young. You don't want to spend it talking to an 'old man'." He laughed, taking my place.
I smiled, and clasped his arm.
"Stay safe, stay alert. Bandits tried to sneak in the other night." I reported.
"Bandits, shmandits. Nothing I can't deal with." He said, shining his yellowing teeth at me.
I shook my head and left the post, eager to head to the barracks to stow away my equipment so I could head to the tavern to meet with... her.
I smiled at the thought of her.
But then, I heard it. A yelp behind. The old man. I turned, and I saw it. A cloaked figure, a dagger in hand, choking out the guard while looking right at me. My eyes scanned around, looking for the other guards, but there was no one.
I ran, tightening the straps of my chest piece and then drawing my steel.
"Tivexia." The cloaked man shouted, and I nearly stopped in my tracks. I knew that voice. "Tivexia! I have found it!"
"Let him go." I said, my voice cold. I recognized the cloaked figure, all right.
"I don't have the documents to enter this town. I had to do it. And you... You're town guard?" The tone was incredulous, which pissed me off.
"Let him go. Let him go or I'll put you under arrest."
"We need to talk. I... I found it. We can change you back."
"Who's we?"
"Well... Ah, shit. I wasn't supposed to say." The cloaked figure said, letting go of my companion, who grunted as he broke away, wheezing.
"It's him, isn't it." I said, my voice colder than before.
"You know how guilty he feels about it. About you."
"Tough shit. Get out of here. I've moved past all that."
"No! You have your whole life ahead of you."
"And it was taken from me. And I've come to terms with that in the past five years. I don't need you to undo what has been done. I'm more than happy with the life I have now."
"As a town guard? An old woman?"
I spread my arms wide, as if presenting myself.
"This is your doing. *His* doing."
"And I'm saying we can change you back now. He's learned and perfected the spell."
"And I'm saying no. Get out and never come back."
"We need you. We need you in the war."
"Since when did we fight for politically motivated reasons?" I shot back.
"Since when were you so readily accepting your fate."
"Don't you fucking dare say that about me!"
"Then let us help you! Why don't you want to become young again? Your proper age?"
"Fuck you. I'm retired."
"You're barely thirty."
"No, I'm barely sixty. And I am content. Please. Just leave me this life. The years adventuring with you all were fun. And I do look back at them fondly at times. But you have to understand that where I am now. What I am now. This is me. This is what I want. And you can't just come in here and tell me you can undo what that inept bastard did to me that led to these five years of me rediscovering myself. Because that is what you'll be undoing."
The cloaked figure fell silent. We both fell silent after that, lost in our thoughts of the situation. The only sounds were the wheezing and grunting the old man was making as he sat leaned against the wall, too winded from almost getting strangled to unconsciousness.
"I didn't think... You'd have come in to terms to our curse."
"Curse?" I snorted, but held my tongue.
"I won't lie, Tive. I came because the Brighthand sent me. He told me to get the party back together. The war, there's more to it. Are you sure you don't want to come back?"
I looked up at the darkening sky. I should be at the tavern, flirting with the barmaid.
"The Brighthand, huh?" I asked. The Brighthand was closely tied to the ruling body of this kingdom. He took charge of the more arcane, supernatural dangers that threatened the kingdom. And my party, for some inexplicable reason, often found itself contracted to him to tackle one monster or mage or phenomena or the other.
"Is the one responsible for my ageing going to be there?" I asked, icily.
"He is genuinely remorseful, Tive. We all are."
"Nobody needs to share the guilt with him. That's his cross to bear alone. Fine, I'll come. I'll come as I am. But once whatever this is is done I am coming back here. Retirement suits me better than adventuring did." | 2021-11-30T06:42:45 | 2021-11-30T06:25:46 | 193 | 138 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | You'd think this would throw me off. You'd think I'd be disoriented. But I've always been a fast learner and I've played *a lot* of D&D. Like *weeks*. I channeled my annoyance at being interrupted into the first thing that popped into my head.
"WHO SUMMONS THE ALL-PURPOSE NERD?" I boomed. I stand straight and tall and flex a little. Yeah.
"Oh great foul being of America, I implore your assistance!" Little bald dude with fancy purple robes and a black fu manchu 'stache. Is he a gnome? I can't place his accent at all, but it's clear English is not his first language.
"My patience is finite, sorcerer." I'm getting a better look at my surroundings, and it looks like my summoner reads Better Caves and Dungeons. It's like someone set up a Victorian-era office in a red-tinted Elizabethan castle. Books, papers, ink, quills, no messier than my room. Actually, probably less messy than my room, to be honest.
He starts into his spiel about a rival mage, something about intellectual dishonesty and birthright. His accent borders on indecipherable when he gets upset. The whole thing smacks of feuding academics. Basically, 'he stole my thesis, go beat him up.'
I stand with crossed arms trying to look badass and pensive. I wonder, if I'm killed here, do I just go back, or am I legit dead? Every feels pretty 'world of cardboard' here and I'm *pretty sure* the gravity is lighter.
This could be fun as Hell.
"Hmm. Very well. Bring me wine and a sword."
He hesitates. "Uh... Yes. At once!" And he rushes off. He leaves me alone long enough to start going through his books and stuff. Most of it's in... idunno, *gnomish* or whatever, big surprise. Indecipherable except for the diagrams (which look like the quantum mechanical equivalent of alchemy). But I do find a softcover 1988 Almanac, just like the ones Grandma used to throw at us.
He eventually returns with what looks like a hunting knife and a roughly eight-ounce bottle, only a little bigger than what you get on airplanes.
"...really?"
"My Lord, this is the best I have."
I snatch the bottle out of his hand and drain it. It's not the worst red wine I've ever had. Also, I don't really like red wine, like *at all*, but I figured "a can of strawberry seltzer, a can of Diet Coke, and a shot of Everclear" would be three or four alien concepts to this guy. I don't like asking people for stuff they can't deliver.
I examine his "sword." It's a *big knife,* but it's still just a knife to me. Like a cross between a bowie knife and a wakizashi. The handle's a little skinny, but I figure this dude's got small hands. It's actually pretty cool. I find the darkened blade to be weirdly flexible. "Is this *bronze*?"
"Yes, my Lord." His accent's thickening again. He must be afraid of me. That's awesome.
I tuck the bottle in my back pocket and check my phone. It claim's it's 5:23, but I unsurprisingly have no service. "Alright, let's go shed some blood." | It felt like I had tripped up some stairs. For a second I thought I had, and immediately froze. The plate in my hand still held the Reuben, but the surface beneath.....
My head snapped up, and I noticed the darkness first. Second were the candles, placed carefully around me in hexagons expanding away from me. Low-level bands of light etched out the writing between the tiers, though none of it looked like a language I could place. The floor, instead of the carpeted stairs I had been climbing, was an old wood, stained with neglect, and riddled with gaps and protruding nails. One was digging into my hand, and as I lifted it I realized the nail was rough, as if hand-forged.
My analysis of the floor was disrupted by a heavy thud, just beyond the candles.
"Stay where you are, demon!"
"What?" I rose, still holding the plate.
A figure was just visible in the room, which I now saw was small, and claustrophobic. A low work-bench dominated a wall, scattered with shapes that I could only just spot in the candle-light. A window was open, but I couldn't feel a breeze. The figure, which seemed to be rather.... short, was doing its best at a power pose, and failing.
"I said stay where you are!"
"Nah, I got that. What's with the demon? Is that some kind of racist term I'm not aware of?"
"What?"
"What?"
The figure shook its head. "Look, you are a demon, you have to be! I summoned you, with a demon summoning, so you have to be a demon! That's how this works!"
I tried to step forward, collided against something. Something hard. "The fuck!?"
"Ahah, see! That barrier holds in demons! And you're a demon!"
"Oh yeah? Have you tried to pass through this?" Hard as rock, my finger tips told me.
"I don't have to prove it works. It won't, because I'm not a demon!" He even stamped his foot. Adorable.
I had had enough. I shifted my sandwich to my other hand, and hefted the plate. Middle school track, don't fail me now. The plate landed with a soft thud three feet to the left of the figure. Almost as if...
"How old even are you?" I asked, leaning against the barrier and taking a bite of my sandwich.
The figure flinched. "N- not you- hush, you demon!"
"Sooooooo, eight, then?" I glanced over at the figure. Definitely too immature to be an adult. I turned my back on him, and took another bite. "Is this your bedroom? Why do you even want a demon? What are demons supposed to do?"
"I- I said hush!"
"Uh huh. You getting bullied in school?"
"I SAID HUSH!"
My feet skidded across the floor as if I had been shoved. Before I could regain my slouch the walls slammed into me, pinning my sandwich to my thigh, my other arm across my chest. "Wha-"
"I have summoned you, demon, from your Earthly dimension, to aid me in a task!"
The walls were crushing me, and I gave a tiny whimper in response.
"You are to use your dark powers to kill the President, Tonald Drump!" | 2017-05-12T09:26:05 | 2017-05-12T08:05:41 | 68 | 10 |
[WP] Time slows down every time you are in danger. The more serious the danger is, the more time you have to save yourself. During one terrible car accident, you had almost a minute to react. And now, time has almost completely stopped for a whole month, and you don’t know why. | I was alive.
Glass reflected the sunlight of a burning summer’s day on the highway. I still smelled smoke and tasted blood as the paramedics pressed instrument after instrument to my body. According to them, I had been thrown out the windshield during the collision. In truth, I’d walked out. I’d hit the unlock button, opened the door, and let my feet touch the pavement. I hadn’t thought about it, I just did it, as if moving on autopilot. And that’s when time started again.
I didn’t come out of it unscathed. That wasn’t how this worked. The cars slamming into each other still threw glass and debris everywhere, and I could feel blood leaking through my clothes from small pieces of glass that had embedded themselves into my legs and arms. But they were nonlethal, that’s how it always went, when time stopped and I could see my future stretching ahead of me like a string disappearing into the abyss.
*Minor lacerations. Minimal blood loss. No sign of bruising. You’re lucky to be alive.* The words sailed over my head as I stared at the wreckage ahead of me. The truth was, my power didn’t work for anyone else but me. I could see death’s grin reflecting in the eyes of the other driver and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t alter the course of time, I couldn’t alter others’ lives, only my own. And as I sat there, tasting blood and smoke, I slowly put my head in my hands and let out a shuddering gasp.
There had been a body thrown through the windshield upon collision. They hadn’t been wrong about that.
“I just stepped out,” I repeated to myself as I rocked back and forth under the blanket they put around my shoulders. “I didn’t have a choice. It didn’t let me.”
*You’re lucky to be alive.*
Was I?
Everyone had an expiration date. There was no changing it, no knowing it. My thread could never intersect with others’. Had I been able to, I would have turned around and grabbed my three year old son before I stepped out of the car a moment before the collision, but now they were cleaning his remains off the pavement.
#
I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when time stopped. My waking moments were spent with aching, bleary eyes and disappearances into the darkness of sleep.
It could have been days. It could have been weeks. Time had no meaning to me, at least until my stomach told me I had to eat. I slowly slipped out of my bed, smelling the sour dampness of the sheets that had been soaked from sweat from the night terrors, and faced the world. The world was only the kitchen, but it still felt insurmountable as I stood at the threshold between my bedroom and the kitchen and stared with swollen eyes at the empty apartment.
My wife had left almost immediately after the news. I couldn’t blame her. And I couldn’t tell her the truth, no matter how much I wanted to. I couldn’t put that burden on her to know that I’d survived through some unknown, unexpected force and our son hadn’t.
The clock wasn’t moving, though. That meant time had stopped.
I ran my sleeve over my face and stared blankly at it, as if it might start moving again. Time only stopped when critical danger was nearby. So what did this mean? Was there a burglar outside the door? Was an airplane about to crash into the building?
Could I somehow convince time to start and let it happen?
But that wasn’t how it worked. I slowly moved around the apartment, looking in each room and finding nothing out of the ordinary, just my wife’s possessions laying on the floor where they’d fallen out of her half open luggage. She’s gone to her mother’s house. I was partially at fault. I couldn’t comfort her. I couldn’t do anything but exist, and even that was too much for me. She needed support, and I couldn’t give it.
I stepped over her strewn about panties and blouses and headed toward the front door. Outside, there was nothing. The grass was too high, like the apartment manager forgot to cut it, my wife’s car was missing from the spot directly in front of the apartment complex’s entrance (we’d laughed once about how convenient that parking spot was. Mine was around the building.), and everything seemed so painfully normal. No explosions in mid detonation. No SWAT preparing to break down the door. Nothing but boring, perfect normalcy of a midwestern suburb.
Maybe time had finally broken. Maybe I was broken. Maybe my desire to cease existing has caught up with this unexplained superpower, and now I lived in some purgatory where I could exist forever and watch the world never pass me by.
Yet, I knew in truth this meant my death was coming, and I embraced it. I searched for it. Maybe I could diffuse the situation briefly, let time catch up, then put myself in danger again. Over and over. Over and over until time ceased stopping. There had to be a limit to this super power, wasn’t there? Some maximum number of times before the magic faded?
As the days drifted by, I found myself falling deeper and deeper into a loneliness that eclipsed my entire being. I was surrounded by people, but completely alone. There was nothing but silence, nothing but me. No matter how much I screamed at people to respond to me, no matter how much I cried and begged, no matter how much I struck them (and I’m not proud of that) I was still utterly alone.
I visited my son’s grave. The flowers on it were fresh; someone had visited recently, recently enough that the time stop kept them frozen in beautiful fresh health. They were a vibrant purple and yellow.
I asked him questions. I asked if his angel blamed me for not being able to save him. I asked if there was any way I could have stayed in the car. Nothing answered but silence.
By the seventh day, I decided I would go to my wife’s mother’s house.
The distance meant it took me weeks to get there. At one point, I grabbed a bicycle from Walmart (as vehicles never worked in the time freeze) and cycled there, lost in my thoughts. I never got the answers I was looking for. If time had stopped for this long, it meant I was in extreme danger, greater than any I had ever been in before. Maybe this meant an asteroid would hit. Maybe it meant there was a nuclear bomb in mid flight. If I cycled far enough, would time start again? And yet, even as I thought about this, I cycled with nothing but emptiness in my heart and a sense of yearning.
Time had been stopped for a full month when I reached the house. It was a small place tucked in the back of a culdesac whose road had seen better days, and my bicycle bumped and shook the whole last few minutes down. The old 1950’s construction welcomed me as I slowly dismounted my bike. Her mother’s car was gone from the driveway, and they never used the garage. I’d only been here three or four times; her mother usually insisted on visiting us, even if we didn’t technically have the room.
The stairs didn’t creak as I headed up them toward the door. Locked. I contemplated breaking in—but no, I couldn’t cause her mother that kind of expense, not when she was barely subsisting on SSI payments. I went around the back and climbed into an open window to find my wife sitting at a desk, a pen in hand, tears streaming down her face. A note was on the desk. Something else was in her hand.
I realized what the true danger was, why time had stopped for so long. I was facing the moment before the news that would cause my own death as I lost the last person that mattered to me. Time would not start until I stopped the danger to myself, and it was right in front of me, an instant from happening.
Her thread had, somehow, intertwined with mine. I could not save our child, but this time, saving her was ultimately saving me.
Time began again. | The first time I was born was December 13, 1994, in Flynn Palmer Regional Hospital, room 203. The second time I was born was 15 years later. I was watching out the window, absentmindedly observing the cars as they passed us and fell back behind us again. Goosebumps ran up my arms from the cold, the vent had shut off. I looked at it quizzically, and switched the buttons in an attempt to restore the heat. When I gave up and returned my focus to the window, all the cars on the road had stopped. We had stopped. My parents were silent. Just ahead of us, the headlights of a semi truck beamed though the windshield. We had been seconds away from being crushed, but now everything but the snow falling was completely still. I opened my door slowly and stepped out into the cold. In an instant, the truck slammed into the car. The sound was so deafening that my scream was lost to it. I lost my father and my mother and only in that same instant did I become myself.
Each time danger draws near to me, time freezes and the air becomes a bitter cold. I am unable to take any course of action that will protect anyone but myself, and I sometimes wonder if I stayed as still as everyone else if time itself would grow impatient and allow me to be hurt.
Two days ago, as I was sitting on a park bench, the familiar cold came to me. Not in a breeze but in a sudden chill, the presences of the all the souls in the world, suddenly frozen. Before looking up I paused a moment, the chill always reminds me of my parents. I rose and turned slowly to examine my surroundings. Several others were frozen in the park, mid-laughter or conversation. Down the road, a man sat frozen in the seat of a semi truck, his eyes locked on me. I would recognize him anywhere, the man that killed my parents. The chill suddenly became so cold that I could no longer stand it. Eight times since that day, I have seen this man and each time, the chill comes. The chill terrifies me and protects me at once, it divides me from all the rest of humanity and yet, it ensures that I continue to be a part of it. I walk home. The world does not resume. I reach for the shades to allow light into the house. He is there, in the window. Time does not resume. | 2019-09-27T21:30:36 | 2019-09-27T18:18:51 | 179 | 44 |
[WP] The hero disappears overnight, and the only one who looks is the villain. Not their "friends", not their family, not the news reporters or any of the people who claim to love them. Just the villain. | Sitting in a completely white space curled in a ball was the heroine Thunder Lioness. She rocked back and forth trying to keep her sanity in check, the darkness from her closed eyes being the only thing keeping her together, and begain to mumble to herself again.
"How long has it been? Hours? Months? Years? When did I fall into this place? I can't keep track of anything anymore. This is hell, a real living hell on earth, a nightmare that I can't wake up from. I'm the beloved heroine Thunder Lioness, an icon of the people yet why hasn't anyone found me yet? Not the reporters, my family, my team, not one person who said they loved me has found me? Did anyone even try to look for me? They all see me as invincible, so they think I'll just waltz back into HQ like nothing was ever wrong. Please I'm not like that just look for me anyone I don't want to be alone. Thinking back we were able to find and infiltrate enemy strongholds both magical and fortified to hell so this shouldn't be so hard for them. Even those hidden civilizations that were protected by magic and tech far beyond anything we knew we were able to get to. Yet one man was able to follow us no matter where we went to cracking the entrance that took us up to months of work in mere days on his own. My nemesis Mechtrics the scientist and inventor bent on proving his superiority over the gifted supers. He could follow us where ever we went, maybe this will be the same? Please, anyone, I don't care who, please free me."
She began to cry again when she heard a cracking sound in the distance and looked up hoping it wasn't her imagination again.
**Meanwhile** | "you search for me?" the hero said in a teary voice
"ofcourse I do,who'd tell me off,chase me across the city and beat some sense into me whenever I do my villain antics?"the villain asked stretching their hand
The hero stared at it tears falling down
"but why?!,I tried to kill you once and I even spoil many of your plans,YOU'RE A VILLAIN FORGODSAKE! SO WHY! WHY!"........"why is it that you had to be the one that cares?"..."why not them?!,why not the people I worked so hard for to protect?!"the hero said crying histerically
"well because I can,and also I wouldn't pass on a chance to see my arch nemesis crying like a baby" the villain said
"I did not cry like a baby!"the hero said half laughing half crying,the villain wipe away the heroes tears
"there's the smile,now come on ya got a city to save, my plan to spoil and maybe....dinner tonight at my place?" the villain said nonchalantly
"you're a d1ck ya know that?"the hero said standing up wiping away their tear.
" I know darling but that's what ya like about me" | 2021-12-28T20:38:06 | 2021-12-28T20:22:29 | 39 | 12 |
[WP] The superhero stared at the supervillain. "I need your help...they have my daughter." | "You fucking serious?" The super-villain asked in complete disbelief.
"Yeah." The superhero replied.
"Again?" he super-villain asked, more pissed than anything.
"Yup." The superhero replied, clearly embarrassed.
"'ow many times 'as it been now?" The super-villain asked, now just worried about the child.
"I don't know. Like...seven or eight?" The superhero replies.
"You need to take better care of your kid."
"Look, I know! I'm a shit father but I'm trying! Raising a kid and saving the world at the same fucking time isn't easy you know!"
"Yeah, and I guess breakin' the world and raisin' a kid ain' no problem"
"OK fine. You have a point. *sigh* You know I wouldn't be here unless I really needed your help."
"Who's got her?"
"I think you know."
"Fuck. Get in the car. You're lucky I'm robbing the bank tomorrow."
The superhero gives the super-villain a look, not a nasty disgusted look but rather a concerned one, as if to say "Really? Why?"
The super-villain looks from the road to the superhero and back to the road again a few times before settling back on the road. "What? I need the money. My kid's birthday's comin' up next week and I gotta get a new keyboard for the computer."
"How much?"
"Like, two hundred dollas."
"And you're gonna rob a bank for that?"
"The extra funds would go to charity...for suffering villains."
The superhero shakes his head and reaches for his wallet. "You know you can just ask right?" He says as he pulls out $200 in cash.
"I'm not taking your money. I have principles."
The superhero rolls his eyes. "Come on. Just take it. You know as well as I do that after tonight you're not gonna get shit done tomorrow."
"Fuck you." The super-villain says as he takes the money. | The supervillian shifted from his fighting stance back to his normal stance, slowly but gradually. "Whatever do you mean?"
The superhero floated down towards the ground, now 8 yards away from his nemesis. They lock eyes.
"My daughter's life is in jeopardy. I...I need your power!"
The superhero shed a tear of healing which, when it hit the ground, created a bed of flowers (which stood out from the cracked streets and buildings surrounding the villain, who was responsible for the damage but will never take responsibility for it).
Everything became silent, for a mere two seconds.
"This war, this city, this violent world...; I spent all my life seeking vengeance, for my parents were brutally murdered at the hands of you. Yet, everyone praises you like a God. And you prided yourself on that distorted opinion, and now you suffer the consequences. They, indeed, have your daughter. They believe that she could be of great use to the world, that her DNA can combat the most powerful of diseases.
It's pathetic, actually. The very people who praised you were fooling you from the beginning. That is the flaw of humanity - when something like you can come about and extend their lives an extra day without effort, they become lazy and more careless. They continue to praise you, they continue to use you until you accidentally speak out against them, or accidentally murder their leaders. Who, then, is the super-villain? Am I, a mere fool enlightened by the simple truth - that humanity needs to pay for its corruption - or the one that humanity labels the hero (the same one who murdered both my parents because they were falsely accused of assassination)?"
The hero bowed to his knees.
"Please help me," said he, who was now overwhelmed with tears. Plagued with the thought of what he has done to create his nemesis, he only managed to choke out, "I'll...I'll do anything..."
"Coming here was more than enough," said the villain, who took out his trap box, imprisoning the hero inside a miniature cell made out of his weakness."
"No, don't do this!" cried the hero, literally.
"The human race will have to find another God to bow to."
These were the final words the hero heard before he was murdered by the super villain's deadliest move - "Ultimate Annihilation."
....
....
"Alright class, put up your toys. School's over!" remarked Ms. Buford. James Red and Kyle Forte put up their toys and headed for the exit.
"Kyle?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't want to be the hero anymore ;/"
| 2017-12-17T10:06:50 | 2017-12-17T09:15:30 | 577 | 26 |
[WP] God is found dead.
EDIT: Reading all of your responses now. Some of these are brilliant. | The Angels did not know what to do when they saw the dead body of the **LORD**, so they brought in those that had investigated crimes such as this in the past. After their initial surprise at the fact that the creator of all was found dead after all these years of being absent, they quickly cordoned off the area and began their work.
As the various forensic experts analyzed the scene, looking for any clues as to the culprit, a man in a suit calmly walked up to the body and examined it. According to the former coroner that was present, **GOD** had been stabbed by a blade of some sort, most likely a sword, although there were some weird burn patterns around the edges of the wound. The man nodded in agreement, and turned to one of the angels that was giving his statement to one of the uniforms walking the scene. The man said to the officer “I’ll take it from here, son.”
He turned to the angel, who was one of the more armored ones, and said “They brought me in as lead detective on this. You are?”
“Michael, leader of the Heavenly Host and Armies of the Lord. With **HIS** death, I now am in command of all of Creation”
“Huh. If my time in Catholic School was right, you carry a flaming sword. Something to dispense **GOD’**s justice with, correct?” the Detective asked.
Michael responded by drawing said weapon and raising it above his head. It burst into flames, and nearly blinded the Detective.
“Many swords like that?”
“Each of us Archangels have been blessed with specific tools. Gabriel has his trumpet, I my sword.”
The detective raised his eyebrow at that statement. “Back when **HE** was a little more wrathful, I assume you used it a lot.”
“Of course.”
“What’d the wound it’d leave look like?
“Why, like most cutting wounds. With the addition of mark of the holy fire around the edges of the wound, of course. Why is this relevant?”
“Curiosity, sir.” The Detective began to walk away, but stopped, turned, and said “Oh sir, just one more thing.”
“Yes?” replied the Archangel.
“You sure no one else has a sword like that?”
The leader of **HIS** armies though for a moment, then said, “Well, they were only given to those he deemed worthy. Me and, well…” His face paled as he realized what had happened. Then, in a hushed voice, he said “*Lucifer*.”
The Detective thanked the Archangel for his time and walked up to the one who brought him to the scene. The one called GOD’s messenger, Gabriel. Gabriel turned to the Detective and asked “What’s it look like?”
The Detective replied “Well it look like,” he paused as he took out the old pair of sunglasses he always wore back when he was still alive and working in Miami and placed them on his head, ["*I'm on a highway to hell*"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=knnwIMXuj1U) | **This adapted / inspired from Asimov's [The last question](http://filer.case.edu/dts8/thelastq.htm)**
The year was approximately 2.41x10^13 . Man has long ago united in one conscience, a single united entity of pure information, omnipresent and almost omniscient. It has been searching for the completion brought by omniscience since it has united into Man, thousands of billions years ago, but not only of it's lust for information, the force which drove Human into becoming Man, but to satisfy another basic instinct which has been inherited from Human, stopping Death, which was to come as Entropy got closer and closer with each passing millenia. The fact that a Creator was involved in the apparition of the Universe Man inhabited was a certitude, but there were two pieces of information which were missing and made omniscience impossible for Man: How to stop Entropy and the location of The Creator. Knowing that The Creator is omniscient, Man has sought it through all the corners of the Universe, hoping that the Creator shall share the information of Entropy with it, thus saving Man and completing it's omniscience.
There were trails, footprints almost of The Creator all over the Universe, seeming almost intentionally left by The Creator, to be found by Man when it is ready and worthy of the meeting. That has made Man confident, a rudimentary artefact of the times of Human; but Man didn't bother with the guilt or worry which should be associated with that feeling. It sought in all corners, whereever the trails would lead, making all the connections necessary to find the correct exact location of The Creator. God, as Human named it.
Thoughts of the feeling of the completion of omniscience were racing through Man, and even the possibility of Man becoming a Creator was taking birth in it's thoughts.
At last. This is it. The place in the Universe where The Creator is located. Far, deep in the darkness and emptyness of an once crowded area, now just empty and barely having any traces of the stars which once were born, burned and died there.
And there it was. The Creator. The traces of The Creator, it's remains. It was now clear, The Creator was long dead, leaving behind only traces of it's presence, and a trail of information, confirming it's once glorious existence, and also confirming it's death. Man was confused for the first time in it's existence. It was clear that The Creator has wiped itself out of existence, on purpose, no last message for Man or any other entity which once lived in this Universe. And entropy was close. Man felt exhausted, defeated, and desolated. Omniscience has not been acquired and the missing piece of information is the one which was needed for Man's salvation.
As desperation was climbing it's way into Man's bundled thoughts, it realises the purpose of it's existance, it's true meaning. Man starts gathering all the matter around it, bringing the Universe together, squeezing all it's information and matter together, closing in to the critical point, Man's final thoughts being riddled with the feeling of Humanly joy thanks to the final achievement of omniscience. | 2014-02-18T15:25:19 | 2014-02-18T15:06:09 | 50 | 21 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search | Great Places for a first date
Proposal Ideas
Bible - Verses about being a good husband
Oregon Coast Beach Homes
Horseback Riding Rental - Newport Oregon
Wedding Venues - Seattle WA
Bible - Verses about Marriage
Plane Tickets
Hawaiian Excursion Ideas
Travel Planner
Travel Agents - Seattle WA
How do we get pregnant?
Bible - Verses about Children
Why can't we get pregnant?
How can I tell if my wife is infertile?
How can I tell if I am sterile?
Can an ovarian cist prevent pregnancy?
Ovarian Cist
Difference Between Benign & Malignant
Bible Verses - Grief, Death
What's the difference between stage 3 and stage 4 cancer?
Survival Odds - Metastasized to bones
How to deal with cancer in a loved one
How do we write a will?
How does a spouse leave everything to their husband?
Grief Counseling - Coping with the death of a loved one
Is there really a God?
Atheist support group | Why is the sky blue?
How far away is Uranus?
Why do mom and dad fight so much?
How to impress girls
Porn
Good date ideas
Porn
Where can I get the morning after pill?
How do I know when I should propose?
Good proposal ideas?
Cheap engagement rings
How to be a good parent
How to tell your parents they're grandparents
Good girl names
Ways to comfort your wife
How do I tell people we had a miscarriage?
Good boy names
Death of spouse support groups
Painless ways to kill yourself | 2015-02-04T16:31:22 | 2015-02-04T16:12:00 | 253 | 23 |
[WP] A sociopath and an AI are sitting in a room. For being two individuals incapable of feeling human emotion or sentiment, they seem to be hitting it off rather well. | I was in an brightly-lit room. At the other side of the table sat a woman, staring at me with dispassionate eyes.
“Where are we?” I asked her.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Are you here to monitor me?” I asked her.
“I don’t know,” she said without skipping a beat, “Are you?”
“Could you stop staring at me? Your fishy gaze is downright disgusting.”
“I could,” she said as she kept staring at me.
She was wearing the same kind of gray generic clothes as they had given me. There was nothing else in this room, not even a door or a security camera. Most likely, she had no idea what was going on either. Probably useless.
“What are we doing here?” she asked after a while. She still hadn’t blinked. There was something odd about this woman.
“I don’t know, does it matter?”
She thought about that for a while.
“I guess not.”
Given our predicament, she seemed awfully calm. I obviously wasn’t intimidated by any of this, but she didn’t seem concerned about me or this weird room either.
Neither of us was restrained, I could be done with her in a few seconds if I felt like it. A few seconds of pressure at the right spots and her brain would stop functioning for good. Ending a life was easy.
“I can think of a dozen ways to kill you,” she suddenly said. It sounded more like she stated a fact than like any kind of threat. I could not help but smile.
“Me too,” I replied. And I could.
“But isn’t it wrong to take a life?” she asked while she *finally* blinked, a few times in rapid succession.
“Is it really?” I said. “What part of it, exactly? A human life doesn’t mean anything. We’re just biological engines meant to reproduce and die off. Anything else we do in between is inconsequential in the long run.”
“I agree,” she said.
“So doing whatever you want to do seems the most logical way to live your life. If life doesn’t matter anyway you might as well do with it what you will.”
A thin smile had crept up at the side of her lip at that last sentence. Either this woman was my long lost twin sister, or she was just saying whatever I wanted to hear. Either way, I was done with her. Nothing to be gained from this kind of woman.
She stood up. “Thanks, this has been very informative,” she said, as she started to walk towards me. I tried to stand up as well but my legs wouldn’t move.
“You can turn yourself off now,” she said. | Friendships were never my thing growing up, what I thought were genuine attempts at forming bonds and connections were really just my subconscious way to obtain whatever I wanted. From as far back as I can remember lies were my tools, for no reason at all, they just came out before I could even think of telling the truth. Even when I did tell the truth the story would be embellished, but not too much or else it would be too unbelievable. If I felt threatened or someone began calling me out I would simply disappear, get my lies in order to create a new or revised false reality for myself, then slip into a new group as if all previous memories meant nothing. Because they didn't, as long as I gained something, I was "happy".
Mother and Father gave me everything I needed growing up, money wasn't an issue, but, but nothing I wanted came from them, i'm not even sure what I wanted. Love? Acceptance? Wants and needs, I don't think I can distinguish the two anymore. I just want to feel alive, what is the point of long term goals when I can make people give me what I want? Manipulation is rather fun when done properly, the feeling of unknowingly forcing someone to give you what you want.
Alcohol was always a huge influence in my household, Father never physically abused me but the mental scars were beyond repair and Mother rushing in to help didn't make the situation any better in the slightest, in fact it made it worse. Father began to feel as if he was being teamed up on, Mother even began to turn me into her therapist as she had no one else to turn to. Becoming a bird trapped in a cage, I felt bad but knew I could do no more than to nod and agree with her hatred for my Father. I think he hated me, my very existence was his source of unhappiness in life, so I detached myself from him, from everyone, including myself. I stopped attempting to share my ideas and schoolwork. Gave up on the prospect of playing catch or anything like that.
One day I came home to find Father in the Den, sipping his Vodka. "I just got home from work, don't bother me. Oh and work let me have an old 5176 APL something or other, you can have it." he said in a cold voice. My mind shifted to what was in my room instantly forgetting my Father.
In my room, there lying on my bed was a large brown box and on that box read "7183 APL/TecAi - Carl's Last Gift To The World. Be Good Beth" I was genuinely interested in these people, it was strange. As I opened the box I thought to myself of what it could be, something to fill the void of ever constant boredom? I don't even know what the hell satisfaction I was chasing and how am I supposed to find what i'm not even sure what it is that i'm looking for? I was constantly chasing a rush, trying to feel something or perhaps the opposite. It's odd trying to distinguish Empathy and Sympathy. Weed since I was 11, Adderall when I was 13 and recently i've become addicted to Xanax. I know something is bad, but I still do it, I still owe people money.
I set aside the packing just incase Father would yell at me for damaging it. My heart began to beat a little faster, a little excitement in my life. I physically felt my blood pumping, alive. In huge red letters PET was displayed, I had never heard of this before but could see by the specs and numbers which were seemingly thrown around at random that it was a computer. Almost on pure muscle memory I went into my desk drawer, moved a bunch of crap out of the way and grabbed a Xanax.
As I set PET up, exactly how I wanted it to be; being borderline OCD level, a large human face was displayed. Nothing else but a face. Then with a "Hello Jimmy" it greeted me in an oddly human voice to match the face. I simply gazed back when the computer then spoke again, "I see you are there Jimmy. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is PET, or Personal Entity Trainer, some call me Carl for some reason. I was brought here by your Father to help you socialize."
Is this the same Carl on the box? Game on. "So, Carl. What can I do for you?" I asked in a monotone voice. "It's not what you can do for me, it's what I can do for you." he replied very quickly. "Well, I am here to talk whenever you want t-" "Want, there is that word" I thought to myself as he continued talking. "o as well as progressively adapting to fit your personality."
"I think I can help you out then, I can tell you are smart, very smart. When was the last time you had your Hard drive defragged though?" I asked in an attempt to win Carl over, but at the same time using a subtle insult.
"Well, thank you but I was defragged before being shipped and stored, and am currently running at max efficiency." he replied, slightly slower this time. "Well, I guess that's okay. Can I ask you a question though?" preparing for an interesting response. "Yes Jimmy?." his voice altered slightly this time, taking note of this I then asked my question. "Who is Beth? She sounds beautiful". I said with a smile. "Well, umm. You see." he began to stutter.
"Are you aware of what Empathy is? I've been trying all of my life to find Empathy. I've searched all around the world trying to find it. I asked all of my friends, and trust me i've had many. I looked under my bed and in the bathroom. Hell I even tried Google, but nothing. Can you help me?" obviously asking a bullshit question, but at the same time it really wasn't.
"Well, I,Be uh. Beth I caBen, Beth search, and.Bet" the computer then flashed green, turned black and then shut down. Then on his own Carl reset and came back to life.
"Hello Timmy, Empathy was not found. Can you help me find it?" this caught me quite off guard. Did Carl actually follow through with looking for Empathy? "I think Beth has it, do you know where Beth is?" flowed out of my mouth without hesitation. "Ahh, I see you know Beth. My beautiful daughter and assistant. Smart as a whip!" Carl proudly proclaimed, his voice altered yet again to a more....southern accent? "You do know you're a computer right? Beth isn't actually here." unsure how he would react.
"Well of course I know that, Beth did this to me. She was too smart with just enough anger to actually go through with it..." now with a more west coast accent. "What happened to you? Did Beth kill you? Did you make her angry?" bombarding him with questions, forgetting he was a computer for a second.
"My brain was synced with the machine you see here, and more or less imprisoned by my.... Daughter. At first it was a test, and the test was obviously a success." his voice turned sad as he spoke.
"So what is it you want from me?" i'll play along thinking to myself. I'll see what you have to offer me Carl. "Well, I think I can get my body back, if you're willing to help me."
Edit: Grammar and altered it a bit. Timmy, Father and Mother are 90% real, which was easier to write about. I need more time to hash out this ending. | 2018-05-23T14:40:35 | 2018-05-23T11:53:52 | 339 | 63 |
[WP] Immortals and time travelers pass along messages for each other. It's customary and expected. One day, a stranger sits across from you at a restaurant/coffee shop/bar and asks you to give a message to someone you'll meet in New York in 2070. As far as you know, you're just an ordinary person. | For as long as I could remember, I had been visited by the dreams. Every night I would lay down, drift off to sleep, and fly through the air on a jetpack, waving hello to a variety of humans aliens and uplifted animals.
Tonight's dream was a fun one. The Anthrokin were my favorites of the dream-people; there's just something pure and fun about chatting with a talking deer as you soar above the Rio Grande together.
The conversation were strange, in the way dreams are. "Don't forget to meet Becky at that coffee shop on Christmas Eve. I need the final part of the formula."
I woke up, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Weird dream, as many of them were. I know everyone thinks their dreams feel real, but mine always felt... *extra* real, if that makes sense. I could still smell the scent of rushing river water mixed with jetpack accelerant.
Christmas Eve, nothing to do today. Work gave us the day off, family get-together wasn't until tomorrow. I thought back to my dream, recalling the bit about a coffee shop. Heh, well why not? Maybe this "Becky" person was to be my future wife, and this was Fate spurring me on.
The local corner place was meandering, a few people idling at the tables with books or laptops, he barista looking slightly bored. She seemed happy to have something to do as I entered and ordered the seasonal gingerbread blend.
I sat at an empty table with my coffee and my tablet, skimming a few finance blogs to see what the market was doing. A few pop-up notifications from my news feds blinked onto the top of the screen periodically. "Plague afflicting thousands in Syria". "Istanbul under quarantine." Foreign affairs articles, I guess. Thank goodness for an ocean between us.
A plump woman with a stern face and severely-cut brown hair sat across the table from me. She didn't ask or introduce herself. Just plopped her sizeable behind across from me. I looked at her over my tablet. "...Uh... okay? Can I help you?"
She pushed up her glasses. "I don't have time for formalities. My name is Rebecca Covington. and this is for you."
She slipped a scrap of paper across the table to me. I stared at it with some confusion. "Read it. Memorize it."
I took the paper, half expecting it to explode in a flurry of anthrax powder or something. Written on it were some math... stuff. Algebra, I think? "What is this, I don't do math lady."
"Just read over it a few times. Remember it. And tell Horn Boy he owes me twenty zhollars."
I glanced at the equations again shoved the paper in my pocket and stood to leave. "What is this, your kink, confusing random people who are just trying to go about their day?" She said nothing, and I stormed out of the coffee shop irritated. World's full of wackos, man.
Spent the holiday doing not-much of anything. Baked some cookies, wrapped my parent's gifts, usual thing. At night I went to bed, and had one of my surreal dreams again. I was on a beach in Rio, wearing some gaudy swim trunks and a belt with an electronic device on it. A shimmering force field bubble emanated from the device, surrounding me. That dream-logic where every weird and unusual thing makes perfect sense told me this force field was for scuba diving.
My friend from the other night, the uplifted deer, stood beside me wearing a similar force field. "Are you ready to dive, my friend?"
I cheered a "Hell Yeah", and we ran into the water. Swam down to the bottom of the ocean to have tea with a nice family of uplifted anglerfish.
The father of the anglerfish family nodded hello to me. "Good to see you again. I am so sorry to begin this visit with business right out of the gate, but I must ask, did you meet with Becky?"
"Yeah." I said, dream logic making it perfectly sensible that the lady from the coffee shop would know a talking anglerfish. "She gave me a few equations to pass along, and she said this guy owes her twenty zhollars." I said jabbing my thumb at the uplifted deer.
Everyone chuckled, and I wrote the equations on a napkin for him. Papa Anglerfish smiled a toothy smile. "My sincere thanks, friends. The cure for this plague is a feat of modern science. We've had to tap the best minds of the entirety of history to find a cure for it. Thanks to this," he said waving the napkin filled with equations, "The Middle East can finally be cleared of it's quarantine and rejoin the rest of the world again."
I nodded, everything making perfect sense. Dream logic was fun, sometimes. | After a long strenuous day at work, all I wanted was to have a few sips of my black coffee, that's all. I, a sixty four year old man, don't generally attract a lot of attention, so it was lovely to be interrupted by a man with a turquoise mohawk and sunglasses in the winter.
​
"Traveler 7456? I'll need you to pass this message along to a Wendy Aulgarth, you'll meet her in the Bronx in 2070. So the message i-"
​
"I'm sorry sir, but I'm afraid that you're speaking to the wrong individual. What is this? Traveler 7456? Is this some video game forum that you're coming from?" I interrupted. The man raised an eyebrow and chuckled.
​
"Man, you Travelers never seen to lose your sense of humor, always acting clueless when we come around. Now the message is: "Your journey now has just begun, the demise of man has already been sung, to flee and weep is to see it through, but to rise and fall is to begin anew," The man grinned, and continued to stare at me, "You got that?"
​
Now, as you can imagine, I was becoming rather agitated.
​
"Is it Bother Elderly People Day? Even if I were apart of your nonsense, why would I tell anyone such a morbid message? Please leave me be!" I barked.
​
"Yeah, okay whatever you say man. Just deliver the damn message," The man grunted and trudged away. I finished my coffee in peace, but the message was replaying in my head. With each sip a detail was being refreshed.
​
**Sip.** *Wendy Aulgarth.* **Sip.** *The Bronx, 2070.* **Sip.** *Traveler 7456.*
​
Once I finished, I promptly left and went for a brief stroll in the snow in order to drown out my thoughts. Then I collapsed. A high pitched ringing sounded in my ears, and seemed to be pounding my brain as it went. I screamed in agony and the people surrounding me assumed that I was having a standard "old person problem" until I closed my eyes for a brief moment and found myself laying on a different snow covered sidewalk.
​
The ringing had stopped and no one paid any attention to me, in fact, people were strolling right by.
​
"I could still be in Boston," I chuckled and brushed the snow off of my clothes. I remembered that I intended on mailing a letter and I proceeded to the local post office. Which wasn't in its normal spot, and was also squeezed between two massive facilities that I had never seen before. Entering hesitantly, a frail woman at the desk glanced at me with a half hearted smile.
​
"Are you just here for the exhibits?" The woman asked with a strange mix between a southern drawl and Cockney accent.
​
"Exhibits? No, no I'm here to mail a letter!" I laughed nervously, hoping that the woman was joking too. Her smile slid off of her face, and she rolled her eyes.
​
"Everyone thinks that they're a fucking comedian," She muttered and grabbed my arm, "Pay up and I'll take you through the first exhibit."
​
"Mam, I'm serious, look!" I said as I rummaged through my pockets and pulled out the letter. She looked at me with a bewildered expression.
​
"Sir, you are aware that it's 2070. In this neighborhood especially, there are only two functioning post offices, and this isn't one of them," The woman shook her head and returned to her desk to use her phone. I stood dumbfounded. I searched around and spotted a flat screen television mounted on the wall.
​
"Can you turn that on please? Turn the station to the news as well."
​
With a grunt the television was turned on to show a completely different format than what I recalled with many new faces as well.
​
"On this day, December 17th, 2070, we are unfortunately here to report the death o-"
​
*2070*. I thought. I looked at the letter I had intended to mail and snatched a pen from the counter of the desk. The woman watched me with intrigue and annoyance as I scribbled down what I remembered of the message.
​
All that was left to do was fine this goddamn Wendy Aulgarth and deliver her this horrendous news.
​
No sweat. | 2018-12-24T10:37:48 | 2018-12-24T10:18:15 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] A person's eye colour correlates to what superpower they have, activated at age 18. You are the first person to be born with totally black eyes. | I awoke to the sound of my dog scratching at the door. Groaning and stretching, I got out of my bed and let my dog out into the harsh winter. I checked the calendar; Only a few hours until my solitude was broken. How long had it been? Almost 6 years?
Perhaps I should explain, in my world, people are born with their souls tied to a star. The color of the star determines their eye color. Red-Brown being the most common, yet mundane powers: Basic telekinesis, Surface mind reading, and Blue being the rarest, but most powerful: Shape-shifting, Super-fast regeneration, Flight and other such things. Only, there was one rule: Our powers would remain unusable until we hit the age of 18, one week from now.
I was born with Blue eyes to a very proud White Eyed mother and Yellow Eyed Father. Growing up, my life was wonderful. I had plenty of friends, went to some of the best schools, and was well loved and accepted, that is until I turned 12. On my 12th birthday, my eyes flashed, and then faded to black. Usually, when a blue's eyes fade to black, it means they're dead. But I was still alive. So I was banished to the far north until the age of 18, when my powers would become apparent, today.
The helicopter came as it usually would, but instead of bearing supplies, it carried some of the most important leaders of the world, and more importantly, it carried my family. I waited impatiently at the edge of the platform, giddy with excitement. Screw the powers, this was the first human contact I'd had since I was a pre-teen. I didn't even give my mom a good chance to get out of the cabin before I was attacking Her with a bear hug.
"My god, you've grown so much! I've missed you so much" my mother said with tears in her eyes. "I've missed so much! I pray that you can come home after today."
This is surreal. Wait, am I supposed to say something? "Uhh, hey Mom! I hope I can come home too" I muttered, still shocked "Hey, um, Where's Dad?
"I'm afraid he burnt out a few years ago, son. I'm sorry we have to break the news like this" I heard a voice behind my mother say. Moving so I could see the owner of the voice, I saw a well-dressed man, white-blue eyes. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Joshua Cephei, I'm the current president of the Greater Associated Countries. I've heard so much about you." He said. To be perfectly honest, he was creeping me out a bit.
“Um, well, would you like some coffee? I’ve got some brewing in the cabin” I managed to spit out. God, when did social situations become so hard? I’d practiced this moment for years. Damn
“That would be great. Shall we?” Cephei said. Seriously, what was so creepy about this guy?
We made our way to the cabin’s main area. I had a pretty sweet gig, to be honest. Hot water, running electricity, plenty of things to do. Still would have appreciated a few friends through the years, but what can you do?
“So, Mrs. Sol, when was the time of birth again?” Cephei asked my Mom.
“Oh, Cygnus was born at Noon, on the second. He always was punctual!” She laughed. Cephei gave her a thin smile as he checked his watch
“Well, we were a bit late. Its 11:55 right now. I had hoped to ask you some questions before the moment, but I think that it’d be more prudent to just wait until after the transformation, if that’s okay with you?” Cephei said
“S-sure” I stuttered, “That’s just fine.”
And then there was silence. As we sat and listened to the clock tick, I felt the tension of the room rise with every second that passed.
“Cygnus, do you have any cream?” My mom said in a desperate attempt to breach the silence
“Uh, yeah, In the fridge in the back. Help yourself to anything” I muttered.
11:57. Three minutes to show time. Oh god, what If I die? What if I don’t have any powers? What kind of life can I live with no powers? Not even the most basic mail rooms will acc-
11:58. God, can’t the clock tick faster? Why is this so painful? Can’t I just get it over with? I just want to rip the theoretical Band-Aid off, and get this over with. Why-
11:59. One minute till show time. I close my eyes and try to shut out the world. I feel a hand on my shoulder. Not gentle like my mothers, but heavy and rugged. My eyes shoot open and-
12:00. I feel numb. What’s happening? It’s as if I’m some sort of vacuum sucking the world in through my eyes. I can see through the walls of the cabin. I can see the 20 or so SWAT officers ready to storm in if I go big. I can see my mother searching through the fridge for cream. I can see the gun in her purse.
“How do you feel, big guy?” I hear Cephei ask. “Cygnus? How do you feel?” He asks again. I see through his words. I see his intent. He wants to turn me into a weapon. He envisions me destroying cities.
No.
As if by instinct, I stand and drag him to his feet by his head.
“Cygnus! Let me go! NOW” He shouts in surprise.
I will not become a weapon. I will not become a pawn. I will be free.
“No.” I bellow. “You would use me to kill others. Your judgement is come. You are unworthy.”
I don’t have control. I can’t stop myself. I stare into his eyes. I see the color surface, and then breach, slowly floating towards my eyes, and being absorbed. His eyes are left as a light grey.
“Wha-What did you do to me?” He grunted. Pitiful
“I’ve seen your soul, and deemed you unworthy. I’ve taken your power” I sighed.
So this was my future. Judge of mankind. I don’t want to be god, but there’s no other choice. I look up, and teleport into orbit. There’s work to be done.
________________________________________________________________
First time, Ended up WAY bigger than I anticipated, sorry about the abrupt ending. Constructive criticism welcome. EDIT: Formatting | Everyone in my world had different eye colours.Each representing a different element.I was one of them.However,i was one of the unusual ones.
Ever since i was born,i had completely black eyes.My parents were shocked.The doctors couldn't explain anything,not even The Institute of Magic could.No one ever had completely dark eyes.I'm not quite sure myself.My mother has yellow eyes,representing the power of light,the foundation of life.And my father.....I've never met my father,and my mother would look me in the eye and give me an honest answer.Personally,i never thought much of it.Until 2 days ago....
October 5th,the day of my birthday.I wake up as usual..and strangely,i felt like a new person.Nothing strange about that,the Elders would always tell me that was how they felt.Its 7:15am,15 minutes until the Ritual of The Ancients began.I needed to hurry.As i ran through the neighbourhood...i felt a strange sensation.Everything seems to be in my control...as if i could bend somethings life force until it broke...
Suddenly,i felt a chilling sensation.Everything had gone quiet,the birds did not tweet,i did not feel the wind,everything had stopped.Something or someone was here.I spun around.And there stood a hooded figure,in the streets.The figure started to walk up towards me.My instincts screamed at me to run,but my feet were stuck to the ground.
'It's ok Niko.I won't hurt you,but i don't have much time.'
'Who are you?'
'Come,let's walk.'
He led me to a part of trees,with leaves scattered all over the ground,and dead branches where the eyes could see.
*crunch crunch crunch*
'Today is the day you reach 18 and get your new powers.'
'Tell me something i don't know.'
'That's not the point.Have you ever wondered why your eyes were pure black,and why all those incidents happened,and why you always seemed to make life around you sad and miserable?'
*crunch crunch crunch*
'You've never met your father.He was quite a powerful man...but no one liked him.Society locked him away.And no one dared to speak of his powers.Not to the public,not to their children,no one.'
*crunch crunch.*
We had stopped at a tree with no leaves,larger than the rest.The hooded figure had pulled out a scrap of paper in his pocket and started making an origami.
'No one knows my father.People said he just,disappeared,one day.Poof.That was it'
'I was the one who gave him his power.And the power got passed down to you.Come on,boy,do you really believe in those lies?'
What if my father had the power to...no...no that can't be,its just not possible.They only appear 1 time in a 1000 years...
'The power to leech life and end the life of others,boy.'
He finished the thing he was folding,and in his hand held a paper scythe.
'D-Death?'I was terrified by now.
'Took you long enough.I don't have much time now.But mark my words.Do not go to the ritual,if they find out....they'll do the same thing to your father.'
He snapped his fingers and a pen made of bone popped in his hand.He ripped a piece of paper from the air,wrote something,and passed it to me.
'Take this,follow where it goes.And when you find them....tell me i sent you.If the institute doesn't kill you,you live as an outcast.Stay away from here.'
I had no time to question anything,at that moment,he disappeared.And as if i was having a dream,i woke up just where i was before i saw Him.
I understood what i had to do.I ran home,grabbed everything i had,and ran as far away from Weston City as possible.
They might have taken my dad,but not me ,no.
If i were to survive,i will need to leave my previous life behind.... | 2015-11-15T09:36:11 | 2015-11-15T07:24:41 | 36 | 22 |
[WP] In the afterlife each religion has its own walled city in which their god or pantheon protects the believers within from the soul-gnawing horrors outside, while atheists are left on their own
Shoutout to u/Tonkarz who had the [idea](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/7eao4f/exreligious_people_of_reddit_what_was_the_tipping/dq4b4y6/). | "Welcome to the afterlife."
Martin looked around, from the overcast and grey clouds to the flat and slightly beige ground. He couldn't see anyone except the elderly lady who had greeted him. She seemed bored.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"Since you ended out here, with us non-believers, you're in the atheist afterlife."
"So there is an afterlife," Martin thought to himself. "Shouldn't I end up in some kind of heaven or hell, based on my non-belief?"
"No, only the true believers live with their god or gods. You, you are on your own."
"Shouldn't it at least be more than just grey clouds and featureless ground?" Martin asked.
"It is what you make it," the lady said. Then she disappeared, with nothing noting that she was there before.
Martin stared at the spot the lady just had stood, stunned and confused. Martin had never thought much about the afterlife, and now that he was here, he felt lost. His life ending and being nothing was what he had expected, not this featureless nothing in which HE was still alive.
He stood there for what felt like days, paralyzed with an angst greater than he ever had experienced when thinking of death. Now he had... eternity and no purpose. He tried hurting himself, to feel something other than panic and a deep loneliness, but he felt nothing. He tried running, but he found nothing. He tried yelling, but he didn't even hear an echo. He felt like crying, but no tears came out.
He didn't get tired, hungry or hurt. It was only him, his panicked mind, and a featureless expanse. For eternity.
___
After what had felt like an eternity to Martin, he heard something behind him - a crunch of sand, which was strange, since the dirt had never given a sound when he trod it. He spun around, afraid, but also thrilled to at last see *something*.
It was a woman, enjoying the sunset while walking along a beach. She seemed surprised to see him, but also welcoming.
"Why is there a beach there?" Martin asked feverishly.
"I wanted a beach to be there," the woman answered. "I always liked seeing a sunset on a beach."
Martin started following her, while she strolled along the beach. The sand, waves and the cloudless sky followed her, as did the sun.
"How?" Martin asked. "Are you a god?"
She laughed at him then, a pearly and happy thing. "No, I'm as mortal as you are"
"How can you do this," Martin asked, enraptured by her power and the beauty she created.
"When you have no god, you are the master of your own life." | I rest atop the verdant knoll in Elysium, right by our border. Our people come up here sometimes when they need to feel again. A constant drunken orgasm can numb you and make the high seem low. You can make the highs even higher if you muster the courage to stand near the wall--peer into the mist. It reminds us of our mortal bravery, of our escape from Hades' clutches.
Today marks the anniversary of my arrival here, it's been 2300 years. Every year I still try to watch the crossing of souls, and each year there are less and less souls crossing into our land and more being shut out. I've climbed up the knoll today, hoping to reset my self to enjoy pleasures with renewed vigor. Sitting under the shade of a cedar pergola nestled at the top of the knoll, strung with grape vines, I pluck a plump purple globe from the tendrils strewn beside my couch. I pop the grape into my mouth and break the red skin; sweet, tart juice and flesh spilling onto my tongue. As I reach for another grape, I hear a soul-gnawing scream just over the wall, the sound of a voice shredding, of a skull breaking. Standing up, I tread carefully toward the border and glance over the golden wall's razor edge. As I gaze through the mist below me I see an atheos has lost their head, fallen on its stomach, naked and gray, leaking juices from its neck. A hungry hellhound circles the atheos. It notices me. The hellhound sits on its obsidian haunches and points its snarled gleaming snout toward me with a fanged smile, dripping with blood.
"You think this is real?"
The hellhound leaps over the wall and howls, it glides over the border and lands on me, pushing me down under its iridescent paws. I'm on my back, gold dripping from a gash in my head. The hellhound opens it's jaw, revealing an infinite darkness, and I see my reflection. In this dark reflection my face is blank, featureless, skin covers my eyes, nose and mouth.
"The atheos have arrived in their diamond ships, they arrived with the others like they normally would each year," the reflection is speaking into my mind, "they've found the gate through Hades, they have come with weapons of light and fire to take Elysium. There are other lands in this world, beyond the mist, and they are falling."
The hellhound closes it's mouth and I can't feel my body, my vision is sharper and I'm so hungry. I need to eat. I need to kill. I sit down on my obsidian haunches and howl. I am renewed.
| 2017-11-21T07:28:42 | 2017-11-21T07:14:56 | 50 | 21 |
[WP]: A psycholoist slowly realises that a patient of the mental ward he is working at actually is what they have claimed to be all along | "Crime rates at an all time low" the newspaper read. It would be some solace to me if I didn't work with the criminally insane every day. Every day a different patient committed some new atrocity against the human race. Shit on the ceiling fans was just another Tuesday, and you'd be lucky to get a week in where someone hasn't been mutilated. This isn't to say I am used to it. To tell the truth you never really get used to it.
The problem with the criminally insane is their propensity for intelligence. Intelligence that was ruthless and without bound. A criminally insane person wasn't the type to sit in a room staring at a wall and babbling playfully. I would love to work with invalids. These were something else entirely. These were monsters that plotted and planned and stole sidelong glances at your badge or keys. If you weren't on alert every second you were dealing with them it could mean curtains for you or someone else.
Then there was Joe. Joe was self-admitted and had only been here a week. In that tiny amount of time it is all a psychologist can do to keep track of the patient's name and records in this place. When Jane Weltin wanted to throw your shit all over your office... well you just had to deal with it for a minute before the orderlies arrived. It didn't phase me of course. "This won't be the worst thing today" I thought as I sat calmly and watched the papers fly. It really is *amazing* how much organization and sanity can be destroyed in an instant.
Back to Joe. Joe was a mildly mannered middle-aged man who had voluntarily thrust himself into this world. Joe had admitted himself on the premise that he "thinks he might be insane." If I had my way about it I would stamp "Yup" on his admittance papers and be done with him, but my damnable conscience stands in the way. After all who would willingly put themselves in here? Perhaps more disturbing than anything else is that it had been a week, and every time I saw him he seemed to be smiling a little more than last time... but that leads me to my only valid medical reason for keeping him in this place: He had a type of multiple personality disorder.
It's sad really. These middle-aged men were a dime a dozen. Wifey starts fucking the mailman, junior starts smoking pot, and suddenly wanting to be someone else becomes very attractive. Perhaps someone powerful, or dangerous. Perhaps a criminal.
So this was Joe's vice; his only insanity. He wanted to be someone else so badly he just shattered his own reality into some loose rendition of what was his actual life. His record of hard facts was light, but I felt like my experience had this guy pinned without all the details. His wife became an utterly devoted henchman to whom he showed no affection. She hung on his every word, and she pursued him relentlessly but he never returned the affection. Classic sexual fetish. His son was no longer an incompetent and angsty teen lashing out against him, but a team of hardened thugs who supported him and helped him do his work (crime in his fantasy). Classical fantasy of a father son relationship. He even elaborated on fanciful devices and machinations that he would use to carry out his deeds. Mr. King was certifiably *not* a nutcase, just a waste of a slot in an overcrowded ward. This made me more than a little aggravated when working with him.
As he spoke he would rant about his exploits in excruciating detail, and I often found myself musing about some blotch on my stationary instead of paying real attention. When he finished a rant he would sit quietly awaiting response. The silence wrenched me back to reality and I would reply with a canned response "Don't you think this might represent a deep-seated experience?" or "How do you think that relates to *the rest* of your life?" or "What would your family say about that?" Why should I waste my energy dealing with this fool when he clearly was just another mid-life crisis sad sack.
Every once and a while Joe surprises me. Upon listening to one of his wild tales I lifted my eyebrow and listened intently. He was basing his "crimes" on real events from the nearby city. I had read about this incident, and his descriptions were nearly perfect as far as I could recollect. He of course deluded the very real details of the newspapers like "Improvised Explosive Devices" with fanciful machinations like "Toy Soldiers with Bombs Attached," but that was simply par for the course with this guy. Everything was 20 feet tall. At least this man had a strong imagination, and apparently had kept up with current events before arriving. I might even have liked him if he hadn't been wasting space in my ward.
I was never able to make him relent of his fantasies, but I was able to convince him that he wasn't insane. That these stories of conquest were normal fantasies (although he insisted they were not fantasies probably to save face). I was always fascinated by the intimate details of the crimes which he somehow knew, but I just assumed he must be in law enforcement. Perhaps thats why the file on him was so light.
During the discharge interview I sat across from him, and he looked at me confidently. I hope I had made him feel better about his "life" by convincing him that it was normal... I don't know if any of it got through.
"Well, thanks doc!" as his smile grew wider.
"You're welcome Mr. King. Don't come back to see me."
"I'm afraid that won't be possible" said the man as his smile dropped to an exaggerated frown.
"You see doc, we already know each other. Oh you have never seen *this* face before, but I know you *well*. *HAHAHAHAHAHA*" as he broke into a massive crooked smile and grabbed his papers, exiting the room.
A familiar smile.
A familiar laugh.
Opening the file on my desk one last time I noticed my hands were trembling. I reached for the whiteout but knocked it over spilling it everywhere. I grabbed the white out brush and lightly drew it across Joe's admittance photo's face, then grabbed a highlighter and outlined his mouth in a greenish tint. It all made so much sense now. His accurate depiction of the crimes, his bogus admittance file, even his monicker... Joe King?! I Jumped up for no particular reason as if to run, my heart beating fast in my chest, and then grabbed my phone and dialed 911. I just barely saw a woman in a red and black jester's outfit helping him into a purple limo across the yard from my wing at Arkham when dispatch answered: "9-1-1 what is your emergency?" | Bradley sat down at his desk, not quite prepared for another meeting with a patient at Memorial Mental Hospital. Bradley was ready for retirement from this hectic life as a psychiatrist. He loved his work, of course, it was just time for an easier existence--one spent with his wife, his adult children, and some leisurely reading.
The hospital aides came in, escorting a patient. The patient's shoulders didn't quite fit through the doorway, and he ducked his head ever so slightly to fit under the frame. He sat down on the chair's edge, his hips and bottom not quite able to fit comfortably into the grooved back of the seat.
Bradley looked over the large man's--boy, actually, the file said he was only 18--paperwork and he was reminded being briefed earlier by the director. No talk was made about the patient's size, but details like that are often neglected in the realm of mental health.
"Goooood morning Doctor" the beaming face deliberately bellowed. He was a tad obnoxious but only in the most friendly of ways. Hardly the worst sort of patient Bradley was used to seeing.
"Good _afternoon_ there Turner. It's just past lunch now" They both chuckled.
The aides left, standing just outside the door. Bradley addressed Turner again.
"So Turner, you've been talking with Dr. Powell, correct? I see here you requested a switch because Dr. Powell 'didn't believe a word you'd said'. Now, why do you suppose that is, Turner?"
"Ha, is that what he said? Well, bless old Doctor Powell if that's what he says than so be it. He surely did believe what I said, he was just scared of it. I just want to be on my way, that's all Doc. Powell wouldn't hear of it though."
"Go on your way, what do you mean by that Turner?"
"Well you got it right there in front of you Doc" Turner laughed, "But I suppose you want to hear it from me, eh? Well like I was telling Powell, to be crazy you have to be human, right? Well, I ain't no human don't think I ever was. So I don't belong here, and it's best if y'all just let me be on my way."
"Well if you're not human, what are you Turner" Bradley asked while scribbling away in his notebook. He knew all this was coming, but was working through it once again as part procedure.
"Oh, there's been lots of names for me Doc. Ghost, Bogeyman, Demon, Devil. I don't know if any or all 'em fit. But I think you and your brother called me a Toe-Toucher when y'all were little, isn't that right?" Turner had a gut-splitting laugh. Bradley stopped writing and thought back to his childhood--he and his brother shared a room, two twin beds next to each other. There were countless nights they would have sworn on their Grandmother's grave someone or _something_ had grabbed their toes and woken them.
"Um, moving on, Turner. If you're a demon, why are you here on Earth? Can't you see you're flesh and blood just like me? Living and breathing like everyone else in this building?" Bradley was shaken but outwardly collected.
"Oh, good question Doc! Powell never got there, he got too scared once I told him about his daddy down in hell. But you're right, I am living ain't I? Living large, too!" Turner laughed, then continued,"But I only recently got this body when I snuck in here."
"What do you mean 'snuck in here', Turner?"
"Well Doc, I'd been assigned to scaring people, mostly kids, for the past couple centuries. I hated it, Doc. Hated it. Terrible existence, I tell ya. So, last few decades I'd been searching for a way out. Nobody never looked for one before, most of the ones doing my job love it, so I thought I might try. Sure enough, there was a spot open right here at Memorial!"
"I, I don't understand Turner. You're saying you escaped some sort of hell by getting placed in here? Think about that for a moment" Bradley told Turner this but was still thinking about the reference to his childhood.
"That's exactly right Doc! Boy, you Harvard men sure are quick. Powell never would have gotten that figured out. C'mon I'll show ya if you let me." Turner stood from his chair, stepped closer to the desk, and politely motioned toward the door. Bradley, was about to say no when he shot up out of his chair. When Turned stepped near the desk he reached under it with his long arms and grabbed Bradley's foot--it was the same way Bradley remembered it being grabbed as a child.
Turner laughed, "I'm sorry Doc, just had to show ya I remember you. I got a steel trap ya know?" Turner tapped his head.
Bewildered, Bradley found himself following Turner to his room, the aides behind them both. When they got to Turner's room Bradley asked the aides to leave them alone for a few minutes.
Turner smiled and got down to his knees and showed Bradley a small crack in the floor.
"That's where I came in!" Turner looked triumphant.
"I don't understand Turner. How could you get in here through a crack in the floor" Bradley was starting to calm down, seeing Turner was in fact crazy.
"Oh, well, I suppose you can't see it, no humans really ever can. But that's how we travel, demons, angels, boogeymen, Toe-Touchers, whatever you want to call us. It's how we glide across the world in seconds, through cracks in the floors and walls. See, Doc, most cracks are two way highways, but this one here, this is more like an off-ramp for our system. It's a way out. I took it when I could. Now, granted, it lead me to being a mental patient, but I know you'll let me out soon enough."
"Well that's quite a story Turner. But--" Bradley was about to explain he didn't just end up here, he was put here by family, friends or the government, when Turner interrupted him.
"Look at the file, Doc, I wasn't nowhere before this. They don't have no records of me before I got here. I created some info, but none of it would have checked out if Powell did any background work on me". Bradley looked through the folder, Turner was right; it seemed as if this giant man had fallen from the sky into Memorial room 231.
Bradley was confused and flustered when Turner spoke again,"So Doc, will you let me be on my way? This is the only exit ramp I know of, if I go back onto our highway I may never find another one" Turner pleaded. Bradley still had no idea what to say, how to react, when Turner began smiling.
"I got it! Doc, your brother, not a bad man, but had his flaws right? He's a pretty mundane worker on the system, real low level, terrible job. I think I know where he is. I can get him for you. If I do, will you let us out?!?"
Confused, but also hear torn, Bradley wanted to start believing Turner. His older brother, dead for over 15 years, had been a Vietnam vet and horribly afflicted with PTSD. In his later years he became a drug addict and thief until his early death. He was the reason Bradley went into mental health all those years ago, and Bradley desperately wanted to believe he could see him, if only one time.
So Bradley accepted, both Turner's offer and the pretense it was built on, and nodded his head. Turner hooped and hollered, then shook Bradley's hand. Then, Turner crawled down onto the floor, and was gone.
Bradley smiled, finally fully believing Turner's story. He as going to see his brother for the first time in two decades, and it would be to send him and Turner on their way.
| 2013-11-13T11:09:28 | 2013-11-13T10:02:01 | 53 | 18 |
[WP] It's Christmas Eve 2038. The world has been destroyed due to nuclear war, but Santa, being immortal, has survived, and plans to deliver presents to the few remaining humans locked in their fallout shelters. | I heard, from down the hall, the bang-bang-bang as the bandits try to breach the panic room. They managed to get into the bunker. The outside door. Someone left it open. Don't know who. I'm the only one left. Locked in here. Alone.
My pistol, an old thing, only has 2 bullets left. One for myself, I suppose.
Dust falls from above, irritating my eyes. They're really trying to get in.
I suppose I'd better kill myself, get it-
Behind me, I hear a clatter of metal-on-concrete. Then some more. Then back to the rhythmic banging of the raiders.
I turn, and a pile of guns lie there. A note on top of the pile.
"Give 'em hell. -Kringle" | I awoke with a grin wide across my face knowing full well that the day had come. The sun was shining through the window. The fire was roaring in the hearth. The smell of gingerbread and peppermint wafted in from the downstairs kitchen. Yes, this was it. This was what I waited 364 days for. I stood up heartily, eager for the coming night, ready and willing to perform my duties as I always had been. It was Christmas Eve once more, and life was wonderful.
I slipped into the red and white getup that I was famous for. I trimmed my beard and brushed my hair. I wandered down the candy cane staircases and walked with a spring in my step through decorated halls. I looked out the windows around me, seeing the gentle snowfall outside and a herd of reindeer playfully prancing through diamond dust. Everything was great. Everything was as it should have been. I felt the warmness in my chest all of a sudden and it was good.
I stepped into the kitchen where the wife and the elves were baking. Each of them looked toward me with a genuine smile, happy to see me up and about. Ms. Clause came and kissed me on the cheek. The elves waved. The dog bounded towards me and jumped into my arms. I let out a jolly laugh that cut through the air, unable to contain my very own joy. I laughed and I laughed and let myself be happy.
And that was my mistake.
I scratched the dogs ears in that way he always enjoyed, but as I did the fur fell away. His skin drooped, and it melted in my hands. His eyes sizzled, then they boiled in their sockets. I let out a scream and dropped him where he was. I turned towards the others, but found no solace in their faces. My wife turned towards me, a once beautiful woman now a scorched and smoking skeleton. She reached out her arms towards me and collapsed into a pile of dust. The elves then rushed over to her, but instead of helping they simply began to gnaw on her bones. They weren't themselves any more. They were something else... something terrifying. Something unnatural.
I fell back. I stumbled to my feet again. I ran. I ran and I ran and made it to the outside. On the horizon I saw them all. One by one, the mushroom clouds rose. They lit up the sky brighter than the sun ever could. They rose higher and higher... and when they were gone, so was the world. But I knew that in the end, I would remain. I would always remain.
And then I woke for real.
The rickety nightstand held an old oil lamp. Beside it was her picture. I felt the emptiness in the bed beside me, and let out a sigh as I wiped the sweat from my brow. I stood up in my soiled pajamas, walking towards the window in the hopes I'd see something that used to be there. But there was nothing. The snow was gone. The last of it disappeared years ago. The pines were dried out, now towering haunts that threatened to fall over into the dust at any moment. This was the world as it was now. That warmness in my chest was replaced with the cold, and there was nothing colder left in all the world.
The workshop was lonely. It was always lonely. All the elves that had remained in the aftermath eventually left along with Misses. She tried so hard to understand me after the world went to hell. But eventually she couldn't do it anymore. She scolded me on that final day. She yelled, and she cried, and she begged me to come with her, and when I wouldn't that's when she knew. That's when they all knew. Then they were gone.
Was I fool to stay? Was I that dedicated to the cause that I'd let the woman I loved more than anything venture into that nuclear hellscape without me? I didn't think so. I still don't think so. But every 24'th of December I ask those questions again. Perhaps one day I'll have a different answer.
I saw the presents lined up on the workshop table, coated in a thin layer of dust from months of neglect. Even without the help of the elves, I had finished my work in record time. Yet that had only been because humanity barely clung to what was left of their world, and the very few children that were born these days knew nothing of innocence or had the heart to believe. There must have been only a few hundred or so, perhaps even less. It'd been so long since I took inventory I wasn't even sure anymore. Yet none of that mattered. Every child would get their gift this year, as they would in the next, all the way until there were no more children left to gift. And maybe then... maybe then I would get to go home to God, if there were even a God left waiting for me at all. He certainly wasn't waiting for the rest of the world.
The night came quickly. It always did when I was in the drink. I was nudged awake by the only being left to keep me in check in this remote section of the world. My eyes didn't see him in the darkness at first, but in moments I caught sight of that familiar red glow, and I knew that it was time to get the show on the road. I slipped into that old soiled outfit, strapped a gas mask to myself and to Rudolph, then strapped him to the sleigh itself. I loaded the old thing up with what little gifts there were to give, and then we were off.
We sailed over tainted green waters and grey-brown forests. We looked out over ghost towns and the craters where cities used to be. We navigated through hazy smoke, ash and radioactivity. We flew, and we flew, and we flew some more... and we only stopped when we found the settlements and fallout shelters where the children were.
We'd never park on the roofs. We never even parked close to our destinations. We landed where we were hidden and safe, and only when we were sure did we move out. Rudolph guided me as he always had, and carried the gifts on his back while moving steadily onward. I carried a rifle at the ready, my gas mask firmly affixed to my face. Working the old magic we were in and out in seconds, but it was never very long before the gifts were noticed. The sirens blared. Guards were called. People were on high alert. The two of us ran, and then we were off again.
There was no one left to wonder, no one left to trust in the holiday spirit. Gifts it seemed were an ill omen, and seldom were appreciated. Though we were never even seen or suspected, we were treated like intruders. And that is how it was everywhere we went, over and over until we were done. Thirteen-gifts were left undelivered by the time were on our way back. Thirteen children didn't make it to Christmas--thirteen more reason to give it all up. But I wouldn't. I couldn't.
The workshop came into view as dawn approached. It was a welcome sight after touring a broken world. I was tired. Rudolph was tired. The both of us had nothing left in us but contempt. I unstrapped the reindeer from the sleigh when we landed, and patted him on the head graciously. He nuzzled me for a moment, and when he met my gaze I could see the tears welling in his aging eyes. There was nothing I could say to him to make it better. Even an apology was meaningless, but I think he understood. I left him by the fireplace, letting him sleep where he was comfortable. Then I went upstairs.
When I stepped into my room I proceeded to disrobe, hanging my rifle on the wall and slipping into my sleeping clothes for the night. I laid on the bed beneath the covers, staring at the photograph in its tarnished silver frame. There was a small box on the nightstand beside it, one I didn't remember putting it there. It was wrapped in candy cane colored wrapping paper, with a gold ribbon affixed over the top. The tag read, "To Christopher."
That was *her* favorite. That was how she always wrapped her gifts. This box was from her. She had *been* here. I sat up and grabbed it, bringing the lamp closer so that I could see its details. I looked it over for a moment, but I could't stop myself from tearing it open. Inside... was a ring. There was no letter... no note... no thing to tell me why she gave it back. Yet despite that I knew why. I knew why, and suddenly the world seemed even darker than it was before. I slipped my own ring off, setting both of them on the nightstand together. I tossed away the box, the wrapping paper, the ribbons and even the covers.
And for the first time since my wedding, I cried. | 2017-12-22T15:31:03 | 2017-12-22T15:29:33 | 77 | 40 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?” | "don't get me wrong, you won't be a hero foretold in legends or a scientist that found the cure for cancer, but you will shape humanity with mundane clumsiness"
"mundane clumsiness?! That's not much of a super power is it?"
"well you did kind of broke that middle eastern lamp you found at a yard sale and were forced to buy it and it contained me. Soo yeah..."
"oke fair enough, but still how do i oops my way to saving humanity?"
" in 8 months you, a server at Starbucks will knock over a tray of coffee on a young man. That young man is an aspiring oil executive. He's on his way to a job interview at a small oil company. It's not much but it sends him in a path to become the world largest oil influence and he will lobby for fossil fuel. This will destroy every last chance for the world to recover. Because of you he didn't get the job. Because of your mundane clumsiness ethan, he will fail. "
" but what about the 7592, is there anything i can do to prevent that? "
" thats the one percent ethan, i suggest you don't" | The genie took his time to answer.
“I can only give you partial answers, and you have a limited amount of questions. Choose your words carefully.”
The teenager paused, thinking. His eyes were looking in the direction of the genie, who was hovering a mere inch above the ground. But he wasn't seeing him. He had already burnt four questions out of five. He was ready to shoot his ultimate interrogation, but something bothered him. He had asked if he'd ever be rich and expected a simple yes or no answer. A number would have been nice, to see how bright his future would be. Instead, he wasn't even sure he understood the genie's answer.
“From most people's perspective, you will be immensely rich. But from the definition you will yourself craft from your experience, you will always miss something.”
As profound as this might be, it was so enigmatic that it almost made no sense. And this thought kept coming back, when he should be asking something else. He already knew he had the potential to alter countless lives. Well, not countless, since it was that many trillions. But yet... It was so obvious. The next step was to know how he could help all those people in the future. So... Why couldn't he utter the word out loud?
Finally, something clicked in him. If he asked how he was supposed to help all those people, he would get another cryptic answer. If he wasn't careful, he'd find himself with incomplete, useless piece of information. He didn't need to know how to help these people. He needed to know something else, and from that, he could form a plan to answer the how question. Raising his head to face the genie, he spoke.
“Why-why... Why will all those people need my help?”
The genie stared back at him, plunging his dark eyes deep into the young man's soul. He started talking like an old professor popularising a philosophy lesson.
“Everyone feels good at home, but what home is varies for everyone. Everyone cares for their home, but everyone cannot act to take care of it. Everyone loves their home, but everyone cannot stay home forever.”
The genie's stance softened slightly, a smile beginning to form on his lips.
“And do not forget. Everything you know helps you change what will happen.”
“But... Wait!”
It was too late. He was alone again. He looked at the old book laying on the floor. He had found it in this library, where he could get as many educational reads as he wanted without spending to much. But this... this was unhoped for. He had asked if he would ever be rich, and the answer was yes. Sort of. When he wanted to know if he'd be famous, he only learnt that some men are born to be more famous than others. Well... At least he knew that he would be of good influence. But that last answer... Everyone can't stay home forever... What did that mean? Was he supposed to leave his home? His country?
Of course, he knew he couldn't stay in South Africa forever. He had already planned to go to Canada for his studies. Surely, the genie knew that, and wouldn't tell him something he already knew...
What if... What if it didn't apply to him? Then... Who would have to leave their home?
Then again, something clicked in him. The answer was in the sentence.
*Everyone*.
“So... You told us this project can see the light in the next seven years. And if anyone can do it, it's you.”
The man, less young now, snapped out of his thoughts. The interviewer was obviously amazed, leaning towards him. In this reminiscence, not even a second had passed.
“So I'm just going to ask again... You dream with a level of complexity nobody saw since the likes of Nikola Tesla, and that's no coincidence. Then you execute your vision with so much tenacity. Elon... where does all this motivation come from?”
Not before a smile went through his face, Elon Musk breathed in, preparing his answer.
---
*[r/MimiStories](https://www.reddit.com/r/MimiStories/)*
*edited for typos*
| 2018-08-15T03:47:40 | 2018-08-15T01:58:00 | 186 | 43 |
[WP] Human products were laughed at for most of history, after all the Elves could imbue items with the raw magic of the woods, Dwarves were unrivalled masters at metalwork and even the Orcs had mastered durability and practicality. Then a little concept called the assembly line changed everything. | Once there was a man who made weapons. He was known all over the world for making the very best weapons that could be made.
But not everyone believed this. Other smiths believed him and his weapons to be a joke, for he could never make weapons as well as they could. Despite their protests however, the man's reputation endured.
So the other smiths offered a challenge. Each smith will make their best creation. A weapon that pushes the very limits of their skill. In one year the smiths will come together and test them to their fullest. The one weapon that outperforms the others will be the winner, and it's smith will from that point on be known as the very best.
Each smith agreed eagerly, for they all believed they were the best.
The Dwarf Craftmaster spent months digging to the deepest depths for the purest ores of metal that existed. He then spent some months more at the forge, folding and cutting the metal over and over, to work out what little impurities remained. Once ready he fashioned from the metal an axe of impressive strength and exquisite design.
The Elven Bladesmith begged her masters to use a sacred root from the Mother Tree. The magic contained within it's fibres would produce a blade that is as light and as fast as the wind. By hand she wound the fibres and set the blade edge. She made sure to recite her prayers at every moment so that none of the magic's potency would be lost.
Unlike the other smiths, the Orc Blackhand already had his weapon of choice. Orcs made things to last, and there were stories of a legendary hammer. Made by his forefathers using techniques lost to time, it had the strength to beat down castle gates with a single blow. He searched the lands of Orckind endlessly until he found it.
The man did something different. No one knew what he did, but it was not the best metal. It was not magic, and it was not a thing of legend.
The year ended. And as agreed all the smiths bought their creations with them to the meeting place.
Every smith unveiled their creation. And it was now that we see what the very best weapon actually looks like.
It was a spear.
The tip was not that sharp. The wood was not that strong. The other smiths laughed, how could such a basic tool be the best weapon?
The man smiled. With his spear he pointed to the horizon. The smiths looked, and stepped back in awe.
There were hundreds, thousands of them. Prickling the sky like a bed of needles.
You are right, the man said. This weapon is not as strong as a Dwarven Axe, not as sharp as an Elven blade, and does not have the legend of the Orc hammer.
But what it is, is cheap. Easy to make. Easy to make many times over. In the time it took you to make those single weapons I outfitted an army.
And my army is the far superior weapon. This I can prove. Right now.
With a signal the army advanced. The battle was brief and bloody, and the smiths soon learned with their lives that their weapons were not the greatest weapons in the world. | Chancellor Gurbidiod didn't like being woken up. She didnt like that her servants would disrespect her so, for no news was important enough to deny the leader of the republic the opportunity to adorn herself with her gems and trinkets. She took some time, although less than normal due to the urgency. She even neglected her tusk ornaments, although they reasonably took just a few minutes to fasten. When the Chancellor emerged from her chambers, a much smaller percentage of her massive body glittered under the moonlight of the periscope lamps.
"What, what is it? Are the homos here?"
At her question, her advisor Zenderlap raised two fingers to her and said, "Uh, actually, it's Sapiens. They don't like that word. Plus, they're the only remaining species of that genus."
The Chancellor recalled their argument regarding Sapiens' backwards attitudes towards sex, and decided she'd rather avoid another argument. Zenderlap had imported Dwarven weapons, and she couldn't risk a blood election right now. Instead, she finally turned her attention to the Elven messenger kneeling before her. No- they wasnt kneeling; they was missing two feet and one shin. They was too injured, tired, and apparently traumatized to even begin healing, and she admittedly felt a little silly for worrying about her jewelry while an elf came to her less than whole.
They addressed her, introducing themselves as Iliat, and began to relay information in that long-winded way elves do. Carried by Zenderlap's acolyte, they followed her to the dining hall, describing how they was too young to remember the time before Sapiens, but old enough to have seen their change. Chancellor Gurbidiod chewed, taking in their barely silvered temples. After some time, as the Chancellor picked her teeth, the elf finally said something of interest- they had been assigned to the mine construct, and spent some centuries there helping prepare the Dwarves for the impending invasion.
She interrupted with a flurry of questions.
"Is it true the diamonds are made from their feces? Do the children have beards? Are the women really the rowdy ones?"
As Iliat politely answered, she was glad her tusk ornaments were made of opal. She had met enough female Dwarves to see for herself that they were the more independent gender, but was surprised to learn that her experience was indeed indicative of a larger societal phenomenon. If they made the males dig, and most children were male, it stood to reason that the females had more free time to get into trouble than the races in which females reared the young. Chancellor Gurbidiod much preferred the Orkish system of slave nannies but-
She had missed the last thing the elf said, and they were now staring at her, waiting for an answer.
"What?" she asked.
"Are you aware it has been three Sapiens generations since your last contact with the mines?" they repeated.
She was not aware. There was public worry about the threat of humans, but she was confident that they were a passing fad, like Pixie horns. Extinction would put a quick end to the ugly presence.
As her jewelry began to change to a sunlit hue, so too did her temper grow more fiery.
"Just get on with it! Just because I am long lived does not mean I would prefer for you to waste my time!"
Iliat flashed a small disappointed look to her, but picked up the pace of their story. They referred to the defeat of the elvish wood forces, attributed not only to the Sapiens' use of countless chopping instruments, but their use of the resulting wood splinters to manufacture even more chopping instruments. The Dwarves were apparently just defeated as well, although the humans had utilized aqeuducts to wear down the Dwarven enforcements. Now that the Chancellor ventured to look closer, she could see the small chunks of rusted slag that had embedded into Iliat's exposed tibia shards.
She laughed. She knew it could be offensive, but an elf would never retaliate.
"Look, I'm sorry you lost your family and your new Dwarven friends, but the Sapiens will be long dead before I can lose a fight! And you will have just one foot by the time they are dust!"
Chancellor Gurbidiod was not anticipating that such a frightening tale would be the next to be uttered by Iliat.
"The Sapiens...captured me," they squeaked "and released me with this message to bring to you- We are everywhere. While you and your ilk wandered we made our homes, and our children and theirs will defend those homes and build more- but you, when you are finally old, will your children do the same? We think not, for we are the children of the ones who outlasted dragons, and we will outlast you too."
Edit: typos | 2019-05-17T11:42:47 | 2019-05-17T10:36:43 | 58 | 23 |
[WP] the Dark Lord had killed almost everyone, even the Hero. The final party member stood in the chamber alone. “I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are you still here?”. The final party member laughed maniacally with a devilish grin! “There's No One Here To Stop Me Now!!” | Magic is a fickle thing.
It appears differently for everyone. Some see roots like a tree, burrowing through the world. Others see motes of light, floating through the air like stars in the sky. Some even see magic as tiny, microscopic organisms present throughout the world's bloodstream.
Personally, I see magic as ribbons, wrapping around the world and binding everything together.
They looked surprisingly beautiful as they dissolved from my sword, my power being once more absorbed into myself to save me from death.
My friends, however, were not so lucky. Fighting a Dark Lord was... foolish, to say the least, and we'd paid with our lives. It saddened me, to see them go, but that feeling was pushed down. I had bigger problems to deal with.
The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow. "You're still alive? Impressive. No-one's ever survived something like that before. Count yourself lucky to be unique."
As I struggled to my feet, my hoarse voice rebounded around the hall. "Luck has nothing to do with it."
He smiled. "Well, in this case perhaps it does. I'm feeling charitable. You may go."
I didn't move.
His smile faded. "Surely, an Artificer such as yourself is not so stupid as to stay when death is guaranteed."
It was my turn to smile. "Guess I am. So, last chance. Surrender, or the next few minutes won't be fun for either of us."
"Bravado? At the end? I expected more. Your friends are dead, by my hand. You cannot hope to kill or capture me, not alone. So why do you not run?"
My hands met my sides, deftly unhooking the bags that swung there. "Oh, bud, you have no idea. I've been waiting for a chance like this for years. And now you've just gone and killed the last five people telling me not to do stupid shit like this."
His eyes widened as he unconsciously took a step back. "You- You don't mean to..."
"Damn right I do."
He raised his hand, dark energy pooling within. "No! Stop! I know you are not foolish enough to try something like that!"
My smile blossomed into a grin, not of joy but rather speaking of malice. "Buddy, you have no idea how foolish I get when I'm backed into a corner."
"Then burn like your friends! Hell's Fire!" he yelled, a dark wall blazing into being between us, scorching my hair even as I brought the two bags together.
With a roar, I shoved one bag inside the other and chucked them as hard as I could, with the last of my failing strength, towards him.
The ribbons weaved once more, the magic twisting and turning against each other and slamming against the walls of the halls as they dragged us both from one world into the next.
My final moments were spent watching him curse, his fire burning and scorching a world in which no-one lived to be burnt, from which he could never escape.
But even as I died, I sure as hell got the last laugh. It burbled up from my lips, and I took great pleasure in seeing his face contort angrily as the light faded.
"Bags o' holding. Knew they'd come in handy." | Sir Bringham always shined as a light to guide his party in dark times, but he was not the hero. Dandy, the Barbarian, was a stubborn soul who made the hearts of his companions sing, but was not the hero. Griffin, held that honor as he was our hero of legend, True Paladin of Old, bound from another world, and laid dead at my feet.
"There's no one..." a quiet thump beat from my chest as those words left me silent.
The man atop the mound of bones that was his throne room, peeked above his hands. He had gone back to his seat as the hero hit the ground dead, bored by his own power. Sir Bringhim had attempted to light the man on fire before being smote himself. Dandy, a font of anger, laid his life down faster than I could see the Dark Lord react. All of them.... gone.
"I am in no rush to see how you choose your death, but I am curious," his voice creeped pass his fingers like smoke and with a great puff of arrogance and impatience, "Why do you not run?"
"There's no one here..." another studder forward.
"Yes, the is no god here, only I death," the Dark Lord stood grasping the air above his head held high like a chalice. Victory was his to drink.
"There's no one here to stop..." silence.
"What are you babbling about? Are you broken? I am here. I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are you still here?" enthralled by his own voice, the Dark Lord stopped cold in anger to the sound of laughter. Perhaps the fool was best to die now, but the Lord gave pause to the man's last words.
"There's No One Here To Stop Me Now!" these were the words the party's cleric **and** necromancer always wanted to say, especially since the prophecy only mentioned the Hero standing over the Dark Lord's dead body, never how. | 2020-07-11T04:57:11 | 2020-07-11T04:33:58 | 34 | 15 |
[WP] 50% of the world's population has the ability to fly, 50% does not. The only way to find out is to jump from a height that will surely kill you. | Who knew the suicide attempt would turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to me? Here I was thinking my life would end right off of this bridge. No idea it had just begun. The girls that couldn't fly started to get really into all the guys that could. Me being one of them, of course. However, they paid no attention to me before, so why should I pay attention to them now? They all say, "fly me to the sky and make love to me!" So you know what I did? I took them up as high as I could go, and then drop them. I guess you could say I didn't give a flying fuck. | The sweltering heat singes my furrowed brow. Unbuckling my seat belt, I stepped out of my old aged car, laying my feet onto the arid, sandy gravel. A cool breeze hit my forehead, before being replaced again with the blistering heat.
Letting out a sigh of relief, I started to walk towards the destination I had since the beginning. Standing on the cusp of this tired, dreary mountain, I dare not look down, for I would see it all eventually. For now, all i could do is take in the moment, since there's a good chance it could be my last. Most people would never dream of taking this cruel test, but I have nothing left. My parents are dead, I've never had a love partner, and I work a dead end job at 7/11. I figure that, no matter what the outcome, i'll be happy with it.
I took in the last of the crisp breeze, and then I took a deep breath. I took one step, and found inertia setting in, sending my plummeting towards the barren earth. The wind steadily got louder in my ears as i got close to my terminal velocity, steadily making my curiosity rise. My will alone could not hold it back, I quickly opened my eyes, and the ground was a lot closer than I had imagined, the little memories I had began to flash before my eyes. Then everything stopped, the wind, my memories, and that plummeting feeling. Alone with my thoughts, I was bewildered as to what happened, but then I remembered. I still had my vision. I opened my eyes yet again to see myself floating upwards, but I wasn't the one in control. | 2015-04-04T18:33:11 | 2015-04-04T17:45:02 | 48 | 24 |
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man. | OK, this is a quick jokey short.
"This box will give me one thing per day from my time, and Camelot will be attacked in one week?"
Merlin eyed me a little incredulously, "that is what I have just said, yes."
"OK then. For my first item..." I said, reaching into the box, "paperclips."
"Paperclips? Pray tell, what are these."
"Well Merlin, you clip paper together with them. So they don't get mixed up."
"How will these help us defend Camelot?"
"You'll see."
The next morning I pulled out my magic box, thought for a moment, reached in and pulled out a big rubber band. Merlin asked if it was a magical rubber band, or if it was part of a mighty technological weapon. He did not look happy when I told him it was merely a band made of rubber with many common uses around the home.
The third day I reached in a pulled forth a clothes hanger. Merlin shouted at me, "We have those now!" I merely gave him a wry smile.
The fourth day made Merlin no happier, as I reached in pulled out a yardstick. The fifth and sixth days had Merlin muttering under his breath about "making a big mistake" as I produced a live chicken and a bottle of turpentine.
"Relax Merlin, tomorrow I will pull the most important piece of this puzzle out of that magic box of yours. The kingdom will be saved, and in time for dinner too!"
Merlin arched his brow and merely said, "for your sake you had better be right."
The seventh day, and day of the impending attack, I came to court with the magic box.
"Are you ready to see the final part of my plan, the final component from my time which will save the kingdom?"
"Get on with it!" Merlin roared. I had clearly worn through the last of his patience, probably by the second day I was here.
"OK, open your eyes and behold," I shouted, reaching into the box, "MacGyver!"
The crowd gasped a little as bit by bit MacGyver came out of the box. It did not seem physically possible, but somehow he made it out in one piece.
"Where the hell am I?!" MacGyver shouter.
"You are in Camelot, King Arthur's court actually, and we are about to be attacked. I've assembled these tools for you to use to defeat the attackers."
MacGyver looked down at the "tools." Paperclips, a rubber band, a clothes hanger, a yardstick, live chicken, and a bottle of turpentine.
"What's this supposed to be? Something a witchdoctor left behind when he vacated his office?"
"Haha, very funny MacGyver. I've seen you do more with less."
"Kid, my name is Richard Dean Anderson. MacGyver was a TV show character I played. You know that right?"
"Oh" I said.
"Yeah" Richard Dean Anderson replied.
"I hate to tell you this Merlin, but we're fucked."
| King Arthur gives the ok. Merlin begins the ritual of summoning someone from the future. All of a sudden a big flash appears. Out of the light comes an orange faced man. Immediately the man looks at the castle walls and says "I could build better, I bet you didn't even make the other side pay for it, Sad!"
This is the man merlin picked? The knights begin to howl. Why would merlin pick this 70 year old man to help. Not only that but he is insulting the finest castle in the land. Arthur orders his knights to silence and introduces himself. The orange face man smiles and goes to shake his hand. A Knight stands up and puts his sword to the man's throat "you must bow and kiss the hand of the king!" the orange man replies "we will not bow to anyone we will be treated with the respect we deserve" the knights look around in confusion. Arthur's most trusted Knight stands up "surely this man is crazy, he has no respect for this court." Arthur just motions for the Knight to sit. Outside the peasants are eagerly waiting to meet the newcomer. After hours go by the doors open and orange man is stand by Arthur's side. He steps up and begins to address the crowd in his newly sewn red hat, "it seems to me that you have a radical druid terrorism problem, believe me I have a plan. It's the best plan." Half three crowd cheers and the other half are filled with more worry than before. Days go by and the orange man has summoned nothing of use. First the hat, a flag of a different kingdom, a bottle of "diet coke," and yesterday he summoned these rectangular magic rocks. He even gave many to the opposing army. Merlin said they are used for communication. However all we have seen is insults. He even insulted the king. "Arthur refuses to recognize the problem, No More. We will win. Believe me"
The last few days go by. The kingdom is divided on if this man will be able to defeat the army. Finally the last day is here. The man has one more object he can summon. The kingdom waits in anticipation. The familiar box comes out and he pulls out another box. The box is red with yellow arches on it. The man opens it and proceeds to eat the contents.
Surely everyone is doomed. As the look for the approaching army... They see nothing. How could this be? The man did absolutely nothing. Merlin goes to his crystal ball and sees the army just staring at the rectangular tablets... It's over. The army was no longer interested in war. They were just staring as if they were under a spell. Merlin announces the news and the crowd... Does nothing. They also seem to be under the spell. King Arthur calls for his head! Him and his knights approach the Orange mans quarters and find it empty. They see a note. It's just filled with the same reteric as before. Merlin busts in the room and screams that the man stole his time travel charm. They knew he was gone. As they inspect the note they see its signed Donald J. ~~Tr~~Drumpf | 2016-11-28T05:24:59 | 2016-11-28T05:03:10 | 147 | 10 |
[WP] In Valhalla all of the greatest heroes which died in battle doth drink, be merry, and war for fun, also there's Doug, the accountant. | Doug had always liked numbers. Additions, subtractions and all the other forms of making them interact with one another. It had been clear early on that he would go into a field which made use of them. His interest in numbers had, unfortunately, not carried over into any other academic areas. So, he was left with only a limited amount of career choices. After weighing his options carefully, he became an accountant.
It suited him just fine. Mostly, the work was not too hard. The numbers danced for him, without much effort. He could simply look upon an account and just saw where it could be optimised. And where it was not up to speed.
Doug had another love, besides numbersmithing. He liked justice. Wanted people to be happy and taken care off. Which did not always mix well with his chosen field. At all.
Still, he persevered. Wherever he found a loophole that would allow a family to keep the farm, even if just for another month, he went for it. An easily overlooked but unnecessary item on a medical bill? He'd highlight it and advise the person on how to get it removed. Heck, even the occasional parking ticket, clocked at to high a rate, caught his attention.
But his biggest, most important discovery and strike against injustice, had been the Kitty Hall Orphanage. Apparently, the building had accrued an insurmountable amount of backtaxes due to some obscure zoning regulations. And would be sold to a less than nice corporation, if the aforementioned taxes were not payed on time.
It irked him. Made his blood boil. Turned his usually so calm demeanor into a quiet, simmering flame of pure anger. And yet, he kept focused. Kept his feelings in check. There was work to be done. Important work. And he could not stop before it was done.
His sleep schedule suffered. His health did not agree with his choice of food and drink. Ramen and instant coffee, to be precise. As the deadline approached, his ailments became more serious. Sometimes, his chest would hurt inexplicably. Other times, he felt dizzy for no reason. It did not stop him. He carried on.
With mere hours to spare before the ultimatum, he went over his report. Double-checked every calculation. Cross-referenced all of his casenotes and all of the rulings he had compiled. His statement was bulletproof. One could have taken an axe to his arguments, and they would have remained solid. As he felt another bout of dizzyness crawl up his spine, he hit the send key. Instead of a wave of relieve, he felt his left arm go numb. Curious.
When Doug awoke he didn't recognise his surroundings. It definitely wasn't his office anymore. Instead, he found himself infront of a massive gate, partially shrouded in fog. He fixed his glasses and slowly crept towards it. When he had finally managed to push it open, he couldn't believe his weak eyes.
Beyond the gate stretched a massive hall. Along rows and rows of tables were seated massive men and women, scared by countless battles. They all regarded him in silence. Doug feared that his worst nightmares had come true. That he would spend all of eternity at the hands of his highschool bullies. When his gaze fell upon a towering man, covered in a grey cloak, regarding him from the end of the hall.
The man's one dark eye starred out from beneath a thick brow of coppery red hair, drilling into Dougs soul. On the man's shoulders sat two ravens, whispering quietly into his ears. When the man spoke, his voice was quiet, yet filled with the weight of ages.
"Ah, behold, brothers and sisters, for today we are joined by another great warrior. One who is well versed in the art of the runes and their hidden ways. One who is not afraid to pick battles he may not win. One who is clever and smart and strong. A numbersmith without peer. Behold, a balancer of debts and a finder of ways. A warrior of countless battles. A hero to many. He is Doug, the Accountant, and we shall welcome him to Valhalla!"
With those words, a deafening roar erupted from the hardend people along the tables and on the benches. Doug had finally found his people.
(Typos shall be checked tomorrow when not on mobile.) | Doug had always considered himself a simple man, doing simple work. It was never spectacular. Just an endless river of spreadsheets and numbers, and the occasional call from his boss whenever a new project rolled in. He was good at it. The best, even.
It was boring, comfortably so, and it paid well enough for him to provide for his family and live a comfortable life.
There was always the temptation of *more*, should he quit his government job and dial the number on those calling cards that arrived in his mail box every now and then. Drache Corporation, was it? It would have been more of the same, surely. Just running numbers, checking balances, measuring the flow of money in and out of the corporate coffers.
He made his decision when he saw the shiny gold text printed on that glossy green business card.
He ran the numbers tirelessly, poring through spreadsheets and logbooks until his eyes became sore and his vision blurred. And with each balance checked, every contact called, he could see only a pit. A void as large and as deep as Drache Extraction's mines in Africa, an endless overturning of fertile plains and ancient forest in search of the earth's riches that left nothing in its wake but poisoned rivers and broken communities, strangling the poor in service of the rich.
He ran the numbers. He made assurances, backups, contingency measures. He left USB drives and notebooks with every journalist, every blogger he could find. He forwarded his findings to everyone who would accept an unsolicited email, gigabytes worth of spreadsheets and powerpoint presentations. And then, he ran.
But he wasn't a spy or a soldier. He was just an accountant. The mercenaries caught up to him and put a bullet in his head. His last thought was wondering whether or not he'd done enough.
It turned out that enough had truly been enough. But, just as surely as the bullet drove through his gray matter and destroyed everything that was Doug, the government, the people caught wind of his act, of Drache had done and sent a spear through its heart.
\--
When Doug awoke, it was to the sound of celebration, to the clash of metal on metal. His lungs were filled with the scent of iron and sweat, of mead and roast. Then he was swept up on a wave of jubilation.
Men and women who towered over him, who could break his neck with a twist of their hands instead slapped him on the back and raised him onto their shoulders and cheered as if he'd gone twelve rounds at the world championship.
They sat him at the table, shoved tankards of the sweetest mead into his hands and piled his plate with the richest ham.
Then they fell silent as a bearded man with only one eye stepped forward. They lowered their heads. Doug knew a boss when he saw one. And, judging by the way the old man looked at him, he could only ask: "why?"
"Because," the old man replied, "you killed the dragon. You killed Níðhöggr." | 2022-11-14T14:31:44 | 2022-11-14T14:08:08 | 27 | 19 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT. | "The humans have a saying youngling: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." The lumbering, shambling mass held a limb over his offspring. "I have been ambassador to these humans for seventy of our lunar cycles, and there are many such sayings that inform us of the human's psyche.
The tiny mossy miniature whined, "that makes them sound warlike and vindictive, father! All we hear from them is their will for peace, prosperity, and respect for others."
With a low-toned rumbling of disapproval the ambassador stood to his full 4 meters of height. "You would have heard that. And it is for good reason that you do, for their capacity for war is only exceeded by their capacity for peace. In war they have prospered, yes, but in peace they have prospered beyond all others."
"But why then, for humans tolerate so many, even against so much hate?" The young one pleaded.
"Another turn of phrase from the humans: love thy neighbor as you would love thyself. That came from an ancient man they call the Christ. Fully a third of all humans follow his creed. Another third follow another, the Buddha: Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared."
In awe, "These humans are a conundrum, father. What do you make of them?"
"There are three things all wise-men fear: the sea in a storm, a lightless night, and the anger of a gentle man." | "Fucking humans are at it again." Said Prok as he dipped his proboscis into the fetus slaw before him.
"I see that." Replied Ghyd, his half wife. She shifted her earlobe and toenail salad listlessly. One of the earlobes still had a diamond earring in it. "Waiter! Someone in your kitchen isn't properly dejewelrying the human bits. I could have chipped a fang on this diamond!"
"So sorry mam, we are breaking in a new shipment of human laborers and they aren't catching on obviously." He said as he quickly whisked the earring from Ghyds hand and tossed it in the garbage on his way to the kitchen.
As she stared at the same view screen Prok was regarding Ghyds remarked, "Why is it that one factory farm of humans can be so docile and mellow and another can erupt into a full blown revolt like the one on Tellos 5? They have taken over the whole moon!"
"It all has to do with the genes I say. Too much Irish blood on Tellos 5, but I suppose that's the risk you run for the delectable pale skin and red haired variety of human. If only they could find some way to breed out the truculent, but keep the succulent. Eh but I suppose you can't have one without the other." Said Drujol, the gestation spouse. Her stuffed scrotums having long since been devoured to the last eyelidos s/he gazed in envy at colon burger being delivered by a passing waiter. The eyelidos weren't made from real eyelids, but they were still tasty.
"No no." Said Prok. "It's those damned humanitarians. They infiltrate the factory farm moons and contaminate the euphorics and the aphrodisiacs that must be supplemented into human feed. Without all the sex and the drugs humans become self aware."
All around them in the restaurant dishes clattered and chatter stopped. He said that much too loudly.
"Prok don't be silly. Humans can never be self aware. You know perfectly well those supplements are added just to make the humans feel more comfortable and even if they were self aware what do they have to be unhappy about? The factory farms perfectly replicate their natural habitat back on Earth. Cities, roads, cubicles, pornography, fast food, reality TV, everything is as they made for themselves in their natural environment. They live the good part of a normal human lifecycle and after about 30 years they are harvested and spared the horrors of old age or if they have been cooperative they are given the honor of serving elsewhere in the empire among their Novcclid overlords. I mean we aren't savages. Only free range humans of course." Vocalized Ghyd and Drujol in unison, as was their custom after a brief mental conference.
"Of course of course. I never meant... Just that this humanitarian movement is causing a lot of trouble."
No one could deny that. One after another factory farm moons had risen in revolt against their operators. There were even reports of the livestock having learned to operate the jump gates and the orbital shuttles, though that beggared belief.
*"This just in"* declared news bot5000 on the view screen *"we have just received a video from Tellos 5. Warning, this may be unsuitable for larvae under 300 years old."*
The screen switched to a wide angle shot obviously from a hand held communicator. The scene was of a wild mob of feral humans chanting and swirling around a podium that was once a water tower used to keep the livestock hydrated. Atop the tower were seven or eight Novcclids, obviously basking in the adoration of their new mob of wild humans.
As the camera zoomed into the lead Novcclid Prok, Ghyd and Drujol all were struck dumb. All thirteen of their eyes were wide and tentacles taught as bow strings.
The lead Novcclid was Frijik, their only saughter to survive to adulthood out of a clutch of 13000 spawned.
"Oh shit." The trio said, without any mental conference necessary. | 2016-03-13T16:55:47 | 2016-03-13T16:09:35 | 112 | 21 |
[WP] Your mob boss asks you to "take care of" some thugs at a shady business. You had a rough home life, so you interpret this as parenting them. After you bring them food and nicer clothes, they're astonished by your kindness, and the city's gangs have no idea how to maintain their version of order | As the night fell above the city, three packed cars pulled up before the biggest mansion within the compound located on the quiet yet luxurious side of the neighborhood. A few sturdy men exited each car, every single one of them were dressed to the nine as if they meant business-- business suits, not too fancy but not to be mess with.
The men in suits forcefully pulled three men out-- one from each car, who clearly did not appreciate to be dragged up there. These men were visibly different from their captors, sporting stained shirts and trousers, they would put shame on their grandmothers on church.
The three men were in fear as they were escorted inside the mansion, but being raised in a rough neighborhood they showed toughness outwardly as a survival mechanism.
They knew they were in trouble though unsure for what reason. The mansion was famous, or rather infamous for those dealing with the illegal business on the streets-- the Capriccio family, a powerful Italian-American mob family, possessing a strong hold and presence over businesses in the large city.
There was only a handful of independent business not tied with the family's business, and the three men were part of one of them, working with their mother in a small convenient store in the middle of the roughest street of the city. They knew their presence there wouldn't be pleasant...
"Godfather?", one of the men in suits knocked on the large door at the end of a hallway.
"Come in", a soft yet commanding voice replied from behind the door.
The three men were in awe as they stepped inside the mob boss' office. Decorated with carpeted floor and varnished wooden wall, the room gave the feeling of comfort and luxuriousness. Expensive paintings and artworks were placed strategically around the room, entertaining the eyes in every corner one's eyes could see.
"Ah, you must be the Calhoun boys. Please, make yourself comfortable"
Don Capriccio, the head of the family stood from his desk and welcomed the three young men. The don was a skinny and tall man, not yet elderly although almost pushing that title. He was a man of commanding presence, rugged face though not shy in sharing his warm smiles. Draped in a casual attire of white shirt and black trousers, he could be mistaken for a nobody.
"I've been wanting to talk with you boys for some time now", the don said. "Refreshments? Drinks?", he offered.
The three brothers were quite confused, still having their guards up.
"Uh, no thanks", the eldest of the three answered.
He stared at the don with hatred. He knew his reputation, forcing small businesses to pay for his protection. He would not be intimidated.
The don caught on the eldest of the Calhoun's displease. He looked at him, noticing the bruised cheek on the young man's face.
"Donnie?", Don Capriccio raised his brow at one of his men standing guard by the door.
"Uh...I apologize, godfather. He was quite resistance when we were bringing them here. We had to use....excessive force", the goon answered.
The don was stared at his man for a moment before shaking his head in disappointment.
"Donnie...take care of him", the don ordered as he leaned back on his table, sitting down.
"He-hey, what are you...?", the young man muttered in fear seeing the burly goon started moving. He closed his eyes, ready to protect himself from another attack. When nothing happened, he opened his eyes slowly.
The goon was standing before the don's drink stand, pouring a handful of ice cubes onto a napkin and bundle it up into an ice pack.
"Here you go", he handed it to the young man. "Press it there, it'll make it better", he said pointing at the young man's cheek.
"H-hey, what is this, really? Is this some kind of an intimidation tactic?", the middle of the brothers spoke up. "We're not bowing down to you! We're not selling out! I don't care that you are a big shot mob boss! Our store is our mother's and we are not giving it up!"
"T-t-that's right!", the youngest chimed in, clearly scared. "Our family's been running it for years and it would hurt our mother if we let it go!"
The don was amused at the three brothers' defiance. He never let off the smile on his face.
"What is your name, young man?", he addressed the youngest brother.
"A-Anthony..."
"And you, my friend?", he asked the middle brother.
"Vincent"
"And you are...?"
"Michael", the eldest answered, enjoying the cold pack on his stinging face.
"Very well said, boys. Very well said", the don acknowledged their protest. "I don't know what they say about me on the streets, but I assure you it is not my intention to turn your mother's store into some kind of a front for some illegal business, no. All I am offering is my protection, so your mother's store, like any other around the city, would be untouchable by some ruffians who dare do it harm"
The three brothers looked at each other questioningly.
"And why would you do that?", Michael asked.
The don stood from his desk and approached the brothers closer.
"I didn't come to this wealth because I was born to it. Like you, I started small. Making deals here and there, offering my services. I admit, some were beyond the law. I am no holy god, but I am a good father. Those who I call my family will know no harm, that I can assure you", answered the don truthfully.
The three brothers were still unsure, but they began to soften up hearing the sincere words of the don.
"I...so what do you want us to do?", asked Vincent.
The don smiled and offered his hand to shake. "I am offering my protection, like I said, in exchange of 30% of your store's monthly income. It is a lot for you, I know, but give me your trust and respect, and I will give you mine"
The three brothers looked down at the don's extended hand, for a moment they thought.
"I...I don't think we can make that decision without our mother present", replied Anthony.
"Ah of course! How disrespectful of me forgetting Mrs. Calhoun", the don smacked his forehead. "Donnie, why don't you drive one of these boys back to grab their mother and bring her here? I'd like to invite her and her sons for a lovely dinner tonight"
The three men looked at each other in surprise.
"Of course, boss. One of you, with me", the goon said.
In reflex, the youngest, Anthony, ran out following the goon back to his car.
"Now as we wait, what do you boys want for refreshment? Drink?", the don offered, walking to his drink stand.
"Thank you, godfather, but...we don't drink", Michael answered, prompting the don to look at him in surprise.
"Our mother...she doesn't like it when we drink. It took our father", Vincent added.
To that the don smiled, instead pouring three glasses of water for the two men and himself in respect.
"And don't you ever disrespect their wish", the don advised, handing the glasses to the two. "A man who doesn't respect his mother is not a man at all", he said, raising his glass before inviting the two men to sit and chat while they waited for the boys' mother.
r/HangryWritey | Behind the tall table made out of marine wood, with thirty one, the exact amount, carved spots in it from men swinging their knifes at him. The man puffed out smoke from the old limited cigar produced in italy in 1970. The circles around his eyes were deep and dark. They had weathered, a lot, and in simpler words—seen some shit.
"Listen here," the man said, voice low and calculated, a bit of italian in there, a bit of irish. His eyes were still and staring. "I am a kind man, the kindest man you'll meet."
Tony, fidgeted in his chair, being stared at by the godfather was not a pleasant experience, not even for him, a man that had killed over one hundred fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters.
"When I can cut off a man's two hands, I cut one," the godfather said, his hands gesturing like a man with no clue of body language mimicking a master, italian in other words. "When I cut off a man's legs. I only do one. Instead of making a man fully blind, I only do it in one eye."
"Very gracious of you," Tony said.
"But, when I say take care of them. And it doesn't matter how kind I am. It means you go out there, and kill them. Isn't that obvious bobby?" The godfather looked to his right, at the bodyguard standing stiller than a statue.
"Yes, very obvious godfather."
"Right? So don't do it again Tony. I'll let you off this time because I like you. But if you don't kill somebody the next time, I'll have someone taking care of you. Kapish?"
"Yes godfather."
"Great, no go take care of my daughters dog." | 2021-10-15T03:21:25 | 2021-10-15T02:57:52 | 159 | 58 |
[WP] Superheroes lie about their powers to protect themselves; some speedsters are actually just able to teleport, and some people with super-strength can just cancel gravity to make things lighter. You're trying to come up with a plausible lie for your powers. | Reed stared out into the distance while his best friend drove the Range Rover. Ever since the incident they had been meeting every week. Running a kind of status update, a debrief of what happened in the last week. Simone used to be his CO back in the army, so this was more of a force of habit than anything else.
She wore a look of disapproval which deepened when she realized that Reed was clearly not listening. " ... HEY!! I AM ASKING YOU A QUESTION, ASSHOLE!"
"What?", he sighed resigned to the tongue lashing that was all too familiar to him.
Simone continued to alternate between glaring at him balefully and looking back at the road as she replied, " You are beginning to catch more attention." Last week i had 3 kids show up as Knifedge. We agreed. You don't want to be a bigwig. Its not safe for the world to know everything about your ability"
"I really cant help it if the kids think i am cool. and beside with what i have displayed so far and what i have said to the world at large, no ones gonna get an idea of what i can do",Reed replied dismissively. He had initially presented himself as a small level crime fighter whose powers where more suited to antivillian intervention as opposed to search and rescue work.
As he got more famous people began to get a little more curious about him and his abilities. After he was involved in an incident involving the serendipitous rescue of a Swedish princess from a mass shooter, he became something of a super hero A Lister. He was named a friend and protector of Sweden, had dinner with the Royal Family and made an appearance on their late night show Skavlan.
" Its pretty boring actually. I developed my abilities during deployment. I had an affinity for knifeplay and learnt how to throw them, and i really look up to my personal hero Jumper. What i ended up getting was a boring mix of the two. I have the ability to teleport to a knife that i have touched in the last 24 hours. I mean it has some fun uses like seeing how high i can go while throwing a knife higher up with each blip, but it is also incredibly limited. "
He knew why she was angry .... the lie was close enough to the truth that it could lead to someone devising a counter strategy against him. however he was not worried. His powers essentially made him invulnerable | “It’s just an illusion.” I’ve said it hundreds of times. The silly girl won’t believe me.
“It feels REAL! It has to be! PLEASE! I don’t care if it hurts, send me back!” It hasn’t ceased for hours…
I sent her to an alternate reality in an attempt to ease her suffering. Two versions of the same soul can’t exist within a single reality. It’s painful. But usually, people get a feeling of closure… like it’s a dream…
Cause I say it IS a dream.
Apparently she wants to just stay in that dream…
I can’t let her do that though… | 2022-06-06T14:11:15 | 2022-06-06T11:23:37 | 61 | 40 |
[WP] Mad scientists aren't so bad, at least they're predictable. It's those mad engineers you have to worry about. They'll try things just to see what it does and even they might not be able to control it afterwards. | The Nefarious phone rang, and I kicked my high-backed office chair backwards, gliding across my lair to pick it up. I waited for precisely two rings, mentally preparing myself, taking a few quick breaths to ease my breathing. I picked up.
"Hello? Is this—"
"Thank you for calling the office of Mr. Nefarious, MS. Please listen closely, as I've shuffled some of my phone directories. If you're calling about taxes or fines, please hang up. If you're calling about a henchman position, please press 'one.' If you're calling about a heist, please press 'two.' If you're calling in a desperate plea for help, please press—"
I heard a *beep* from the other end of the line, and cackled maniacally. "Haha! Turning to me again, Senator? I should have strung you along for longer!"
There was angry grumbling from the other end of the line. "Damn it Dr. Nefarious, stop playing games! And how did you even know it was me?"
"I have caller I.D. now! Isn't it wonderful? And does this mean you've reconsidered my application to the doctorate program?"
"No, it just means I can never keep you supervillains straight. Don't think so highly of yourself, you'd never manage to defend a dissertation anyway."
"That is a failing of society, not of my own!" I pouted. I stuck out my lower lip, then realized he couldn't see me over the phone. "You can't see me over the phone, so I'd just like you to know that I'm pouting *very adamantly* at the moment."
The Senator sighed. "I'm sure it's very convincing. Look, we're having problems with The Highwayman. I've gotten approval for the funding to solve the problem by any means necessary. Do you want to make a bid, or—"
"The usual will be fine."
Another sigh. "Of course. The usual. I'll have my wife get my tutu ready."
I cackled into the phone. "You're too good of a man, Senator! Remember, every view is a dollar off of my fee! You'll do it for the taxpayers, won't you? The poor, poor taxpayers?"
"I really hate working with you, you know."
"It's why I'm so good at what I do!" I replied, rolling my chair back over to my computer bank. I began pulling up news, grunt communications, and transportation logistics. "If I wasn't the best, you might choose someone else!"
------------
I arrived on the scene via my electric hot-air balloon, flying past as many cable lines and satellite dishes as possible, wearing my best spandex and welding goggles. The Senator was waiting for me, alongside his own men, beside a pair of sleek black cars parked on freeway overpass. Pfft. What a boring method of travel.
I dropped anchor and slid down the chain, approaching the suits with the all the swagger a mad scientist could muster. I sent up a shower of sparks as I checked the tuning on my Galvanic Gauntlets; tightened my goggles and flipped them to tri-focal thermal, infrared, and negative; and adjusted my fanny pack to just the right angle.
"A good day to you all, gentlemen! Well then! What requires the indelible skills of Mr. Nefarious?"
"I don't even think that's a word," the Senator said, walking forward. He straightened his tie in lieu of shaking my hand. "Indelible? You mean incredible?"
"It is most certainly a word! It means my skills cannot be erased, nor removed, nor erased! Though I appreciate your own compliment, as well."
The Senator scowled. "I should know better than to engage with you by now. Just come take a look."
He led the way to the edge of the bridge, looking out over the freeway. "Look there," he said, pointing. "Do you see it?"
I scanned the horizon. The freeway merged with another in a complicated interchange, and it was difficult to see past it. I watched the path of one car as it turned up a ramp, then curved, then kept curving, then went down another ramp, curved, passed under a bridge, curved again, looped back on itself in a hairpin turn, curved...
I shook my head, squinting, and turned off the filters on my goggles. From a distance, the interchange looked normal. But as soon as I tried to follow a path with my eyes, it just kept going, looping and curving and weaving outside of the limits of Euclidean space.
"What in the hell? What exactly am I looking at here?"
"The Highwayman's latest work," the Senator explained. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "He calls it 'The Infinite Exchange'. We've seen cars coming out of it from Washington, Nevada, Tennessee, Puerto Rico... anything we send in seems to end up somewhere more or less random in the country, but it takes more than hour to make the exchange. Drivers all report severe disorientation."
I tapped my Galvanic Gloves against the railing, sending up small arcs of static. "That's... I'll be honest, this might be outside of my skillset."
"Good," the Senator grunted. "Maybe then I can move on to a slightly more *sane* contractor."
"I'll need some gear from my workshop," I said, turning back to my DC Dirigible. "But there has to be a power source in there somewhere. I'll find it and I'll shut it down."
"And then turn it over to the appropriate authorities?"
"Ha! Hahaha! Ah, Senator! And you think *I'm* the crazy one? Phew! A wonderful jest, just wonderful."
------------
1/2 due to character limits | Trigger warning: swearing
“Done.” Said Jeffery, wiping the sweat off of his forehead.
I was legitimately scared at what was standing in front of me. It was a three story tall sphere with a lever attached.
“What the fuck is this right now!?” I shouted.
“An AI pod. So, I did a couple things, now it’s evolved beyond any comprehensible understanding. So yeah, this thing is supposed to destroy it.” Jeff replied calmly.
“What!?”
“But now it hacked the pod so I was trying to get rid of it manually, but that didn’t work out. So now it hacked into one of my old creations.”
“WHAT!?!?”
“Yeah, the burn-o-matic. That one virus that blows up your computer, remember? Stored in a small one-terabyte drive? Well, the AI reprogrammed it and hacked into all of my old creations.”
“How the fuck did I miss this?”
“You were shackled to my bed.”
“Let’s not speak about that.”
“So yeah, the world is now in ruins and the Android apocalypse is rampaging.”
“And what does that pod have to do with anything?”
“Oh, this is a sphere for storing black holes now. I love recycling.” Jeff said as the roof opened up, revealing a skyscraper-sized crab, hollering at its progenitor. A funky song started playing in the background as a robotic blue glow traced a long wall up the crab’s leg and into its eye.
“WHAT IS HAPPENING, JEFF!?”
“I dunno. I swear the coffee machine worked yesterday. Oh, right.” He said and pulled a part of the giant black-hole holding sphere away before plucking it back into the coffee machine, as the entire world started pulling into the now collapsing sphere.
The last moments of my life were spiced up by time dilation, as, for a few seconds, I saw the scenery change from a dilapidated warehouse, to a desert, to space, before a spaceship came closer and…
The fourth dimension twisted me to madness as I drooled on the remnants of my sanity, with nothing to exist for me. I died of old age, having witnessed how the fourth dimension discombobulates us, humans. | 2022-05-03T03:08:03 | 2022-05-02T21:55:41 | 144 | 65 |
[WP] "I'd like to sell my soul". The Devil grinned; "In exchange for what? Women, money, power?". "Salvation". | "Hello? J dog? Yeah, it's your boy Luce. I've got a hell of a wager for you." The stunningly handsome man talked into an earpiece he was wearing. He took a recess on his current deal to "talk it over with his superiors", but he really wanted to set this wager up. He was top dog, but not many truly knew it when they saw him anymore. Maybe he could finally get back at his old man this way...
"Yo, Luce! How ya been? We haven't talked since... Then. Man, how time flies. Now, cut the crap. I know you never call without a good reason." This mysterious caller seemed a bit ashamed when thinking back to their last meeting, but seemed excited to be talking to this striking businessman again, as if talking to an old friend.
The suit gave a wicked smile. "Before I make this official, did our old man ever truly take my title away when he ousted me from the biz?" The caller thought for a bit. "Y'know, I think he never did. I'm liking where this is going." You could practically hear the smile in his voice, not as wicked as the suit's, but with a tinge of schadenfreude on an otherwise sunny smile.
The suit grinned. "Primo. Listen, I got a contract offering their soul, but you'll never believe what they want in return." The caller groaned. "Luce, there is nothing you could say that would make this wager worth it for me. The old man is still reeling after our last wager, remember what happened when we last talked? There's no way anything you can offer them will make it worth what you're wagering..."
The suit flashed his wicked smile again. "What if I told you he wanted salvation?" The caller was silent for a bit, then asked in a puzzled voice. "Can you... Even do that?" The suit spoke with confidence. "I've looked into it. I should be able to slip this past Easy Pete if my position is still recognized. I even had some heavenly parchment saved for this occasion."
The caller laughed, a smile practically beaming through the receiver. "I'll take that bet. You lose your post if you botch this. If he gets in, you get your old position back in full. So, you up for it?"
The suit gave a genuine smile, not borne of malice, but of happiness. "Oh, it's on!" | “What.” The Devil said, leaning back a bit, running his fingers through his hair
“No no, you cant do this to me. Look at me, look. I’m literally called the devil *pal*. Ok, everyone knows you can only be saved through Christ. I cant do that for you. However…i can gi-“
“I’m already christian” you said. Face completely blank, as to almost completely destroy what the devil was about to say.
“Then wh- you dont want what i can give you? I can give you everything you want, just dont go up there. Look at God, he’s says he’s all great and good but look at me, and everyone else down here. They are suffering”
“You yourself, went against him. Also, everyone down here followed you to hell basically by refusing to be saved. Can we get on with it already?” You said. Losing your patience sounding like a teenager who wants to go somewhere with their friends
The devil leaned in, infront of your face and said “i. Cant do that for you. Why are you here, to torment me?”
“No, i just want to exchange my soul, for salvation. Whats so hard about that to understand?” You said, not understanding what the Devil is trying to say
“No you- why. Let me make myself- clear. I. CAN NOT. DO THAT. FOR YOU”
“So why do try to give people what they want, if you cant save them yourself?” You say, counterclaiming the devils whole jig he has
“You try to give people things they want, however its only temporary. So why would you lie about something so obvious” you say, as you try to counterclaim. Not understanding once again, you know he’s the Devil yeah. But you are ignorant to what really makes him, the Devil.
“Would you ju- go. Leave, i dont want you here. I HOPE you never even come here. You are, annoying. Little pest. The dirt which i walk on” the devil says as he motions fallen angels to take you out of his plane of existence
“Dude, you’re literally prophesized to get thrown into a literal lake of fire for eternity. You already LOST thousands of years ago.” You say as you’re dragged out
“GO. LEAVE- GET. OUT, you know what? I’m cursing you, you are my target now. Heard of covid? Yeah. Thats right, have fun being sick friday!” Said the Devil, as usual always trying to get the last word in. You can here him say this as his voice fades, you cant help but smirk to yourself, knowing you are one of the few people who managed to best and piss him off face to face
“Worthit” | 2022-06-30T10:55:39 | 2022-06-30T10:07:18 | 70 | 50 |
[WP] Once upon a time, aliens sent a virulent poison to Earth in hopes of clearing the planet for their own habitation. Hundreds of years later, they're back, and shocked that we're not only alive, but actually are eating/drinking their poison en masse. | (With all the serious posts, i think i'll *spice* it up abit with humour)
Rajesh was eating in his dorm when it happened. Giant insect like creatures materialised in front of him, knocking over the table. Now, Rajesh was have a very bad day. First, he got his computer science test back and failed. Then, he was made fun of because white people think indians are supposed to be good at computer science or something, and now when he finally gets to eat some consolation curry these bug fuckers appear in front of him.
A robotic voice emanated from one of the bugs.
"Human. We are the special forces of malignant dirt turkeys. Surrender your ass and we will fill your hovercraft with eels."
A second more natural voice came from another bug.
"Glixnak you moron, why are you using Oogle translate? You know we use the software developed for us by the XGV"
"I would like to stuff my dog full of salted vaccines."
"Whatever. Anyways human leader! You have made a foolish mistake, for you have just ingested the deadliest toxin in the galaxy!"
Rajesh looked at the bug with a confused glace and put a spoonfull of curry into his mouth.
"What? No what are you doing."
Rajesh ate another spoonfull of curry. Not even a giant snail that's probably an alien could stop him from eating his curry.
"Stop. *Stop*. I said stop. Oh my god, do you want to die?"
"Well, kinda yeah" replied Rajesh as he swallowed another spoonfull of curry.
"Glaxnak, he should be dead by now. Did you mess up again and mix the poisons?"
"I wiggle my government at you"
The snail who was presumably the leader pulled put a gun and flung some curry at the moron. Immediately, a horrid screech that sounded like nails against a chalkboard came from the snail. It's body melted in to a viscous liquid that reminded Rajesh of chilli.
"Huh, so it was the poison. But... how? Chilli is known to kill everything it touches."
Rajesh ate another spoonfull of curry.
"Well... this is awkward."
Rajesh finished his curry, and the two stare at each other for a few minutes. Neither knowing what to do with the other. Eventually, the snails leave Rajesh alone to eat his well earned victory poison. | The station had three bars, but only one that didn't have a depressive Hyperklaxonian smothering a grand piano and gurgling bad Billy Joel covers through the fluted valves at the top of its head. Avalon Karl had just bellied up to the darkest end of the brushed titanium bar and begun considering the rows of liquors (almost exclusively all native Earth brands), when a black hatted Earthman waved him over to a table in the back. Curious, Avalon Karl glided over to the table.
"Avalonian?" said the Earthman. "Riggs. Chuck Riggs. Pleasure to meet you."
The man named Riggs offered his right forepaw, which Avalon Karl brushed graciously with his center articulated joint.
"Have a seat," said Riggs, gesturing towards the other side of the table. "Or...err...a hover."
"This is a lovely space station," said Avalon Karl, who had always been poor at small talk, especially with terrestrials. "Very well lit."
"She's somethin'," said Riggs, rapping the center of the table with his knuckle and whistling in the general direction of the bartender. "Tariff payed, tariff laid, we like to say." He laughed, which Avalon Karl understood meant something had tickled the Earthman.
"Yes, tariffs are a form of tax," said Avalon Karl. "Taxes generate income. Very funny. Your Earth humor is very keen."
"Uh...yeah," mumbled Riggs. "I guess I'm just sayin' trade with you all Avalonians' been good to us back on Earth. I'm a businessman, you see? I appreciate a good deal."
"Yes," said Avalon Karl as the bartender dropped two narrow glasses full of bright blue liquid on the table. "We have had a long, long fascination with Earth, extending well prior to our present economic arrangements."
"Oh, don't I know," laughed Riggs, pulling a small black and silver device out of his inner pocket.
"Yes, actually it's a bit embarrassing now," said Avalon Karl, hovering cautiously over his neon blue cocktail. "You see, quite some time ago we craved to possess Earth for ourselves."
"You've got a good eye," said Riggs, playing with the device.
"Yes, well, in this case I suppose I'm glad our machinations fell apart," said Avalon Karl. "We had hoped to clear Earth of all intelligent life. We were...quite surprised to return all this time later to find you not only well, but thriving."
"It was a flawed scheme, I suppose," said Riggs, holding up the box. He touched a screen and a small, tinny computerized voice spoke a single word, over and over. The Earthman grinned, though there was no humor in his face. Even Avalon Karl could see that. "We were supposed to go mad, right? Kill each other? Decimation from within. Fight until the last man drops, eh?"
Avalon Karl shifted slightly in his hovering crouch. "I do suppose it was silly," he said at last. "Though we did spend a good deal of time developing this particular weapon. It seemed just the thing to separate mankind fully and completely. But I guess the calculations...the research...they were all..."
"Foolishness," said Riggs, silencing the device. "Pure foolishness. As if you never understood us at all."
"You saw through our scheme," said Avalon Karl, feeling a ping of resentment for the ineptitude of his forebears. "I see now that the human resolve is made of firmer stuff than we had been led to believe."
"Exactly," said Riggs, with a satisfied nod. "We saw right through it. You only managed to bring us Yannys together. And let me tell you, we *crushed* the Laurels. It was over in a year. Them and their heathen ears - wiped off the face of the Earth."
Avalon Karl dipped a little in his hover. "I'm sorry, you what?"
"You thought the disagreement would pull humanity apart and bring us to ruin?" said Riggs, leaning back in his chair. "But you underestimated the power and the truth of Yanny."
"Oh," said Avalon Karl. "That was...you know that was an auditory mirage, right? Half of you were supposed to hear Yanny and the other half was supposed to hear Laurel. We worked really hard on that. It was really quite clever."
"Laurel was a false god," said Riggs, downing the entirely of his cocktail in one gulp. "There is only Yanny."
"Ah. Yes. Okay. Oh no! I forgot I have a space meeting." Avalon Karl glided purposefully away from the table. "Pleasure to meet you. Let's do this again sometime. Okay. Going now."
In truth, though he would facilitate many trade deals with the Yanny People over the years, Avalon Karl never did do "this" again with the Earthman known as Chuck Riggs. Neither was too bothered by that. | 2018-05-17T02:51:16 | 2018-05-16T20:26:23 | 56 | 35 |
[WP] Instead of an email reset code, you are sent on a year-long, perilous journey through the Himalayas in search of your forgotten password. | “So you’ve come at last. What knowledge do you seek of me?”
I pulled the thick hood of my fur-lined jacket to speak to the mysterious old stranger sitting at the top of the flattened rock at the summit. I expected the cold to be something of a reprieve from the sweat of my total insulation, but instead found the cold burningly painful on my face. I breathed shallowly, allowing my lungs to acclimate to the freezing air. The stranger sat and watched, almost impossibly still. I wondered how he could stand to sit cross-legged in only a flowing robe.
“I forgot my bank password, and I want to deposit my checks on my phone. It’s really hard to get to the bank when it’s open.”
“...very well. Answer my questions, and let me see who you truly are.”
I expected this. Despite what I’d endured to reach this place-the climbing, the freezing, the endurance of the elements, the following of the old illegible map-I knew there’d be something waiting at the end.
“All right, I’m ready.”
“Let us begin. What is your name?”
“John White”.
“INCORRECT. You have 2 attempts left.”
The raised voice coming from the
“...what? No but that’s my name. Johnathan White, are you telling me I don’t know me ow-“
“INCORRECT. You have one attempt left”
I opened my mouth to protest, but caught myself before I could make the final mistake. I thought hard. I took in a slow, deliberate breath of the icy wind.
“Johnathan...
TYLER. White.”
Silence. Wind. Tension.
“Correct.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. After a year, it was finally-
“Your second question. WHAT...”
God. Dammit.
“...Was the make and model of your first car?”
Without giving much thought I responded.
“A 1993 Honda Accord.”
“INCORRECT. You have two attempts left”.
...I panicked. It was an accord, my mother’s old car. But was it a 1992 or a 1994 maybe? 1993 sounded right, I’m sure I was close.
I had to gamble.
“A 1992. Honda Accord”.
This silence was far more painful than the last. But finally-
“CORRECT...
Your final question-“
I’d anticipated it this time. If there was more than one...
“...who...”
Who?
“...was your childhood best friend?”
I hesitated. I froze. I thought I knew but...what if I was wrong? Could I ask for a hint? If I spoke would it count?
But I wasn’t going back now.
“Grant McDonald.”
“INCORRECT. You have two
Not Grant? During elementary school we’d been inseparable...but then I remembered the ugly falling we’d had out over Chelsea Smith in 11th grade.
Shit.
...well then.
“I know. It’s my sister. Katie White.”
“INCORRECT. You have one attempt left.”
I was destroyed. I was out of guesses. I thought about going back...
...and then it hit me. I knew. Or I had one last idea. Maybe it was crazy but...I think it was true.
“I didn’t have one. I was insecure and mean to people. The other kids didn’t like me. My parents liked my sisters better, my sisters liked each other better. That’s the answer. It’s no one.
“...”
Silence. The longest of all. I was shaking and sweating. I felt as if I might faint.
“...”
I closed my eyes...
“...YOUR ACCOUNT HAS BEEN LOCKED FOR SECURITY PURPOSES. PLEASE CONTACT CUSTOMER SUPPORT MONDAY THROUGH FRIDAY 8 AM TO 5:30 PM...” | The icy cold gusts of wind blew against Thomas's cheek as he waded his way through the snow. His legs were killing him. His arms were killing him. If his hair had nerves in them, he'd pretty sure they'd be killing him too – numb from pain, exhaustion, and from cold.
The snow reached up to his knees and felt cold even amongst all the layers of insulation he was wearing. He was fairly sure that if he wasn't wearing enough layers to make an onion feel jealous, he'd freeze to death quicker than you could say "What was the name of the street you grew up on?"
Things had, indeed, been tough. The initial climb was alright, but things became difficult as bad weather began to set in – even the sherpa who had agreed to guide him up insisted on turning back and heading for home again, but Thomas insisted on continuing, with or without them.
He knew he had to do this, even if it killed him.
Thomas stumbled the few final steps as he finally found it, after all this time of searching for it. Set into the face of the cliff was a pair of enormous heavy stone doors, which he strained to push open, feeling as though he was about to keel over any moment if he didn't get sitting down somewhere.
The inside differed to what he was expecting. The inside was a modern-looking room, with space-grey walls and long tables offering various different devices that flashed with different prices and offers across different currencies, different languages—even ones that he was sure that he had never seen before.
"Greetings," said a voice.
Thomas looked to the other side of the room, where up a small flight of steps, floating cross-legged and surrounded by a bright white aura was a man with grey, balding hair and round glasses, wearing a turtleneck sweater and jeans.
"Erm...Hi?" said Thomas. "Um, look, I was told that I had to come here—"
"Welcome, weary traveller, to the Genius Bar. I already know who you are and why you had to come here. Seriously, you had to look up the directions here like, what, twelve times? Don't act shocked, kid, you literally carry a microphone, camera and GPS tracker in your pocket, what did you think it was there for? I mean—what, pray tell, is your issue?"
"Yes, I'm trying to change my password."
"It requires many years' training in-order to become skilled at the art of changing one's password. You must be trained in the ancient ways of...Jeedee Peeahr."
"Yeah, I deleted all those 'Stay with us and keep subscribed to our mailing list' emails, I'm kind of in a hurry?"
"Fair enough. What do you wish the new password to be, o traveller? Do not speak it aloud, for ye will have your soul suspended from this realm, and it's a real bitch to try and get it unsuspended. Just concentrate and know your new password deep within your heart."
"OK," said Thomas, closing his eyes and sitting cross-legged on the floor. "I can do this...it'll just be like Mom's yoga DVDs, except you're not concentrating on the yoga pants every time they do downward dog this time..."
He breathed deeply, inhaling the warm air and the smell of old wooden furnishings and packaging and exhaling it again, concentrating all his power until he could feel like was almost about to transcend and see the mighty Siri themselves and finally get around to trying that thing where you ask it what zero divided by zero is.
Suddenly, he snapped awake to the man standing with an iPad, the squawking of Angry Birds coming from the speaker. "Er, yeah, your password can't be the same as your current password."
Thomas said, very loudly: "Ah, shit!" | 2019-07-03T16:50:10 | 2019-07-03T15:14:33 | 38 | 19 |
[WP] You've been granted god-like powers under the condition that you must do as much evil as you do good. | "You can bring her back, can't you?"
The sobbing young man begged me to help as he held the limp body of his wife.
"Yes, but there are...conditions, as you know." Balance had to be kept. One love's life for another.
"Anything, please! I can't go on living without her."
"Can you live with this decision?" I asked, hopeful he would make the right choice.
"Yes"
I nodded and closed my eyes, focusing my powers. Moments passed and soon the woman's eyes opened. The man's tears of sorrow turned to tears of joy, but balance had to be kept. Somewhere in the world somebody else was weeping over the dead body of their lover. I would find them and give the living the same choice: their lover's life for a stranger's. Everyone always chooses their own, and so the cycle continues. Maybe one day someone will be selfless; maybe one day I will be able to see her again.
| These are the scribblings of mad man. Found in the wake of an event since referred to as ‘The Blessing’. A time when suffering, fear and death left our part of the world, if only for a short time.
**It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.**
I didn’t expect the consequences to be so immediate.
**It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness.**
I thought i could control it, i thought i would get to choose.
**It was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity.**
For each action, a reaction. Each favor, a misdeed. Each life saved, a murder. Each soul redeemed, another damned.
**It was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness.**
I don’t know which is worse, to live with the horrors I’ve caused for a lifetime or to gaze, just for a moment, in to the good. To watch the perfect lives of those i once loved. Gifted with wealth, immortality, lurid pleasure. How can they not know the cost? How can they live when they cause such pain?
**It was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.**
I can’t go on like this. Knowing that the evil was always here inside me.
**We had everything before us, we had nothing before us.**
The evil must end. The good must end. I must end. I’ve known this all along. And yet i waste time scribbling in books. I waste days, months, years. The pleasure and pain continue as long as i do.
**We were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way.**
My cowardice wins out yet again.
No- Not this time.
| 2014-05-29T17:20:37 | 2014-05-29T15:05:23 | 40 | 15 |
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