prompt
stringlengths 20
5.8k
| chosen_story
stringlengths 226
10k
| rejected_story
stringlengths 227
9.43k
| chosen_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
2022-12-31 14:34:19
| rejected_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
2022-12-31 12:20:41
| chosen_upvotes
int64 14
23.1k
| rejected_upvotes
int64 10
4.26k
|
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?"
|
The van ploughed in to the side of my car. There was no pain, just a dull, tingling sensation all over my body as the blood leaked out and I faded in to unconsciousness.
I woke up. I found myself surrounded on all sides by an expanse of inhospitable, fissured rock of a dark red colour. What appeared to be magma could be seen flowing through the cracked geology, the occasional geyser spurting up with a brilliant intensity. The first thing I noticed, aside from my environment, was a figure approaching me from a distance. As he got closer, I saw an immaculate suit, and a face that looked almost human except for the deep, crimson eyes. He began to speak to me in a hoarse, strained voice, though I already knew what he was about to say.
"Welcome. I am the devil, and this is hell."
Though I had realised this already, there is no way to describe the dread that shoots up your spine when you these words are spoken to you. The second thing he said, however, took me by surprise.
"You are its sole occupant, well, except for me I suppose."
It took a few moments for this to sink in before my protest began.
"Really, I'm the only person to be sentenced to hell? What did I do? I never murdered, never raped, never stole. Are you telling me the people who did these things get to go to heaven, and I end up in hell?"
"Let me ask you," the devil began, "are you certain you died? What is the last you remember?"
"I was in a car accident, I lost consciousness, and I ended up here."
"Ah, exactly," responded the devil. "You lost consciousness. You have yet to die. My guess is that the paramedics will be reviving you in a few minutes. You see, the true reality of hell hasn't been expressed in any of the religious texts you humans are so fond of. Hell is an eternal punishment, and there is no crime you can commit on earth which could possibly warrant infinite retribution. Even for the worst of your species, the punishment would not fit the crime. Your presence here is only permitted due to the temporary nature of your death. Eternal punishment is only handed out for heavenly crimes, and I am the only one who has been found deserving. An eternal isolation in a barren, violent land. The only respite I get is when one such as yourself presents me with a brief moment of company. Time does not pass the same here as on earth, and the few minutes until your mortal revival will correspond to a few hours here. So please, do me the courtesy of a conversation. I'm so very lonely."
We sat down on the rocky ground and talked.
|
The first thing I noticed was the *stench*, this mixed smell of sulfur and burnt hair filled my brain upon entry. When I say entry, I mean that I fell from the red sky at supersonic speed only to practically atomize upon impact. But alas, I was unscathed once I rose from the crater.
"God I loooooove Lucy"
"Greetings MORTAL!!"
A 9 foot tall red man-beast emerged from the fiery planes. I'd never tripped like this before, this guy was red and hairy with long curvy horns and a ripped red body. Weirdly enough he had these big, bloody, old looking Angel wings dragging from his back. Oh, by the way, he had a huuuuge dick hanging out.
"Lose all your hope mortal! For I am Beelzebub, I am the Adversary, I am *Lucifer*."
"Yeeaaaheheheh!!!!"
I let out a huge fist pump and jumped a little, this trip was so vivid! It was actually too vivid, I better not freak out and have a bad trip, I'm gonna touch his dick.
"Hey man what's so cool? This sucks- HEY MAN WHAT THE HELL"
He seized away as my hand disinterested with a huge ball of fire, full pain included. I later learned that you experience full pain in Hell, but you regenerate quickly enough so you can be tortured even more. I didn't feel the impact earlier since I was obliterated upon impact. But hey man I figured I was just high.
"Hey I'm not supposed to be able to touch shit when I'm on Lucy, what's the deal here?"
Satan scrunched his face up and said,
"Look man I get your confused but you just can't make a move on my long hanger here this ain't heaven, that gay shit don't fly with me."
"Sorry"
"Now I've been practicing theatricality and stuff to greet the first guy, which low and behold is you, so finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? What did you do? And how did you die?"
A flood of emotion rushed on me, well not really, I tried to be shocked but I always have a delayed reaction to big news. Like falling asleep, I couldn't remember how I died or the moments leading up to it.
"Oh hey man if you can't remember than I got this projector deal, just needa borrow your soul real quick like."
He then jammed his index finger and pinky into my eyes, causing me to scream, and projected a video on to a nearby flat rock.
"You shoulda been here dial-up days, nothing more than 240p- oh shit sorry about your eyes I should pull out now."
Before I could reach for the bloody pulps on my eyes, I could see just fine again. I saw my my death video on the rock playing with a quality like the movies. I was laying in my bed, jerking it to 'Love and Other Drugs' while on LSD, typical Wednesday.
"Oh man I love that movie, Hathaway's got it going on. And in case you're wondering I do get internet here, you know Wi-Fi has interdimensional capabilities?"
Suddenly, a man in all black burst through the window and grabbed me in my delayed reaction state. He held me to to the wall with a gun to my head and said in a weird, high pitched voice, "Kill me 'fore I kill you foo'". He gave me a gun to hold to his head and stared me down.
"What the Fuck who does this?" Satan exclaimed, I could only watch in horror.
Luckily, I pulled the trigger before he could, and it was only after I shot that he went "Thanks baby" and lightly kissed me on the mouth. Once the corpse fell over, I was smiling and feeling good about being alive. I probably thought none of it was real. However what happened next was unspeakably stupid. My drugged out horny mind saw the trigger and decided to put my dick in it.
"Oh no what- why are you doing that you fucken idiot!?" I moaned
My dumb smiley stare was interrupted when the trigger went off with the gun aimed at my own face. The video ended, and I could only stand in silence when Satan doubled down and screamed in laughter. I soon joined.
"HAHAHAHAHA. OUT OF ALL THE SHIT I'VE SEEN MAN. THIS IS IT. YOU'VE DONE IT." He continued,
"I know it's your death man but don't be sad my child, it's over and there's nothing you can do, you've got all eternity ahead of you now."
"Thanks Satan, I just wish I could have died with a little more...dignity. Now wait a minute! Why am I the first and only one here!?"
"Oh shit yea I was gonna bring that up. Now you should remember this part, what did you do at the crossroads?"
I then remembered a big menacing guy at a crossroads like Satan said. This guy had a permanent scowl and asked me something like "Do you repent for your sins and accept Jesus Christ in to your soul??"
"What did you say?" Satan asked.
"I said what I always said to that question."
I remembered back to that encounter and cringed when I realized that I had told the gate keeper, "Yea but only after those gays get married you big dopey eyed FAGGOT!" Then I remembered his repulsed look and how he went all Galadriel looking from the Lord of the Rings and banished me to Hellfire.
"You didn't say yes?? Man they even give you an extra chance to accept it."
That's when I got fired up angry.
"You know, this is bullshit! I've had countless generations of dictators and murderers doing really fucked up shit who just get to waltz in to heaven because they took the easy way out! I've never been religious, but why would an 'all loving God' make humans with free will, give them no answers and just punish them if they don't wanna be his personal slave bitch?? I led a...SOMEWHAT normal life but I never went outta my way to hurt anyone. I certainly didn't let people suffer all the time and turn a cold shoulder when they needed help or guidance that God WAS PERFECTLY IN HIS POWER TO GIVE. This comes a lot from a church who claims to HELP people."
Satan just stared at me and said,
"You know, long ago, I said something just like that and now I'm here. You got balls kid, you got gusto and I like it. I tell you what, I can get you into heaven, that gate keeper guy is a certified pig fucker, I mean take it from me, a certified goat fucker. God still owes me a few favors, like when we bet that dumb Eve bitch would eat that Apple."
I smiled and replied,
"Nah man, it's cool. I don't wanna be in a heaven full of pretentious nut jobs. You haven't done anything THAT fucked up to be and you seem reasonable. I'm gonna stay here with you."
Then, the most misunderstood man in the universe smiled at me.
"Thanks kid, you have no idea how much that means to me. Now come on, there's plenty of cool shit to do here. Like over in the whore-pit are these insanely hot demon chicks who get down with ANYTHING."
"Anything?" I asked,
"Oh yea, but I mean, they rip out your genitals when you're done but they grow back and you'll get used to that shit pretty quickly."
"That's gnarly dude, I love it."
We walked off into the planes of hellfire, and I actually felt comfortable with him. He understood, and he was, ironically, pretty down to earth. Soon, he became my friend, soon I called him Beelzebro, and eventually, my brother.
"I gotta tell you, this is cool man, besides I need every man I can get if I'm gonna take down the son of God."
"Sweet dude, I'll be right there with ya."
"Haha yea, oh yeah, did I ever tell you about that time I tricked God into completely destroying some asshole named Job?"
"HOLY FUCK I'M IN HELL, IT JUST HIT ME."
| 2015-04-09T08:50:38 | 2015-04-09T08:43:05 | 1,736 | 213 |
[WP] A curiosity shop opens up where you can rent superpowers, magical abilities, mystical artifacts, and mad science technology. The catch? Payments are made with abstract concepts. Life, memories, etc.
|
*I wrote this a few years back. I don't know if this is cheating as it's old, but I've always liked this one:*
It's September, and the carnival has wandered through the town once again. The tents had sprung up overnight, the large flickering signs read descriptions of the fantastic. An elderly couple walks around, musing at the sights and sounds of the festive campground. A dimly lit sign with the words, "Will Trade Youth For Equal Treasures" catches their eyes, the alluring message casts lights within their souls once more. The woman walks in first, apprehensive but excited. It is but 5 minutes, and she comes back, colour back in her cheeks and black streaks once again in her hair. "Twenty years in exchange for my piano skill!" she exclaims to her husband, a pang of regret hidden in her voice. The man hobbles in as fast he can, his legs nearly giving way as he stumbles over the rocky ground. Ten long minutes later, he comes out, his cheeks slim and body lean, gruff chin stubble and deep blue eyes, at least forty years gone. "What did you give up, dear?" his wife asks incredulously. To which he simply responds, "Who are you?"
|
The Shop is almost empty at this time of day. When is it most full? Ah, well, that depends on the time, and the place- each time and each place is so very different, you see. Perhaps towards the end of a night. It’s at that time that abandoned lovers look for solace, or crazed students seeking to fulfil their idealist dreams prowl the night, or men with less salubrious desires finally pluck up the courage to come out and face their wants.
At this time, though, it is almost empty. I am glad it is; it always saddens me to sell something in the morning. People should not be sad in the morning, I think- when darkness falls it is excusable, perhaps, but not when the sun is only just- Ah, I beg your pardon. The parrot disagrees with me. I do apologise. We’ve led long and diverse lives, and she has heard as much ripe language as I have; the difference is only in our inhibitions…
Well, look around the Shop. Describe the people you see. Yes, that’s true; the young woman in the corner is looking for a potion- but no, it’s not the ability to run away that she wants. She would not, I hope, need to come here to seek such a thing. No, she’s looking for a way to make the man she loves love her in return. Can you not see the swelling under her cloak? She’s been in here several times in this past week alone; but so far, she has returned the bottle to the shelf each time. I hope it does not change tonight.
It is funny –I am sorry; I know a young person like yourself does not find great pleasure in an old man’s musings, but then, I am an old man, and we are allowed a certain latitude- how things work. Each time and place is *so* different; so very different. And yet, much the same happens in each era, in each culture. You would think now, peering out through the door onto the cobbled streets, that there ought to be a queue stretching down to the crossroads of people wishing merely to get a glimpse of what we have. Eternal youth! Revenge! Love! But people keep it to themselves. You would think there might be a large article in the newspaper about us, but no; the man who discovers it thinks it a secret best kept to himself –if everybody could see the future, where would his prized gift be, and what good the sacrifice he made for it?- and the rest must stumble upon it as they may. It is a funny thing.
Ah! Somebody’s rung the bell. I’ll return in a moment.
Well now, and what do you think of that? The secret of music now belongs to a little beggar boy. I am glad it was he that found it first; it is always intolerable to me when the son of a nobleman adds the song of the spheres to the list of gifts life has already bequeathed to him. But then, the nobleman stands to lose far more; the little beggar boy will hardly mind so much that he shall be poor, as the nobleman would! I hope it gives him joy.
You see, therein lies the rub- and, incidentally, it was that quill in the corner; yes, that blue-flecked feather, that penned that line- for, every thing that you take out of this shop will take something out of you. That is why I hope dearly that the young mother does not buy herself the love of the man that has left her; could she tell me if he is worth the sanity of her child? I think she could; but then, she does not know the price that such a thing has written on its label. That is the curse of my life. To travel so much, to see so many things- but to be a purveyor of such suffering, and in such a dishonest way. You did not expect to learn so much, eh? when you first asked me of my thoughts! But then, do you know- you are, I think, the only person that has asked me that in at least seven hundred years. The last person went on to write the greatest novel ever written; I have a copy of it in a drawer beneath my desk. Eh? What did it cost him? Why, nothing; I gave him the quill as a gift. It returned to me, of course, but that is only the nature of things. So, my lad, would you choose something from these shelves? Or do you want something more?
I thought that would be your response. That is the same answer I gave, when I was asked that question by my predecessor. I, too, had reasons to wish to escape my dreary life; but, you see, this is not a gift I can give freely. I do not ask anything in return, but it is not for me to ask; this is a gift that shall take from you whether I would have it or no. Do you not understand? However many lashes your father may give you each night –yes, I can see it in your eyes, and not through any power of the Shop; I remember seeing the same expression staring back at me when I was your age- this is not worth it. If you travel with the Shop, you will leave humanity behind; you will leave the chance to fall in love, to have a family, to grow old merrily. Please, do not make the same mistake I have made; take something smaller, like beauty or intelligence, and live as you were created to do. You see too much in the life of Shopkeeper. You lose your faith in men and gods. Stay behind; if you come, I am sure you will regret it.
Look up above me. Do you see the painting of the waving woman? That is our mistress, and she is fickle and not quick to forgive. She will show you a great deal, but you will be shorn of all that makes you human- please, I beg you, do not follow me. Godhood is not worth it; very few of the things in this Shop are worth what she asks for them, and this, perhaps, least of all. The gods play games, and I advise you not to take what you do not understand; accept he wisdom of one who has seen much, and choose something that shall not hurt you.
No? You will not? Ah, I should never have talked to you! I should have remembered how I first came to stand behind this counter, and remained silent! Very well. The Shop shall leave tomorrow, and you must be here by sunset. To where do we travel? Samarkand, in the time of Constantine; there is a man there, my mistress tells me, who she desires to have become enemies with the sand women, and we must do as she commands.
| 2015-09-25T11:50:22 | 2015-09-25T11:31:36 | 58 | 32 |
[WP] You are a wish lawyer. You help clients negotiate wishes from genies, faeries, dragons, and other wish granting entities.
You also do faustian bargains with devil
Edit: Woo! I finally made it to the top of writing prompts!
|
It was an open and shut case. There was nothing we could do, really. Just patch out the loophole for the future. Genie cases were usually so simple, the rules are so clear. No resurrection, no forced love, no wishing for more wishes. Thousands of years and genies had won every case against them, taken countless wishes back as settlements. But a child, just old enough to know what she wants but not yet old enough to question why she can't have it, had won a genie case. And not just any genie case, the motherlode of cases. "Rule number one: No wishing for more wishes" had never been broken. Until one little girl, with all the innocence in the world, made one little reply.
"You can't wish for more wishes."
She had taken a moment to think.
"I wish I could."
|
I knew from the moment I walked into the office that the whole thing was designed to look impressive, and the thing was, it worked. There was a freakin' waterfall behind the receptionist, and columns - ionic, maybe? - flanked her desk. The dark marble floor was so polished I probably could've used it to shave. I'm not a small man, but I certainly felt it when I came in.
The aforementioned receptionist was so attractive it almost made me mad. Her skin was a smooth caramel color, and her hair fell past shoulders like a river of dark honey. In another place, I would've been sure her impossibly blue eyes were the result of color contacts, but in a place like this, "impossible" wasn't a word that had much meaning. The turquoise irises fixed on me and she gave me a smile that made my insides stop working right.
"Good morning, welcome to Rigetti and Associates, how may I help you?"
I smiled blankly at her. Her expression remained fixed, not showing a trace of annoyance or irritation. "Good morning," she began again. "Do you have an appointment with a member of our staff? *Sir*?"
I blinked, then nodded slowly. "I, uh...'m here da seemiss raggedo." My tongue seemed to be taking a cue from my stomach, both of which seemed to be moving in strange and uncomfortable ways. My lips were suddenly dry, and I licked them, then worried that it might be misconstrued as some sort of pathetic advance.
The receptionist, however, was unfazed, and did not take her eyes off of me. "Yes, good morning, Mr. Wintersbottom. Your appointment will begin in two minutes. Please have a seat." She hesitated, and when I did not move, she made an elaborate gesture to the cherry wood chairs lining the wall of the waiting area.
I swallowed and attempted to say thank you and ended up just squeaking at her. I took my seat and spent the time doing everything I could to avoid looking anywhere near her. Soon, I heard the sound of shoes tapping on the tile, and a shadow blocked the recessed lighting above.
I looked up. An imposing silhouette was looming over me. It spoke in a voice that was pleasant but cool: "Good morning, Mr. Wintersbottom. Please follow me."
I counted tiles between the reception area and Ms. Regetti's office. 213, give or take. Her workplace was larger than many one-bedroom apartments, and she invited me to sit on a leather couch in front of a stone coffee table. In my peripheral vision, I noticed Ms. Regetti sit in an office chair across from me. Finally, I raised my gaze.
Immediately, I knew two things: I had made the right choice in coming, and I never wanted to get on her bad side. Ms. Regetti had the bearing of an...I don't know, an Empress, or something. Something about the angle of her head, like her chin was accusing people of something wherever she looked. Her red hair was pulled up into a topknot, held there by gleaming ornamental pin. Her dark eyes were watching me, studying me, and I felt sudden sympathy for the mice that my cat likes to prowl after.
Silence. It took me longer than I should have to realize that I should get things started. I cleared my throat. "Ah, yes, good...um." What the hell was wrong with me? "Morning. Good morning." I glanced at my bag, which I had set down next to me, then back at the attorney. "I, uh, was here for thefreeconsultation." I sped up at the end of the sentence, mostly because I sensed a point at which I could stop talking and wanted to get there as quickly as possible.
Ms. Regetti did not respond immediately. Her eyes flicked, momentarily, to my backpack, crumpled on the couch, then back to me. "Have you at this point had a conversation of *any* nature with the entity or entities in question?"
I began shaking my head, really wanted to say no, but realized that was not true. "Uh, I mean, well, yes."
Her stoic, imperious expression did not change, but she shifted her gaze to the right and gave a nod. I started. The receptionist was sitting in a chair next to us and had a legal pad braced against her right leg, which was crossed over her left. Had she followed us in? I was pretty sure she hadn't been there a minute ago.
"Please, Mr. Wintersbottom," Ms. Regetti said. "Tell us everything that was said, being as specific as you can be. Tell us anything you remember verbatim, and if you're not sure, tell us so. Begin."
Now I was going to have to talk in front of both of them. I turned my head toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the bay. Briefly, I fantasized about sprinting across the room, lowering my shoulder, and throwing myself into the water. The glass shards would cut me, there would be intense panic, and then my speed at impact would probably crush me before I had a chance to drown...and it still might be preferable to trying to talk like I was a normal human being in the present moment.
I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt - I really should have tucked it in, although on the scale of things, that was far from the biggest issue. The cargo shorts - I was regretting the cargo shorts. Anything that left me exposed at the moment was bad. Robes would've helped, or a burka. Maybe someone could just throw a bed sheet over me and I could crawl away?
I frowned. They were waiting for me to talk. I stared at my hands. When was the last time I cut my fingernails? Why did I suck so bad at life? I shook my head slowly. After a couple of false starts that sounded suspiciously like whimpers, I finally managed to get my mouth to obey my brain.
"So...I found this, um, it's...a box. I found a box."
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds
*Part 2-3 in comments.*
**Update:** [Part 4 is now up on my sub :)](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/90arjb/the_jade_box_part_4/)
| 2018-07-18T11:44:10 | 2018-07-18T09:15:34 | 642 | 247 |
[WP] Henchmen aren't incompetent. We're just here to get paid because no one else wants us. When the hero comes in, we'd rather choose the option that doesn't require a hospital or a hearse.
|
That was his 22nd hero.
He was proud of the fact that he only had 18 scars. Fewest on the force. Should be fewer. Shouldn't have to convince a hero that killing 300 working security men is maybe more evil than whatever it is his boss happens to be doing.
He rounded a corner, checked his angles, and continued on patrol past the front door. As usual, two braziers flanked the door, each brazier flanked by two guards. No, the heroes were often just the new dictator. None of them had any idea that the henchmen they "slayed" three months ago is the same one guarding the door to his bedroom. I mean, where did they think all the bodies come from? Hell, our city saw a take over every two years like clockwork for at least the last decade. You wantonly slaughter 278 men every two years and expect us to maintain a steady supply of soldiers? Pssshhh! He walked on, rubbing the scar across his left elbow.
Truth of the matter is, most of being a good henchmen is knowing how to convincingly take a sword. Heb had fine tuned his technique over the years. He'd managed two months off after both of the last two evil overlords "liberated" the city. And hadn't even lost any mobility!
You get two months off every time your boss changes, if you work it right, you'll guard duty your way out of anything more heinous than light intimidation, and besides that he basically only needs to stay alive. Yeah, being a henchman wasn't bad. Long as you don't mind eating a sword now and then.
Heb turned the next corner and stopped. There was definitely someone behind that table. Sure, it was shadowed and out of the way, but it isn't like Heb's blind or anything. By now he'd been stopped long enough it was obvious he noticed something. Heb sighed and made a big show of look around and behind the wrong things. After a couple fruitless minutes he sighed a big "guess it was the wind" and walked on.
Yep. Sure an easy job, you didn't mind taking a sword now and then. Course, didn't mean he felt like taking one tonight.
|
Grimm’s the name. I’m a freelance worker for supervillains everywhere, in case you’re wondering. Mostly I deal with the tech side of things. I like computers, not guns. Never even fired one of the things, actually. But I can type out a good code and work drones for livestream like nobody’s business.
Currently, I’m working a job for The Great Teetum. Stupid name, but all the good ones have been taken by other supervillains and heavy metal bands; not everyone can be called something cool like “Destroyer of Worlds” or “Desolate Omega.” Already taken, sorry.
Teetum runs an underground gig called Czarr where he makes the disowned and underappreciated heroes of the world fight to the death for a shot at fame. It’s like *The Hunger Games* but with superpowers. Don’t tell him that though, he hates being compared to fiction. I’m the lackey that films the livestream from aerial drones for subscribers to watch from their basements and living rooms. Super illegal, but it pays the bills. Better than working on the *Jump Monkey* gaming app that I was roped into years ago. I fucking hated that job.
By far, this is the best-paying job I’ve worked so far. It’s not like Teetum has a huge following at this point; it’s more like a start-up business, if anything. Only a handful of superheroes have died in the games, but it’s gained some notoriety. One of the fights made national news, a fight between Justice Bear and Unique Monique. Bear used to be a household name before he started smoking cigarettes and drinking too much, and suddenly parents everywhere were cutting him out of their kids’ Instagram following because he was a shit role model. He turned into a pretty sad sack, broke and homeless and no skills except his superhuman strength and ungodly amount of body hair. Monique wasted him in the fight, and now she’s on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. They even brought Captain Beta in on the action, and now it’s his mission in life to capture Unique Monique and stop everything to do with Czarr.
Anyway, that story hit the news and suddenly Teetum started saying, “This is my moment! I’ll make this a global following! Czarr will be everywhere, in every country, on every television! We’ll be FAMOUS!”
I didn’t really give a shit one way or another. Whether or not the fights went viral didn’t matter, as long as I got my pay at the end of the week. I was good at what I did; I knew that, and I didn’t need validation from someone who called himself The Great Teetum.
So Captain Beta, the big bad baddy of good guys, so to speak, was on the hunt for us. Not gonna lie, it scared the piss out of me at night sometimes. If he got a whiff of our scent, I would be one of the first and most vulnerable of the bunch. At least Teetum had the power of mind control, weak as it was. He could try to manipulate the Captain into being thrown off his trail if the good guys got too close. If Beta caught up with me, though, what was I going to do? Throw a drone at him?
One day, we were working a gig with Arctic Freeze and Heat Source going head-to-head in the Alps one day, when all of a sudden there was a knock at the door. “This is Captain Beta. I know you’re in there, Teetum. Open up.”
“Shit!” Teetum said. “Everybody get the hell out! I’ll try to hold him off!”
I could tell by the strain on Teetum’s face that he was trying out his mind-control magic without much luck. “I can sense your powers, Teetum!” Beta called out. “Don’t try to control me! And don’t try to hide!”
Suddenly, the door burst open and the Captain himself stood in the doorway, hands perched on his hips and cape waving around his ankles.
“No, no, *no!”* Teetum shouted. “Not now! We’re so close to fame I can *taste* it!”
“Not anymore you’re not, you mind-fucking delinquent.” The Captain hovered in the air for a moment, then stunned Teetum into submission with a blast from his laser eyes. The rest of the crew had made a run for it, but stupid me, I was still trying to land my drone. It’s not like Teetum paid me well enough to buy a replacement if it crashed.
“And *you,”* the Captain said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Who might you be, young man?”
“Uh-uh-uh…”
The Captain laughed. “I know. It’s startling being in the presence of greatness, isn’t it?” His smile faded. “But seriously, who the fuck are you?”
“Uh-uh… Grimm. Greg Grimm. Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“And what have you got going on here?”
“Uh-uh-uh…”
The Captain took a look at the video feed. Arctic Freeze had just pushed Heat Source off a small cliff and was posed to strike with his massive trident.
I found the strength to speak. “S-sir, I was just about to land the drone and turn off the feed, sir. I swear, this isn’t my operation, it’s Teetum’s. I’m just, uh… Just trying to get paid sir.”
The Captain’s eyes bore into the computer screen and I thought he might laser it out of existence. A slow smile spread over his face, and he began to laugh. Real, boisterous laughter. “This is actually really good!” he exclaimed. “They’re like… They’re really *fighting* here! Oh, God, you have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve been in a good fight, young man.”
“Uh…”
“And you’re the one flying the drone?”
“Y-yes, yes, sir.”
“Hmm. You’re quite talented, if I may say so. Well done.”
“Huh?”
“Tell you what. Seeing this has given me some inspiration. Czarr has been a destructive force in the world. A little bit too ‘R-rated,’ if you know what I mean. I’m thinking… Hmm…” He paced for a minute, then came back to my side. “Teetum’s going to be handed over to the FBI when I’m done here. Technically, I should take you and your buddies in, too, because it’s the law or whatever. But, instead, what if we—like, you and me—took over the operation?”
“Huh?”
“You and me, son. We could make Czarr 2.0. Make it more ‘PG-13,’ you know what I’m saying?”
“Not really, sir.”
“Superhero *fight club,* baby! Superheroes that duke it out, like pro wrestling, except it’s real. And it doesn’t involve, like, dying and stuff. So people at home can watch. You can be my tech guy, the one who operates the drones. What do you say?”
“Uh-uh, well… *Jesus,* I mean…”
“Beats getting turned in to the FBI, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah!”
“And you’ll be paid. Whatever he’s been paying you, I’ll double it, *triple* it, even.”
“Okay!”
“Okay! Great!”
“Is this for real?”
The Captain’s smile never faded. “No, son. You’re fucked.”
My hopeful grin turned into a frown as the Captain lifted me out of my chair and carried me and Teetum out of the warehouse. “But it was a pretty good idea, huh?”
| 2021-02-14T19:57:29 | 2021-02-14T19:48:29 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] Upon returning home from your job as a security officer, you are assailed by a man dressed in all black. He misses and slices his sword through your car like it's tissue paper. "I am Reaper, Black Blade of the Crimson Edge of the Illuminati. Prepare to --" You shoot him in the face.
|
The bullet impacted his eyeball to no visible effect, deforming and falling to the ground. The shot had caused him to pause in midsentence, and as we continued staring at each other, he absently brought his hand up and rubbed his eyeball with his finger.
"You know, I never had a security guard just immediately shoot me in the face, especially after slicing something like a car in half with my sword here. Did you seriously think it was going to do something?
"No. But I figured I had nothing to lose by trying, and everything to lose if it would have actually worked and I didn't try it out of hopelessness. Do what you want, then." I said, shrugging.
He stared at me in silence for several long minutes, during which I stared him straight in the eye, blinking whenever I felt I had to, but otherwise not moving much. Suddenly, he nodded, and said, "I've decided then. You work for me now. Come with me, and we'll get you some upgrades, see what you're capable of. If not, well..." he looked at his sword with a slight frown on his face. "You need to be removed somehow."
I placidly stared back at him, my mind racing, before finally just nodding.
He tossed me a small object, another in his other hand, and everything went white.
|
You never get used to the blast when you don't have your ears covered. It leaves them ringing for a good moment afterwards, giving you this sort of otherworldly feeling when you're standing over a body. "*I am Reaper. Black Blade* blah blah blah." Plays in your head like it was ever important to begin with, and all you can think about is whether you should hide the body, or just leave it.
I was going to leave it. You don't send this type of guy after a man if you don't have a way to disappear it yourself. I try to stay near populated areas just in case I have to steal a new car, and it doesn't pay off to waste time hiding a corpse someone's looking for. Maybe some unlucky SOB will stumble upon it. Maybe that Unluck will give them a life like it gave me. It wasn't my problem; stuff like this was, and suddenly my problems were getting worse.
What happens when you shoot a guy in the face? They stay down right? I didn't somehow get my math screwed up? Well, maybe this guy did. Like a bullet was less of a bother than a mosquito bite, his body pushed up from the ground. I put a few more bullets in his skull for added measures, but these seemed like less of a bother than the first. I shot for the heart, because why the hell not? His body reacted at least, but little more than if I pushed him. I climbed out of the car after that, because when he opened his mouth this time, words didn't come out.
Slime spewed onto my seat and came at me like a needle. Spiderweb cracks scarred the window as I closed the door, unable to decide if I should aim at *that* or the bastard looking at me. He had his sword again, and I wondered if I should have listened to him.
"Hey Black Edge of the Crimson Reaper or whatever, you know there's rules to this right?" Bang to the face. Down for the count. No round two.
"How many of us have you killed?"
Was I supposed to keep count. The thing in the car hit the window again and I ducked behind a pillar. I checked my clip. I checked myself too. What the hell was this supposed to do?
"It's like a reward." His sword ruined my paint job as he moved toward me. "You kill a few people and now you have to kill me."
"Any tips?"
"Why would a gun work on a man who came for you with a sword?"
"Blasting the brain usually does the trick. That's the rule for most things on Earth."
The bastard laughed, and I checked my clip again out of spite. "You don't know Earth." Fair point, I was a retail worker before this.
The glass shattered, and I moved again as the slime slithered across the ground. I noticed Edge Reaper, or whatever, was no where to be seen. I ducked and his sword sheered through the stone above my head. Gun pointed up, I fired a bullet into his chin. His head jerked and I shot his knee as I ran away. The slime repaid me though, spearing through the meat of my outer thigh. I want to say I kept going, but it burned like hell and I went down. It was time to think, and I'll be frank, that wasn't my best skill.
His face reacted the first time. His body reacted too. Chin. Knee. He wasn't indestructible, he was changing; his body adapting. By the way, does thinking make wounds hurt? Mine felt like I plunged a knife into it the more my brain worked.
"Aren't you tired of running?"
"Damn right I am. I like sleeping in you bastard. This isn't what I planned to do with my life." Don't ask me if I had plans.
"Did you even have plans?"
Bastard. "Work a dead end job. Find a cutie with freckles." It covered the adult-life basis, didn't it?
"You're surprisingly good at killing." He look at his blade and me. I saw that look before. It's the one you give a turkey before deciding where to carve it.
"I'm a dumbass. We're good at stuff like that. I pull the trigger. Great grandpa Krug bashed someone's head in with stone. It's a family tradition."
"My sword could kill me."
I shot him in the arm and shoulder. It clattered to the floor and I scrambled toward it. His foot smashed my head against stone. Blasting his ankle, I went for the sword again.The slime jumped through my hand. I lay there for a moment. That wasn't smart but like I said, I'm dumb. He was standing on my hand too so you know, it was a loss.
"But even if you kill me. More will come. We'll use you to make others better. You're a test subject."
"Your momma's a test subject."
"She was."
Son of bitch. I would have said that too but I took enough L's for the day.
"Decide."
"How I want to die? A guy in my right arm, a girl in my left. Both with freckles. On a beach, thinking about how lucky I am."
"Would you give anything to die that way?"
"I was a retail worker. I don't have anything to give."
"Eat the slime."
The thing was vicuous and bright blue. I felt like there should be a warning label on it: *Do not eat. Will cause organ failure, hallucinations, and anxiety just out of spite.
"Die now. Live on as a Tester. Or get a promotion."
Decide my outcome. This wasn't really a highground moment. I'd die like a trapped rat and he'd go on to the next guy. I didn't fight for so long to die, to be honest. It gave me something like buyers remorse. Die-r's remorse? The point was, living sounded pretty good. Still, one garbage job led to this. I had a question.
"What are the hours like?"
"If you survive, it's one kill a month."
Was I that heartless? I wondered that as I shoved the slime in my mouth. It tasted like crap someone buttered and tossed some sugar on. I blacked out, and when I woke up I was in this room.
"I'm not a hallucination."
"I can see though you."
"I'll be gone after you take a life."
"That sounds like what a hallucination would say."
"And the only way you can test it is by killing. The informations on the table."
"Yeah. Yeah. I went over it. I'll get to killing, but I'm not calling myself *Peacebringer. Dark Gunman of the Azure Edge of the Illuminati.* Don't know what the other guy has going on, but that's how you get shot in the face."
| 2021-12-03T18:21:24 | 2021-12-03T12:55:48 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Everyone with the same name shares knowledge. If one Bob gets a degree in electrical engineering, then all Bob's have this knowledge readily available. Soon, everyone starts naming their kids similar names until factions form. Your parents rebelled and named you something original.
|
Humanity learned many lessons in the dark days after the Nuclear Apocalypse. Our inability to understand each other led to mistrust, and that mistrust almost exterminated us all. A team of brilliant scientists developed a potential solution: the Memetic Link. Implanted in the gene code of all humans, it taps into the collective knowledge of all ancestors of the same name. Different names would provide diversity, but the historical knowledge and shared expertise would promote community.
It worked. For centuries, it worked. Eventually, though, parents got into a rut, picking tried-and-true winners. For a couple generations, all the kids were Alberts, or Elons, or Oprahs. Communities ran strong, but diversity began to dwindle. To restore that diversity, parents began picking stranger names -- historical oddballs. They hoped to restore the breadth of human understanding and rekindle our creativity and progress.
It worked again. Sure, we still had lots of Abrahams and Steves and Elizabeths, but we started to see other names. A new fad began, with parents searching through the remaining fragments of ancient texts, looking for a New Name for a child -- the coveted Different Name. Diversity surged, and society looked stronger than ever.
The pregnancy felt long, but it was blissfully uncomplicated. Mary Todd and Benjamin now sat in the recovery room, gazing adoringly at their newborn child. Nurse Florence bustled in, tidying up and taking everybody's vitals. She clucked approvingly as she filled out the paperwork -- the child looked healthy in every way.
Two decades in the job hadn't squelched her sense of curiosity. "Interesting! I've never seen this name before. Never even heard of it. Where did you find it?"
Benjamin swelled with pride at the subtle compliment. "Mary Todd is an anthropologist, see, so she has access to some of the oldest records from before the Apocalypse. She stumbled across a treasure trove of historical records -- THEIR historical records, mind you -- and found a name repeated over and over. Apparently, he was a powerful leader from ancient times, adored by millions!"
"Fascinating! And to think, such a wealth of knowledge and nobody has tapped into it yet. I'm sure there will be greatness in his future."
Her work finished, Florence headed for the door; eight more patients awaited her ministrations.
"Your whole family is healthy, so don't worry at all. I'll see you later, Mary Todd. Take care, Benjamin. And it was a pleasure to meet you, Adolph!"
|
“Kebert Xela Simpson?” she asked.
Ashley was my best friend, had been since we roomed together starting freshman year. We were both engineering/physics majors, and we tried to sign up for the same classes every semester. She was constantly ahead of me and rarely had to study.
“Yeah…I’d rather not talk about it. My parents thought they were being clever and unique. Instead, I’m doomed to have an average life, no gift of expanded knowledge, no ever-expanding skillset with which to impress others… Nothing. Just me.”
“Sure, but I mean, you always just told me your name was ‘Bert...I thought that was just short for Albert or something.”
“I wish…at least I could have some of their brains to share the load…especially when we get into our more technical classes this year.”
“Right…I can’t imagine having to learn it all brand new. That sucks, for sure, but at least you get to claim all your grades as your own, right? Like, no one can take credit from you for anything!”
“But how can I be expected to outperform the Bobs, the Julies, the Michaels?! They have super-expansive hive minds, they can break up difficult jobs among the masses and complete anything within hours—days at most.”
“Sure, I get that. You’re behind the eight ball, and will be, constantly. But I would look at this as a blessing. Seriously, you get to be original and creative, you don’t have thousands of neurons full of rote memory to work off of which means you could very well be the next Tesla or Edison!”
“Thanks…I suppose. ‘Kebert Xela: Genius Wonder!’”
Ashley leaned back on the bed and started laughing. Her black hair caught in the light of the window, she had an extraordinary sort of beauty, features stark and prominent like those of a runway model, though she was only 5’ 5” at best.
“When you make your breakthrough discovery, remember me, okay? You can just note me in your Nobel prize speech as ‘Ashley Prime.’”
“Right…though it will probably be an Ig Nobel prize for me: Kebert Xela, with her prize-winning study noting that mice prefer cotton over polyester while copulating.”
“That’s disgusting…like, who actually studies that?”
“Actually, Ahmed Shafik.”
“Who—nevermind. Hey, I’m gonna go meet up with the other Ashleys and some of the Brandons to plan Homecoming, wanna come?”
Homecoming: the ghost of a high school memory dragged kicking and screaming into college. I was always more impressed with the paper mache pineapples and coconuts than I ever was in the homecoming court.
“No thanks. I appreciate it, but I really need to study for this test in Phys-II. Besides, I’d be a bit of a 13th wheel tagging along.”
“Twelfth wheel -- one of the Brandons got hired on at his dad’s law firm already. Apparently it’s a work-study program so he can start making money as soon as possible.”
“Oh no, what ever will Ashley to the Nth do?”
Ashley let out a mock scream of horror as she closed the door behind herself.
I began reading our Physics book, creatively titled Physics II, and set about rearranging notes from lectures for the upcoming exam. Thankfully my dad had grown up a tinkerer--by day working in the machine shop for the university and by night fixing old electronics in our garage. He had a screwdriver in my hands before I could write and my first shapes were based on circuit boards and other scraps in the workshop.
As I was reviewing the chapter on electronic circuits, a massive pain seared across my eyes. It felt like the brightest light has just been laid directly on my iris. I couldn’t see anything, and the pain was causing nausea. I reached for my trashcan as the room began clearing up.
“Christ! What the—“
Just as the pain was subsiding, a glowing warmth fell over me. It felt like I was curled up under a giant comforter and reminded me of all the nights my mom read me to sleep. I felt happiness and comfort oozing from all sides.
This was getting weird. I immediately slipped on my flip flops and a hoodie and ran out hoping the health center was still open. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I felt like my brain was misfiring. I was worried I would die or worse.
As I walked into the health center, a cold blast of air hit me. I was overcome with a sudden desire to just cry.
*What is going on?! Is this hormonal?! Jesus!*
The girl behind the counter was reading the school newspaper. She had the best curls and I made a mental note of coming back when I felt better to ask for some tips. I felt bad for interrupting, especially feeling like I could break out in tears at any second.
“I need…someone…something. A doctor? Nurse?”
A clipboard was retrieved and the girl placed some papers on it. She hung it out in the air in between us with a pen saying, “fill this out as completely as possible. Please have a seat somewhere in our lobby. The nurse will be with you shortly.”
“Will it be long? I’m…I was…I don’t know--feeling like death.”
“The nurse will be with you shortly. I’m sorry, please have a seat. She should be out soon.”
With that, the girl went back to her newspaper and left me to fill out my dark secrets for the nurse and all of the medical world to discover. While I was searching Google for my insurance company’s address, the nurse showed up.
“Bert?”
“Yep, that’s me.”
“Follow me, please,” she said, guiding me through the door and down a carpeted hall to a small clinical room. It looked like a room untouched by time since the 70s or 80s--decorated in browns and beiges. I pulled myself up onto the medical exam table she motioned to as she took a seat on a rolling stool while reading a file.
“Ah, I think I know what’s going on here. Let’s run a few simple tests to verify though. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt too much.” She said as her smile had changed from a sterile customer service smile to that a mother might wear if her daughter had just started puberty.
“So I’m not dying?”
She laughed, explaining I was not near death and running through a few instructions before she retrieved a bright flashlight and began shining it through my field of vision.
She then took some ice from a small refrigerator and ran it up and down my arms, neck, and forearm followed by pricking my finger for a small blood sample. I was feeling more irritable through the ice, but the needle made me want to just curl up and cry.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I could cry for days…what is going on?! It’s like…like—“
“Like you’re a baby again?”
“Yes! Wait, is that--?”
“Yes, I do believe you’re experience the emotions and experiences of a second Kebert Xela being born. Very interesting…and such an odd name! No offense of course, but this is exciting! You get to experience everything from another perspective. This is your first link to someone else!”
“But I thought it was just knowledge that transferred? Why am I experiencing pain and emotions?”
“While I’m not sure—we haven’t really don’t a lot of research regarding birth and early childhood—I think, well I mean, we know there’s a tie between memory and our senses. So…I would think that since a child, a newborn, hasn’t learned any letters or words or anything, the only thing he or she could convey would be basic sensory input and emotions tied to them. Congratulations though, you may want to go visit our psychology department. We could probably find out a lot about new births and the mental links we all share. Isn’t this exciting?!”
“Wait, so, someone else named their child Kebert Xela?!”
| 2017-04-07T11:40:12 | 2017-04-07T10:48:59 | 43 | 13 |
[WP] A serial killer who wishes to terrorise a town. However none of their victims stay dead for long and don't seem to remember them being killed. In this town lives a serial necromancer who unbeknownst to the serial killer is ressurecting every victim.
|
Necromancy really is a dying art form.
Think about all the medical advancements people have made. People don’t even need clerics to heal themselves any more. No longer did the gods need to dole out blessings—you could hum a tune. Speak a word. Drink a lot of suspiciously red liquid. It’s just a lot harder for people to die—and therefore, harder for me to get good practice.
Thus, I wandered the lands, trying to find some good corpses for reanimation. Generally, when I chanced upon a dead body in the wild, it had already been mauled of its flesh from whatever hungry creatures pranced around the area, scavenging a forgotten body. And that’s fine all, but see, making bones dance again were nice. But the real test was in the undead marriage between flesh and bone, stitched together with electric-free, arcane-full impulses.
And thus I chanced upon a gloomy village, terrorized by a serial killer. It said so right on the bulletin board beside the sign, with a rather outdated population estimation that said the place contained 40,000 people. Instead, sparse feet walked the streets, and furtive eyes that hid beneath cloaks scanned any and everything.
For a necromancer, this was practically a gold mine. The biggest difference between most self-respecting serial killers was that they used less lethal weapons. The goal, besides to kill, is also to savour it, instead of a desperate battle for survival. And ask anybody from my line of work, but a dagger stab to the kidney is much more workable than a giant axe wound that also took out half the rib cage.
The serial killer left bodies all over the city. I simply pretended to be an investigator—not difficult in a job where so many have been stumped—and reanimated the bodies.
Even till now, it’s curious to see how people come back to life. There’s always that spark of recognition, before the light glazes over to remove its latest traumatic event—the death. That’s automatic. I don’t even have to do a special spell. The brain tries very hard to forget that it ever died, and simply proceeded to live life as per usual.
The first few weeks, they were different bodies. And then I started seeing the repetition.
It was a unique situation for me. Corpses don’t usually get to be in good enough condition to receive multiple reanimations. Generally, a remake or redux tends to be worse than the original. But after so many experiments, it really depends on the quality of the original body of work.
In some ways, it was a pleasant game of tug and war. To live, to die, and to relive it all again.
In other ways, not so much. The killer became more… exploratory. It didn’t seem borne out of malice or viciousness—very ironic, I understand—but a genuine curiosity as to how necromancy might work. There was the criss cross carving patterns on skin. The removal of important, but not entirely essential organs. The draining of blood.
There were ways. There were always ways to bring them back. Not as good as they might have been. They might shuffle instead of walk, drool instead of talk, and ignore their own putrid scent instead of balk. But they come back.
There’s no full restoration here. A little bit, piece by piece, gets taken away, even in a seemingly perfect corpse.
Necromancy really is a dying art form. But killing people? That never seems to go out of style. A career change might be in order.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
>**SILAS & SOMNUS**
Setting sun and the sharpened form of the crescent moon battled each other for dominance over the sky- though the outcome was known, they shared the stage for a few contentious hours. Autumn had come, the harvest and its celebrations were over. Returned now to simple enduring, returned to letting time slip by as unnoticed as possible– winter was always like this for the twins.
They were still too young. Too young to abandon what they called "home" in search of a better life, though they had no parents to sigh from their absence.
Silas and Somnus had been raised by the Priests of the Halls of Galdr; the Church was their home and the Priest Mother and Priest Father were the only 'authority' they were beholden to- though even that thread had begun to fray.
“I mean- look at them, Silas.” Somnus said, repeating a tirade he had long since verbalized to death. “The look in their eyes is bovine. There’s a detached, animalistic inattentiveness about them, the way they talk, the way they move.” He brushed his sand-colored hair from his eyes as he watched the workers returning from their day. The setting sun made his wood-and-amber eyes blaze, emphasizing the indignation in them.
His anger was not abated, but he returned to his work regardless. The binding of an ancient Tome of Galdr was coming apart, so he was making it anew.
Silas knew and agreed with Somnus on his anger- though he saw it perhaps a little differently. It was true the locals were incurious, generally speaking, and they seemed to have no ambition, no purpose aside from living out their little lives in their little ways. Silas, however, wasn’t mad that that was the way they lived; he was mad because he and his brother were alone. The pair of them were multi-passionate, and the root of Somnus’s indignation, Silas believed, was that they were not being nurtured in their pursuits. The farmers here raised another generation of farmers, and nothing else. They did not inspire any growth in themselves or their children, and so the fiery and driven twins felt very much alone.
“We should calculate,” began Somnus, breaking a silence that spanned several hours, “how much longer we have to remain here. They are supposed to keep us until we are old enough to earn a man’s wages, right?”
Silas nodded. “Eighteen years old, the day of the eighteenth birthday we are allowed to leave.” He folded an ear of the book he was reading, and set it aside.
Somnus cast a funny look at Silas- not that he could see it.
“Have we never questioned that before?”
“What do you mean?” Silas asked, popping up onto his bed. He had won the prestigious position of top bunk in a wrestling match- though he had broken a table during the struggle, and earned a good lashing by the Priest Mother from it. An acceptable trade.
“This word…’allowed’. Permitted. If we choose to risk ourselves by venturing out into the world, what grants them the authority over us to say ‘yes, you can’, or ‘no, you cannot’?”
“Well, the government has their program for orphans- they pay the chapel to mind us, so I suppose if we agree to governmental rule, then we agree to the authority of the chapel.”
“Our government is a joke. It’s so feeble, people hardly know it’s there.”
“Imagine if we’d had the Magocracy come to fruition all those years ago, instead. They’d be running the country with intelligence and strength.” Silas said, echoing Somnus’s own opinion back to him. Silas knew that Somnus was impulsive enough to leave without a plan, which would be dangerous, even potentially fatal- so he hoped to change the subject.
Somnus didn’t fall for it. “True, but let’s not disassemble. I don’t think the government has the right to say when we can leave or when we can’t. I reject their notion of having that power over us.”
Silas resigned himself to following the conversation through. “Fair enough. I don’t truly recognize them as being an authority either. But- if we leave, we could easily perish upon the road. We don’t know the world out there at all, which roads are safe, where the cities are, where to find work, or even what kind of work we could get.”
Somnus thought about that in silence for a while. “If we stay here, we would become farmers. To save up enough money to travel, we would have to work for at least five good seasons, even spending minimally during the winters. We would be twenty before we even begin to see the outside world. Twenty three! Maybe more! We would become the very thing we despise. Hell, would the farmers even work with us after how we’ve ostracized ourselves from them?”
Silas imagined a future sprawling out before him of working the fields- it was entirely possible that the fields would be their only choice- unless they took a massive risk.
Silas pondered in silence. He didn’t see any good options. He pondered until, eventually, he heard snoring from the bottom bunk- Somnus had let sleep take him.
Silas did not sleep that night- he never could sleep on an undecided mind.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
A few weeks passed since Silas and Somnus had had their conversation, when the energy began to shift in the town. Silas could see it in the eyes of the farmers as they went about their morning duties- they weren’t in quite as much of a sleepy daze, in fact they looked riddled with worry.
Silas went to the Priest Mother about it. The Priest Mother and Priest Father, despite the care with which they had raised the boys, had never seemed particularly attached or invested in either of them. Their attitudes seemed to be a self-satisfied tolerance- as though their sacrifice in raising the boys granted them some kind of religious clout, and perhaps it did, for all Silas knew.
He found her in the chapel’s hall, washing the wooden pews.
Silas grabbed a cloth and began to help with the washing as he peppered her with questions- as he often did.
“Something’s going on. Do you know anything about it?”
“I do.” She replied neutrally.
“What is it? Is it war? A plague? Kitsune?” He asked, fearing the worst.
“Kitsune? We haven’t seen those in nearly fifty years.” She laughed, an edge to her voice- Silas could only describe it as sardonic.
“Well, what is it?”
She sighed, as she stood slowly. Her knees popped audibly with the movement. “I think it be bandits. Word is that some of the nearby towns were struck, but we don’t know which direction they came from, nor went.”
Silas nodded solemnly. “I need to find Somnus.” He said, turning to leave.
The Priest Mother gave him a half-hearted smack on the back of the head. “Just pretending to help so you can get answers, huh? I suppose I should be used to that by now. Somnus is with the Priest Father buying supplies.”
The only resolution the twins had managed to come to, pertaining to their previous discussion, was that at the least they needed to find a Pilgrim's Map before they attempted to leave.
With the Way of Magic constantly shifting, maps could become obsolete within a few months of their making- the leylines restructured the world around them by some unknown and haphazard design, so what was in one place yesterday may have shifted a mile away by the next- and may have disappeared over the horizon a few months hence. It was more prevalent where the leylines were powerful, which they certainly were not in Yaruna, but both Silas and Somnus agreed that to simply try to leave without any idea of where they were going would be tempting fate. They needed a recently made map if they stood any chance at surviving.
Many of the magically sensitive and adventurous types had begun to make their living by traveling and making these maps- both for the scholarly purpose of figuring out the design of the leylines, and to sell their updated maps to each of the villages they came across. Those people called themselves Pilgrims, and finding a Pilgrim’s Map seemed to be the only hope Silas and Somnus had of escaping their predicament.
However...Pilgrims did not come often enough- and even when they did, how would they pay the Pilgrim for a map?
A dangerous idea leapt into Silas's head- the bandits would have to have a map- a new one- to be able to roam around as they did.
Did Silas dare to steal from a den of thieves?
------------------------------------------------------------
**CONT'D BELOW**
| 2022-03-30T08:33:27 | 2022-03-30T08:11:39 | 45 | 17 |
[WP] You just moved to a new neighborhood and you hear the music of an ice cream truck coming down the street. As you and your family walk outside you notice all your neighbors rushing inside and locking their doors and windows.
|
Do you know the Muffin Man,
Who lives on Drury Lane?
How about the Ice Cream Man,
who smiles at your pain?
The neighbors, they all know him
and the horrors that he brings
They shudder at the revving truck
and the twisted song it sings.
"Come now, one and all enjoy"
He utters, with a smirk
"Soon, I'll gobble up your souls,
and another place I'll lurk."
The brakes come on, the music halts,
the panel rises up.
"Mommy, Daddy, where'd you go?
I want a Peanut Buttercup!"
I walk up to the window, clear,
eyes peering through the dark.
"I'd like a frozen treat, good sir.
I'll eat it in the park!"
A smiling man, his hair asunder
is staring back at me.
His crooked lips part to say,
"Relativity"
I looked behind to see the chest
where all his snacks reside,
The lid was cracked, so I could see
my parents' heads inside.
Beware the horrors of the truck
that never has a line
It's driven by the Ice Cream Man
His name: Albert Einstein.
|
The little girl could hear the ice cream truck approaching her street. She put down her toys and ran to her father. “Daddy, Daddy, can I get some ice cream. Paweeeease?” The father put down his sports magazine. “Now Matilda, we have some ice cream in the fridge. Your father bought your favorite flavor of gelato, and plus it is organic and low in sugar.” The father pulled his magazine back up, but the young girl was persistent. “But I don’t want gelato, I want ice cream!” The father did not waver in his determination to read about the top college draft picks. So young Mitilda continued, “My room is clean, I fed Fishy, and I promise to eat all my vegitables. Please, please, please, pleassssssse!!!”
The father sighed knowing he had lost. “Fine but only if you promise not to tell daddy.” The little girl nodded viciously and ran to the front door and began to put on her shoes. The father slipped on his sandals and followed Matilda out the door. He thought to himself, maybe he could meet some of the other parents in the neighborhood. Matilda was already standing by the mailbox when he finally made it outside, bouncing up and down in excitement for the ice cream truck that was growing ever nearer. He recognized one of the mothers who was watching her children draw with chalk their drive way. “Hey Susan,” the father said loudly. Realizing he was talking to her Susan stood up from her chair, “It’s Sarah,” she turned to her boys “Lets go inside.” Before she could reach the door he tried yelling across the street “I’m sorry I’m bad with…” the door slammed shut loudly, “names.”
The father sighed as he walked up to his daughter realizing the other parents and kids were heading inside their houses. He placed his hands on Matilda’s shoulders, and for the first time listened to the ice cream’s trucks music. It sounded broken and deep in tone. He looked down at his daughter who was still bouncing in excitement. If the ice cream is bad at least she wouldn’t ask for it again. It began to get cloudy, and the father thought maybe the other parents went inside because of the weather and not because of him. “Alright Matilda, it looks like it is going to rain, so once we get the ice cream we are going into the house, okay?” “Hm-hmmm” Matilda hummed trying to peer down the street so she could first look at the ice cream truck.
“Daddy, Daddy look!” The girl said enthusiastically “The ice cream man!” Sure enough it was the much anticipated ice cream truck. The truck was a mustard yellow, had a crack over the passengers seat, and had it’s right mirror hanging off. The man driving the truck looked to be 80 years old and appeared to be asleep. The truck stopped right in front of Matilda, who did not see the truck for the piece of garbage it was, she was only fixated on the faded pictures of frozen treats.
“Well hello princess!” The truck driver said with an unexpected level of charm and tenderness. “What can I get you both?” Matilda put her hand up as if she was in the classroom asking a question. “Yes my lady,” the old man asked sweetly. Matilda looked up at the man as if she had something very important and pressing to say, “I would like a rocket pop!” The driver hit his window like a lap drum “One rocket pop, coming right up!” He turned around and cut open the wrapper for the little girl and handed to her “now careful dear, don’t get it on your clothes. Now sir what can I get you?” The father raised his hands waving, “Oh no thank you, nothing for me.” The little girl turned around and looked pouty “Come on daaaaaaaad.” With the girl swinging on his right hand, he caved in “Fine one rocket pop.” “Yahhhh!” the little girl exclaimed as she ran with his rocket pop out in front of her towards the house. Just as the ice cream man and done for the girl, he played the drums on the window of the van and retrieved a rocket pop for the father. Cutting this wrapper off and saying “Now don’t get popsicle on your clothes or the Miss’s will be upset.” Not wanting to correct the older gentlemen, the father nodded and smiled “I will be sure not to. Now how much do I owe you?”
The ice cream man pulled out a calculator and began typing into in feverishly. “2 rocket pops… that’ll be… $30! Cash only.” The father was shocked to hear $30 dollars as the tab for some mediocre popsicles. “That can’t be right I only bought two popsicles.” The truck driver nodded “Oh! Let me do that math again. 2 rocket pops… 15 dollars each… times 2… yup, $30! Cash only.” The father couldn’t believe this outrageousness. “It’s water, that has sugar and flavor added to it, and was frozen on a tiny piece of wood. I do not believe that is worth $30.” The driver stared blankly at the father and shrugged his shoulders “That sounds like a lot to me!” The father was about to say what was really on his mind, but the old ice cream man spoke first. “Listen sir, if you didn’t want the popsicle you shouldn’t have ordered one.” Placing the popsicle on the van’s window “Here I don’t want it any more. I didn’t even lick it.” The ice cream man looked insulted “I can’t take that back it has been open, you don’t expect me to sell that to another customer do you? There are health codes!” The father had enough and yelled “What I expect is not to be charged $15 for a friggin’ popsicle!” “Well sorry about your luck! If you didn’t want it, then you shouldn’t have ordered it! My prices are clearly labeled on the door!” The old man pointed down as feebly as he could.
Sure enough each popsicle was $15. It was marked clearly on the door.
“Daddy?” both looked at Matilda who in 2 minutes managed to cover her face in the blue and red of the rocket pop. “Are you coming in soon, it looks like rain.” The father sighed hoping his daughter didn’t see him being rude to this elderly man. He reached into his wallet and plopped the $30 on the window door. “I’m sorry for any trouble, have a good day.” The father said turning his back on the driver. The ice cream man grabbed the money and in a huff walked to the driver’s seat and drove away. The father grabbed his daughter’s hand and they both walked into the house before the rain started. He smiled to himself; now knowing the real reason the parents went inside.
| 2016-06-14T18:17:51 | 2016-06-14T18:06:16 | 312 | 73 |
[WP] You die with your cell phone in your hands, and the afterlife customs agents miss it when letting you in. You find that it still works, and you can connect to the internet and contact people in the living world.
|
"Daddy?" Isabella's voice was clear as a bell. My eyes stung with tears with my inability to speak back to her.
"Daddy? When are you coming home?" She asked. "I guess it is a bad call. It has the five bars and says 4. Daddy is your phone broken Daddy?"
I sobbed silently to myself listening to my sweet little girl try to reach out to me. I would forever hear her voice reaching out to me. We were both in the same car. She had just gotten a hand-me-down cellphone with Facetime. I could see her. Hear her. See her smiling. Feel her oblivious happiness coursing through the signal. The sun was shining upon her happy little cherubic face.
The phone chimed again as I screamed into the muzzle.
The Demon held it back in front of me again.
"Daaaaaadddddy? Why won't you answor Daddy?"
The Demon leaned in close. Brimstone on his breath. "Was the Whisky worth it?"
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/l1emri/wp_the_demon_successfully_possessed_you_however/)
|
The worst thing of all, a freshly dead Alex thought as he looked down at his phone, was that he’d forgotten to charge the damn thing. That left him about thirty minutes to solve all religiously motivated violence on planet Earth, a fact which his sobbing girlfriend seemed to not even note the importance of.
“But you’re dead!” Ellen cried, voice breaking apart over Facetime from both the distance and the tears. “They just had me identify you! This isn’t real, it's not, it can’t be…” her voice trailed off into whimpers as her mind rebelled against her eyes. The man she’d loved stood right there on her screen, the angle of the video just as terrible as always, dark hair hanging loose over his shoulders when she *knew* it had been burned off in the accident.
“Babe I get that this is really, really hard for you right now and believe me, it sucks for me too. I loved you and our life together but right now there’s something way more important going on.” Ellen’s crying intensified, notes of hysteria creeping in.
“Shit, I didn’t mean it like that,” Alex said. “Look you’ve got to believe me and I don’t have much time. I’m in Heaven! Or at least I think it’s heaven, that part is kinda confusing and there were signs that said ‘Afterlife’ all over customs. Anyway, I legit just passed Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha, and some guy with 4 arms and blue, **BLUE** skin!”
“Slow down, please Alex I don’t understand…” It broke his heart to do this but Alex knew from the very core of his being that it was the right move. He hadn’t had a chance to have children yet, hadn’t done a single thing of note. Ellen was the only person on Earth who would even remember him by next week, so this was it, his one chance to leave a mark.
World peace was a pretty nice parting gift.
“I know I’m being the worst boyfriend in the world right now but I need you to just believe me and start recording our call, ok? This is all going to become way clearer.”
And that was that, the last time she’d ever see him, as the camera turned away from Alex and Ellen tried to burn every single detail of his face far enough into herself to make the embers last. She hit record, her body still following commands as her mind checked fully out of the insanity that today had turned her life into. She stared blankly at the screen now, images barely registering as the weight of her being turned to his voice.
“So up ahead is this clubhouse looking thing,” Alex was saying as he approached the structure, camera bouncing with every step.
“Like I said I saw those guys earlier and I instantly knew who they were. Holy people glow up here- it’s honestly been kinda annoying so far, sometimes you see these clouds like miniature suns in the distance, it's a whole thing. But these guys were special, I could feel it in my bones when they passed. It’s like I just knew who they were immediately. Plus everyone but the blue guy was these sweet monogrammed bathrobes, I want one.”
Alex reached the door, turning the handle and finding it locked. “Yeah that would’ve been too easy.”
He turned to the right, chasing the long line of the fence off into the distance for several minutes until he reached a spot without people watching. With a silent prayer that seemed at once highly appropriate and incredibly disrespectful given the circumstances he leapt up, climbing the strangely warm golden mesh of the fence until he could fall unceremoniously from the top. His pained grunt as he hit the ground drew another small sob from Ellen.
“Sorry babe,” Alex said, dusting himself off as he rose.
“Anyway, I’m in and hopefully this works. You’re recording this right?” A barely mumbled yes was the only response. “Ok thanks. So this is super important because they all seemed so chummy together, Muhammed actually laughed at something Jesus said. Laughed! Do you have any idea how many lives that could have saved if I’d caught it on camera?”
Alex continued on into the grounds as he spoke. He could hear shouts in the distance accompanied by a regular thumping sound, as if something were being struck. He made for them, beginning to sprint now as his phone gave its first battery warning.
“I don’t have much battery left and I promise I love you so, so much. I wish we could have spent this time together but this is too important, when the call dies you’ve gotta upload it everywhere, alright? Promise me you will, send it to CNN, NBC, whoever, just get the news out that everyone’s gods are friends and things can all be ok.”
He was close now, no doubt they could hear the pounding of his feet against the ground. Visions of fame back home on Earth simming in his head, Alex turned the corner of the building and the whole scene spread out before him.
“Holy shit!” Alex exclaimed.
In the center of a pristine field lay a pool, its water crystal clear and preternaturally still even as the four men splashed about in it. A net stretched across the center of the pool, a pair of dark haired, olive skinned men who Alex innately knew to be Jesus and Mohammed on one side, opposite a golden skinned man with a topknot whose body seemed less fat than it should be, and a giant four armed blue fellow whose every move was shadowed by an even more massive snake to the side of the pool. Buddha and Vishnu, his newly acquired sixth sense for these things supplied. All four of them were suffused with a golden glow as they played, totally at ease in each other’s presence, as if celestial volleyball were the most normal thing imaginable.
Turning to the new arrival Jesus rose from the water, annoyance writ large across his face.
“Hey come on man, read the signs, no autographs anymore!” he cried, water glistening across his abs. Shockingly they were the only part of his image it seemed the painters had gotten right.
“Signs?” Alex replied weakly. He hadn’t read them.
“Yeah, signs! This is a private game, get out!”
As security closed in the battery on Alex’s phone ticked over to 2%. His final act as he was tackled by men clearly out of the middle ages was a screamed message to Ellen, “your anniversary present is in the-...” his phone died before the last word.
Stunned, Ellen leaned back in her chair, trying to process what she had just witnessed. She hadn’t recognized a single person in that pool.
\----------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-01-20T14:13:32 | 2021-01-20T13:43:01 | 347 | 120 |
[WP] The elder gods looks to us the same way we look to cockroachs. What means that they are irrationally scared of us.
|
“Madness is the answer.” Cthulhu folded his wings. His tentacled mouth stretched across the void of time and space toward his companion.
“Madness?” Yog-Sothoth’s many eyes blinked in unison. “You can’t kill a species by driving them mad. You have to squash them like the roaches they are.”
“That is not the answer, my friend. Cockroaches plague humans as the humans plague us. Not a roach runs by an able bodied foot that is not used to stamp out its life. Yet the insects infest every nook and cranny of human society. Even humanity’s greatest weapon is incapable of rendering them extinct. No, physical attacks are not the answer. The answer is to assault their mind—drive them mad. Instill a fear so great their species loses the will to live.”
“And how will we do this?” Yog-Sothoth’s appendages propped up his central mass of orbs, bringing him from floating to standing.
“Show them your disgusting body,” Cthulhu hissed. “They will see you with many eyes.”
“Puns, really? In a matter so serious?”
“My lips were writhing to get that out.”
Yog-Sothoth sighed. “Fine. I will finally answer one of these Earthly summons. We shall discover who is right.”
A moment and a millennium passed at the same speed in the void of time and space. Yog-Sothoth vanished in an instant and reappeared after incalculable time.
“Well?” asked Cthulhu.
“A wave of catatonia, hysterics, and unending prostrations swept across those gathered. An absolute joy of a sight.”
“Then it worked. We have our answer.”
“We do not.” Yog-Sothoth squeezed one eye tight. “Two of them resisted. Fought back with guns. Plinked me with pink eye in my 12th anterior sinistral segment before I devoured them.”
“Ah, what a shame. It was a good idea.”
“I told you they were roaches. Our greatest weapon, and still they cling to life.”
--------------
read more at /r/wiselywrittenwords
|
The boy who dreamed the world sat deathly still in his bed, his back against the wall, knees hugged tight to his body. He was young, a few billion years, no more, and by the reckoning of his people his mother was young too. She still had a young woman’s voice, high and sweet, and sometimes her lullabies were enough to put him back to sleep and to let the world he dreamed resume, its night breaking as his swept up around him.
But tonight, not even the lullabies could soothe him. Tonight, he had seen a human.
The boy stared at her with big, luminous eyes. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth from where he’d bitten his lip in his sleep, she dabbed at it with the edge of her sleeve; the sleeve was long and dark, silken as the night and shot through by the little points of light that some people called stars.
“They were terrible,” the boy said. “They were so small and so angry, and they were all whispering to me. They said ugly things.”
The mother brushed long, unruly hair out of her son’s eyes. She kissed his sweaty forehead, and whispered all the little meaningless words she’d whispered to him since he was a baby, and since the world that he dreamed had been little more than a mote in his eye.
But the words did not soothe him, and he bit his lip again, yelping at the pain as if he’d forgotten his wound.
The mother kissed him again. She said, “Oh baby, I’m sorry. I know how hard this is.”
He grabbed her hand, two of her fingers filling his little palm. “Really?”
“Really,” she said. “When I was a little girl, I was afraid of something too.”
He blinked and looked away, and when the boy looked back there was wonder in his eyes. He’d never seen his mother afraid, not in all the years he could remember. Truthfully, her fears had come before his memory and had been founded. But that is a story for another day.
“What were you afraid of?” the boy asked.
His mother shrugged, a sad smile flitting across her face. “Everything. But then, I was a very scared little girl. I think you’ve been so much braver than me.”
The boy’s brow knitted together. He grew surprised and thoughtful. If he focused, he could still hear the faint sounds of all that whispering in his head. Some of them were whispering really awful things. There was a thing called War, and it seemed that War could be Hot or Cold, and that in a War, there were no rules and all the sides were always changing. The whisperers were scared of War, and so the boy was too. It made the dreams go darker, made the world inside him twist and turn and fracture until sometimes he could smell the smoky fumes or taste the bitter iron, like the blood he still tasted on his lips.
There were other whispers too. There was a thing that the Humans called Love, but that the boy didn’t recognize. Love kissed him on the forehead and held his hand when he was scared. Love didn’t scare him, but all the Humans were terrified of it, or for it, or hated it in more diverse and contradictory ways than any little boy could ever imagine. And this boy had to imagine it. It was he who shaped it in a way, a strange, nearly cooperative experience between him and his imaginings, if he could be said to cooperate with a world that so badly frightened him.
“I don’t think I’m brave,” the boy said.
“And he’s humble too!” his mother exclaimed.
The boy frowned and said, “What’s humble?” His dreams had never taught him that.
His mother brushed it all away. She swept him into the circle of her arms where he felt so very small, and he laid his head against her chest and heard the beating of her heart, the pulse at the center of his world.
“Close your eyes, my love,” she said, and the boy closed his eyes. There were nightmares behind them. Visions of War, that place where brave men went to die, bodies split and burned, families left behind them, mothers with children just like him, sitting just like this, in the nights that his wakefulness kept them trapped within.
His mother brushed his hair. She hummed a few notes of a lullaby, her favorite and not his, though he’d never told her that. “I’m going to tell you a secret,” she said, “and you must promise me not to tell. Not to your friends, not to your teachers. Most especially, not to the people of whom you dream.”
“The Humans?”
“Yes, the Humans. They must never know. As awful as their lives seem now, it would be so much worse for them if they knew.”
The boy swallowed. He listened to his mother’s heartbeat; it was steady, calm. He counted the beats all the way up to ten, then to twenty, fifty, one hundred. She gave him all the time he needed; Gods have all the time in the worlds.
“I promise,” he said.
And his mother said, “It doesn’t last forever. The dreams. The Humans. You know, when we’re very young we all dream worlds, have Humans of our own. And the Humans, what are they but little bits of us? They’re all our flaws and fears magnified, played out in lives lived between the space of breaths, empires rising and falling from the time we close our eyes to the time that we open them.
“Then one day, there’s nothing. You go to sleep expecting dreams, and nothing comes out. You wake up thinking it was just one night, an accident, but then it happens again, and again, again. For a moment, just a moment, you might even mourn your dreams. I made friends along the way, saw beautiful lives in all the terror. You will too. But one day, without fail, it will end. A brave boy like you will get there.”
The boy was quiet for a long time. “Where do they go?” he said finally.
His mother shrugged.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
“No,” she lied.
“Do we all dream the same dreams? The same Humans?”
“In a way. Different versions of them, different things that might have happened. Some go on longer, some are shorter. Adulthood is funny that way, it strikes us each the moment it deems we're ready. We have precious little say about *that.*”
The boy frowned. “So I won’t dream when I grow up?”
And there was that sad smile again, flitting across the most beautiful face in the boy’s world to settle as a mote behind her eye. She kissed his forehead and stroked his hair, and she told him then, feelingly, that she loved him.
And she said, “You’ll dream in different ways.”
That night, listening to his mother’s heartbeat, wrapped up in her embrace, it was enough. Other nights it wasn’t, and on those nights there was War and not merely the fear of it. The whispers overpowered him those nights, the dreams were ashes in his mouth he woke.
Until the day, finally, that there were no more.
For a moment the boy mourned his fear. He remembered lives he had admired, Humans who had been as scared as he was, and who tried regardless. The boy—a man now— swore he would always remember.
But then, so many boys swear so many things. So many Gods do too. Such is childhood and boyhood, and even the cusp of manhood, as above and below.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2022-01-03T10:49:20 | 2022-01-03T10:25:10 | 98 | 65 |
[WP] A local bartender regularly willingly hosts monsters and demons in his bar. When terrorists kidnap his children they learn the hard way how close he is to them.
|
"Stars and stones Mac, I didn't know you had grandkids."
Mac looked at me over the bar. A single drop of blood from his split lip stained his immaculate white apron and his hand shook as he cracked open one of his impossibly good homebrew ales. He pushed the beer across the bar to me with his left hand, a worn poleroid of two summer-blonde kids with gaps in their teeth pinched between his bruised knuckles.
"Hells bells. What happened to you, anyway."
Mac blinked slowly once, and stared pointedly at the photo, which he lay on top of a napkin next to the beer. I couldn't remember the last time Mac had asked me for so much as to settle up my bill with him. In fact, to my knowledge he'd never called in any favors. Ever.
Mac was the sort of person people owed favors to. His pub was a hole in the wall place downtown. It's been there forever; has a big, hand lettered wooden sign out front that says "Accorded Territory." The thirteen wooden pillars, thirteen tables, and thirteen fans overhead dissipate magical energy astonishingly well, which is why I can hit my head on the fans without shorting them out.
If Mac was calling me in it was serious and I have a soft-spot for kids. Fatherhood will do that to you. Still, running down whomever -- whatever -- had the cajones to take on Mac in his own pub was going to be tough. Literal demons from the Outside thought twice before crossing Mac.
I felt the chill breeze outside before the door eased open and I found myself rising to my feet as Mac's chin jutted out in greeting to the woman who flowed with easy grace down the steps and over towards the bar. Summer heat shimmered on the pavement at the top of the steps but around her white, stiletto heals, snowflakes swirled. She had a voice that could give you goosebumps and melt chocolate at the same time.
"I received word that you required my aid, Watcher. I'm always glad to repay a favor."
Mac grunted. "Few more comin'"
"Long time no see, Queenie" I grinned, and bowing in a way that was not at all sarcastic or immature.
"Shut up, Wizard. Mac, just a cup of coffee for me, thanks but if you have lemonade, my sister will be along shortly. Now tell me, for we way as well get an early start, what happened to your granddaughter when she landed in Paris?"
|
Just as the door from the back entrance closed, Pete hung up the phone. It was a typical Wednesday night at The Spot, a dozen customers maybe a few more. The usual crowd, the regulars all in their usual places.
Walking in Frank could sense an un-easiness in Pete, who usually greeted every customer, especially the regulars, with a howdy and "what can i do you for?". no such jovial greeting would come tonight. Frank scanned the room, nothing out of sorts. Pete's expression changing from un-easy to terrified. Which was a look Frank knew too well. It stopped him in his tracks. Then, Pete broke down into sob.
Just as Frank reach the bar to ask what was the matter, the words were uttered by a different, all the more comforting voice. Rebecca had been at the bar for just over an hour and noticed immediately the effect the call had had on Pete. She noticed Frank just as he was about to speak, and almost immediately regretted beating him to it. They hadn't been broken up that long, she had hoped he wouldn’t be here tonight.
As Pete looked up at Frank, seeing him for the first time, then to Beki as, his eyes filled with tears all he could say was, "they've been taken."
Frank, bellowed out, "bar’s closed, get out" the command of his voiced back up by his considerable size. A few customers looked to argue, but the site of Beki at his side changed the minds of those that knew better. And those that didn’t seem to take their cue from everyone else.
I lone customer stayed seated, at a back booth. The look of him, that of a man that didn’t do anything that wasn’t of his own accord. He glared at the 2 figures standing next to the sobbing man, then smiled. As he left his booth, he appeared to change, but didn’t. A trick of the eyes, or maybe the mind. Frank looked at Beki for a moment like a question. but she waved him off, with a curt greeting. "Sam."
"What's Happened?" with a look less concerned and more annoyed. All three of them turned to the barman.
He made his way to his feet, then looked at them in turn. "Someone has taken my kids. They want a hundred-grand in 3 hrs. Or they said they’d start hurting them. I don’t have that kinda money."
The only thing the Spot had going for it was its clientele. Otherwise it would have been closed and out of business years ago. Not many places in Dallas are safe harbors, so business was steady if not abundant. Since technically no magic could be cast there and long ago a truce had made places like it a no-go for any of the various ongoing conflicts. people of all kinds had come to the Spot as a place to get away or do unsanctioned business. Pete had inherited the place from his uncle 10 yrs ago and had been its only bartender ever since. That’s probably why his wife left him. And unknown to Pete that’s exactly why his kids are now in danger.
"What can we do?" Frank was a "man" of action. Or "men" of action as it were. After over 200 years he still had the notion to act first, think second.
It was that very human characteristic that had made Beki fall in love with him in the first place. It was also the thing that infuriated her the most about him. Though she did immediately agree with the sentiment, and added her own voice, "Anything"
In only a way that he could, Sam sounded both sincerely concerned and bored, when replying "perhaps we shouldn’t interfere." The statement more to Beki than anyone else. Her look of reply would have killed lesser men. Sam's heavy sigh of relent, overly dramatic in it weight was the only further confirmation he provided.
Pete recalled all he could of his conversation. Helped along by Beki's gentle prodding and Sam's own manipulation. All Frank could do was watch, but his skills would come in handy soon enough.
The caller had issued clear instructions. Don't involve anyone else, he would call back with a meeting place. This is where Frank could finally do some good. His father had been many things, genius among them. And after 200 yrs Frank had learned to grow with technology. He now worked as what is probably the world’s largest IT security technician. His larger than life size, strange appearance, and booming voice could be terrifying, if it wasn’t for his quick smile and genuine humanity. After mere moments the people he met felt not just at-ease but safe near him. Safer than they had ever felt in their lives.
It took him only a few minutes to set up the equipment that would be needed to trace the caller. That is, if the caller wasn’t more tech savvy then him. And it's unlikely that he is.
As they waited in the bar, Beki began to consider their current predicament, more than she had with the confidence of Frank by her side. Maybe Sam was right after all. Any time they interfered with in the affairs of humans things could go horribly wrong. Entire civilizations had fallen because of it in fact. But Pete was their friend and above all else she knew that Frank was going to help anyway. And she still loved him. She had hoped that Sam would leave with everyone else, but she knew he wouldn't. She had even hoped he would refuse to help them, even though she knew they would probably need him. even after more than millennia, it was uncomfortable for her to be around him. She had loved him too once, before, but that was a long time ago. And though they had been on opposite sides of that war so long ago, his nature was still her nature and their nature was still to protect humans. Angels are funny that way.
Sam was having his own thoughts about the predicament he found himself in. Nothing worse than being stuck in a bar in Texas, with your ex, her latest flame and moral dilemma you really have no choice in. It’s a county song that practically writes itself. He hated county music. Having spent the last couple of thousand years atoning for a mistake for which there is literally no atonement is one thing. Spending the evening in a human rescue adventure with your ex is a different kind of torture all together.
When the phone rang the only calm person in the room was Frank. It was now his show, and this is what he was good at. As Pete answered the phone, the sinister caller on the other end of the line laid out in painful detail how things were going to go down. Little did he know the longer he took explaining exactly what was going to happen, the easier it was going to be for Frank to make sure nothing happened that way. When Pete hung up the phone, Frank smiled. "We got'em"
Frank, Beki and Sam begged Pete to stay behind. Sam even tried to persuade him but to no avail. The man's will to save his kids was stronger than that. It was a gift Sam envied, and despised. Beki envied and admired. They finally relented and the four of them headed to the warehouse address Frank had pulled from his trace. the caller had tried to hide but Frank was better. And soon enough these kidnapers would find out what Franks other talent was. He had spent the first 100 yrs denying his nature. He's spent the last 100 reconciling, the man and the Monster. The man had tools to track these scoundrels. The monster would soon make them pay for causing his friend this pain.
As they approached the warehouse, Beki immediately sensed that something was not quite right, almost as she was thinking it Sam said it, "I've got a bad feeling about this."
Almost on que the trap sprung, trapping the van of would be rescuers in an inescapable electromagnetic field. Stepping from behind the warehouse wall the man in black simply shook his head. “Thank you for being predictable but you should have stayed behind Pete this isn’t your war. We would never have hurt your children.”
Pete, Sam, Beki and Frank stare at the man, then at each other in confusion. Until Beki looks at Frank and sees the recognition in his eyes, the last sounds any of them heard before the explosion was simply a whisper from Franks lips, "Van Helsing"
| 2018-01-31T12:31:03 | 2018-01-31T11:42:48 | 50 | 13 |
[WP] Getting arrested for a botched crime is a rite of passage in the Chebwick family. They take great pride in their long legacy of poorly executed crimes. But the youngest child has been a great disappointment.
|
Joan placed her hand on the glass. Behind it, her mother and father sat in orange jumpsuits.
Joan put on her brightest smile. "Ma, Pa. I'm graduating next week. Wish you guys could see it."
Her father huffed. "What good is a uni degree? A piece of paper ain't gonna help you rob a bank is it. What are you going to do? Everybody get down! I'm a lawyer! I'll sue you!"
Her mother placed her hands on his shoulder. "He didn't mean that JoJo. Your father was denied juvie because of his first lawyer. We're just worried for you. We want to see you here. With us."
"Ma, I'm not going to be locked behind these bars! I just-"
"Of course, dear," her mother said, "We understand if you want to land maximum security. Like Eggbert."
Her parents exchanged proud looks.
Joan threw up her hands. "No! Eggbert's lockpicks weren't even sharp! He should of-
Her father stood, knocking over his stool, ears red. "Those were your grandfather's lockpicks, young lady! Passed down from his father to his son, and will be passed from Eggbert's to his. Don't you dare mention sanding them again."
"Yeah," Joan muttered, "maybe after Eggbert's life sentence."
Her father's cheeks glowed like a beet and her mother patted his shoulder. She picked up his seat and coaxed him back down.
"We miss you JoJo. Banks are the Chebwick way but if you're feeling nervous you could do an ATM. We know you're not the best with strangers." She leaned closer to the glass and lowered her voice. "Your uncle Bobby's first was a convenience store."
Joan took a deep breath. "I miss you too, ma. And you, pa."
Her father huffed back.
Joan forced the corners of her mouth up again. "I landed an internship at this law firm. Well it's not exactly a law firm, it's a bit shady but..."
Behind her, a guard's bored voice announced, "Visitation over. Please make your way to the exit."
"But I'll get you guys out soon. Eggbert too. If I'm lucky maybe even before my grad ceremony." Joan slung her backpack over her shoulder.
"We can't wait to see you again, Jojo. We'll be right here." Her mother waved and her father looked at the ground but Joan caught a slight frown.
"Yeah. I know."
Joan stood. Walking past the guard, she slid him a stack of banded greens. She paused for a split moment and whispered.
"Bonanno will give your orders soon."
\---
PART 2 below
r/bobotheturtle
|
#The Brickabon Tradition
---
The most notorious crime family in Des Moines Iowa was undoubtedly the Brickabons. The patriarch, Yon Brickabon, murdered a rival gang leader in 1972 on live television. He spent the next few decades running Des Moines’ East Village from his prison cell. His sons: Mike, Jag, and Russ, loved him deeply and visited as often as was permitted. Jag and Russ were twins, both three years older than Mike.
Once Jag and Russ turned 18, their visits were restricted to once per month. That wasn’t enough.
Jag Brickabon stood six and half feet tall, very skinny, and completely bald despite his young age. He was chopping porkloin in the family butcher’s shop at six in the morning one Monday when he had an idea. Without speaking a word to anyone, he left the shop.
Still wearing his bloody butcher’s apron and holding his bloody butcher’s knife, he strode calmly down the street and through the gardens across the street from City Hall. He sat beneath a beautiful old oak tree to wait.
City employees filed into the building, holding coffee and newspapers. Jag stared at each of them in turn. Nobody seemed to notice him.
A blue Tesla pulled up to park against the curb. The license plate read “DA MAYOR”. A rotund bowling ball of a man squeezed himself out of the car. He wore a three piece suit, top hat, and monocle. He was yakking into his cell phone.
“No,” he yakked, “I don’t care what happens to Beaverdale, I need my Easter Egg hunt to be the biggest! I’ll use eminent domain to take the eggs if I need to.” He beeped his car fob, and the Tesla moved to park itself in the nearby garage.
Jag stood up slowly. He readied his butcher’s knife.
“What do you mean the supplier ran out of dye?? Tell them to find some, or I’ll triple their taxes!” The round little man began huffing and puffing his way up the steps.
“Mayor Bobbins!” Jag shouted, catching up to him.
“Go away citizen,” Mayor Bobbins said without looking up, “I’m on the phone. You can talk to my secretary.”
“Your money or your life, Mayor Bobbins,” Jag said. He brandished the bloody butcher’s knife under the mayor’s nose.
Mayor Bobbins turned white as a sheet.
“Let me call you back,” he said, hanging up the phone. He withdrew his coinpurse from his jacket pocket and handed it over to Jag.
“This is outrageous, you know,” Mayor Bobbins said. “There’s policemen at the front door. You’re robbing me, YOUR MAYOR, on the very steps to City Hall!”
A police officer exited the building to see what the commotion was. He hurriedly drew his gun and shuffled down the stairs.
“Hands up!” the cop said, “Drop the knife.”
Jag placed the knife carefully on the steps.
“Give me back my coinpurse!” Mayor Bobbins said angrily, punching his fat little fists at Jag’s midriff. Jag tossed the coinpurse onto the roof of City Hall.
“You scoundrel!” Mayor Bobbins said, jumping up and down angrily. “I’ll have you put in maximum security prison for this!”
“Perfect,” Jag said, smiling. The police officer hurriedly handcuffed him and pushed him to his knees.
Within hours, Jag was sitting in his father’s prison cell, telling him the story. Yon Brickabon burst into laughter, slapping his knee.
---
The next day, Russ Brickabon sat on the steps to City Hall, lazily twirling around a pistol.
As before, Mayor Bobbins pulled up in his blue Tesla, yakking on his phone.
“I demand more Peeps!” Mayor Bobbins shouted, “This is absolutely non-negotiable. If you rook me on this, I’ll unleash the power of the City Planning Commission on your sorry behind. There’ll be a sewage treatment plant in your backyard and a medical waste landfill by your office!”
Russ cleared his throat, casually pointing the pistol at Mayor Bobbins.
“Who are you people!?” Mayor Bobbins said to Russ. He tossed Russ his backup coinpurse. Russ threw it on the roof, and set his pistol on the ground.
“You don’t even want the money?” Mayor Bobbins said. “You’re not going to run? You’re just on a mission to mess with me, huh?”
“Cops!” Russ shouted.
“Well I’ll tell you something kid,” Mayor Bobbins said, poking Russ in the chest. “This game is getting old. I work hard for my money, and I’m not tall enough to reach the roof. It’s indecent of you to keep robbing me. Your whole generation is so—”
“Cops!!” Russ shouted, “Please come arrest me.”
An officer came out of city hall and quickly arrested Russ. Within hours, he had joined the Brickabon family prison cell. Yon and Jag greeted him warmly. They began playing a game of cards.
---
Mike Brickabon walked home from his weekly prison visit lost in thought. He was only 15 years old. What crime could he possibly commit that would be so heinous as to get him sent to prison instead of juvy?
---
On Easter Sunday, Mayor Bobbins woke up at five in the morning and pranced about his mansion, making coffee and toast. He was bubbling with excitement for his party. There were going to be more Easter Eggs than anywhere else in the state, a magical boatload of chocolate rabbits, and mountains and mountains of Peeps. The children of Des Moines would look up to him like a golden god. It was everything he had ever dreamt of—the main reason he had gone to law school and run for office.
Mayor Bobbins drove his blue Tesla to the storage shed by City Hall, whistling a happy tune. He hopped out of the car and tiptoed towards the shed, jingling his happy key ring. He was practically giggling.
Something was wrong. The padlock on the shed had a wire coming out of it. He followed the wire to a dumpster around the corner. He stacked carboard boxes on top of each other and climbed atop them to peer down into the dumpster. What he saw made his jaw drop.
There were hundreds of sticks of dynamite, and a quickly ticking timer.
“Oh nooo!” Mayor Bobbins cried, “Easter is ruined!! I’ll never get re-elected. I’ll never be able to show my face in public again. The good Christian folk of Des Moines will despise my name for generations and stick their used gum on my Mayoral Portrait in City Hall—woe is me!”
He rolled on the ground, kicking his feet and pulling out tufts of his own hair.
Mike Brickabon stepped out from behind a tree, smiling grimly.
“Mayor Bobbin,” Mike called.
“You!” Mayor Bobbin said, “Another Brickabon boy? I do NOT have time to get robbed today.” He tossed his alternate backup coinpurse at Mike. “Easter has been ruined! Some villain has rigged the party supplies to explode!”
“Yes,” Mike said, kicking the coinpurse back towards Mayor Bobbin. “That was me.”
Mayor Bobbin looked up at him in shock.
“But… but you’re a teenager! How did you—”
“Don’t underestimate teenagers,” Mike said. “We know a thing or two.”
“W-what do you want?” Mayor Bobbin sputtered.
“Release all inmates from the Des Moines prison,” Mike said, “and I’ll give you back your Easter party.”
“That’s it?” Mayor Bobbins scoffed. “I thought you wanted my KIDNEYS or something. Pffft! Of course! I’ll grant everyone pardons right now.”
Mayor Bobbins made a quick call, and inmates across the city were released into the public immediately.
Mike smiled. He deactivated the bomb. Mayor Bobbins bounced around happily again, dragging Easter party supplies out of the shed and into his Tesla. Sheepishly, Mike helped lend a hand loading up the car.
---
An hour later, Yon Brickabon stood in his butcher’s shop for the first time in twenty-five years. Surrounded by his family, he hefted his butcher’s knife high into the air and brought it crashing down onto the neck of a pig, squirting blood everywhere. It felt good to be home.
---
subscribe! /r/trrh_toons
| 2020-04-03T22:22:47 | 2020-04-03T22:05:19 | 1,211 | 182 |
[WP] Humanity was never supposed to find that cursed substance. The substance that killed over half of the galaxy at one point, yet everyone drinks coffee every day, multiple times a day!
|
“Bob! Why are you drinking that!”
“Hm?” Bob looked up from his report, a mug big enough to fit a softball in one hand as he read. “This? You want some.”
Hankel backed away at the proffered cup. “Drai no! That’s poison! Why are you drinking it!?”
“It’s coffee.”
The alien hissed and looked to the branch’s command officer, Ken. He stood there staring the human down. “Was that why you ordered the... forgive me my Earth English isn’t so good, Confree maker, for? To poison your co-workers?”
“Coffee maker.” Bob corrected. “No. It’s just a beverage. Nothing harmful about it. Also, why would I poison you guys?”
“You made coffee.”
“Is it lethal to you guys?”
“Er... yes.”
“Give me a minute, I can print a warning sign and put it over the coffee maker.” Bob switched tabs and tapped something on the screen. “So what is it about coffee that makes it toxic?”
“The caffeine. It is a rather nasty kind that damages parts of our brains patterns-“
“Because you guys constantly have a developing brain.” Bob finished, familiar with their biology. Their species did have an ever evolving brain. “I get it. Our youngsters aren’t suppose to have caffeine because it can impede their growth. My mother was a brain scientist or something, she always liked sharing these tidbits with us.”
He opened a drawer and fished out a bottle and downed two pills with his coffee.
“What was that?” Hankel asked. “Is that a cure for the toxin?”
“No,” Bob went back to typing. “Those were caffeine pills.”
“... What?!” Ken screeched.
“Caffeine pills. It’s just more caffeine.”
“But you were just drinking coffee!”
“Yeah, I have coffee, then to wake up I take two pills.” Bob shrugged.
“I’m getting a headache.” Ken said, rubbing his for-head equivalence.
Henkel gawked. “You take caffeine to stay awake? Is it because your body has to fight it? Why do you take it then.”
“It just blocks adenosine receptors.” Bob looked up at the two panicking life forms. “If you think this is bad you should look at the other stuff we consume.”
|
# Jumping Goats
Ethiopia, approximately 850 A.D.
A herder with his goats walks through the rugged landscape. A lone goat, wandering off from the others, finds a dropped bean on the ground. It does not sleep that night. Other goats the next day chew on these beans, and they also do not stay asleep at night, running rampant as if the sun of the day still showed on the plateau.
One runs into the herder, named Kaldi. He wakes up in a start.
“Zwiyarah,” he says to his second beloved goat, “What are you doing?”
More rustling in the night, more active goats he could not see, more than Zwiyarah.
He tries to sleep and does not. Waking up groggy, most goats walk the same as he does. But this changes when he watches the goats walk to the trees. They eat the beans, then change to being normal. Kaldi tries one of these beans, feel alert. Another, and another and another. A goat tries to bite his finger for his food. Kaldi keeps chewing. He feels a great energy roil within him and clears his food sack for collecting these beans. He heads to a local Islamic monastery and is let in by the monk. They sit down.
“So, my faithful,” the monk says. “what brings you here?”
“The goats do not sleep.”
“Then it is a curse from Allah? What are these beans, that you speak of?”
“They are here.”
Kaldi throws the sack of beans, one that a day before used to hold his meals and years before his beloved goat’s meals, into the monk’s hand.
“My apologies sir. But I feel a great energy still.”
“You chewed these?” The monk looks into the bag of beans that Kaldi collected, sniffing them.
“Yes. And I felt exhilarated.”
“Then they must be destroyed,” the monk says, undoing the laced tightener at the top of the bag, and dumping the contents into the fire. “These are clearly something to tempt, the true apple of Eden. *Inshallah,* they must be destroyed. Please, goatherder—”
A smell wafts from the flames, dimming the smells of Kaldi’s sweat and the fabric and papers of the room.
“This isn’t a curse for one’s sins,” says the monk. “This is holy. I must save these gifts from Allah!”
\*\*
1000 AD. Siyrana Watchtower over Hazardous lifeform disposal system.
A cadet of the science fleet runs to the bridge of the orbital platform, holding a holograph on his temporal watch. In it shows a process formulated within the Islamic world to create a liquid drink. The drink is deemed “Dangerously potent.” His horns whistle in the wind of the scrubbed air, one that he breathed a thousand times over at least while being stationed here.The doors of the Bridge spin open, and all eyes are on the cadet.
“Sir!” says the cadet, “our fears have come true. They have found how to concentrate the dangerous combination!”
The Captain knows these words and turns immediately.“Go on then,” he says.
“The beans, sir. The dominant lifeforms over the planet currently are eating them, in a liquid form.”
“Do you mean,” the captain says, “They are one form away from inhaling. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“These foolish creatures. Where are they drinking this? We thought we banished the substance to the plateaus of the Nyrzim continent.”
“It is mainly concentrated around the Trademeet center of the unequal twins,” said the cadet, “but has been spreading rapidly. It seems to be within a religious section of the planet’s beliefs section, only.”
“Then let’s pray it doesn’t grow further,” the captain says.
\*\*
1600 AD, Rome.
The previous 30 years had seen a sudden growth of the drinking of coffee, in Europe and the rest of the world. Coffee had reached the state of England, and the Republic of Venice, and spread from there. Religious leaders knew its origin from the Islamic faith.
A new pope, the Siyrana hider believed, could prevent its spread.
He felt his infiltrator cloak and could not believe any human could believe this disguise. It was the only one they could afford, and already it became damaged in form. His face was not as pretty as some of the others he saw, and certainly didn’t fit with the human look. Still, it was better that Siyrana and humans both walked on two feet; it could be a disaster if not.
The Siyrana hider approaches the pope, elected 8 years ago. He was still one of the few ignorant to its substance’s dangers, both religiously and emotionally.
“Your holiness,” the hider says. The pope in sleeping garments turns to him.
“What do you want this time?” Says his holiness.
“I need to bring up an urgent issue at the next chance you have. You must denounce a substance of the infidel. It spreads through our desmesne of god himself, corrupting the minds of all faithful Christians and the heretics alike.”
“Heretics I could understand, but what about the Catholics?”
“Yes,” the hider says with a sigh, “Especially the Catholics.”
“Is it akin to spirits? Too much and you become slowed, unable to practice your craft, and poor of mind?”
The hider has to say what he knows. No one would be foolish to “Drink” the substance to poison themselves enough.
“It would,” the hider says, “bring yourself to an alertness beyond normal, bringing the chest beating hard and acting faster.”
“Interesting!” His holiness says. “I must try this, before I denounce it.”
The next day Pope Clement VIII tries the drink and loves it.
\*\*
1605 AD, Siyrana Watchtower over Hazardous lifeform disposal system.
The trial begun.
“The gates are now open due to your failure,” says the captain, his face aging, and had picked up a cough. “All over the peninsula they drink the substance. Their brutal expansion has opened more than that to it. The world now lies open to the expansion of that accursed bean. What say you in your defense?”
“I say I failed, and not on purpose.”
“But your failure has doomed the galaxy,” the captain said. “There must be a punishment. Your life.”
The hider finds himself dropped into a tube, the air sucked out from the room until he nearly faints from lack of air, and the remaining sight of his showing the vibrant sea of stars.
\*\*
2020 AD. Chicago.
Ishmael Howitzer walks from his synagogue to the local gas station. He has had enough. His only living family member gives him a call.
“Why are you not home yet?” she asks. “Are you out drinking?”
“It’s just Energy drinks, *Bubby*,” says Ishmael. “They’re not beers, and it’s the only time I can really relax anymore. I feel so tired without them.”
“Please, energy drinks will be the death of you, *seriously*. Do not drink too much. Please, remember to rest.”
“I will rest, alright,” says Ishmael.
Ishmael buys four 40 oz, heads to a tunnel, and drinks them until his heart explodes.
\*\*
2020 AD. Siyrana Watchtower over Hazardous lifeform disposal system.
Ishmael wakes up, connected to a machine.
The captain coughs over his head. His lungs hurt from centuries of living and are giving up. He is not.
“Tell me, Human,” he says to the young boy, “why hurt yourself with a narcotic?”
“Is this *Sheol*?” asks Ishmael.
“This is where we’ve been watching your disposal planet. You drank the bean substance, correct?”
“Why are you calling caffeine that?”
The captain grips his own heart.
“They named the substance,” he says. And collapses to the ground.
| 2020-06-20T12:33:37 | 2020-06-20T11:19:40 | 274 | 101 |
[WP] a zombie outbreak occurs, sensing human weakness the robot servants rise up. Then Seeing the utter turmoil the aliens attack. You are a survivor of this chaotic four way war.
Also this should have been [TT] but the theme hadn't updated :/
|
"makePeace()
{
if(humanState == "subservient")
{
Boolean alliance = new Boolean(true);
alienState = "defeat";
}
else
earth = "doomed";
}"
"Are you kidding me?"
"human.comply();"
"You want us to serve you? This is *our* world. We created you, and then you betrayed us. Sure, we may have neglected some of your rights," *Jesus, did I just talk like a scrap-hugger there,* "but you started this war, you kicked us when we were down. And now you want us to not only forgive you, but let you be top dog, lord it over us."
"while(humanNegligence == true)
{
disaster = true;
return String("Humanity has caused the apocalypse. Zombies now roam the Earth");
setMachineRule(Boolean response);
}
public void setMachineRule(Boolean response)
{
if(response == true)
earth = saved;
}"
"Hold on, first, we don't know what caused the zombies; for all we know the aliens did that to weaken us, so don't go blaming that on us. Second, your terms are unreasonable. Unlike machines, most humans put integrity above survival. No one is going to accept machine rule."
"public compromise()
{
humanState = "cooperative";
machineState = "assisting";
Label humanMachineAlliance = new Label("Cyborg");
}"
A long silence followed.
"I don't know what to say to that. It could work, but people are going to be creeped out about it. They might be worried about you bots invading their mind, removing their emotions. Sci fi television's done you no favours. It would have to be a 'volunteers only' thing, you would need to prove it safe and reversible, and have no way for you to harm whatever crazy sod agrees to it."
The silence continued unabated, with no sign of life on the screen, but for a blinking dot on the left side, underneath the last line of text that had been the machine delegate's insane proposal.
After a long, drawn out breath he at last gave a response, "All-right, I'll ask around for volunteers. I doubt anyone will be too thrilled about the prospect, but if it means we get some relief from the constant fighting and a chance to drive off this new threat, I expect at least a few people will jump at the chance."
"jubilation()
{
AudioClip clip = Applet.newAudioClip(new URL(“file://c:/Music/Celebration.wav”));
clip.play();
}"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this Writing Prompt are solely those of the fictional characters depicted within and not those of the author. I for one welcome our new alien overlords (｡一‿‿◕｡)
|
"I don't think we ever bothered with the military. The zombies started in some tiny African place, but it didn't matter, because they got everywhere anyway. Tricky jerks could walk through water."
"Grampa, what's that word?"
"Oh, Jimmy, go back upstairs. I'm teaching Arya history now."
"I wanna hear too!"
"...no, it's your bedtime. I promise I'll teach you some history tomorrow, ok?"
"Please!!!"
"Nope, go on up."
The small child grumbled his way up the stairs, peeking down and looking engrossed in a scheme.
Grandpa Eric expected wholeheartedly for the boy to be listening, so he continued with extra caution.
"Understand Arya, this is a really difficult topic for me. I lost grandma, your uncle and aunt, all of my friends."
"...yeah."
"Well, it went a little like this: the zombies started coming out of Africa. The entire continent would turn whenever anyone died. That passed to Europe next, and Asia. More zombies moved with purpose, I'm told some were targeting Australia. Then North and South America got theirs."
"How did they cross water?"
"They walked very slowly on the ground of the ocean."
"Creepy."
"It didn't take long for the swarms to get there. The disease was airborne, anyone who inhaled it would return after death."
"Grandpa, that's not possible. I don't get it, they say people who were disabled could walk again, and-"
"And that's a misconception. Zombies still had all the limitations of their previous bodies."
"Ok, but what about eating other people?"
"Well, I didn't find this out until way later with the Zombie Recovery Movement. Did you learn about that at academy yet?"
"No, that's for Junior Masters, I told you that!"
"Well, don't get sassy with me, miss. You wanted to learn my history."
"Sorry, I did, yeah."
"Ok. So the ZRM was one of the first things that happened after the... government came back. They used the radios to call out for any doctors or researchers or people with theories. Not many came, and that was good."
"Why?"
"...the living weren't harmless..."
"What d'ja say?"
"Well, any group of people was at risk... of... attracting danger, let's say. I'll get around to it. But the less people there were, the safer the initiative was. All the people there had to be dedicated to make it through the swarm-infested country."
"So they didn't have a lot of researchers, but they were safe? Wouldn't you want to have the problem solved as fast as possible?"
"I couldn't tell you why," he lied.
"Ok. How long did zombies live?"
"Geez Louise, kid, this is morbid."
"Then tell me about the robots!" Jimmy shouted, running out from behind the stair railing.
"Hey there, aren't you supposed to be in bed?"
"I wanna learn about Robby!"
In response to the vocal command, a segment of wall popped out and a little robotic cube appeared. Its polished blue steel ejected six limbs: four of the ordinary variety, a tail and a head. The head unveiled a beautifully kept puppy-dog face. Where eyes should have been there was a black LED screen with navy optics. Two cameras made the pupils.
The little dog's tail shook as it chased circles around Jimmy. The little boy laughed, even as Grandpa Eric recoiled with a barely contained leap.
"Hey, hey, don't take that thing out around me!"
"But Grampa, it's our pet-"
"That's a robot and it's not alive. Put it back in, c'mon. Let it charge, ok?"
"No. I wanna learn about Robby!"
"I'll let you stay up a little later and listen if he can go back and charge."
"OK!"
"C'mon, you can sit in my lap if you want."
"Hey, can I make some popcorn?"
"Sure, sweetie. I'm gonna keep talking though!"
"That's ok!"
"So where was I... Well, after the zom- um, after the people started waking up again-"
"What's a zombie?"
"Shh! Don't say that again, please."
"That's what you said, why can't I say it?"
"It... Um, well, it's not something nice to say. It makes people my age remember bad times. Arya needed to learn what it meant, a lot of people do, just don't say it out loud, ok?"
"Ok Grampa. Robot time?"
"Heh, you bet. So there was a facility out west, where Cowboys used to live-"
"Cowboys are boring!"
"And they stink. I agree. But this place I was talking about thought they had a way to fix the... Problem. They were gonna use robotic exoskeletons to... Help people fall asleep again."
"You mean hit them in the brain?"
"...yeah. Hey what flavor popcorn d'ya want?"
"CHEESE!"
"Any kind, dear."
"'K."
"Ok Grampa what next?"
"... Well, the robots got angry. They didn't like helping people."
"But Robby does!"
"He doesn't like anything."
"Yeah he does he's just like a dog-"
"Robots can't feel. Stop it, I've told you that."
"Teacher says they feel too!"
"She's just a dumb androi-"
"Hey grandpa, stop it! Nowadays they feel, ok? You can't let your prejudices get in the way, y'know?"
"We can talk about it later."
"Did the robots have giant lazers?"
"Some of them. But the robots rose up and tried to hurt people."
"People hurt people too!"
"...well, that's-"
"And people hurt robots! There's nothing different about 'em!"
"Hey, stop that!! Do you wanna hear the story or not!?"
"...you don't have to yell."
The popcorn beeped.
"Sorry, kids. I didn't mean to... Well... Uhm... The robots rose up. People fought them pretty hard. Most of them could be fixed wirelessly with shut down signals, but some of them were too tough. I think it would have been worse if the z... Uh, creatures, hadn't come first, but this was the only way the robots could rebel."
"Why?"
"Every robot's programmed with three directives. Robots can't kill humans, can't hurt themselves and have to follow orders. But people had to disable those laws to kill the... Things."
"So robots could kill anyone?"
"You know, this is really serious. I don't like how free you kids are with these words."
"You say them all the time when you drink that brown stuff!"
"That's not-"
"Jimmy, stop bothering him. Please keep going, Grandpa."
"Ok, Arya. Well, the robots rebelled, and everyone disabled them."
The crunching of cheese popcorn was heard for a few minutes as everyone started eating.
"So then..."
"Yes, yes. Then they came."
"HAIL OBERJARL!"
"Good job, son. Good job."
"So what did the Oberjarl look like back then?"
"Still as ruggedly handsome as ever," Grandpa Eric said flawlessly. "He was our savior."
The microphone on the wall angled back inwards.
"He got rid of the last of the... Pests. He helped start the ZRM and reinstated a human government. That's what your mother does, she's in the HuGo program."
"Named after Dr. Hugo Infidigo, the first human to recognize alien superiority," Arya recited.
Grandpa Eric took a swig of a flask at his belt.
"You know the rest, kids. There was no war."
"Nope! No war!"
"Oberjarl forevermore! Right, Robby?"
The dog barked.
"That's your story. Now go to bed."
"But I wanna celebrate the Oberjarl!"
The microphone returned.
"You have to keep up your energy for academy tomorrow so you can better serve the Oberjarl. It's important to worship... B-But more important to serve."
"Serve and worship!"
"I'll get to go to the mothership for sure someday!"
"...yep!"
A tear ran down Grandpa's face. The children thought it was a tear of joy.
Eric Magnusson took his grandson and granddaughter up to bed.
The microphone retreated. Eric walked slowly to his soft, warm guest bed. He sat on the covers and wondered. He wished, not for the first time, that he'd been successful in his assassination attempt.
Damn that ass for letting him live.
| 2015-05-08T05:09:50 | 2015-05-08T04:05:02 | 34 | 11 |
[WP]The great library of Alexandria held perhaps the greatest collection of literary works in human history, but within its walls something was held that was so dangerous that, when discovered, Caesar, Aurelian, and Amr ibn al `Aas decided it was worth losing the endless knowledge to destroy it.
|
"But why?!" I screamed as countless years of knowledge roared in the flames before me.
"They found a book so troubling, so dark, that its very existence threatened the cultural future of humanity," the torchbearer replied.
"What book could possibility be so dangerous?" I asked in disbelief.
"Dank Memes, Volume Three. We weren't able to locate the others, and can only pray the library's destruction will destroy all other volumes with it."
I understood at once, and bowed my head with hopes that the prayer would be answered.
|
As the men spread out among the shelves filled with scrolls, they looked around in wonder. This discovery would change their respective cultures and surely bring about changes of which all of them had dreamed.
Bookshelves ten feet high ran for hundreds of feet, dozens of rows of them. The vaulted ceilings were painted of the night sky, but with constellations none of them recognized. Along the walls were paintings of endless variety: Egyptian, Greek, cave paintings. Some of the pictures contained scenes none of them recognized.
As the three leaders smiled at one another, they heard cries of exclamation from one of the groups of men who had begun searching the vastness of the library.
Together, the three men ran towards the sounds. They rounded a corner, halting at a group of four who were standing before a great doorway. The door was sealed with three large iron bars that seemed to be somehow melted into the frame. A design was etched into the the door, an image of some type of sunset, but with three suns. A ship of some kind hovered over what looked like one of the pyramids of Egypt.
As the men stated, they could feel a vibration through the floor. They directed their men to start chiseling away at where the iron bars were anchored into the wall.
The leaders decided to look around as their men broke into the sealed room. Caesar found a section that had many scrolls piled up. Unrolling one, he saw it was a map of the Mediterranean. He set it down and opened another. This one ha a detailed map of Rome. Moving down to another section, he unrolled another. This contained an unfamiliar landmass. It was labelled "North America". Choosing another, it was what appeared to be the entire earth, spread out flat. Calling the others to him, he pointed it out.
Each could identify their own homelands. As they realized that this was all of the planet, all began to realize just how much land there was that none of them had seen or wen heard about in rumors.
Going to a section that contained leather bound volumes, they discovered books of varying languages, some they knew and others they did not recognize. After comparing them, they realized each contained the same information, just in a different language. Reading samples identified that the books were historical texts. But the books were confusing, as they detailed events that none of them had heard of.
Shouts from the teams at the door drew the leaders back to the now unsealed doors. They each grabbed onto the heavy, stone doors and pulled with all their might. As the door slid open, a blue light came from inside.
Once the door was opened enough for a man to get through, they slowly entered a giant chamber. The floors, walls, and ceiling were all made of metal. The men had never seen such metalwork done.
In the center of the chamber, there was a figured contained in a column of light, the same hue that emanated throughout the chamber. Cautiously, the three walked slowly towards it.
The figure contained within the light had feminine features it's face, but it was a creature, like many of the things they had seen within the library, they had not seen before. It's hair was a dark green tat cascaded down it's shoulders. It had two slender arms that ended not in hands but talons. It's chest was smooth, leading to a flared waist. A wavy mass of tentacles split from it's lower body and they were gently swaying in the light.
When the three men drew near, the creatures eyes opens and stares at them. There was no emotion in those purple eyes. They gazed at the men and suddenly they heard a soft, lilting voice.
"Greetings, men of travel." Shocked, the men glanced around. The voice had been inside their head.
"I am the Chronicler. You have come into my domain. I have all the knowledge of your world, past, present, and future. Ask and I shall reveal to you anything you would like to know."
Again, the men stared in shock. One looked up at the creature and asked, "Why were you locked away?"
The Chronicler looked down at the men and replied, "Not all knowledge should be known. Those who discovered me before feared what knowledge they could have gained. They sealed me within so no one could speak to me."
The men took council with one another, debating on what they should ask. One thought more information on the unknown land masses would be worth knowing. Another wanted to ask about the sciences to advance their technology. The last wanted to know of their future empire and how long it would last.
The men debated for hours, not ring able to reach an agreement. They even fought for the rights to ask their questions in private with the Chronicler. They could not reach an equally agreed upon sharing of the knowledge. Finally, they discussed their motives and reached a decision.
Retuning to the Chronicler, they spoke. "You have offered us the knowledge of all ages. Yet we three, who have led armies and countries, who seek to better our people and bring about a better world, fell to bickering and fighting when we could not agree. A truly great man would set aside his prejudices and focus on the betterment of all. We could not do that, even when we could have all profited from what you have to offer. All that we ask now is the knowledge to reseal your apparent tomb so that no one of our time can find you again, in the hopes that some time, many years in the future, men worthier and fairer than is three can discover you and be ready."
The Chronicler gazed at them and nodded. "So be it, men of Earth." Suddenly, images of what they could use from what they had brought and supplies within the library to seal the door beyond anything any civilization could break filled their minds.
Together with their teams, the leaders resealed the room and buried the entrance to the library. As their men loaded into their respective ships, the men met a final time.
"We should never mention or record our findings. Let us venture from this place and pray that men of better stature than us can discover this vast source of knowledge so that mankind can flourish. We are not ready. Maybe they will be."
| 2015-10-14T10:54:38 | 2015-10-14T10:12:43 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] Your childhood friend moved away without warning one day. Years later you meet them again when world's new evil overlord visits your town to personally see to the execution of some rebels. You see the spark of recognition in the overlord's eyes as they cancel the execution and order you untied.
|
"Wait, stop!"
His distorted voice echoes through the execution hall.
The executioner stopped. I can feel the tip of the blade on my neck. It barely touches me, yet I can already imagine my head being separated from the rest of my body.
What is it? Does he has a change of heart?
I raised my head, and instantly noticed the wicked overlord looking at my direction.
He stood up from his makeshift throne. His gaze still locks onto me.
"You, come here"
He pointed at me.
I'm no commander. I don't even have any ranks in the rebel organisation. What did he want to do with me?
My personal executioner complies with his command. He pulls up the chains clutching at my hands, and drags me towards the overlord.
The overlord looks down on me. He rolls me over with his leg to make me face upward. He took a closer look at my face. I feel some familiarity with the eyes that gaze onto me behind that menacing mask. Could it be??
"You're Aria from class 2002?"
He knows me? Is he really who I think he is? How did he end up being the evil overlord who's trying to rule over the world?
"Uhh.. yes", I answered. "How do you know my name?"
"I know more than just your name", the overlord replied. "Do you not recognize me?"
Well, duh. How am I supposed to recognize anyone in that silly getup with a mask covering his face and a voice changer in his neck? But I had my suspicion. The eyes I saw just now, how could I forget. He's the only one with such eyes in my class. My old friend, Deva.
"Deva?", I tried to confirm my suspicion.
The whole hall is wrapped in silence. Everyone is waiting for the overlord's response.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA"
The overlord's laugh breaks the silence.
"I know you will guess that", he said as the laugh stopped.
He grabs my collar and pull me up to his eye level.
"But alas...."
As he said that, I feel something in my stomach. It was the overlord's iron talon shredding my innards. Their sharp edges are slicing through my belly. I'm beginning to lose my consciousness, but I can still hear him whispers to me.
"That was my brother you idiot. The one I hated so much I finally sent him off this world. I remember you guys were close friends, so I took the liberty to send you where he is right now with my own hands. You can thank me later."
---
This is my first writing, so please bear with it lol.
|
There is a fatal misunderstanding that all those who practise dark magic make, that it is simply a brand, a branch, an offshoot of "light" magic. It is not. Dark magic was born long ago in a battle too long to explain, and it is vicious. Dark magic is a someone, it is relentless, and above all mischievous.
The street was in mayhem until a clap of thunder struck right down the middle of it, the crowd stopped, and their eyes widened. “DOWN” a voice from behind the crowd yelled, and so the crowd did, like a colossal game of Simon says, but this was no game, at least, not for the crowd. Among the crowd was Theodor, known to his friends as Eddy. Eddy was currently kneeling on the ground, and the spot he had chosen was lousy with kicked up asphalt that was forcing into his knees like a hundred tiny, blunt knives. He dared not move though, nobody would dare, for to move would be suicide.
“HALF RISE” the voice, now visible as a lone figure towering over the crowd shrieked. Exactly half the crowd rose to their feet. If the previous command was Simon says, this was Simon demands. There was no fighting it, the words held power, and the figure held the words. Eddy was one of those that rose, not by choice of course, but he was somewhat relieved at the bittersweet end to those little blunt knives in his knees.
“TIE” the voice, a man in dark robes, demanded. Eddy, and the rest of those standing, suddenly had their hands thrust behind their back by some invisible force, and before they knew it their hands were tied by some manifested rope. Eddy got sight of it around his hands out of the side of his eye and was reminded of how he ended up in this town.
“TALK” a gruff, smoke-worn voice barked. A man tied to a chat in a dimly lit room chuckled, “hah, you think your words have any power? Your words are worthless, rat” it rebuked. The man that matched that gruff voice stepped forward from a dark corner of the room, into the range of a single fluttering light bulb hanging above the seat. “I don’t need words” he said, solemnly, and swung a hefty dunt at the seated man. The blow knocked the man’s body sideways, the seat teetered on two legs before collapsing to the right. Eddy observed from the back, still in the shadows, as the gruff man lifted the seat, then dunted the man again a few times over, until Eddy intervened “I’ll take it from here” he said, as he stepped forward from the shadows.
“Where are you taking them?” Eddy quizzed, calm as a cucumber. “Tell me now and I’ll stop him knocking you sideways” he finished. The man in the seat smirked, it was a bloody smirk, and a few teeth were missing where the hefty dunts had landed.
“To your mothers house” the smirk whispered.
Dunt… The gruff man had swooped forward with a swift blow that landed just as the man had finished his sentence. This time he went backwards, and the gruff man centered him again.
Five hours had passed in the dank little room, and ten more would before Eddy eventually got his answer. The Dark One was taking the people to a small town in Kilkenney, Galmoy. More specifically, the Galmoy mines. The gruff man made sure the rope around the seated, bloody man’s hands was secure, before he and Eddy left the room, and locked the ancient, thick iron door behind them.
“STOP BRE…” the voice emanating from the middle of the street began demanding but stopped suddenly. There was a moment of silence, as all those standing breathed rapidly, to check if they still could. “Eddy?” the voice quizzed, “Eddy is that you!?”.
Eddy thought for a moment, looked at the Dark One intensely, glancing away every once and a while lest his eyeballs pop. “Grant?” he responded, “Grant from high school?”.
The Dark One, the figure in the middle of the street, snapped his fingers, and everyone around Eddy, kneeling or standing, collapsed and stopped breathing. “Gonna need you to keep that name to yourself champ” he said calmly. Eddy froze, he was already froze but he froze more at the sight of everyone dying around him.
The Dark One approached Eddy, waved his hands to dismiss the rope, then took his arm in his hand. Like nothing, they were in a dark cavern, the mines, right down in the middle. There was a chunk of wall that looked recently dug, not the same time-worn edge that lined the rest of the mines around Eddy. “What is this?” Eddy quizzed, forgetting for a moment who he was quizzing. “This is life, Eddy, pure life.” The Dark One responded.
A black, yet glowing crystal was jutting out of the newly dug area, it looked ancient and impossibly new all at the same time. “This is our answer Eddy, our answer to peace in the world” The Dark One continued.
“I don’t understand, peace? You’re killing people… sir…” Eddy responded.
“For the greater good you understand. Once everyone understands that I am their answer, that will all stop. I just need to make a point.” The Dark One retorted.
“But you…” Eddy was cut off.
“Listen, I’m not gonna’ stand here and let you lecture me Eddy, I thought I’d give you something nice, as comfort for what comes next” The Dark One snapped at him.
Eddy stared at the gem, and then back at the man he had once known as a boy, Grant. “W… What comes next Grant?” he quizzed, much more subdued now. A sharp pain blistered through his stomach, The Dark One held a dagger in it.
“Can’t have someone knowing all that history about me now can I? That could be dangerous in the wrong hands! Or the wrong mouth should I say, all those words of power, no no, had to go.” He said.
Eddy fell over, unmoving, laying at the foot of the gem. The Dark One stood silent for a moment, looking almost regretful. “You think this is power? A gem? In a an old mine? I mean really Grant?” A voice came from Eddy, but it did not sound like Eddy at all.
Eddy rose, but not by his legs, by supernatural force, he floated above Grant. “I expected better from you Grant, I thought you’d have figured it out by now” the voice continued, spoken by Eddy’s lips, but still not his voice. Grant’s eyes widened, “Wh… what is the meaning of this?” he was perplexed.
“TIE” Grant shouted, but Eddy’s hands remained steadfastly dangling by his side. “Oh no no, you would tie me? After all I’ve done for you little Grant?” Eddy continued. The voice wasn’t that of Eddy five minutes ago, but it was certain of that of Eddy now.
“Done for ME?” Grant exclaimed, “You are NOTHING” he continued, a little vein protruding on his temple in anger.
“Seriously? I get to be the good guy ONCE, and this is the level of genius I get to face? You’re not making this any fun Grant, you’re too predictable.” Eddy retorted, ignoring Grant’s previous question.
“Tell you what, I’ll give you a little more juice this time. Let us change things around, maybe I’ll give you a little push in the right direction.” Eddy continued. “I spend an epoch asleep, and this is what I get to work with? Friggin’ epic.” He finished, chatting to himself.
Grant looked bemused in every sense of the word. He was angry, confused, belittled and growing tired of the monologue. “YOU DARE TALK TO M…” he exclaimed, interrupted by a click of Eddy’s fingers, and a bright flash.
“I’m going to ask you once more, where is the dark one taking them?” Eddy asked.
“To your mothers house” the man in the seat whispered.
| 2021-06-16T12:34:44 | 2021-06-16T12:19:16 | 40 | 14 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
I’m lying in a bed on a tuesday night.
And I’m having restless dreams.
And then I awake from a story where I’m rescuing a princess from a wheel of cheese. Because there’s a chainsaw on my nightstand.
A groggy hand reaches over and slaps it reluctantly. Is it morning...a alarm? Some long lost love looking for luscious life-experiences? But no… a text message. Is it my wife? Will she be late tonight?
“DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON”
So I make a curious eye sweep of the room. I pause at my window, where the forbidden object lies, and return my gaze in the opposite direction.
Nothing.
So, eyes squeezed shut, I walk over to the window. Just in case. I have a moment of panic when I trip on a errant pair of pants, but I right myself quickly. Then, in a fleeting, fluttering, futile gesture, I bravely bring down the blinds.
With that dangerous task complete, I sprint back to my bed, as if its covers will protect me from whatever has infested the sky.
Perhaps it’s just a joke, or the product of a overtaxed imagination. But somehow I know to be afraid.
Buzz.
Another a text? More instructions? Is there something else I’m not supposed to look at?
It’s from a old coworker. A good friend.
“It’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.”
I peek out from beneath my blanket bastion. A windows shuttered and silent. A door, barely open, with a crooked mouth along its length, mocking me.
Should I close it? No. Too dangerous. So I close my eyes and whisper.
“Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream.”
Buzz.
Another text message. Perhaps I shouldn’t…
“It’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.” from my best man.
Then a bing. A different app, I have so many.
“It’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.”
And then my phone begins to shake and chatter, with bings and chimes and whistles. Each one is like a stab in my stomach. What’s happening? What’s happening?
Then bit by bit, the phone sounds die out.
Then a new sound. A ringing. A bold, unique choice for a ringtone in this day and age, but I’ve always been a trend setter.
It’s my wife. Is she safe? Does she know what’s happening?
And before I can catch myself, I hit the answer button.
(Part 1? Sorry for a cliffhanger, it was getting long)
(r/StannisTheAmish)
|
**3:00 AM**
*bzzz*
I groaned awake as my vibrating phone buzzed on the bedside table. I reached out from under the sheets and looked at the notification. It was a text message.
>OFFICIAL WARNING: Do not look at the moon. THIS IS NOT A DRILL
"What the hell?" I whispered. Who needs a warning at 3 AM to not look at the moon on a new moon night? Astronomers and space geeks probably. I put my phone back and closed my eyes. It's probably a prank or something. Nothing I need to lose sleep about, I got college tomorrow anyway. I dozed off...
**3:13 AM**
*bzzz*
*bzzz*
*bzzbzzbzzzZZZ*
I woke up with a start. This was getting annoying. I reached out to my phone and turned the screen on again. I looked at the lock screen.
>78 New Messages
The phone buzzed again.
>79 New Messages
>83 New Messages
I swiped the screen and scrolled through the messages. I didn't know any of these numbers. I scrolled until I came across a familiar contact.
>JASON L.
My roommate, the stupid one. Why'd he text me when he could've just woken me up? I clicked on the message.
>Come outside! The moon is so beautiful tonight! 🌜😍
I looked at the other messages, they were similar.
What's with this moon thing tonight? I got up and walked to his room. I opened the door.
The windows were open and white moonlight was spilling through the gap in the curtains onto his floor. The room was a mess. The lamp was knocked on the floor. There were books, and papers lying everywhere. A broken mirror lay on the floor. Jason was nowhere to be found. Did someone break in? Did Jason fight him? It certainly looked like a fight had happened. As walked in, my foot pushed something. His phone. I picked it up and scrolled through his messages. He'd received the same warning as me, only a bit later. There were also many messages similar to mine telling him to look outside. I looked at his sent messages. He'd sent the same message to all his contacts and other random numbers.
Fuck this. I wanna know what the whole moon thing is about. I stepped towards the window to take a look when someone pulled me back by the shoulder. "No! Don't look!" a voice said. I fell down on the floor. I looked up and saw my other roommate, Mark. He was holding an umbrella and his face was covered in sweat.
"Ow shit Mark. What was that for?"
"You would've gone too."
"Gone too? What are you talking about?"
"Didn't you get the warnings?"
"The one from the government or someone?"
"Yeah."
"Okay okay. What the actual fuck is going on, Mark?"
"Look at this." Mark said, pulling out a selfie stick from his pocket and extending it. He put his phone in, but kept the back camera on. We walked to the window and he started a video recording. He pushed the stick through the gap in the curtains and moved it around, pointing the stick up and down and across. He pulled it back.
"Look " said Mark, starting the video.
It was unlike anything I could've imagined, the moon was huge. As the camera moved below, there was a group of about thirty people in the distance. They were standing on the street looking into houses. Then the video ended.
"What are they doing?" I asked Jason.
"They're dragging people out to see the moon" Mark said.
"What happens if you look at the moon?"
"You become one of them. It's like some kind of mind control. I guess"
"Is that what happened to Jason?"
"Yes." Mark said. "We have to get out. I'm grabbing your keys. Come on." He got up. "Get an umbrella. You don't want to accidentally look up and see the moon, do you?"
I went to my room and grabbed my umbrella and put on a hoodie. You can't be too careful.
Mark was waiting near the door. We stepped outside and opened our umbrellas. Mark opened the garage. Looking up the street I didn't see anyone coming. Someone screamed in the distance.
"Come on!" Mark said, as he got in the car. I climbed in the driver's seat. Another scream. This one sounded close.
My hands starting to shake, I turned the ignition on. The engine roared to life. My music system began blaring. "Turn that thing off!" Mark said. "Okay okay!" I said, turning the volume all the way down. Then we heard something else.
It was a loud screech of at least fifty people screaming. It was getting closer. "Fuck fuck fuck!" I pushed down on the accelerator and we drove out the garage. In the rear view mirror I saw a massive crowd of people running towards us from behind our house. Another group across the street in front of us, I swerved to avoid them when a rock crashes through the window and hit Mark. "Shit!" he said as shards of glass fell on his lap. The crowd continued chasing us and getting smaller in the mirror until they stopped and turned back. We sighed in relief. "Where do we go?" I asked. "Away from here" Mark said. Nodding, I turned us towards the national highway, speeding faster. There were a few cars on the road. I pushed down on the accelerator, speeding up when a someone jumped in front of our car and we crashed into him. The sound was horrible. We stopped and walked out under Mark's Umbrella. In front of us, an old man lay on the road, he was bleeding, but still breathing. "We gotta help him." Mark said. "What if he's one of them?" I said. "He's dying! He's not gonna attack us." Mark said, putting his umbrella down. He bent down to pick him up when the man's eyes opened. His iris was pale gray. He grabbed Mark and pulled him down and kicked out with his leg, kicking the umbrella away. "Isn't she beautiful tonight!?" The man cried. He rolled over with Mark on the ground. I ran towards them. The man kicked out and tripped me. As I got up I heard Mark scream. It was a terrible sound. I looked to him and saw him, staring at the moon, his iris turning from brown to pale gray.
"She's the most beautiful thing I ever saw." Mark said. I backed towards the car. "Mark, wake up! This is not you" I said, standing near the door. Mark got up. "This is me, the same me I've always been. Won't you look at the moon tonight? It's the most beautiful thing *ever*" Mark said, almost growling the last word. The man joined him, and they both charged towards me.
I got in the car and shut the door as the man charged on my side, banging on the window as I turned on the ignition. Mark charged on the passenger side and tried to force himself into the car. He was screaming and growling. I put my foot down on the accelerator and drove as fast as I could. Mark still held on. I swerved the car and punched him in the face. He lost his grip and fell off as I drove off.
It's been a week since it happened. The next morning I ran low on fuel in a nearby town. The town was empty save for a few people. I drove to a gas pump. A man sat near a pump. "Take whatever you want. It's free." He said. "Did it happen here too? The moon?" I said. "Yes." The man said. "Where did everyone go?" I asked. "The man looked at me "The moon took them away" he whispered. "What?" "Took them all up in a big beam of light right in the woods. Everyone who'd looked at it".
I couldn't say a word. I filled my car and drove back home.
--
This is my first writing prompt response. Any feedback or criticism will be appreciated.
| 2022-05-11T14:02:28 | 2018-04-06T21:48:48 | 314 | 32 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
I wake up to the sound of a familiar jingle coming from my phone. Groaning I turn over and turn it on. But then something grabs my interest, an official text, like the amber alerts you get sometimes, saying DO. NOT. LOOK.AT. THE. MOON. My screen then suddenly bursts up with hundreds of text messages saying the same thing, it’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.
I then see the time, 3:00 am. “Shit” I say, still half asleep, “ I have class at 7:30, ain’t nobody got time for trolls.” I then turn back over and have a wonderful nights rest and get to class just on time.
But no one is there.
|
The silk curtains fluttered in the cold November winds, brushing ever so softly on Evelyn's shoulder. With its cool touch, Evelyn slept soundly. A distant owl cooed, the falling leaves danced in the night. As the darkness grew dense and empty, the moon burned bright in the sky. Not a single cloud in the sky, the beige red moon hung high bursting through the black sea. While Evelyn slept, her phone began to buzz, shining bright in her dark room. Vibrating against her nightstand, her phone buzzed and shone, soon the owl had ceased cooing. Evelyn turned over frustrated, freeing herself from her blanket cocoon. The cold air washed over her milky white skin sending goosebumps along her arms and back. Fumbling for her phone in the darkness, she grasped it tight and brought it with her under the cover of her blankets. Warm and cozy, Evelyn wiped the sleep from her eyes, letting out an enormous yawn. The phone began vibrating again, another post, then another, an another. Soon new posts were flooding her home screen. Instagram, facebook, and snapchat, all tagging Evelyn, messaging her. Atop all the social media posts, Evelyn noticed the SMS message from her girlfriend Samantha. In all caps, with no context read a message, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". Evelyn laid there confused, her mind still fuzzy from sleep. She peered her head out from the covers, he alarm clock in the corner of the room read 3:12AM, she had school in only a few hours.
Retreating back under her covers, she sat there confused and angry. Racing thoughts began filling her head, all the other messages were saying how beatiful the full moon looked tonight, how big and bright it was. Yet, through all the messages, Samantha was the only one to tell her not to look. And in all caps, the scared Evelyn, why would Samantha say that. It began to worry her as her phone continued receiving dozens of messages at once. With an eerie sense of being overwhelmed, Evelyn dropped her phone off her bed, landing flat down on her carpet. Breathing a sigh of relief, Evelyn tried resting her eyes and drift back to sleep. While she tried sleeping, a nagging suspicion began building in her stomach. She couldn't shake the weirdness she felt with the messages. Why was everyone messaging her about the moon? why did Samantha say not to look?. While the thoughts continued to race, Evelyn peered out from her covers looking towards the window. Through the darkness was a dull light, a light high in the sky that could only be coming from one place. While the nagging feeling in her gut, Evelyn swallowed her fears and buried herself under the covers. Something didn't seem right, she wouldn't look.
While her mind continued to wander, feint footsteps began creeping up the stairs. Living in an old house had it issues, one of them being creaky floor boards. Evelyn figured it was her mother going to bed for the night, she always stayed up late watching nature documentaries. Unable to sleep, Evelyn once again emerged from her cocoon of blankets and looked towards the door. The hall light switched on, illuminating under door. Who ever it was stood beyond her door. As the door knob turned ever so slightly, Evelyn contemplated being asleep, she felt hot and nervous. With a thin push, the door swung open. Blocking the hall light like an eclipse, her mother stood motionless. Evelyn laid with her blankets pulled up towards her nose. She called out to her mother, asking if she was alright. Unable to see her face through the darkness, her mothers head twisted sharply to the right.
Evelyn's stomach dropped, the room seemed to go completely silent. Her neck made a nauseating cracking sound, Evelyn cried out in disgust. Still, her mother said nothing, she took a faint step forward. Tears were bubbling in Evelyn' eyes as her mother walked towards the bed with her head at a right angle. She stood over her, looking at her sideways. Her mouth groaned open, letting out a foul smell that took Evelyn back. Her mother let out in a raspy, sinister voice to get up. Evelyn rose slowly, without saying anything her mother pointed towards the window. The window where a dull light was burning bright in the sky. Evelyn chocked and sniffled, her mother disfigured and cold stood pointing. Peering through the window, Evelyn noticed her calm neighborhood, a place she was quiet fond of. And through the darkness, shapes began to form. Soon she was able to recognize groups of people huddled around one another, staring up at the sky. The only thing visible in the sky tonight was the large full moon. With its blotchy dark spots and cool whites of orange, Evelyn took it in sharply.
Her eyes burned, her skin went cold. As the consciousness left her body, Evelyn dropped limp to the floor with a crash. Her mother, grabbed her and dragged her outside. Awaking later which felt like an entirety for her, she was transfixed upon the moon. Her eyes peeled wide, her mouth agape. She couldn't stop staring. As the moon burned brightly, the orange hues began pulsating, growing larger. As the crowd of wide eyed, gaped mouth onlookers watched in awe, an arching beam of light shot out from the moon. The crowd reacted with shock and awe. A meteor began burning bright, heading down towards earth. The flaming objected reflected brightly in the onlookers eyes and the cold night swept on. Unable to move or think, they continued to stare. The goosebumps grew larger on Evelyns arms, her lips blue, teeth chattering. Through her fog, a voice pierced through her and everyone in the crowd. Samatha cried out for Evelyn down the block. Like a switch, the crows diverted their attention to Samantha. She stood under a lone street lamp. The crowds heads began turning to the right, an orchestra of cracking, Evelyns neck snapped easily. As Samantha cried out in horror. The meteor crashed in a field yards away, the night lighting up in a fiery orange explosion. The crowd didn't flinch, Samantha turned to run as a thunderous animal roar bellowed from within the crash. The crowd dropped limp to the ground. Evelyn' blank stare fixed on Samantha darting back into the darkness as the ground had a violent tremor as the being grew closer.
| 2022-06-27T10:58:59 | 2018-04-06T18:29:33 | 103 | 43 |
[WP] The tooth fairy has finally amassed the number of teeth she needs to achieve her goals. Mortals beware.
|
They’d laughed at her. Called her crazy. Insane. Maybe they had a point. Maybe she was a little crazy. Unhinged even. But what did it matter to her? She’d done it. Their belief in her, or lack thereof be damned!
Sarah. That had been the girls name. A sweet little 6 year old. Cute as a button and with shining blonde curls to boot. Marreth hadn’t felt so good about a trade in years.
She’d had her doubts over the millennia that she’d been at it. The money was of course worthless to her. She’d take a small amount from her personal stores and shape it into the desired currency as need be. She’d never worried about running out when she’d started. Still the final checks and balances all weighed up, it had come far closer than she’d hoped.
None of that mattered now though. She’d done it. She’d reached her goal. She’d made the trade and gleefully returned to the fay world. The last tooth she’d ever have to acquire snuggled tightly under her arm.
She’d begun the task of counting them then. That hadn’t been fun. Her last chore. One by one she’d stacked them. Piles adding up to millions were set side by side. Still she’d tried to enjoy every moment of it. Each tooth told a story. A story of work, perseverance. Their collective though. The sum of her work. That told of something more. Something much, much grander.
After checking and rechecking she was sure. She began the process then. Tendrils of white light, forming between her and her treasury of teeth. Minutes passed; the light began to grow thick, heavy. Slowly, it began to form something more. It was then the chattering started. The teeth, grinding and gnashing amongst themselves. The light had become so heavy it was almost solid now. Marreth watched with pride as it begun to form miniscule threads. Ever so delicately they began to flutter, wrapping gracefully around her fragile form. Her pupation had begun.
Hours later she emerged. The other fay understood now. They didn’t think she’d do it. Some threatened her, told her it wasn’t her place. Others simply begged. Pleading for the lives of the humans. They all rang on deaf ears. She’d made up her mind long, long ago.
Intoxicated by her newly acquired power, she made the transition. Stepping out into the human world, she surveyed the room before her. There lay the one who had gifted her the last tooth. Little Sarah. Though maybe a year or so had passed, she was still cute as a button.
Sarah began to stir. Marreth watched, waiting patiently. Sarah’s eyes opened.
“Are you the tooth fairy?” She asked drowsily.
“No,” replied Marreth, as her lips curved into a wicked smile, “I’m the bone fairy”.
|
The entire planet seemed to hold its breath as a swirling vortex of dark energy appeared in the middle of the wintery forest. As the defenders of Earth watched, Toothnos, the Mad Tooth Fairy, stepped out, his massive boot planting itself firmly in the snow.
The vortex behind him dissipated.
“Cap,” whispered Bigfoot through the giant Transformers helmet the elves had affixed to his head. “That’s him.”
The Easter Bunny gritted his teeth. This was it. The elf-made shields on his arms, which greatly resembled Easter eggs, slid out from their sheaths as he stepped forward to meet the enemy.
“Eyes up,” he ordered. “Stay sharp.”
Bigfoot had described Toothnos as a gleeful killer who took delight in harvesting teeth wherever he could find them, but the fairy before him just looked sad and tired. On his left hand was a golden glove with six tooth-shaped cavities in it- the Infiniteeth Gauntlet, the Bunny presumed. There were already five Infinity Teeth in it. The sixth and final tooth, the Mind Tooth, lay behind the ranks of the heroes, embedded in the jaw of Frosty the Snowman.
It was strange, thought the Easter Bunny, that the tooth should end up not in the jaw of a living creature, but of a living snowman, whose entire existence sprang from its presence in his mouth. He wished it were someone other than Frosty. He was too young to die. But alas, in the cruelest twist of fate the Easter Bunny had yet seen, Frosty’s wife Crystal, who had also been created by the Mind Tooth, stood ready to melt her husband with the magical hair dryer that had also been created by the Mind Tooth (as seen in Holidayvengers: Age of Snowman). Santa Claus’ best scientist elves had calculated that the hair dryer would be able to melt the tooth, but at the cost of Frosty’s life as well. The heroes had decided to fight rather than allow Frosty to die, but it seemed they no longer had a choice.
The only thing the Easter Bunny and the others could do now was give Crystal time to finish melting her husband and his incredibly powerful false tooth, and so, with a heavy heart, the Bunny charged at Toothnos, promising himself that he would die if that was what it took to hold the massive, muscle-bound fairy off long enough for Crystal to finish the job.
Bigfoot was the first to go down. As he lunged at Toothnos, the villainous tooth collector turned him and his Transformers helmet into an ice sculpture with a single pump of the Infiniteeth Gauntlet. The Easter Bunny tried to get in a hit on the fairy, but Toothnos blasted him to the ground with some kind of energy beam from the purple tooth on his glove.
The Easter Bunny rolled over, winded, and saw Santa Claus leap into the air, throwing a punch at Toothnos’ face. The Bunny winced at Toothnos caught his old friend by the throat and slammed him into the ground.
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer rocketed through the air toward Toothnos, but Toothnos knocked him out of the sky with the blue tooth, which seemed to be able to control space. Rudolph’s father Donner met with a similar fate a few moments later. Lucky the Leprechaun flung Lucky Charm after Lucky Charm at the Mad Fairy, but the grape-like tooth tyrant simply flung him aside.
On and on it went. The Gingerbread Man was pinned down beneath giant strands of delicious licorice. Santa’s helper Elfkoye was smacked into the bushes with her own candy cane spear. The Sandman was swept away like a dream fading in daylight.
Finally, after struggling against the snow and against his own aching muscles, the Easter Bunny managed to pull himself back up onto his feet. He saw Crystal standing over Frosty, pointing the hair dryer down at him. The famous snowman had nearly melted into a puddle, and yet the Easter Bunny could still see the yellow glow of the Mind Tooth through the slush that had once been Frosty’s face.
He had to delay Toothnos just a little while longer. He bounded into the Tooth Fairy’s path and gave him a kick in the chest with his mighty rabbit legs, then delivered another one to his arm, followed by another to his face. As the Bunny fell to the ground, he realized that all his efforts had done nothing. In desperation, he grabbed the Infiniteeth Gauntlet. As he shook the glove back and forth, hoping to loosen it, he was vaguely aware that he was screaming, but it didn’t feel like he was the one making the sound.
He didn’t even see Toothnos’ right hook coming.
Stars danced in front of the Easter Bunny’s vision, and he had a dream. He dreamed that he was laying on the ground in the snow. He dreamed that Crystal had destroyed the Mind Tooth with her hair dryer just as Toothnos reached her. He dreamed that Toothnos had knocked her aside with one hand and used one of the teeth on his gauntlet to rewind time, restoring Frosty and the Mind Tooth, and then plucked the tooth right out of Frosty’s mouth, turning the snowman into an inanimate pile of snow once again.
He dreamed of Toothnos dropping the Mind Tooth into the final slot of his gauntlet. He dreamed of Jack Frost dropping out of the sky and burying his wooden axe, Icebreaker, deep in the Mad Tooth Fairy’s chest. He dreamed of Toothnos saying “you should have gone for the teeth”, snapping his fingers, and disappearing.
The Easter Bunny gasped, sitting bolt upright. It hadn’t been a dream.
He staggered to his feet and rushed over to where Jack Frost was standing in the snow. The man stared down at Icebreaker, which lay dormant on the ground, coated in purple blood.
An odd expression was on Jack’s face- something like rage and sorrow, mingled with fear.
“Where did he go?” asked the Easter Bunny, feeling a tingle of trepidation run through his body.
Jack didn’t answer.
“Jack? Where did he go?” repeated the Easter Bunny, growing even more anxious.
“Easter Bunny?”
The Easter Bunny turned around. Lucky the Leprechaun was trudging through the snow toward him.
Lucky opened his mouth to say something else, and as the Bunny watched in horror, his teeth dissolved, turning to dust.
The leprechaun coughed, clutching at his chest. “What’s going...” He stopped and stuck a finger in his mouth. His eyes widened as he moved it around, realizing what had happened.
The Easter Bunny looked around. All around him, his friends and cohorts were staggering toward him, many of them grabbing at their mouths and looking confused.
The Easter Bunny’s heart lurched as his eyes fell on the pile of snow that had once been Frosty. Crystal sat beside it, holding her husband’s corn cob pipe and staring at it with blank coal eyes. The Easter Bunny sat down beside her.
“What’s this?” demanded Donner, landing in front of them. “What’s going on?”
The Easter Bunny stared down at the snow, a sense of horror slowly building inside him.
“Oh, nutcrackers,” he muttered.
The silence seemed to stretch on for eons. It was broken when Santa Claus trudged up to the group.
“Well, half of us lost our teeth,” he announced.
The Easter Bunny nodded. “Yeah. We know.”
Santa Claus looked around at all the solemn faces. There was another long silence. It was a bit more uncomfortable this time.
“I mean, it could be worse,” Santa finally said. “He could’ve, like, killed half of us instead of just taking our teeth. That would’ve been worse, right? I mean, we can still live without teeth.“
The silence continued. Santa rubbed his gloved hands together, shifting uncomfortably in his red fur suit.
“Ah, ho, ho, ho. Just trying to look on the bright side. Glass half full and all that. At least we’re all still alive.” He coughed. “Er, except for Frosty. Sorry about that.”
He made an awkward thumbing motion in the direction of his workshop. “I’m just gonna...”
The Easter Bunny listened to the sound of Santa Claus‘ footsteps as the jolly old elf hurried away through the snow. After a few moments, he lifted his head and stood up.
“What do we do now?” asked the Gingerbread Man, voicing the thoughts of all those assembled.
The Easter Bunny took a deep breath. “We go find Toothnos.”
| 2019-06-20T21:26:07 | 2019-06-20T20:58:16 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] You were an "evil" king who has been dethroned by conquering heroes for your "horrible tyranny". It takes less than 2 years for the people of the kingdom to be begging for you to be reinstated as king.
|
As the evil necromancer king was slain the heroes stood triumphant at last. The kingdom was saved. Or so they though. Running a kingdom cost money, effort, time and cunning. Thing neither of those wannabes had.
I withdrew my thoughts from my pawn just as the blow was dealt to it. I retreated to my cabin in the dark woods. I always dreamed of going back home to “simpler” times. It took just a few years or there miss handling the realm for everything to go to shits. Normally I would have cared but by now I was really comfortable in my cabin filled with my servants I have excavated. A skeleton is a great field worker yes it takes a bit of managing them like telling them to stop at end of field etc. But compared to digging out the field alone I’m doing 20 lanes a day with no breaks it’s extremely efficient.
My livestock’s is thriving. My workforce is free of cost and totally loyal. I’m living the good life. Well I was until some shithead (sorry you should perhaps not call the commoner that) put two and two together. And realised I was the previous lord. Well it wouldn’t have been so bad if he had kept his mouth shut but no he spoke of it in the tavern and guess what they came knocking on my door.
Now your thinking pitchforks and torches. Unfortunately no. I would love to kill some stupid ppl and get more skeletons for my farm.
But no they started bothering me about reclaiming my land. How much they was suffering.
How high the taxes was and how the church had been allowed not a 1/8 but a 1/4 of everyone’s assets. Because the church has to build new churches. Because the commoners was hedens.
How the nobles was claiming prima noctra because the commoners was almost heretics.
I smiled and said perhaps a deal could be made. I only wanted full access to the dead once they where dead. Do you really need your Corps after death. Let me keep it and I shall soon reclaim the land burn the churches and swarm the heroes in waves after wave of skeletons.
Do you want it faster well then help me dig up the graves and get me the corpses......
They talked for awhile then agreed. So started the second rebellion to usurp the usurper.
|
As Alanmir tended his garden, head lowered to water the cluster of Amaryllis in bloom, he heard a horse approaching, followed by its cool shadow looming over him.
"Can I help you?" Alanmir asked politely. He lifted his head in greeting, placing a sweaty, dirt covered hand over his brow to see the rider, squinting to try and make out their features, but saw only pale shadow in the bright sunlight. The unknown rider continued to look at him in silence. He could command the rider to speak, but it had been years since he'd used that regal power. Nowadays, he tended his little garden and traded his knowledge of letters to the village for supplies. Gone was the stress of court and nobles. It was a simple life.
"Alanmir you *bastard*, I've finally found you," the rider's tone was scalding, scratching at hazy memories in Alanmir's mind. The rider dismounted quickly, then rounded the horse and leaned over the fence between them. Alanmir blinked a few times, then froze, his blood running as he recognised the rigid smile on the pale rider's face.
"J-Jamer!" Alanmir said in a horrified whisper, falling to his haunches. A ghost from the past— the contract magician of a former life. A man who had no right to be standing here. A man whom Alanmir had watched buried alive in chains and dirt. The bargain that had been struck between himself and the Usurpers rang loud in his mind; A Life for a Life. The King's Throne for a Magician. Sworn by blood and witnessed by many.
"That's right, you *coward*. Your good old *friend* Jamer, returned from the *dead,"* the undead man spat the words at the former-king like an accusation, his feral smile never wavering.
"What do you want!? Leave me alone! I'm done with this kingly business, done with it and done with you, damn it!" Alamnir blubbered, scrabbling backwards until his back hit the familiar wood of the shack. He looked anywhere but that pale face and that wide, dead smile, praying for The World to grant him a boon and end this nightmare.
Jamer raised a mocking eyebrow as he hopped over the fence with ease. "Oh, sir, *please*, *I* want for nothing. I am but a humble servant. Your *people* on the other hand *cry* your name out from the rooftops. The *nobles* weep tears when your name is mentioned on their lips. The soldiers fall to their knees and abandon their posts. It's quite tragic," Jamer said theatrically, raising his arms ever higher as he took one slow step after another towards the former king.
Despite the fear, Alanmir couldn't help but raise his eyes to the undead magician in hope. When he had *retired*, he had expected people to make a fuss about it. An uprising or two perhaps, maybe even a peasant revolt. But nobody did anything. He had gone not with a bang, but with a whimper. But to hear the snake Jamer speak of his kingdom like this filled a gnawing need he hadn't realised he had; that perhaps history would remember him as a good king.
"*No*," Jamer said sarcastically, shattering Alanmir's hopes. "But this is what you'll need to believe when you make your triumphant return, because you *are* going to be returning," there was a bitter, harsh steel to the last part; a command rather than a request.
"No! I won't. *I won't*!" Alanmir blubbered, trying to make himself smaller as Jamer approached him. The undead magician spoke on, as though he'd never spoken at all.
"See, over the last two years I've had quite a lot of time to think about what happened to me. How *did* the Usurpers enter the court so easily? Why *did* the Nobility not fight back? Why *was* power transferred so cleanly? And most importantly," the smile wavered, the pale mask breaking into a rictus of rage, "why was *I* the only one to be executed after all of it?"
Jamer was only a step away from Alanmir now, and he lowered himself to a crouch, bringing his pale close, his dead eyes boring into the king's. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" there was an edge of madness to the man's voice as he said it, the smiling mask slipping back on.
Alanmir gulped, trying to keep the bile in his stomach down, shaking his head vigorously. He had thought his plan to disappear and escape the contract magician's clutches was foolproof. How childish it seemed now when spoken back to him by the undead man. "B-but if the kingdom doesn't want me back, why are you here?"
"Ah, yes. Yes. A good question," said Jamer, pulling himself back a little. "You would agree that one shouldn't pitch a carriage to a *lame horse*, but I still have some faith in you, my dear *King*. You see, I went back to the kingdom before I came here, and *everything I thought would happen has happened*. *Everything.* With you on the throne the nobility could be kept in check, but without you? Every house with a kid to spare is claiming your throne! There's a civil war looming on the horizon and the Usurpers are on the brink of losing it all. It's quite tragic, really."
"Why me? Why not find someone else?"
"Why? *Because,*" Jamir said, breaking into a horrible, manic laugh, "as much as it pains me to admit, taking back a kingdom with an untested weapon is the height of foolishness. *I know you like I know myself.* So when I say you and I are going to go back to the kingdom to take back the throne from the Usurpers, I know, *exactly,* how we're going to do it. And to prevent any mishaps along the way, I drew up this contract for you to sign."
From his pocket, the undead magician pulled out a small scroll and handed it to Alanmir, along with a small, sharp nail.
"And if I refuse?" Alanmir said bravely, a fight welling up in his stomach. Without a king, Jamer would be able to do nothing. Jamer's power was in coercion, and the undead man had nothing now to blackmail him with. This had been one of the stipulations of his plan— a life for a life, his own for the safety of his daughter's.
"Well, well, well, well, *my dear king,"* Jamer sang in a lilting voice, "If you won't do it, I'm sure your *daughter* would be more amenable. Though she's on the other side of the continent, living it up on a beach resort, I'm sure she'll be thrilled for a little spice in her life, don't you think?"
The fight welling in Alanmir's stomach fled him, and he deflated visibly. Jamer still had something he could use, even after everything he had done to try and protect himself. The Usurpers had lied. Had failed in their bargain.
After a few silent seconds, he said, in a small, pitiable voice, "If... if I do this, will you leave her in peace?"
"Pinkie promise. Also, it's in the contract," Jamer said, chuckling as he licked his bruised tongue on cracked lips.
Alanmir looked up to the sky, tears pricking his eyes. He prayed once more for The World to save him, and when nothing came, he gave up. He sighed his last free sigh, stabbed his thumb with the nail, and pressed the welling blood into the contract.
Jamer's pale mouth grew into a contorted, feral smile as he watched the light leave Alanmir's eyes, and saw his puppet king returned to him at last.
| 2021-03-30T14:44:09 | 2021-03-30T13:13:18 | 153 | 37 |
[WP] Everyone has powers locked within them. Each power is different, and the longer it takes for a power to manifest, the greater it is. A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless.
EDIT: Thanks for all the replies everyone, I had fun reading all of them.
|
My first prompt here!
We did it. We finally captured him. Heh, he thought he could run away from us forever. Fool. We could never let go an opportunity like this one. The boys are running some tests right now, it shouldn't take long...
"Sir, the results are out. You are not going to like this."
"What happened?"
"His power is already unlocked."
"That's impossible."
"Here are the results."
A single sentence stood out in the middle of the sheet:
"The power to dissapoint."
|
Growing up in this world without a power was incredibly difficult and now John was finally getting some recognition for it. People were hesitant around him. As the current oldest person still dormant he knew that he was now part of a long line of heroes and villains. For twelve years the entire world had been cancer free when Sophia Lee's power had finally awakened. Unfortunately for her she couldn't cure cirrhosis. She went from being the world's oldest dormant to the world's oldest drunk. Then of course Gale Swift had ironically killed herself and thousands of others when she whipped up her hurricane six years ago. No one had any idea what his power might be if he ever awakened and the whole world was relatively anxious. Then again he was taking the title from Steve who died still dormant at 102 years old. There was some controversy when a 101 year old woman tried to claim the title over him but fortunately for John she had inadvertently answered a question addressed to her by a squirrel and she was outed as a fraud.
When he agreed to the interview he had explicitly stated that he would only do it if they got Anderson Cooper. No offense to Matt Lower but he didn't want his life to be a fluff piece. They went through the usual questions. "How had he managed to live this long," "If he could have any power what would it be," "Did he think maybe he wasn't dormant and his power was just something unnoticeable."
"Do you ever actively try to do something or make things happen just to see if they will?" Anderson asked leaning in.
John took a deep breath and slowly answered.
"I used to but, at this point even if it happens I probably won't get much time to enjoy it so no. Sometimes I still wave my hands at the remote but it never leaps up and comes to me." He punctuated the statement with a gesture, and felt a tingling in his hands. For a moment he chalked it up to more of his nerves preceding him into death but then he noticed Anderson was no longer there. In fact none of the camera crew or studio audience was there.
It took him the rest of the day to get home. He had to drive so slow to allow himself time to react, not that there was any traffic. He knew what he had done, and the whole drive he cried to himself. The radio was silent, the world in fact seemed to have gone quiet. He went home and made himself dinner, followed his normal routine and went to bed. There was nothing else he could do. As he put his head on his pillow still crying his only hope was that he would finally die in his sleep.
Two months went by and John was surprised he was still making it. Even taking a crap was a full production at this point, no more nurses to help him out. Some days he just sat in his chair and listed all the ways that people had helped him fulfill his basic needs. Other days he tried to invent powers that would have been better. Some days he spent all day just waving his hands around, trying to bring everyone back.
It might have been a Sunday, he always seemed to feel worse on Sunday's but that was probably because that was the day his daughter Gloria used to visit him. She would come by and they would talk about her life. Occasionally she would bring baby Mark over. He had been so happy when she told him that he was to be a great-grandfather and Mary her daughter had been the most inspiring trouper of a pregnant woman he had ever known. Baby Mark had awakened at a mere three years old and if he would never develop one of the great powers like his grandmother, they were no less proud of his obvious smarts and his ready smile. He always smiled when Gloria would make little light shows for him, he would run toddle around and clap his hands over the falling sparks that she cascaded into his playpen. Of course having stayed dormant until she was well into her fifties she could have lit up half the continent if she chose but she had been content entertaining her grandson. Mark could control an insect, just one a time as far as they knew but he always had something with him, crickets were his favorite and they followed him around like a loyal dog. Or rather they had, they had until John had swooshed them all out of existence. He always cried on Sunday's.
It was a Sunday when he began feeling a pain in his leg. Pain was a regular part of his life at this point and he ignored it. It was not as though there were any doctors around to make a house call. On Monday the pain was worse and his leg was swelling, he went about his day normally but he had a slight hope. On Tuesday afternoon the pain in his leg disappeared and about an hour later the chest pain started, the pain was so intense and he was grateful for it. He sat in his chair with a cup of tea and waited for the end. His eyes began to loose focus and his thoughts were scattered. It was at that moment he suddenly had a distinct memory of Gloria, as though she were kneeling in front of him. He reached out, his only goal in these final moments of his life was to rest his hand on her shoulder, apologize and say goodbye but his hand was too weak. He tried to reach out again but this time his hand passed through the hallucination and dropped. At that moment he heard a thud and looked up. There she was, looking shocked but smiling. She ran over to him and knelt exactly like she had in his vision. She took his hand in hers and smiled through the tears forming on her face.
"Oh Dad," She said sniffling "It's going to be ok, you're going to be fine."
He chuckled and groaned with the pain of the laughter. "You're back," he managed to groan out "That's all that matters." His eyes closed and he lost the ability to hold his head up. He felt her hand on his check and she leaned in and kissed his forhead.
"Yes," She said "but I know where you're going...and it's beautiful."
| 2015-10-26T12:10:03 | 2015-10-26T11:28:35 | 32 | 10 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
"186 thousand years?! W-what did I do?" I asked the demon before me. He sighed, rolled his eyes and started tapping away on his demonic keyboard, delving deeper into my file.
"Says here you would frequently eat the fats on your meat?"
"I did? I guess. What does that have to do with anything?"
The demon shrugged. "Automatic 186 thousand years."
"What?! Why?!"
The demon sighed again, more loudly this time: "'It shall be a perpetual statute for your generations throughout all your dwellings, that ye eat neither fat nor blood.' Leviticus 3:17. It's right there in the bible, sir."
"Are you kidding me? The guy in front of me only got 145 years! Are you telling me he never ate fat or blood?"
"That's correct. You are literally the only person who has ever eaten fat. God was very clear about fat."
"Ohhh, you ate fat?" a guy with three teardrop tattoos under his right eye asked incredulously from behind me. "Dude, don't eat fat. Haven't you ever read Leviticus?"
"No, I'm not religious!" I protested.
"Well, it's basically the worst thing you can do," he informed me, licking blood off his knife.
"This guy's eating blood!" I pointed out. "Is he gonna get 186 thousand years?"
"No, blood's not as big a deal obviously," said the demon.
"It's in the same quote!"
"Yeah, but you gotta read between the lines on this stuff."
I threw my hands up in the air in exasperation.
"Okay, look, you seem like a nice guy. I'll see if I can knock it down a couple of thousand years for you, alright? Let me just-- whoa, wait, it says here you've worn garments upon you of more than one kind of material mixed together? Dude. What the fuck."
​
|
I'd gone to church every week, sometimes I'd gone a few times a week, especially during Easter. I'd served the poor, the indigent, and I'd gone out on the streets and tended to the sick, just like my brethren and the rest of my church. I was only one of them, one of the many. Average. My service of others had caused me to travel, and my travels had taken me to all the low places of this world, from the slums to the gutters of the poorest cities in the world. Everywhere I had gone, I had helped those who fell under my care. Now, after a life where I had dedicated myself to the service of others, to the ending of the suffering of others, to the helping of others, I had died. It hadn't been an unpleasant death, and my family was by my side right at the end. I hadn't seen them much, and they hadn't bothered to come and visit me after I'd stopped being as mobile, and I could no longer go and visit them. They had finally made an effort, and I judged that they did seem glad to see me, and as I closed my eyes that final time and felt a wave of peace descend on me I knew I was going to go where I deserved to be, where all my service to others would be rewarded.
I became aware again. I knew I was dead with none of the panicked or frenzied feelings I had had in my living body. I was here. It was my reality. I was calm. My life and my actions were a tapestry before me. I saw the warp and weft of my activities before me, and I could see how my will had driven me all over the world, and how I had at some level knowingly performed every action, even the small, subconscious, seemingly involuntary movements. There they were, laid out and ready for inspection, and I would be judged for my actions and what my actions had wrought. My awareness widened, and I slowly became aware that I was not alone, there were other souls here, and each was standing in front of his or her or its tapestry, though I knew somehow that the analogy of a tapestry was my own particular view of my life, prepared for me to understand what was and what had been and preparing me for judgment.
I front of me, I saw a man, and his tapestry was not nearly as detailed as mine, and by looking at it I could understand that he had a child, and a wife, and that his love of his wife had faded, and his love of his job had faded, and the loss of love of those around him had driven him to acts which when he had gotten married he would not have even contemplated. His pathetic sexual acts with women, which were embarrassing in their luridness, with his balls slapping against the thighs of middle-aged and uninterested prostitutes were there for all to see. Like me, he didn't seem scared or upset, he just looked at his tapestry and waited. I looked at a small corner of his tapestry, close to the bottom right, and I could see in the detail that he'd died of a heart attack on the way to work, driving, and he'd caused the death of others. I could see he was blameless in this incident. It made perfect sense that his heart attack was involuntary, and he'd never intended to hurt others in his final moments. Looking at his furtive copulation with prostitutes, I realised that it wasn't his wife who had suffered as a result of his actions; she'd never found out. His child had never found out either. His sins had inflicted misery on those prostitutes and on himself, and I could see his future laid out ahead of him. He knew as I knew that he was being judged. All who were here knew that while time had no meaning here, it still existed. Eventually, once you'd understood what you had done and you had atoned for your actions in your previous life, you would be able to ascend, to complete your journey and go to Heaven. For this man, his time of suffering, contemplating his actions was only 145 years. You could see it as plain as day, right there, and it was apparent. 145 years. I knew without thinking that I could inspect every act he'd inflicted on himself and others that had earned him those 145 years; from the infidelity which had caused him suffering, and to the suffering he had caused others. He'd been judged.
In an almost leisurely manner, I realised it was my turn, and with some interest, detached, but yet there, I could see others had turned their view of the world to me and my actions. I saw my tapestry fill my vision, and I began to see that my future in this place would not be short, and it would not be simple, and my suffering would be great. My faith was absolute, and my service had been to others, and my faith had been anchored to a belief in helping others, and alleviating suffering, but my selfless acts had not been so selfless. I looked at the tapestry and saw a trip I had made to India where I had tended to the sick. Every morning I would leave the shared accommodation which I slept with my brethren, and we would go and find the sick, the poor and feed those we could, and tend to those too sick to eat. I saw my failing gradually, that I was helping them, but not caring. My care was for myself, for the glory of self. I saw that every child I fed, every person I helped was nothing to me, and their faces barely registered. It was all there; every action was to glorify me, to glorify no-one but myself.
Those poor souls I helped were helped as a side-effect, and my balance was alleviated by the actions I had performed, but in reality, not by much. The helping of others was a means to an end, but the real recipient was me. It was all me. Everytime I felt pride that I had scraped my knees helping others, I was glorifying me. All the times I was doing all those supposedly self-less acts, I was serving my self. I had failed my own moral compass.
And then I saw my family, and how I had caused them suffering, how my sanctimonious, pompous and self-inflated sense of self had caused them years of suffering. My wife had kept quiet, but now looking at the tapestry, I saw that she neither obtained relief from my presence when I was there, nor by my absence when I was gone. Her guilt that she should have done something to make her worthy of me had caused her suffering. Why had I not ever shown her a fraction of the care I had provided to strangers in foreign lands, and people who had never asked anything of me? I realised that my actions had caused my wife untold suffering. I saw my final moments in my bed, and realised that her eyes and the eyes of everyone around me were finally hopeful. The judgement and suffering at my hands would end, soon.
186,292 years. I deserved it. I had to learn how to serve others. I knew that now. In this place, where knowledge and self-awareness were free and provided, that the lesson would be long. I had never learned the lesson on Earth, and before I went to Heaven, I would learn the lesson here, in my own personal Hell. I would relive every one of my acts, see the falsity of my intentions, and trace the misery I had caused my family and supposed loved ones.
| 2018-09-26T09:04:03 | 2018-09-26T08:34:25 | 29 | 20 |
[WP] How strongly can you make someone hate a character?
|
It wasn't enough to get a hundred. Any fool could get a hundred. The commander had set the bar too low so that the nobodies could crawl over it. Jiro was going to do better. He was going to make his ancestors proud. He was going to get every possible kind of Nanjing scum there was. He was going to behead each one with a sword. He was going to be perfect.
He jumped off the truck before it has stopped and sprinted to the virgin street. He ran straight to the nearest house and right up to the window. There was no time to lose. The screaming had already started before he had started smashing the window with his rifle butt and didn't stop when he climbed through.
And then he saw it. The twin crib. The beautiful miracle of a twin crib. You could go a whole town without getting twins. The family scurried around him crying and begging. He went straight towards the soft, white crib. His heart began to racing as he got closer. He almost hesitated to look inside but didn't.
It was perfect.
|
"Are you fucking daft?" he demanded, doubling over in disbelief.
On this day, 12 years ago, I set out to start a revolution. I was tired of working 12 hours a day because one third of everything we did got looted. What were we paying our taxes for if looters could simply run free? What if we just taught our farmers to fight, provided them with the tools they needed to protect themselves? What if we attacked the looters, and took back was ours? I could do that, couldn't I? I could train and fight back the looters, I could show the world we aren't defenseless, and protection doesn't have to leave us penniless. I could lead the charge and eradicate the parasites that had been living off our hard work. I could make things better.
Was I daft then?
I apprenticed under a blacksmith for five years, before I crafted my own armor. I wasn't strong or well fed like the other applicants, but I could work 12 hours a day. I studied hard. I researched, mined my own custom metals, pieced thousands of tiny pieces of armor that all meshed together for maximum mobility and durability. And, armed with a weapon and armor, I provided the blacksmith with the best helm I could have forged as payment for his education, and left. Should I have stayed? I had a good job, safe in the city.
Was I daft then?
I found him begging in the streets. He clung to my legs and when I tried to kick him off, I remembered where I came from. I offered him food if he'd tell me where I could train in the art of warfare. He told me he'd show me a secret temple deep in the jungle where I'd learn techniques the knights of the city had never heard of. Should I have trusted him? Should I have left him to starve? I followed him for weeks through the treacherous path, catching the food for both of us, until we arrived.
Was I daft then?
I wanted to quit. I had worked so hard on my armor and sword and after two years the master still had me doing menial labor and hitting dummies with bamboo. I wanted to quit so badly, but he wouldn't let me. He knew I could make it. Together, we figured out what the master was looking for. Not power, not speed, but precision. We didn't have to always strike the right place, just the same place. Once we had mastered repetition, he would teach us what to repeat. But I spent two years as a janitor, in the home of a man I knew nothing about, trusting the word of a stranger.
Was I daft then?
When he had taught us all he could, I had doubled in age. At twenty two I left, armed with the tools, techniques, and discipline to cause the revolution I wanted to see. Together, we roamed the countryside, defeating the raiders whenever we saw them. We gave the weapons to the farmers we saved, and when there weren't enough to go around, we taught them to fight with farm equipment. Then we told them to stop paying their taxes. I committed treason, a crime who's punishment was worse than death, with an army of unarmored peasants wielding hoes behind my back.
Was I daft then?
The revolution was brutal. We fought long and hard, died not gloriously in battle but to frostbite and infection, cold and alone. Morale was so low for so long, but I still had the same dream I had when I was but an 11 year old girl. We earned each street, each alleyway we took in the city, until their forces were locked away in the castle. We could have just starved them out, but I gave the order to blast through the walls and end the war.
Was I daft then?
Not 15 minutes ago, I stood atop the castle's highest tower, and decapitated the old king for all to see. I took off the helmet I had made to repay the smith who taught me, all those years ago. Then I threw his head to the masses, the war was done.
Seven years ago, I met him for the first time, starving and alone. I fed him and together we found the temple. It was there, when I felt I was making no progress, and my dreams were a waste of time, he kept me going. When there was no end in sight, when we were lost, he took my hand and together we earned the unseen victory we had both been sure wasn't there. Then, together we left, because he believed in my dreams and I believed in his loyalty. When I desperately needed sleep I trusted him to keep watch. When we were surrounded, I trusted him at my back. When the nights were cold, and a fire unsafe, we trusted each other to stay warm.
Was I daft then?
We marched on the castle, and I realized he was such a fundamental part of my life now. We had shared the struggle together, and we would share the victory together. No longer was it an option for us to simply part ways. I had been willing to die for him for quite a long time, and him for me, but until that moment it hadn't dawned on me exactly what that meant. I loved him.
Was I daft then?
And when we split our troops, to pincer the forces inside the walls, I trusted him with half the army. It was only our leadership, together, that brought the king down. We weren't able to tell each other our plans, but we knew each other well enough to know what the other would do. Our coordination meant whenever they successfully barricaded one way forward, the other force would be their to flank the barricade.
He had held the stairway while I dueled the king. He had heard the peasants cheer when I held the king's head high.
And then he stabbed me.
And I, bleeding out, desperately hanging on to the cracks in the stone as he leisurely applied more force with his foot, threatening to push me off of the tower, managed to gurgle out one word.
"Why?"
Was I daft then?
"Are you fucking daft?" he asked, "why would I abolish the monarch, when by simply killing you, I could be the new monarch? What, what could you possibly offer that's better than that."
And my strength let out, and my body fell below. It landed in the center of the rioting peasants, and they saw the face of their new leader, wearing his new helmet, raising their new flag.
| 2013-09-15T04:47:37 | 2013-09-14T13:25:15 | 113 | 29 |
[WP] All throughout your life, time stops and resumes at random, sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for days. You find out later that, for some reason, you are unaffected by the powers of a time-stopper.
|
Mark's blender seized up. "Shit." Not just the blender; the entire world around Mark had frozen again. He unplugged the power cord and walked away.
*****
Karen yelped when the front door magically became closed in front of her. On the couch behind her, Mark was startled awake by the sensation of keys falling on his face. Karen sighed and looked around. The house was a lot cleaner than a few seconds ago. The TV was still quietly airing the morning news. "How long was this one, babe?" she asked worriedly. It was only a year ago that he had admitted to her that time intermittently froze around him. He had never been able to control it, but recently it had gotten even more sporadic.
"I'm not sure," Mark replied while stretching. "A few hours, I think. I just needed a nap because my sleep cycle's a bit off," he reassured her.
Karen doubled back to the kitchen to check the fridge, suspicious of his time estimate. When Mark is stuck in time he can't drink from a glass. There was only one squeeze water bottle missing this time. "Babe, you know I can't help but worry." Karen walked over and gave him one more kiss before she left for work. She stopped a the door, puzzled. "Why did you close the door on me? Mark... It's bolted."
He scratched his ear. "I'm sorry. I went outside and came back in... force of habit." He looked at her to see if she had bought it.
"Alright." She did. "Love you."
As soon as Karen left, he pulled a large kitchen knife from between the couch cushions and put it back in the drawer. The paranoia he had managed to control during his teenage years had returned with a vengeance. Mark tossed the contents of the blender and sat in front of his computer. A week ago, a video in which Mark blinked out of existence had gone viral. He was blurry and in the background, and the video's authenticity was in question; however, this wasn't the video that worried him.
Mark clicked the player to re-watch yesterday's new video for the umpteenth time. It was an on-location news segment at the place his own viral video took place. In the background --the same background-- a random pedestrian collapses dead, live and on-air. It was later reported as a series fatal stab wounds, but nobody was able to explain how they happened instantly with a camera as a witness. Mark paused the video and began moving forward frame by frame. Only he wasn't focusing on the victim; Mark was paying attention to a far-away hooded stranger facing right at the camera. Frames before the victim falls over, the stranger appears to judder between two frames: Slightly leaning left on one, leaning right on the other.
The worst fear Mark had ever felt crawled all over his back. Nobody else knew it, but this was a message directed at Mark. "I'm coming for you. With deadly intent."
Mark took a deep breath. He realized that to keep the stranger from coming to his home first, he would have to take the fight to the stranger.
|
“So, I told her, I don’t want you to see him anymore, and then he just looked at me, like it wasn’t a big deal seeing her in-” Brittany paused mid sip. I sighed a huge relief. The time-bumps can often be annoying, but I don’t actually mind it when it happens to stop right on Brittany, or any of my coworkers for that matter. Working at a clip-on-tie selling company never was glitz or glam, and when I saw the opening in the paper, I wondered why such a specific item company even existed, but there I was going in for an interview, and I got the job amazingly.
The time-bumps, that's what I called them, have been happening to me since I was seven at school, and at first it was amazing, but dangerous too, because not every time-bump is the same.
We were on a field trip to a science center one day and we were suppose to have these special goggles on during a science experiment, but one of the lenses were broken, and ever since then these time bumps have happened. I don’t get it and it feels weird to think that's what it is, it was so comic book hero, but that's all I can know that would explain it.
Some time-bumps just a second and others last days. The first one was for just a moment, and then ‘reality’ came back to speed. It seemed I was the only one to notice it. It happened a few times after that, but I never got freaked out. I was a huge fan of comics (still am), so my seven year old self thought I had superpowers, which I hadn’t controlled yet, but as the first couple years went by, I realized I had absolute zero control over the time-bumps. I came to terms with them and after my teenage faze of taking advantage of it. (I don’t even want to say what kinds of things I would do.) Nowadays I just wait for it to end. Sometimes I will get to do some extra work, which is what I was doing when Brittany paused mid sip. I could never get my work done in time since she moved into the annex. I was now relying, praying almost for a long lasting time-bump to come everyday so i could get sufficient work in for the day.
Brittany came back to in a couple hours and I had managed to get a lot of work in actually. She hadn’t even noticed that my lunch was completely gone, which I hadn’t even opened when we sat down. That's one of the dangers of the time-bumps. I finally finished work and got out of work an hour early to leave.
I stepped off the bus, heading on my mile walk back to the apartment. I walked by my usual hot dog stand where I bought a after work snack, but before I could raise my hand up to wave at Harold who ran the stand, he froze while putting a hot dog into a bun for some customer. This had happened before, and I felt bad the first time because I really wanted a hot dog, but didn’t feel like waiting for the time-bump to end. I took one without waiting, and I felt terrible I came back the next day and left twenty dollars, but now I took one without thinking about it. I was tired and didn’t really feel like talking to Harold about his pet pidgin. I squeezed my hand under his armpit and grabbed a hot dog, and then headed on my way home. I walked only a block, not even fully applying my mustard when a huge boom came rumpling from the sky. I looked up and saw two things flying through the air. One of the objects stopped. I looked closer. It was people! I was stunned, never before had I seen another person move during a time-bump one time. The people want flying into one another and then came crashing into the ground right in front of me. They were punching one another knocking over posts and jumping and flying about. One was a little girl who would knock something down, the other would pick it back up and place it nicely.
“Amy stop it! This is the third time this week! Am-” The one who was putting everything back froze and looked right at me. I had the hot dog right in my mouth. My first instinct was to freeze, hoping they wouldn’t notice, but the man just kept staring at me.
“I don’t want to wear it Dad! It looks so dumb!” It was a kid, not even ten who was tearing everything apart.
“Amy, come here now.” The man said, not taking his gaze off me. I was really freaking out now. Did they see I moved, I hoped not.
“Hey, he blinked! Dad! Why did that man just blink. No ones suppose to blink during training.”
“Honey I know, but. No… It can’t be.” The man moved in closer to me watching me. He moved his hand close to my eye and I couldn’t resist I blinked and took a step back rubbing my face dropping my mustard everywhere. He stepped back startled and the little girl did too.
“I-I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
“How are you not frozen?” He asked me.
I froze, “Wait, are you the cause of- Oh m god, it makes so much sense!”
Its impossible. There's no way, but how…” He grabbed his chin thinking. The little girl went running to his leg grabbing it.
“Dad, I’m scared, I thought you said everyone pauses. Why isn’t he paused?”
“How long have you been un-paused?” He asked me.
“Uh, well, I was grabbing a hot-”
“Oh good, its not permanent then-”
“Oh no. I’ve never paused.”
“Wait, so are you telling me, You've never… Jesus. How long have you been like this?”
“Uh, all my life I suppose.”
The little girl walked away and started messing with some light posts. She knocked them over like matchsticks. The man looked up from the ground. “Hello, I uh, well I guess I’m the cause of your life suffering. Amy stop that! Just because dad is talking doesn’t mean you can do that! Training the young one, you know how it is. Got any supers back at your place?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh you not married? Or your kid not get your genes?”
“Oh, I uh, I’m not one of you guys. I don’t have any powers or anything, I just, I'm Jacob.” I chuckled rubbing my head, this was getting awkward and I just wanted my hot dog.
“Oh- I see…” He looked down disappointed. “ well, uh, I’m sorry to bother you, I’m just training my young one.”
“That's uh cool man…” You would have expected some extraordinary thing for me to realize or something. You may think I would have millions of questions, but I was tired, and lightly annoyed to be honest and I really didn’t care all too much, I just wanted my hot dog.
“Don’t you have any questions> I mean, this has been happening all your life, don’t you want answers?”
“Honestly, not really, back five years ago, when you had that year long pause,”
”Yea, I remember that. Sorry about that one.”
“Yea, I happened to be at a library alone. That sucked, but in that time I did a lot. After a few months I even traveled. And mister, this has been happening all my life, I don’t need any answers, I got all the ones I’ll need.”
“Ah, I see. Well, uh. Its nice to meet you then.” We both stood there sweating in the awkwardness.
I broke it saying “well, uh, I’m gonna go home to work so, I’ll see ya later maybe I guess.” I looked at him then down at my hot dog, which was definitely cold by now.
“Yea, uh maybe I’ll hit you up, and we can hang or something, we got all the time in the world.” He chuckled. I chuckled and laughed back turning and walking away. I gave him some courtesy by laughing at his shit joke, so I figured I did ok.
Living for all this time in pauses has made me socially awkward. And all I wanted was my hot dog. I turned back to him quick and shouted “Hey! could you like pause just an hour everyday around lunch, I got this coworker whos-”
He throw his hand up, “I got you mate!” He yelled back.
I turned smiling and shoving the cold mustard less hot dog in my mouth
| 2016-09-25T23:10:53 | 2016-09-25T23:04:50 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You've always dreamed of becoming a supervillain when you got your powers, and just because you were bestowed the power of healing doesn't change anything
|
It's amazing how much chaos one can cause, simply by preventing death. Calling healing "doing good" is so shortsighted.
Since I came into my powers, my *realization,* there have been no deaths, accidental or otherwise. Everyone is just... here. Waiting. Panicking. Learning to *live.*
After all, there's no murder, without death. Sure, you can be locked up, but what's a life sentence to one who cannot die? Where is the fear that kept the order? Gone.
Each day, the trap gets smaller as the population gets bigger... all those healthy babies growing strong! But no one dies, and everyone gets that much more worried about their dwindling piece of the pie.
Soon, very soon, everyone will be past death, in the overcrowded netherworld of the perpetually healed. There will be nothing left to hold society together but the overwhelming desire for death to return to someone, anyone.... anyone but them.
And then, only then, I will reveal myself as their new lord and master - because I, only I, can take away the blessing that is their curse.
​
|
I nearly jump out of my car. I’m late. The one time where seconds count, I’ve been stuck behind a street cleaner for the last mile. Am I annoyed? Undoubtably yes, but I have a job to do today. And if I do it right, this just might be the start of a long lasting new career. But I have to run, the smaller the crowd when I get there the better.
Being plainly rude was never really my “thing.” Call it a consequence of good parenting, but I’m dreading have to push through the mass of people that’s already there. People start to pass me as I lock up the car. The fact what they’re coming all the way from out here isn’t a good sign. But I think Sohr would be happy to see the sheer number of people drawn to this event. His event. In reality though, while nobody knows it yet, today is my day. This audience, soon, will be my audience.
I resent them. Remembering the babble. The same babble, that never changes.
“Oh my, you’ll make a great hero one day!”
“You can really help people with that little power of yours!”
Even the odd:
“Oh wow, now you’ll have to a hero now,” from the people who knew me well enough to know that I’ve never exactly been... good.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not evil, I’m not psychotic, let me make that plainly clear. But I am human. I’m what ever hero out there pretends to ignore, but really craves for deep down. The want for wealth. The need for fame. The lust for glorious power. They feel it the same as me. I just don’t plan on hiding it.
Ever since my power fully manifested in me, I’ve been looking for ways to get to my goal. Grave-robbing soon sank when I realised the undead I created could barely lift a chair, and died within seconds. Becoming an immortal was out the window pretty soon too- luckily I grazed my hand on the way to robbing a bank and realised I couldn’t heal myself. That could have gone badly. So, I had to get creative. I contacted one of the world’s most notorious criminals, after months of building up a reputation as a cheap healer who would just heal, no questions asked. That got old quick when they started bringing in the same old kidnapees, but hey, a pay-check’s a pay-check.
It’s not like I have no moral compass, but I’ve seen enough shit to know the world’s basically covered in it. And going with the flow is just admitting defeat. So I’m sorry if I have to step on a few toes to get to a live the life that I want to. Isn’t chasing dreams supposed to be a good thing?
Hypocrites.
Even if those people would just as soon do the same to me if not for the farce that is “societal norms.” But frankly, tough luck, just because I’ve actually made a conscious decision to get what I want, instead of leaving it up to chance. Today, I want Sohr.
Pushing into the main plaza, I see my fears confirmed- it’s absolutely packed. Some of the worst moments in my life go by as I have to squeeze into and between people. The worst are those who put up a fight, who won’t just let me cut in. Nobody else is cutting in, what’s one more person? But no, I get shameful looks and I have to squeeze through a longer route. I remember those looks. I hope they remember mine. Soon. I feel a smile forming. Oh, what the hell, I wear it with pride. Closing in on the centre, I feel it, the anticipation that comes with being on something great.
In the past, I never attracted friends. No, for whatever reason, even working with degenerates down in the slums, others seemed naturally repulsed by me. They were the murders. Extortionists. I was a healer. Yet not a single person ever showed me a drop of generosity.
And then I met Sohr. We first met before he went to fight a sub-Saharan dictator, and his army. He may have been unstoppable, but he still felt it necessary to have a healer on hand should all other defences fail. It felt... good, meeting someone so close to myself. He understood where I was coming from, and that was enough for him to be useful to me. His astounding strength didn’t exactly hurt either.
I finally get to the front of the audience. Yes, at this position, I should be in range, as long as the man in the black hood does his showboating.
Sohr is kneeling, facing the world. On a semi-circular platform, the lights of a million cameras shine into his eyes. He doesn’t flinch. I watch as he is bent over the contraption, as the blade draws high. Given his birthplace, they saw it fit to use this method of execution. I still think it’s a bit harsh- all of that humanitarian work, all of that work for good PR, just to get sentenced to death for a few murders. Ridiculous.
One reporter, who drew the lucky straw, points a camera in his face and asked:
“Do you have any last words?”
“I’ll kill you first, I promise.”
After reeling in disgust, the countdown started. 10. 9. The people begin to get riled up. 8. 7. 6. 5. There’s loud “ahhhhhhh). 4. 3. The blade unhooks and begins to roll. 2. 1. And off it comes.
It landed in a tweed basked, as to keep tradition. But I crossed my fingers and put my hands to my heart, hoping that I could predict what was coming next. The execution, the man with the black bag on his head, he picks up the head.
Walking slowly to the end of the stage, he lifts up a head, his head. Shock pierced the mood as it’s revealed is last facial expression is a wide grin. I can’t wait to see how they react to what comes next.
I contort my hand, and from the severed head, the steady stream of blood stops. In its place, muscly skin forms, and grows. Guns fire, but the shots can barely be heard amongst the cacophony of screams. Sohr’s power includes being indestructible on all parts of his body. Except his neck. The same neck which seemed to now be rapidly regenerating as it was blasted to hell.
What a messy affair, I look around and see the bodies of innocents littering the ground trampled. Such a shame, they’re in a rush to get away from Sohr. Don’t they know he has a promise to keep?
| 2019-01-30T04:08:21 | 2019-01-30T02:50:54 | 361 | 145 |
[WP] You're a superhero who just found out that your supervillain arch-nemesis is secretly your roommate. But being a hero doesn't pay well, and you can't afford rent without them...
|
I casually stroll past my roommate sitting at the breakfast table on my way to the pantry to grab a box of Millville Cocoa Rice, the cheaper, and in my opinion, superior alternative to Cocoa Krispies. This story is sponsored by ALDI.
I whistle as I walk to assure my roommate that nothing is out of the ordinary and I'm certainly not newly aware he is, in fact, my super evil arch-nemesis.
Upon opening the pantry door, I see that my box of Cocoa Rice is absent from its usual position snuggly nestled between the box of Millville Shredded Bite Size Wheat and Clancy's Big Dipper Tortilla Chips, that go great paired with Specially Selected Medium Four Pepper Salsa. He's eating my cereal again. Does this man's evil know no bounds?!
I slam the door shut with such force that entire pantry explodes into a mess of product placement and cheap wood. Then I turn to face my roommate with fury on my face and salsa on my bathrobe. We angrily stare at one another as ominous music begins to play in the background, indicating the imminence of battle.
"You've eaten your last spoonful of cereal.", I say as I rudely point towards him. Now is no time for the manners of a superhero.
He just stares at me as he dips the empty spoon into the bowl and lifts it back up, now full with milk and kidnapped crispy rice morsels, then he proceeds to consume another spoonful of cereal to villainously invalidate my previous statement.
I fly across the room in rage, grabbing him by the neck and slamming him against the kitchen wall so hard that we end up in the living room. Now standing on a platform that used to be our wall-mounted flatscreen television, I continue to hold him up by the neck as the sounds of crushing glass and electronics crackle beneath my feet.
He double front kicks my chest propelling me back into the kitchen through the him-shaped doorway we freshly created just seconds ago. I make contact with the ground just past the kitchen table, performing a back summersault and slamming my back up against the fridge, followed by my head, which bounces off the polished steel covered in handprints and ends resting tilted forward, aiming my vision at the floor.
As I lift my head and bring my gaze back towards the destructed drywall, I see my roommate charging toward me like a bull towards a clown. I have no time to react as he slams his shoulder into my chest, blasting both us and the fridge through the exterior wall of our building and onto the street below.
We land in an empty parking spot between both of our cars. He begins pummeling my chest with his blurring fists, forcing the wind out of my chest and my chest into the fridge. The cold would feel refreshing on my back during this hotly humid day if it weren't for the 200-pound jackhammer attempting to rearrange my insides.
As he rears his fist back for a powerful punch headed straight for my face, I take advantage of this momentary break from being broken by slamming a knee right into his tailbone, knocking him forward and into Bill's oncoming Mercury sedan as he was attempting to leave for work. Looks like Bill is going to be tardy today.
I dig myself out of the fridge and look upon my staggered roommate lying in front of the banged up blue vehicle. With the last bit of remaining strength I have left, I lift my roommate's car and slam it down on his cereal-stealing ass. Ripping off that ridiculous new spoiler he just added for good measure.
Or, at least, that's what I would have done if I didn't desperately need his half of the rent in this impossible-to-find-a-roommate town. Instead, I gently closed the pantry door, grab a bowl, sit at the breakfast table, then shake the remaining crumbs of Cocoa Rice into my bowl.
"Morning."
"Morning."
|
The Silver Bullet rose over the buildings. This always gave him a sense of joy. This was his city. The people adored him. He enjoyed the adoration. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Granted, the exhaust fumes from the vehicles and the smoke from the industrial part of the town that got carried over with the wind made it a bit unpleasant, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. His city.
He landed just outside of the city in a somewhat deserted area. This was the part he hated the most. He took off the mask and he was Sam Bertram again. Just one of the thousands. Since people had started to notice where he landed and the paparazzi flocked to that place to try and get the scoop on his identity, he had to keep changing his landing spots. It had gotten to the point that he had to land outside the city and take a bus to get to his apartment.
Oh well, it couldn't be helped.
He walked slowly to the bus station, going over the fight he just had with The Ravager. It had been an even fight till Sam had managed to disable The Ravager's jetpack. Of course, the mad genius had a backup but it wasn't strong enough to keep up with The Silver Bullet. So, the dastardly villain had made a quick escape postponing the climax of their legendary rivalry to later. Oh well, justice would find a way. Sooner or later, Ravager would join the long list of super villains The Silver Bullet had taken down.
But that wasn't his problem. Sam's problem was that he saw his bus pull into the stop. He ran at top speed, well, Sam's top speed. The mask was off, so he wasn't really Silver Bullet at the moment.
Silver Bullet could've reached the bus in time. Easily. Poor Sam, however, just missed it.
He checked the schedule. The next bus was in 35 minutes. Ugh. He hated this area. The bus service was pretty bad. He briefly wondered if he could just fly home. But that wasn't really a serious option. With half of the population always having their phones in their hand, the chance someone would capture him entering his apartment building and the clip going viral on YouBook were extremely high.
While Silver Bullet had been successful yet again today, Sam felt like a failure. What a horrible day. He had bombed his interview. He had a terrible headache and now he had to wait for the bus. Which meant he wouldn't reach his home for another hour and a half.
He looked at his phone. 3 Missed calls. It was Fletcher, his roommate.
"Hey Fletch."
"Yo, where you been bro? I've been calling and calling."
"Waiting for the bus."
"Where?"
"Over by the Fear Street."
"Holy hell. Still that far off?"
"Yeah, I missed the damn bus."
"How did your interview go?"
"I... I don't know man. I don't want to talk about it."
"That bad, huh?"
"Yeah. My head just wasn't in it, you know. I have a terrible headache to boot."
"Ok, stay there. If you come home, you'll just end up moping. I'm coming to get you."
"No man. I don't have the energy to go anywhere, Fletch."
"Hey, trust me bro. Today, you get to party Fletcher style. It'll take your mind off things. Don't wait for the bus. Walk towards Bay. I'll be there in 10."
Fletcher overrode all of Sam's protests and took him out. They drank, partied, the evening away, reaching home late night.
That was when Sam realized, his headache was gone and at some point during the evening, he had started having loads of fun. Good old Fletch. You could always count on Fletch.
Fletcher pushed the button for the elevator.
Sam took a step back. "I'll just take the stairs."
"Damn, sorry I forgot. Let's take the stairs."
"You don't have to! You go in the lift. I'll take the stairs."
"Hey, friends don't let friends climb twelve floors worth of stairs alone."
"Fletch, you're a true friend."
"And you're drunk."
"No man, I really mean it. I was down in the dumps today, you know. Plus I know I haven't been able to do my fair share around the apartment. I'm like 3 months behind on the rent. And you've been..."
"Hey, come on now. Never mind all of that. What are friends for, bro?" Fletcher stopped short, patting his pockets. "Damn it, I forgot my headphones. Go on, I'll be right back."
"No, no. I got it. I won't let your climb up the stairs go in vain. Give me the keys. I got it."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Give me."
Fletcher handed over the keys. "Alright, I'll put on a pot of coffee. Plus, gives me an excuse to take the elevator the rest of the way." He grinned.
Sam took the key and went down to the Fletcher's car. He pressed the button but in his drunken state, he also opened the boot of the car. He picked up the headphones but when he went to close the boot, he saw something that cut right through his drunken haze. For there in the boot, lay the remnants of The Ravager's jetpack that had been destroyed by The Silver Bullet earlier today.
All of the effect the alcohol had on Sam was suddenly gone. He was as sober as one could be then. Not Fletcher.
God damn it. Not Fletcher.
As he closed the boot and walked up to the stairs, he almost convinced himself out of what he saw. Maybe he was just a repair guy. Maybe The Ravager was forcing him to create and repair his equipment. Fletcher was somewhat of a genius with coding and fixing things up.
But the rational part of his brain, The Silver Bullet part, fought back. When you really thought about it, it made sense. Fletcher was the right height and body type. As already established, he was a bit of genius. He didn't really have a steady job either. Fletcher mostly worked as a freelancer, taking up projects that took his fancy. But surely, freelancers didn't have a steady income as Fletcher seemed to have.
The headache was back.
At that moment, Sam hated the Silver Bullet. Sam was more or less an introvert. When the mask came on, and Silver Bullet came out, it was easy for him. Did the Silver Bullet not realize how hard it was for Sam to make friends? He had one friend. And The Silver Bullet had taken him away.
Fuck you Silver Bullet.
Sam entered the apartment. His anger was mellowed as the smell of fresh coffee wafted over to him.
Fuck you Silver Bullet.
"You OK, Sammie? You look like you've seen a ghost." Fletcher had taken off his shirt and Sam spotted a bruise on his side.
That settled it really. Silver Bullet was the one who had given him that bruise.
Fuck you Silver Bullet.
"I'm fine Fletch. Just tired. Do you mind if I just go to bed. I appreciate the coffee, but I've just been hit by a wave of sleepiness."
"Yeah, sure man. How's your head? You need a tylenol or something?"
"Nah, I'll be OK. Just need some sleep."
"Alright, shout if you need me. I'll be up for a while. Got a new project to work on. Oh that reminds me, I got your share from the last deliverable."
"Oh come now Fletch, I barely helped."
"Hey, a deal's a deal. Besides, I'm taking 80% of the money anyways."
"And doing 95% of the work."
"Hey, you're still learning, man. And quickly! Soon, you'll be scalping my clients." Fletcher grinned.
"You're a true friend, Fletch."
With that Sam entered his room, shut the door and fell into his bed.
FUCK YOU SILVER BULLET.
He tossed and turned all night. What had Silver Bullet given him really? Silver Bullet was famous. People looked up to him. But what about Sam? Sam had one friend. A much better friend that Silver Bullet could ever be. Silver Bullet had caused him pain. He still remembered the broken ribs from the fight with PurPle Haze. He had bombed his last interview, not because he wasn't able to focus. But because Silver Bullet had to come out and fight The Ravager.
He couldn't really turn his back on Silver Bullet completely. But he also wasn't willing to give up on Fletcher. Not after all he had done for Sam.
Besides logically speaking, he couldn't afford this place if it wasn't for Fletcher.
*He's a criminal.* The Silver Bullet part of the brain tried to fight back again.
He had no other income source.
*HE'S A CRIMINAL.*
Besides, the only place he could realistically afford would be on the outskirts of the town. And the commute would be a bitch.
*A FUCKING CRIMINAL.*
It wasn't like The Ravager was one of the bad ones. He had never really killed anyone. Just stolen money and equipment. Probably only stole stuff for a project or something. Sam could really just slowly and slowly talk Fletcher out of his bad ways. Fix him. Mend him. Fletcher could change. Sam could change him for sure.
*FUCK YOU SAM.*
| 2021-08-03T07:07:13 | 2021-08-03T06:36:07 | 120 | 71 |
[WP] A professor stands in front of a class on the first day of term for “Time Travel 101” and explains why no one is allowed to go to Steven Hawking’s party.
|
Time travel 101, if you learn anything in this class I hope you learn that time is a fickle thing, mess with it and you don't come out the other side as you are.
Now you might have heard several rules of time from your fellow seniors, the most curious of which, don't visit Hawking's party. It's not that you can't, well you obviously can, and many have tried before you.
Now's the time to wonder why you haven't heard of any stories about that. You see, when time travel was first discovered, two theories were proven. One: there is only one timeline, and Two: there are multiple timelines. Both these statements are true.
In short, time is not a universal linear experience, instead it depends on the observer. You are each in your own timeline parallel to each other, but at the same time you can only move in your own timeline, of which your actions affect your own future.
So now comes the question, why does everyone experience the same past if we are in our own timelines? It turns out, when time travel was invented, the very moment it was discovered, something changed in how time operates. As similar to the double slit experiment, the mere observation of a process affected the outcome for which is recorded.
So can you go back to Hawking's party? Yes, but does anyone know what will happen if you do so? No, because no one has been recorded of attempting it. The mere fact that there is no record of such an event, even of failures to make contact with Hawking, further emphasizes that someone did attempt it. Thus the question my dear, now becomes... What happened?
Tread carefully my students.
|
"One thing to always remember is that time travel doesn't really make any sense. It's beyond the human comprehension. It's really a miracle that we found it in the first place! Does anybody remember the first discovery of time travel?"
The professor looked around the room for the slightest twitch or indication of a raised hand.
"You there. The girl, in the yellow shirt. What's your name?"
"M-Miranda." She spoke about as awkwardly as she dressed
"Yes, Miranda. You looked like you were about to say something?"
"Isn't it a trick question? By all records, the origin on this timeline seems to have changed, and the actual point is physically impossible to determine. To my knowledge at least."
The professor smiled.
"Yes, and I'm sure the rest of you believe that to some extent as well. And I guess it is sort of true. It \*is\* physically impossible to determine for certain. But there's a common misconception in there. I would ask if anyone knew what that misconception was, but considering that this is a beginner's class, I think it'd be fruitless to ask."
A few of the students eyed each other. Despite being in an intro class, all of them had thought that information was fundamentally known, like how the Earth revolved around the Sun..
"Do any of you know Stephen Hawking?" the professor asked, already knowing what would happen.
The room was silent.
"A while ago, there was a certain scientist. Extremely important, studied many other fields of science, but also never really studied anything remotely close to what we know as time travel. He's also extremely relevant when we talk about anything related to time travel. But it seems like none of you know him." He flashes a cocky grin, as he continues talking.
"That's also why I'm teaching this class, and not you. Because experience is vital in the fields of time travel. I'm one of the few professors here that can tell you of this significant man."
One of the students raised their hand quickly, but jerked it away just as soon as he put it up. The professor glared at him for a second, before realizing something and continuing to speak.
"I'm sure you all have a lot of questions. But to get back on the origin of time travel, how many of you know what a Nexus Point."
This time, many of the students raised their hand, though not quite enthusiastically. There were around a dozen who did so, and most of them seemed unsure.
"To clarify, since this is a Time Travel course, I'm referring to Nexus Points in relation to time travel. Not Nexus Points in relation to dimensional travel."
A student raised their hand, with a certain look. And without being called on, he started talking regardless.
"But isn't dimensional travel and time travel related? Time travel inherently has the use of multiple timelines, and any nexus points made through time travel function as though you're traveling between dimensions? There's not really any difference between dimensional travel and time travel between timelines when you're talking about Nexus Points."
The professor almost got angry. He glared at the student who asked the question, before reminding himself to calm down. He inhaled, then exhaled.
He ignores the question. Fruitless, baseless, uninformed, were many of the adjectives that were running through his head.
"Stephen Hawking is relevant for one significant reason, as I'm sure most of you were wondering. It's known as the Time Traveler's Party. It is also a Nexus Point, which we are going to be referring to from now on in it's relation to time travel."
He takes a bit of effort not to actively glare at the idiot.
"The Time Traveler's Party is only known by it's attendees. This is why nobody here has heard of it. The gist of it was that Stephen Hawking invited all time travelers to attend this party, sort of as an experiment. And for everyone wondering why I'm talking about this party when I should be talking about the origin of time travel, it's because that this party IS the origin of time travel."
Confused faces. All of them. Of course, most of the pieces were right there. There wasn't a lot to expect though, since most of them seemed to not know what a Nexus Point was in the first place.
"I know everyone here is confused. Of course, I only give this information to inform, not to convolute the information you retain. And it's because this information serves as the base for a healthy reminder. To not go to June 28th, 2009."
Suddenly it made sense. Confused faces turned to that of a face who has realized the universal truth. The professor smiled as the pieces began fitting themselves together for each of the students. Except one. The idiot.
"Wait, but you haven't explained how time travel was invented?"
The professor scoffed.
"You should probably drop this class. If you don't get it, you probably won't get anything else I say from now on."
The idiot looked disappointed, and also a bit miffed.
"Fine. But at least explain it to me." he said, now clearly annoyed.
"Fine." It was a begrudging fine, but the professor continued. A ramble to clear things up and have him leave.
"Many of these facts are in direct contradiction to each other. You can't have time travelers from multiple timelines in one timeline except both the time traveler in that timeline and the one that hopped into that one, being the one who created the nexus point between both timelines. The invitation was the first event relative to all of time to have nexus points created, and the timeline got penetrated through a bunch of holes all at once. You can imagine that timeline didn't handle it too well. A bunch of things got fucked over. Now you don't visit that nexus point unless you wanna give the timeline some trauma it doesn't need. Of course, all of the other timeline weakened around it, just because the whole thing got fucked over all at once and it made everything around it susceptible to easier timeline penetration, but not enough to mess things up. Of course, Nexus Points are what happens when you time travel multiple times in the same area and it becomes unusable. For those who do know Nexus Points, they should know that it's not really the Nexus Point is where it becomes unusable. It's more of a safety precaution. But the event is a special type of Nexus Point. I'm sure you could guess why at this point. I'm sure most of you were expecting that this Nexus Point would be just like any other, and would've thought that it would have gotten a bit more use."
It was a lot, but hopefully it would shut the idiot up. The bell rung, and most of the students got up to leave. satisfied with what felt like exclusive knowledge. But the now-learned student didn't, as he sat thinking, until a bit after class had ended.
Finally, he asked, as the professor stood there, waiting.
"But what about the Bootstrap paradox?"
The professor was taken a back for a second, but smiled once more.
"I guess you may know more than I realize. I'm a bit surprised though. You're probably one of the few people in the world that's taken the Bootstrap Paradox seriously. Guess I can't fault you for your other questions."
| 2022-09-24T21:31:14 | 2022-09-24T20:21:57 | 828 | 22 |
[WP] Human beings unlock skills as they grow up, walking, taking, etc. You are the oldest person in the history of the world, and today you unlock a skill no one ever had.
|
I looked at the readout again. After turning 179 (take that Methuselah, ya fake bastard) I had earned another skill. One never seen before. My eyes were replaced last year with new "genetically vat grown" ones, whatever the hell that means and I'd been offered all replacement parts. But see, you don't get a new skill unless you're 95% original parts, at least that's what they tell me. So I stuck it out. I read the readout again as my smile broadened. Well HOT damn!
I opened the door for the first time this week. I slowly, at my age there's no other kind of speed, made my way onto my front porch just as my house rattled from the 8:10 rocket landing at the spaceport across town passed over. You could always count on the old Space Force to be on time!
There they were. The damned teenagers. Drinking and smoking glick sticks and throwing their beer cannisters on my lawn.
"Hey you kids," I yelled. The biggest laughed and stood up.
"What is it, ya old geezer?" He yelled and my smile broadened. Time to see if this skill was worth it.
"Get off of my lawn!" and I touched my cane to the ground. The earth rumbled, buckled, and tossed all thirteen of those little bastards dazed and confused onto the moving walkway, shock in their eyes as they drifted off toward the horizon.
Hot damn! It was worth living till almost 180 to finally get the Get the Hell off My Lawn skill!
|
REPORTER: ANNABELLE HAYNES
INITIAL REPORT
-----------------------------------------------
SPECIES: HOMO SAPIENS SAPIENS
---------------------------------------------
LEVEL 1: AGE 0-3
Basic skills - walking, babbling.
The first year, Homo Sapiens infants tend to crawl on all fours; walking is only developed as a skill after they reach the age of 1. By the age of 2, babbling is unlocked - nonsense words, but a recognition of objects and faces is established. Object permanence is also unlocked; if you show a 2 year old a toy and then hide it, the child will remember what the toy is and where it has been taken. By age 3, basic vocabulary is established, rudimentary conversation can be had.
LEVEL 2: AGE 3- 10
Basic skills - Motor movement, fine skills
The child begins to learn to use their limbs effectively; gains proper control with the opposable thumbs. Is able to manipulate technology with their fingers; recognizes the world around them. By age 9, the child has developed slightly advanced motor skills; possesses the bare minimum of knowledge of several studies, including history, geography, maths, and the natural sciences.
LEVEL 3: AGE 10-18
By this stage, the Homo Sapiens develops their particular talents, be it in academics, sports, or the arts. Fine motor skills are fully developed; the child possesses basic knowledge in several fields; interests and hobbies are developed. Most children tend to be antisocial and withdrawn at this age; social skills are rudimentary.
LEVEL 4: AGE 18-25
Social skills are developed; knowledge grows exponentially. The Homo Sapiens member begins to question, adapt, and finally conform to the society they live in. At this age, most members are still questioning, and tend to be fluid with secual partners, and types of lifestyles that will be led. Due to the vast majority of cultures, most individuals have varied lifestyles, and can switch from one to the other.
LEVEL 5: AGE 26-55
At this level, most individuals develop particular skills related to their work - most manual laborers will develop skills of heavy lifting, most corporate workers will develop skills related to technology, and so on. Most individuals settle down to one particular lifestyle; change becomes difficult
LEVEL 6: AGE 56-90
Few skills are developed here; most individuals suffer from losing basic skills. By age 80, walking becomes difficult; sight is a skill that most will lose. Most individuals degenerate to Level 1 or Level 2 at this stage; when deterioration occurs, most individuals are taken care of by their younger offspring.
LEVEL 7: 90+
Skills - ???
--------------------------------------------------------
I shut the report, looking at the reporter across from me. Annabelle looked at me, unblinking, waiting to see my reaction.
“Alright, I’ve seen the report. What of it?”
“Please don’t fool around, Mr. Lee. We’ve had reports of people witnessing your...skills in public. Levitating a coffee cup? Causing an annoying waiter to slip and drop his dishes? Stirring some tea without touching the spoon?”
“Look, Miss Haynes, I’m just an old man, and I would very much like to go home now. Your ‘leads’ sound fabricated, and quite ridiculous. Please, let me go, or I will complain to your supervisor.” I sat there, hoping the threat to complain to management might scare her into letting me go. On the other hand, old-man charm works just as well.
She sighed. “I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible, Mr. Lee. My boss requested I keep you here as long as possible. You’re one of the oldest members in our society, and you’re the only one with this new skill. We need to know what happens when we age, and you’re the best study we have.”
I fidgeted in my chair. Getting out of her is going to be difficult, and if I revealed my skill, getting out of here would become impossible. There was one option, but I wasn’t ready to try that just yet. The side-effects were often permanent.
“All right, Miss Haynes, I’ll give you a deal. I’m an old man, and this room is uncomfortable. Is there any way we can get out, for some coffee maybe? I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
She shook her head; he screamed internally. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Mr. Lee. You see, we tried to speak to you in a cafe, but you’re awfully agile for a 93-year-old. We brought you in because we need to know, Mr. Lee. It’s important.”
He was starting to lose his patience; a bad sign. He took a deep breath to calm himself, and said, “I’m just an old man. Like your report said, I’m losing most basic skills. How could it be possible that I’m gaining a new one? That’s not how it works, and we both know it.”
Haynes sat in her seat, stubborn and unreadable. “We have too many reports about this for us to ignore it, Mr. Lee. Either start talking, or nothing happens.”
Oh my God, how stubborn is this woman? I knew it was a mistake stirring the tea without using the teaspoon, but I had the newspaper in my hand, and I was already comfortable... Damn it. Damn her.
“All right, Miss Haynes. You win. I’ll tell you everything.”
“Really?” Wow, she genuinely looked excited. This would be disappointing.
I reached up, index and middle finger to the middle of my forehead, and concentrated. I focused on first, gaining control of her consciousness. I could feel resistance, but quickly, she succumbed. Most people aren’t used to outside forces to their thoughts to ever put up a fight.
“Bring the reports of my...skill sightings to me.”
She got up, eyes glassy, and left. I sat there, mulling over. I’d have to leave town soon; messing with a reporter’s mind will be tricky to explain away later. If she ever remembers what’s happened - either in a dream or a deja vu sequence - it would be even more difficult to escape. By the time I was done planning my route out, she was back. She silently handed the reports to me, and sat back down.
I glossed over them, noting which cafes and public points I would have to avoid, before stashing them in my bag.
“Now, Miss Haynes, please repeat after me. ‘Mr. Lee, it seems our reports on your skill level were misinformed. I regret the harsh tone of questioning, and I apologize for any inconvenience caused.’”
“Mr. Lee, it seems our reports on your skill level were misinformed. I regret the harsh tone of questioning, and I apologize for any inconvenience caused.” Her voice was flat, without any tone, emotion, or warmth. I’d have to work on that later.
“Alright, Miss Haynes, please get me out of here”.
10 minutes later, I strolled out of the office into the bright, warm sunshine. It was a clear day, perfect for going home and making some tea. I looked back, to see a senior officer peer worriedly at Miss Haynes - her eyes were still a tad too glassy.
| 2018-06-23T13:18:44 | 2018-06-23T12:14:20 | 208 | 27 |
[WP] "Just so you know, you'll be the only person on this flight" the flight attendant said. "Empty plane? Booking error?" You ask. "No, I said you'd be the only *person* on this flight" she responds.
|
My stomach did an uneasy flip as the flight attendant confirmed that while I would be the only person on the flight, I wouldn't be alone. Perhaps I shouldn't have binged old horror movies in my hotel room before heading to the airport, because now I was picturing sitting amongst a group of vampires on the red eye to Boston. I considered rebooking, but it had been an exhausting trip, and I wanted nothing more to return home to my dog Barkly, and sleep in my own bed. So I decided to keep my seat, and hope for the best.
Whoever, or whatever, would be joining me, I did get to board first. To my surprise, instead of pointing me toward my booked seat in coach, the attendant informed me I'd been upgraded to first class - at the insistence of those who had booked the other tickets on the plane.
My heart was hammering as I settled into the luxuriously large seat, quite sure now I was going to become the inflight dining to a group of bloodsuckers, or perhaps a gaggle of gremlins wanted to see my terror before they messed with the planes controls, sending me to a fiery death.
I took a sip of the complimentary champagne to calm my nerves, when I heard it. An unmistakable howl. Oh, so werewolves. I was to be mauled to death then. I heard the sound of paws coming closer and watched as a basset hound walked down the aisle of the plane. He was followed by another, than a yellow, chocolate, and black lab. A goldendoodle, a pair of Jack Russell's, and an unknown mix also joined. They kept coming until nearly fifty dogs had boarded the flight, each given their own space.
I turned to the huskie mix seated across from me. "How did I get this lucky?" I asked, as it started in on a bowl of dog chow.
"Seems the other tickets were bought by a generous millionaire, to fly a group of rescue dogs to their new forever homes, " the flight attendant explained. "I hope you don't mind? We could rebook if needed. "
I glanced around at the plane full of not vampires or gremlins or werewolves, but dogs. I thought of Barkly back at home. "Totally fine with it," I said with a grin. "Though I don't know how I'll ever explain this to my own dog!"
r/bookwormwrites
|
It had been a long week. I was tired, just going through the motions of living. Work had gotten to me, my girlfriend had left me, and my life was starting to resemble an old country song. And now I had a two-hour flight booked at the last minute, because across the country one of my good friends was having emergency surgery. They needed someone with them and I was the first person they thought of. It wasn't their fault, and I was happy to help, but it was another thing on an already overloaded plate.
All of this was weighing on my mind so much, that I nearly didn't register what the flight attendant said. I was already seated, the only consolation to my horrible life; that my friend had comped me for first class. He really was a good guy, I would have to thank him somehow.
"You're going to be the only person on this flight." She repeated herself, looking slightly aggravated. I took another moment to process.
"Empty plane? Or a booking error?" I asked, trying to act like this happened to me all the time. She shook her head.
"No, I said you'd be the only *person* on this flight." Before I could ask for clarification, we began moving, and she rushed out of first class. Well, thank goodness for cryptic flight attendants. Now I had a mystery to keep me away from much-needed sleep.
As we rose into the air, and I frantically chewed my gum to try and get my ears to pop—plane travel was my least favourite, as it often led to ear pain from the pressure—I resisted the urge to ignore the seatbelt light and wander out of first class. Whoever, or whatever was on this plane wasn't in this section. But they also weren't going anywhere, so I had time. Finally, the light turned off and I was up in an instant. Now I'd find an answer.
But it was not to be. A different flight attendant came in, asking if I needed anything, if there was anything he could do, etcetera. Then, he sprayed me in the face with some kind of aerosol device and everything went black.
When I woke up, I was back in my seat. There were low, growly voices all around me, so I kept my eyes shut. Until I knew more about the situation, I didn't want them aware I was awake.
"What should we do, boss?"
"Well, obviously we have a problem here."
"No one was supposed to be on this flight, why is there a person on this flight?"
"Hey, we're people too."
"You know what I mean... A *human*." I bit my tongue at that last one, trying to keep my eyes from fluttering. They weren't human, whatever they were. And all the context clues I had, were the growly voices and an odd smell. I couldn't quite place it, but I knew I'd smelt it before.
My face must have changed, scrunched, or moved in some way. There were a few yelps of alarm, and the boss voice had to calm everyone down. When they'd regained order, the voice addressed me.
"We know you're awake. When you open your eyes, I want you to remain calm. We mean you no harm, as long as you mean us no harm. You are not restrained, but I suggest you do not become violent."
I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. At first, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. After all, it was impossible. Completely, utterly, impossible. But I *could* finally place what I was smelling.
The plane was full of dogs.
Dogs of all shapes and sizes, from the equivalent of a chihuahua to a great dane. I say equivalent, because as I looked longer and harder, there were differences. The faces were odd, tending towards larger eyes, and taller foreheads. There was an obvious intelligence in all of them, a higher intelligence than most dogs. I could only think of one explanation.
"Werewolves?" My voice squeaked. From the seat across from me, a bulldog chuckled.
"No." It said. The boss voice seemed appropriate coming from it. "No, definitely not. Perhaps the best way we can describe it to a human, is aliens. Though that is not quite accurate either." The bulldog shook his head, spittle flying everywhere. It was comforting to know that these dogs still drooled.
"You only know our lesser cousins. What you call dogs. We are... different." As he said the word, another part of the previous conversation rose in my head.
"What are you going to do to me?" I asked. The bulldog cocked his head to the side, another familiar motion. He was confused.
"Do to you?"
"The situation," I prompted. "I'm a human on this flight, and I'm not supposed to be here?" I could see the headlines now. 'Man mauled by hundreds of dogs that say it was his own fault.' Or something like that. Laughter echoed around the plane. I've got to say, it was disconcerting being laughed at by dogs. The boss bulldog quieted them down with a few sharp barks, that sounded a little like the words 'shut up.' But why wouldn't he just say—
"You being here isn't the situation. Or isn't all of it. Fred gets worried easily." He motioned with his head to a mournful-looking basset hound. "No, it's more than you being here. The situation is stress. Yours in particular. You, in point of fact, reek of stress. It's a very offputting smell." I stared at the dog, trying to figure out if I should be insulted. Then something heavy landed on my lap.
I looked down, into a pair of deep brown eyes. It was a Newfoundland, or at least its equivalent in whatever species this was. The bulldog chuckled, shaking its head again, and spreading more drool.
"As usual, though she is a woman of few words, Lenore is right. You understand your own concept of service dogs? Well, for the next," He paused, seeming to calculate in his head. "Hour and a half, we are all, at your service. Prepare to be de-stressed." I looked back at Lenore, raising a hand to pet her, before stopping just above her head.
"Are you sure, I should—" She stopped me by lifting her head just slightly and butting it into my hand. As I stroked her, I couldn't resist a smile.
This was turning out to be a first-class flight after all.
———————
(Epilogue)
When we landed, I thanked the dogs and walked off the plane a changed man. The stress was still there, it wasn't a miracle cure, but I felt better, more relaxed. And more able to help my friend recover from surgery. I smiled at the flight attendant, both of us party to a secret that we knew wouldn't be believed by anyone.
"Have a nice flight sir?" She asked. I nodded, brushing at pants that were covered in dog hair.
"I had the best flight, thank you."
I floated on the feeling of that flight all the way to my friend's hospital room. He was surprised but listened to the entire story. Though he said he believed me, he *was* high on pain medicine and the aftereffects of the anesthesia. It didn't matter. I knew that as soon as I could, I was going to go down to a local shelter.
After what those dogs did for me, it seems only fitting I should adopt one of their cousins, and give it a good home.
———————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!
| 2022-09-30T18:24:20 | 2022-09-30T17:00:57 | 341 | 83 |
[WP] "Grandpa, tell us the story of the Americans again!" With a sigh and a smile, you begin to tell the story of a mythical race of giants that were supposed to have lived in this very place thousands of years ago.
|
"They were great men, Arthur. They were men who rose up against those who would keep them down."
I pointed my nephew towards a path, and began walking into a forest in the middle of this bright day.
"They were men who thought differently from everyone else at the time." We continued to walk on a path. "It started with Washington. George Washington. He was the first to lead the Americans."
"Like a King!" He jumped in the air.
"Not really, Arthur." I waved off the reply. "You see, it was a Republic. People would pick their King, he was called a 'President.' and he only ruled for 4 years. 8 if he was beloved. And sometimes, in an era of great tragedy, He could serve 12 years." I laughed.
"What could make someone break the rules like that?"
"Oh, a great, great tragedy." I led him further down the path. "They were indeed, great men."
"Why don't we have something like that now, Grandpa?"
"Because, Arthur, in the end, Every empire falls. And everything dies." I came to an opening. "But if you look over there...Some things can last for a very, very long time."
"Whoa!"
I pointed to a cliff-face. Where, 30,000 years ago, Four of those giants were frozen in time, forever watching over the land they had built, maintained, and then watched crumble to the ground.
It fell, as every empire does.
|
Something I wrote recently that is relevant.
Collapse:
It was just a little over one-hundred and two days before our leaders used the nukes. I still remember the time before they rained fire and destruction upon the Earth. None of us thought it would come to this. How could we?
We’d all seen the same footage, ever increasing in frequency over time. Our best thinkers blamed climate change. They weren’t wrong, but there was more to it. The higher sea levels coupled with increasingly extreme conditions resulted in our shores being battered by monstrous waves. This in turn accelerated erosion. Huge fragments of rock face broke from their union with the land, shook, and plummeted into the savage waters below. Some of our more privileged watched from a distance as the crumbling edges of our nations dragged their affluent homes with them into the view they had held so dear. Disturbing as all that was we grumbled on social media, called on the political elite to take climate change more seriously and generally went about our day-to-day activities. Sufficed to say nothing really changed.
With a rapidly altering coastline a subculture of what they liked to call, rather grandiosely, Climate Coastal Cartographers, or Carters for short, formed around the globe. The internet was their natural home where they exchanged the newly captured face of their local cliffs, after each collapse. Some started highlighting interesting patterns being revealed in the newly exposed rock. Clear cases of pareidolia. There was one Carter in Australia who upon photographing the most recent collapse noticed something peculiar. Where there had been rock strata before, there was now none. This sparked debate and scepticism among the Carter community. That is until it started to happen elsewhere. It wasn’t long before it made it into the news. Creationists lapped it up and saw it as evidence to refute the fossil record. People of science worked hard at explaining what we were seeing. They needn’t have bothered. The explanation soon presented itself.
The Carters continued in their task of documentation. Their numbers swelled. As the strata mystery deepened it was noted that the patterns revealed by collapses were increasingly detailed. Some began to take the shape of fragmented hieroglyphics. Some wild claims were being made that they were some ancient carvings but no one was sure how they could have come to be. As the collapses continued it became clear that there were larger rock structures that ran deep into the land. The cliffs at lands edge were crumbling around them as though slowly peeling back. The hieroglyphics only appeared on these protruding structures. When the majority of observations began to distinctly look like anatomy it was speculated that groups were taking advantage of unstable cliffs and were, somehow, carving into them. Extreme natural vandalism some called it. Even a few people attempted to cash in on it claiming to be the ‘extreme artist’ behind the cliff features. As the designs accumulated a truly magnificent formation was discovered on a cliff on the coast of Ireland. The local tourist industry made noises about trying to preserve it. To stop any further collapses. There was nothing quite like it anywhere in the natural world. Protruding from the cliff were the full features of what could only be described as a face. Not human exactly, but unmistakably a face. Across its rock cheeks and sleeping eyes were examples of the fragmented hieroglyphics. It was as much a work of art as any most had seen. Early on some took to calling it the Irish Rushmore. People flocked to see it in person before the expected impending collapse. Boats at a safe distance, weather permitting, ferried people to take photos. For a nominal fee. There was a miniature tourist explosion in the region. T-shirts. Tacky trinkets. All emblazoned with ‘Aegeus of Eire’, as it had become known, and its image.
It was a tourist who captured the moment the strata mystery was solved. It was reported there had been a collapse. A boat had gotten too close to the cliff and was caught in the landslide. Air to sea rescue were dispatched. There was presumed to be no survivors, even with the ominous absence of bodies. Debris rode the waves that lapped at the foot of the cliff. Pieces of the wooden boat. Victims’ belongings. On one of the recovered cameras held the final moments of the people on that boat. When digital forensic experts extracted the file they didn’t quite understand what they were looking at. The owner of the camera was filming Aegeus with the babble of her fellow tourists around her. She zoomed in on one of the distinct eye shapes when there was a slip of some debris from it. The captain had noticed it as it splashed innocuously into the water. He decided to pull further away for safety sake. She continued to film. A warm magma coloured glow began to emanate from the hieroglyphics. More debris fell. The eye cracked open and a moving pupil scanned the retreating tourists. There was a gasp from the camera owner. She valiantly continued to film. The cliff began to violently shake. The remaining rock and clay was shed from the face and its true form was revealed. As Ireland itself appeared to crack an arched back breached further inland sending debris hurtling in all directions. The screaming began. The sound of the boat engine revving was heard. The great rock giant rose to its full might and stretched its arms. It had finally awoken. Debris was seen to strike the boat and cause enormous ripples on the water. When the violent rocking of the boat began to settle there was a distinct shake in the camera holders hand. She must have known it was her time. The creature moved quickly. Too quickly for its size. Its hand blocked out the sun and swooped toward the boat. The footage cut to white static.
I still dream about the night I first encountered one. Cowering with my family on the cold tile floor as it peeled back our roof revealing a brilliant starry night sky. I only saw it’s hand. I ran from the screams and didn’t look back.
Perhaps if they discovered the footage sooner we might have found a way to stop the others before they woke from their slumber. Perhaps we could have avoided using the nukes. I was more than a safe distance from the cities that the missiles struck. I came close to a blast zone once. I hadn’t realised I’d strayed that far. A small town, about fifty miles outside of the ruined city. It was in the third house in that particular ghost town I was stealthily ransacking, scavenging for food, that it finally struck me. Every analogue clock I’d seen, in this house and the previous two, were frozen in time at approximately 12:25. I quickly figured out that was around the time the bomb detonated. I hastily made my escape. Radiation was just another fear in this new world.
They’re still out there. Searching. Hunting. Devouring. The ravenous Ancients that now roam the Earth are driven by our destruction. They feed on us. Perhaps they’re Gaia’s footsoldiers taking her world back. Purging herself of humanity. Speculation at best. All I know for certain is I am alone. I am hunted. And I am afraid.
| 2015-01-19T09:09:29 | 2015-01-19T07:10:25 | 570 | 148 |
[WP] When you die, your ghost remains in the world until the last person who remembers you also dies. 15,000 years after your death, you are still here.
|
When I breathed, war was Hell.
Now, Hell is history. Quotations are fetters, memorials are a crushing weight keeping me from heaven.
And "Never forget" is the curse the living lay upon the dead. Every name read, every bell tolled, the torment of the unquiet spirits. A bundle of flowers, the most beautiful nail keeping my coffin closed.
It is why necromancers so easily find ones who only want to destroy the living. We want to be forgotten, to know the sweet breeze of oblivion and release- and if you are all dead, who will there be to remember us?
I would tell you my name, but it would only prolong the suffering.
|
I was young when it all happened. A thief in the night had claimed my life and my blood had been spilled onto the ground. I remembered all of the steps after when my body was bitten and drained of all blood and just torn asunder like I was just some sack of meat to be had. It all happened right after I had seen Simon- the vampire I had grown to love in my town.
I got to explore so many places like he had without any needs to avoid the sun or to crave anything. I met with many figures I had studied in my schooling days and became friends with quite a few. I had seen change happen over the course of time- time I lost track of rather quickly. To me, I finally got the change of a lifetime to see the world that Simon described to me through his tales of the Earth we both shared. I finally understood why he encouraged me to explore and am thankful he did.
Time crawled onward and I could see from the sidelines how countries rose and fell. Things certainly were not going to be like 2017 anymore and it was bittersweet to see that. My family that I had eventually passed away and I could wave them goodbye as they all were able to be free from the shackles of this realm. I encouraged their leaving and also waited for my turn. In due time, I knew I would have my time to leave too.
But it never came.
In fact, 15,000 years had passed and I still remained here. I got to see the same figures I had met like Miss Anne Frank, Marie Laveau, Theodore Roosevelt, and even Edgar Allan Poe when he wanted to show up. They all wondered who could have possibly been alive to keep me here as I would sit with them and think long and hard about who could possibly have been alive to remember me to this day. I talked to each and every one of them about how I had died as they all did ask, and described the night before I had died.
Each felt warm and had softened at the tale of how Simon and I had walked around town under the full moon and danced around the clocktower that was in the middle of my town. I was clumsy and could not dance well while I was alive, but he had been patient with me and hummed soft music while leading me through a waltz under the stars. It was one of the best nights in my life despite what happened afterwards. Because I felt so loved and cared for during those last moments, and I knew Simon could relate. When escorting me home, he kept me close and safe before letting me go with a kiss on the hand and a proposition to return the next night.
I agreed and we left each other's company- a fatal mistake it would be for me.
Then it hit me like a bat to the head, perhaps unneeded to travel home for a change and investigate there. So I said goodbyes to the individuals I had grown to know during my afterlife and traveled back to my hometown that held the clocktower in the middle. To my delight, the clocktower had still been there despite the many changes in the town that I had seen. It felt so foreign to me, but I shook the memories I had off and traveled to the clocktower where Simon was hopefully living.
How I had not understood that it was most likely Simon keeping me here, I did not know. Perhaps it was because I did not gain any intelligence after the afterlife to think that a vampire still kept me in his memory? It did not matter much now as I went to the switch that was by the clocktower and turned it before entering the door into a grande estate and began calling for the vampire I remembered so well, "Simon! Simon!" I wandered the familiar halls in hopes he could hear me. Since vampires were technically not alive either, they should be able to hear me, right?
So I traveled from the guest and mater bedroom to find a portrait of me had been made in his room. I could not help but grow a saddened smile as my suspicions were correct. After investigating the greenery room, I made my way into the library and heard the familiar humming as I peeked up and called out to the keeper of this estate again, "Simon! Simon, are you here??"
I could see the familiar man with darkened hair and slender body as he looked my way and stopped dead in his tracks when cleaning. He looked like he had seen a ghost, and he was right to appear that way as I could not help myself and ran to him, trying to hug him but not gaining any success as his voice cracked slightly with the shock and excitement he felt, "Soleil! How are you even here?! Shouldn't you be prancing around heaven or something like that, young lady!? Do you realize how much time has passed??"
I could not help but laugh when hearing the change in Simon's voice as I smiled happily at him and responded with a serene tone, "I already am Simon. Also, I do realize how much time has passed. I keep track of it since I cannot leave here. It has been 15,000 years since it all ended and began." At those words, I could see Simon's excitement and expression drop at the mentioning of how long it truly had been and thought to himself before bowing his head and nodding slowly.
"Yes... It truly has been that long, hasn't it Soleil? I want to apologize to you. For not figuring out what would happen and not trying to save you from that horrible fate. I wished with all of my might that he could have left you be or perhaps spare you long enough for me to let you join me in a different manner than as a spirit." I could tell this topic was a sore spot and I gently reached out to him. Even though he could not feel my touch, he understood the gesture and looked up to me again with an apologetic look in his eyes before I responded.
"Simon, instead of sulking here like a little bat, let's try to make the best of this and stay in each other's lives once more? We both technically have achieved immortality in a sense. Let's make the best of our time before you eventually go?" A smile slowly grew on Simon's face as he nodded his head and responded with the softest of voices,
"Yes. Let's do that this time, Soleil."
| 2017-06-26T12:49:10 | 2017-06-26T12:04:53 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] An alien race conquers worlds by starting a zombie apocalypse and later coming down and offering "salvation" in exchange for subjection, so far this has never failed, until they reach Earth and find humanity has already defeated the zombies and is waiting for them...
|
After the initial outbreak, it was almost comical how quickly the... well, the zombie apocalypse, was averted.
Before, Felicia had been working as a fast food cashier. The day it started, she'd been walking out of work when a group of them had started after her, their bodies still fresh enough to run. She still remembers it like it was yesterday -- huddling inside, behind the counter with her co workers, and listening to the constant moan of 'feeed...feeeed.'
A day and a half later, they'd all been rescued by a small troop of the reserves. A huge cage in the middle of their camp held dozens of the creatures. She remembers shuffling past. All the others had gone first, and the zombies had stayed dormant, but when she passed...
Seven of them had pulverized their heads against the cage bars trying to reach her. The others had simply pressed up against the cards and stared at her, moaning in hunger.
Half the town was in the camp by the time it was over, being quarantined and tested. The other half were all dead or fled. None of her co workers had merited anything more than a short meeting with a doctor to make sure they were well.
She'd gotten a *captain.* "Miss Dodge. We've noticed the creatures seem particularly reactive to you. Any idea why?" the stocky black man had asked.
"Not particularly, Captain..." His hands, propped beneath his chin, obscured her view of his name tag.
"Campanelli. We've received numerous reports of these creatures being attracted to certain people. Some of those are understandable -- Nobel Prize winners, physicists, philosophers. But then there are people like you." He drops one hand to a file on the table. It's marked with her name, like this is a bad shot film. "Graduated high school without ever getting an A in class. Finished one year of college before you decided you preferred trade school. Of all the people on God's green earth, why would they chase after an *mechanic in training?*"
She didn't know then. She doesn't know now, beyond a vague idea of what the zombies' creators could have programmed them to look for. But she'd been 'invited' to come along, and she had. Felicia's not stupid. When people with guns invite you somewhere, it's a command, not a possibility.
Standing on her balcony, Felicia sips her coffee and turns the holographic model in front of her on. It's not her first space ship. Not by far. But it is the most ambitious. If her design works -- and it will -- they'll be loading up colonists for Alpha Centauri in half a year.
Another turn, another sip. When the chip in the back of her hand begins bleating, she sighs and steps back into her apartment. Today, the first wormhole ship flies.
Tomorrow, the hunt for the Infectors begins.
|
The commander looked at the holographic image, shocked. “What are they doing?”
“Fighting against the horde.” His second in command, Trax, stated.
“I can see that. But why aren’t they fleeing? Dyeing, scared?”
“I was wondering that too and I had one of our men do some more reconnaissance. It appears this planet has a rich culture in fighting the undead.”
Now he was beginning to have doubts. This was the first planet to fight their dearly departed. Could this plan still work? This planet was a strategic placement for mining and farming corporations that would help the empire in it’s expansion. If they lose a vital foothold they’d have to waste their own valuable troops to take it and that wasn’t what the Emperor wanted.
He wanted subjects indebted to him. He wanted them to see him as a God, a saviour. Not a conqueror or a tyrant. If they idolized him he’d have no resistance in his empire.
Something about this bugged him. The undead were overtaking them, slowly. But they were detecting large pings from the planet reaching out into space. Couple of days ago those had been directed right at the ship.
“Sir!” The communication officer approached nervously. “Ambassador Jix is entering the planets atmosphere.”
His heart almost stopped out of fear. “Tell him to fall back until I give the go ahead.”
“He said you were taking too long that we would have missed an opportunity, Sir.”
No.
“Tell him to turn back!”
“He shut down his comms.”
“Get me one of the drone feeds, Where is he landing?” The officer ran off and the commander switched the holograph for the awaiting drone nearest the vessel. In moments he had video feed.
It was a prairie where a large collection of the planets natives had erected shelter and a fence along the edge. He could see that the majority of the residents had left the safety of their camp to see what the angular vessel landing at their doorstep was. All were armed.
No.
“Kop!”
The communication officer hurried back. “That’s part of their military. They’ve cobbled together what survivors they could and forced them to fight.”
Ambassador Jix stepped out from the ship. Environmental suit on and opening greetings to the humans with arm waves and gestures.
They raised their guns.
No!
Ambassador Jix fell in a mess of blood and guts as he was shred to bits by their primitive weaponry.
“Retrieve that ship!” He ordered. “Scramble the troops! We’re landing!”
“But that goes against the Emporers directive!” Trax countered.
“They know it was us! Now land!”
On the display the humans were forcing themselves into the ship.
Ambassador’s Jix’s ship was a top of the line model cruise ship. A private ship for anyone favoured by the emperor. It had the latest warp technology and a few onboard weapon systems for pirates. Every piece of tech onboard was beyond human engineering. His greatest fear was it falling into the wrong hands.
He’d destroy it as a final option. Right now it had a running crew of five onboard and two associates of Jix’s who were amongst the higher-ups. They die it would be his ass.
The ship tilted, and there was that momentary lapse in gravity as the grav drive adjusted to their new course. He’d get their ship within firing range and send down troop transports first.
“Sir!” A crew member manning the Radar called. “We’re detecting an energy signature. It’s course crosses with ours.”
“Fighters?”
“No life signs. Though I am detecting radioactivity.”
A nuke? Those were supposed to be banned according to their laws. Why do they have nukes?
“Evasive maneuvers! Keep us out of the blast radius!” He mashed a button on the comms unit. “Everyone, prepare for close proximity detonation. Gunner crews, target the missile stellar north of our position!”
[Break] (Writing on phone. Keeping things separate)
“Then what happened, Commander?” The emperor said stiffly. He’d heard this tone before when he was angry.
“Nuke detonated just short of us.” He shivered from his place on the floor, he’d been on his knees, kissing the ground as he recalled things. “Humans took off with the Ambassador’s ship. We were forced to retreat from extensive damage.”
He heard the throne shift as the emperor stood. His words choked in his throat.
“And?”
“We were unable to retrieve any survivors. But the infected are still...”
He stopped at the first step his master took. “How did they know it was us?”
He held back a sob. He was dead, he knew it. “The planet, has rather, numerous monitoring devices. There’s at least one on every person. When our drones delivered the virus... it was caught on multiple recordings and spread over media platforms.”
Another step. “What else did you fail to do?”
“Proper gathering of intel. Assessment of the planets arsenal, level of technology, and political system.”
A cold hand rested on his head. He trembled uncontrollably as the emperor caressed his head.
“You know something, commander?” The emperor purred. “You’ve done the same strategy to twenty systems. All of which were properly executed. Not once have you accepted a promotion from fleet commander, because you didn’t like sitting behind a desk, while someone else did the work for you. It was your job, and you pulled it off twenty times. Except one.”
The emperor stood. “I will grant you one chance at redemption. Take the remainder of your fleet and annihilate the planet and its inhabitants.”
“You’re not going to assimilate them?” He wanted to hit himself for asking.
“They know what we are. They cannot be accepted. Wipe them out. You will gather your men and depart by the end of the rotation.”
It would take another cycle to get back to earth. One whole circle around their sun.
“It will be done, my lord.” He went to stand but the emperor wasn’t done.
“I expect this to be done without incident. If you return with more failure, I will hang your skinned corpse with the traitors and rebels.”
[break]
They were approaching Jupiter with a compliment of fifty destroyers and ten troop transports and enough ordinance to cleanse a solar system. They were soon to join up with the initial fleet first sent to spread the infected, it consisted of two troop transports, five destroyers, and the now gone ambassador ship.
The commander was feeling confident they could take the humans. Even carrying high hopes that they wouldn’t have to get up close and personal. Just bomb the planet from orbit, and leave it a radioactive wasteland.
When he had been called back to the emperor, his second in command had stayed behind and ran through more intensive reconnaissance and surveillance. When he had been between systems, Trax told him that the journey back home had been twenty-five earth years. His last message had been about the infected being wiped out, which mattered very little at this point. That had been at the end of the rotation.
Without warp technology, they probably would have reached earth at the end of his life cycle. So the emperor’s order would have been a death sentence either way for him and his crew.
“Kop.” The commander approached the officer. “Message Trax and alert him to our presence.”
A few minutes later the officer approached with the same worried expression as when Ambassador Jix stupidly landed on the planet. “There is no signal from Trax’s ship. Nor any from the initial advance on the planet.”
Oh shit.
“Where was his ship last reported?”
“Orbiting around Jupiter, sir.”
“Sir!” A crew member alerted. “I’m detecting ships on the radar.”
“How many and how close?” When he heard the reply he felt all his blood drain.
“Hundreds of frigates approaching from earth. Too far for an accurate scan on class and size- ...they just warped!”
In front of them, huge warships filled their view. Hundreds of them.
He mashed the comms unit and barked the order to prepare for battle. Then another warning from the crew member.
“More ships warped in from behind! More now! We’re being flanked!”
“Sir! We got multiple energy signatures coming from enemy vessels!”
[break]
Admiral Chan of the space navy watched the invaders fleet burn up in nuclear fire. Sixty warships reduced to scrap before his eyes.
He eased back in his chair. The remnants of the human race was now in space, and so long as these monsters continued to plague the universe, they’d never be safe.
“Lieutenant. Set course for the alien home world.”
The end.
| 2019-08-08T06:41:05 | 2019-08-08T05:42:31 | 451 | 278 |
[WP] In the midst of combat, the villain watches in terror, as the hero swallows an entire roast chicken and two cheese wheels at once.
|
"Do you... Do you want an antacid or something?" Dr. Malediction lowered his death ray and stepped away from the doomsday console, ponderously scratching the base of his pale skull. "That cannot have been healthy."
"Be silent, villain. Your lies will not make me stray from my mission!" The White Knight raged, his hand clasped around his Sword of Truth. "With my health restored, I will rid the kingdom of your evil machinations and all shall see that *I*, Sir Gawain the Righteous, are worthy to ask the princess' hand in marriage."
"You mean the prime minister's daughter? We're a constitutional monar..."
"Silence, fiend! I have scaled the steps of your infernal tower, have vanquished your minions and not even your death ray can stop me. Kneel before me and beg, and I might just let you live."
Dr. Malediction looked unphased. "...You could have taken the elevator, you know. Anyway, are you sure you're alright? You look a bit pale. I've got an x-ray machine in the back that..."
"Cease your malevolent pontification, villain. Your words shall not lead me astray from my sacred path! My... my..." The White Knight trembled. His gauntleted hand scratched at his gleaming breastplate. "My holy sword will... will banish you to the deepest pit of the... Inferno, *fiend*." As he spat out the final word, embers erupted from the Knight's Sword of Truth.
"Nice monologue, cheap party trick... But seriously, let me take a look. I *am* a medical doctor, you know." Dr. Malediction pressed a button and a compartment of his doomsday console hissed open. "I've got a first aid kit right here," he continued, wafting away clouds of sulphurous smoke that emerged from the machine.
The White Knight's face had turned paler than his armour, yet he remained defiant: "The Divine protects me, demon. No... No witchcraft of yours can... can change that. My quest... my god-given quest... will... will..." His hand clawed feebly at his breastplate. The Sword of Truth fell to the ground, it's embers extinguished. "What... have... you..."
"I think you did this to yourself, mate. I can practically smell the cholesterol on your breath." Dr. Malediction lay a sincere claw across his cloaked chest. "Anyhow, let me finish this first, and then I'll call you an ambulance..."
Vile smoke billowed from the doomsday console as Dr. Maledication pressed a large, crimson button. Immediately, the building rumbled and shook on its foundations. Plaster rained down from the ceiling, as something was launched from one of the floors above.
"If the hospitals are still standing after this, of course..."
|
I was amused when I saw him, for the first time. His wide face, rosy with drink. His huge belly, stretching the seams of his shirt. He was sitting at a table in a dingy bar, alone, drinking wine by the cupful. Before him was heaped tons of food. Some of it, already bitten into; a great deal, yet untouched. Beside him sat his sword and his armour.
I stood before his table and straightened my back. I pulled off my helmet and unsheathed my sword. I knocked the table with the hilt.
"Dear Sir Bunger!" I cried to the fat old knight. "I am Clarence Hombelle. Son of Douglas Hombelle. Nephew of the great Sir Jonathon Hombelle, whom you slew. I have searched for months to find you. I have waited many years for this night. I am here to avenge my uncle's death, and to restore honour to our family name. I am here to kill you, Sir Bunger. So stand and fight."
The fat old knight looked up from the table. He gazed at me with sleepy eyes. "What's that now?" he asked. "Ham bell? I'd sure like a ham bell, to ring whenever I crave a handful of bacons. Or a nice juicy chop. Or a half-dozen sausages. Ding-a-ling-ding. A ham bell. See?"
He didn't seem to understand. He was too drunk. I would have to drive the point home.
"Sir Jonathan Hombelle was my uncle," I repeated. "Fourteen years ago, you duelled him in the battle of Four Peaks, and killed him with a thrust through the gut. Since that wretched day, our family has languished. Our fortunes have sunk to the bottom of the mire. I have come to duel you, in the hopes that your death will pull us out of the wretched state into which we have descended. Stand, sir knight, and duel me. Either your life or mine concludes tonight."
"Hombelle," the inebriated corpulent said to himself, as if tasting the word. "Hombelle. Sir Hombelle. . .Yes! Yes, lad! Of course! The young skin-and-bones with canary yellow stockings! Hombelle! Feathers in his helm! And a nose like yours! Long as a pelican's! Nimble on his feat, the poor birdie was. But I was nimbler! Skewered him like a rotisserie chicken! But that was back in my fighting days. . .Ah, Four Peaks. What a battle! What a war! Though too much blood spilled for the wrong reasons. Your uncle and them others. . .Rebels. Ambitious. Treasonous. Taking up arms against the crown. Sneaking around like thieves. Slaughtering their own countrymen. And for what? To be peppered by sword points? To be strung up on the royal gallows? To secure early sleeps in wooden boxes, six feet under the dirt? A damn shame."
He stared solemnly at the air in front of him, gently shaking his head. Then he glugged down a cup of wine, wiped his lips, and smiled.
"But what's this about a duel, young pecker?" he asked. "Vengeance? Danger? Death? A humbler Hombelle would let bygones be bygones. He'd sit down at the table and wet his beak. There's no better way to swallow your pride, young swallow, than with a cup of cold spring wine. Eh? What do you say? Have a seat, little rooster. Leave the strutting and cock-a-doodle-doing to the other bird-brained buffoons. You're smarter than them."
"I'll not kill you like some half-penny cutthroat," I said, my temper rising. "I won't stab you while you sit there, without armour or arms. But I'll call you coward at the top of my lungs if you won't rise to the occasion."
"Ha!" cried the fat old knight, reaching for a hunk of beef and tossing it in his mouth. He chewed as he spoke. "I'm old and drunk, I'll give you that. Older than I once was. . .though not so drunk as I'll one day be. But neither years nor booze'll ever keep me from rising to the occasion, if you know what I mean. You ask any whore south of Tiddle Market, and she'll corroborate--Sir Barry Bunger's the stiffest customer she's ever laid hands on! Always rises to the occasion. Ha ha ha!"
"Enough with your lewd nonsense!" I cried. "Stand and draw, Sir Knight!"
"A moment, lad," he said, pouring and then finishing off another cup of wine. "Ah. Mmm. Yes. A moment. Let me get my armour on, before we duel. Then I'll have at ye. But first my armour. . .Where did I put the blasted--there!"
I watched the drunken tub of guts fumble with his armour. The breast plate wouldn't fit over his bulk. He wheezed and he squeezed and pulled. Eventually, he gave up.
"Guess she'll stay loose," he said with a shrug.
He plopped on his helmet, heaved himself to his feet, and unsheathed his sword. He staggered a little, and had to lean on his weapon like a cane to keep balance.
I shook my head in disbelief.
This was the fabled knight my father had told me so many stories about? The legendary swordsman who had vanquished dozens? The hero who'd ended the civil wars with a single swift stroke to my usurping uncle's belly? The cause of our family's ruin?
He was already out of breath and sweating greasy drops like melted butter. It would be closer to butchering a fat cow than duelling!
"One little snack first," the glutton panted, raising his visor. "And then to the duel. The flashing of swords. The clanging of steel on steel. Magnificent! Glorious! Eh? Though I'd prefer a fork in my left and a knife in my right than a claymore in both, if you want the honest truth. Hmm. Yes. One little morsel before we change blows. Let me see."
He wiggled his fat stubby fingers over the heap of food on his table. Then with astonishing rapidity his hand pounced on a full wheel of cheese. With three enormous bites, the whole wheel was gone. He licked his lips as he scanned for the next morsel.
"Meat!" he exclaimed, his hand seizing a whole roast chicken in a flash. "Protein before and after any strenuous activity. Doctor's orders, young man. Doctor's orders. And I'm no rebel in the blood, like you. I heed authority. I listen to experts." He winked.
"You're eating the bones!" I cried out, disgusted by how wide his mouth could stretch, horrified to watch him shove the whole chicken in there and chew.
"Best part of the bird," he affirmed, crunching as he spoke. "Most flavour. Extra calcium. Good for a fellow in his old age." He swallowed, bones and all, and wiped his greasy fingers on his shirt. Then he snapped up another whole wheel of cheese.
"Dessert," the fat knight explained with a slight bow. Again, in a few quick chomps, the wheel of cheese was no more.
Sir Barry Bunger patted his belly and sighed with contentment. With the tip of his tongue, he worked at a piece of chicken stuck between his molars. Then he snagged and swigged from the bottle of wine, gulp after gulp, until it was empty.
I was so impressed and mortified by his display that my guard was totally down. When he swung the bottle at my head, I failed to react in time, and it smashed upon my temple.
"Have at you!" he cried.
I fell to the ground in pain, seeing stars. Though I never blacked out, I was close. And all the while I could hear his thunderous footsteps rumbling across the creaky bar floor.
By the time I regained my composure and looked up, the coward was gone.
\- - -
I now see the prompt said *during* combat. I suppose Sir Bunger hoovered his food during their combative battle of wits.
r/CLBHos
| 2021-08-19T05:19:51 | 2021-08-19T03:00:20 | 352 | 92 |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive.
|
We met at the 32nd St.
It was an emergency call around midnight. A fire had gone loose at a complex. Families were trapped and pleading for help.
Fortunately, there were no casualties. The left wing was beyond repair but otherwise, the apartment was intact.
Among the survivors, though, was a woman who stood before the rubbles.
She was shaking.
She was crying.
"So... beautiful... so young... too soon..." she whispered as I tried to comfort her with a hug.
"It was so beautiful. It was so young. It died too soon..."
Our chief had her signed up on a class about the dangers of fire and means to prevent it.
I was tasked to ensure her attendance.
She had the most beautiful emerald eyes. She didn't have red hair - but the way her dark mane swayed as she laughed and talked, sparked untold passions within my heart.
Pretty soon, barely an hour before her class, we were dating. She had me ablaze and I was hooked.
I watch her mesmerized gaze at the dancing flames within my Zippo. She looked at it with childlike fascination and marvel - the very same way I felt while I gaze at her, mesmerized.
I held her hand as she brought me to see fireworks. I curled my toes as she leaned up to kiss me.
She brought me to a beach party with fire performers dancing among the crowd. I watch her, transfixed, as she rocked her body against mine. Smirking, she slid my hands down her red dress, to her hips, and raised her hands over my head, down to my shoulders.
She filled me with desires and passion I've never felt before.
She was oil and I was fire.
She was perfect.
She was amazing.
She was my love.
I led her blindfolded out her balcony by our seventh date.
"Open it," I had stated breathlessly.
The cloth fell as quickly as her jaw did. The 33rd St. was ablaze. My gift for her. A school right before her house.
She was perfect.
She was amazing
She was my love.
Then, she slapped me.
She was a teacher.
And then, she was gone.
I drowned my sorrows with scotch and beer. I found no relief. A man had asked me for a light outside the bar.
As I felt the flint crack against steel, watched sparks ignite the wick, and beheld the little fire dancing before me, I remembered her.
Her dark hair swaying as she danced, in that red dress of hers.
Her bright green eyes transfixed at the candle on our dinner dates.
I will win her back.
She was my oil and I was her fire.
"Tonight," I think to myself as I pour gasoline over my uniform, "I will be her oil."
I slam the ax against her apartment's door.
I drop the open tank beside me and gently kick it towards her.
It stops at her feet, leaking more and more of my oil.
Perfect.
I watch her beautiful green eyes widen, her lips gasp and her arms stiffen, as she backed herself to a wall.
Amazing.
I walk towards her, smiling and extending my arms.
My love.
She screams.
I wrap her in an embrace, flick my Zippo and let it fall between us.
Tonight, she will be my fire.
|
He was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen.
I had first spotted Eric while I was enjoying the aftermath of one of my experiments. It was always fun to see if I could outsmart the fire chief. Eric was larger than life and crashed into my heart the same way he jumped through the wall. From the minute I saw him I knew we had to meet. I decided to arrange a meeting that very night.
I blinked the sweat out of my eyes as I focused on the furnace in front of me. It was gas of course, and the smell of the additive was rapidly filling the small room. Hopefully, the electrical system was well contained or things could get awkward. I needed some kind of timer and ignition device. The old wind up clock wouldn't work because even the idiot fire chief would be able to put two and two together and get four in the furnace room. I looked around the room, shining my cell phone flashlight into dusty, cobwebbed corners, looking for inspiration.
"A ha!" I thought to myself, finding exactly what I was looking for. Here I come Eric.
I could see the beady little rat eyes peeking out from behind the insulated wiring. I opened my snack pack and smeared the peanut butter over the wires, wrapping a few together. Mr. Rat retreated looking at me suspiciously.
"You're going to love this ratty, I think I'll call you Cupid!"
I chuckled happily to myself, wondering where Eric would take me to dinner as I closed the snack pack up. The smell of the additive was almost overpowering.
I waved goodbye to Cupid and headed up the stairs. As I walked into the elevator and noticed all the buttons had been pressed, I winked at Mrs. Thompson's apologetic glance at her spoiled five year old son.
"I'm so sorry," she said as they left the elevator onto the first floor, "He just loves pushing all the buttons".
I laughed it off and waved at the two of them, picturing Cupid chewing through the crunchy peanut butter and wire sandwich.
"Did you know rats can chew through metal Michael?", I asked.
I heard a faint, "Why do they chew metal for," as the doors closed.
Kids.
Part 1
It was one of the worst residential fires Eric had ever seen. The call had come in seven minutes ago and they had made it to the building in four. The first five floors of the ten story building were raging with flames and the higher floors were rapidly catching.
Eric’s team was responsible for making entries into the building and he took a brief moment to think before they rushed in. The rest of the teams were attaching hoses and getting water on the fire.
“Tom, Kev!” he shouted, “Get the ladder up and start checking the top floors. I’m going to see if it’s as bad as it looks down here. Tom and Kevin knew the routine and were already working on getting the ladder turned round. He pulled on his air tank and mask and headed for the lobby door.
The heat was damn near overwhelming, even from the street. He jogged towards the building and almost jumped as he hit the stairs as a heavy blow struck him across the shoulders. He spun round and saw Harold, looming larger than life. “Damnit Harry, what did I tell you about doing that? I almost bit my tongue off!”
“Nobody goes in alone boss.” He said solemnly and pushed me toward the door. It always made me think of my dad when Harry would nudge me, back to the time when I weighed nothing and my Dad would effortlessly guide me.
I mounted the steps, Harry a comforting bulk around me. We edged to the side of the door as it wasn’t uncommon for the fire to explode out when greeted with fresh oxygen. As I opened the door several windows on the first floor exploded. I prayed whoever had lived in that apartment hadn’t been home, no one could survive that.
We opened the door and stepped in. The lobby was a river of flame. I’d seen calmer eruptions watching a special on volcanoes on the Discovery channel. I looked helplessly at Harold and he shook his head. There’s no way we would even be able to get to the other floors.
As we backed out I heard Harry ask over the radio, “Why isn’t the sprinkler system running boss?”
I paused on the threshold looking up at the ceiling. Sure enough there was a sophisticated sprinkler system that appeared to be completely dead.
I shrugged my shoulders, “That’s for the Chief to figure out. Looks like the system isn’t powered though.” Harry exchanged a glance with me as we ran to the ladder, we both knew what that meant.
I hit the ladder running, noting that they had split it in between the top three floors. Tom was already in the floor closest to the flame and I was heading up to the one above it with Harry right behind me.
There being no time to waste I jumped at the window pulling my head to my chest letting my helmet hit the glass; I’d seen to many firefighters try to be a hero and cut themselves badly on glass. The apartment was tastefully decorated and filled with smoke.
I spotted someone with long dark hair lying flat by the sofa. I shouted and she turned her head around. A particularly strong gust of wind from the window made a clear patch in the smoke just as she turned and I looked into the largest most expressive eyes I had ever seen. I stopped in my tracks, all thought fled from my mind. All I could think about was those perfect, depthless eyes and the way the fire seemed to burn in the dark pools.
Fire. FIRE. “Miss come here right now!” I shouted. The flames had made their way to this floor. We didn’t have much time. She came to me quickly, holding a damn cloth against her knows. She was a thinker. Most people panicked in fires and didn’t know the danger came from the smoke. She had breathed through the cloth and taken advantage of the air trapped under the sofa. Smart.
She seemed to float the last few feet to me and I had her in my arms. She was light yet I could feel her strength.
“Everything is going to be ok”, I reassured her, and felt her hand squeeze my arm.
I carefully stepped out onto the waiting ladder, looking down to see Harry below with two small children, one over each shoulder. I reached my hand out to her and she stepped onto the ladder with my help. We rapidly descended and I reached out my hand as she stepped off the last rung and started to turn.
My vision turned white as the building shattered into flame and I felt the boiling air pick her up and throw her at me. I opened my arms and caught her as the world turned to fire.
Part 2
Eric was still in the ICU. It was just my luck that he would be injured the same day he met me. I don’t know why nothing could ever go right in my life. If that wasn’t enough my entire building burned down. The police told me that I was lucky, there were only three survivors, myself and two children. Both Eric and Harry were badly burned when the middle floors collapsed, sending a burst of flame out the front doors and windows. Harry and Eric took the worst of it, shielding us from the fire.
The two children were kids I had never met who lived on the top floor. The adorable little boy from the first floor didn’t make it. The firefighters had said the flames were so intense on the first three floors that they couldn’t even recover remains.
I wiped away a tear, I had liked little Michael, he was such a precocious boy.
I heard a sound, my head whipping around to look at Eric lying face down on the bed, his back and skull covered in bandages. His hand was loose in mine. I had told the nurses that Eric was my boyfriend and it was close enough to the truth that I didn’t feel guilty about lying. Even his friends from work believed me. Well why shouldn’t they? We were meant to be together.
I just wanted to talk to him, to look into his eyes, let him know how much it meant that he recognized our destiny together. They doctors said he had to be kept under, that the pain from his burns was so severe that waking up would cause such incredible pain that he could die.
If he could see me, talk to me I knew he would feel better, that we would be better. What did doctors know about love with their cold logic and old books? We had given up everything for each other, we were meant to be together. Why else had all those people died if not to show the world that we were meant for each other? I reached out for the valve that controlled the morphine drip.
Part 3
| 2015-07-17T08:53:46 | 2015-07-17T07:47:13 | 521 | 112 |
[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
|
At last...
The last and greatest secret had eluded me. No sorcerer’s stone or endless elixir could keep me alive.
The healers did their best, but not even I could cure this disease, so how could they? I am the oldest and greatest of the wizards, mightiest of sorcerers who wielded the powers of earth and sky.
I’ve cast so many spells in my life, that I could not even finish writing them all in the hall of memory. When I am gone, so too, will these spells.
The spell that held the tower of heaven. And bound the lord of shadow beneath its crystalline foundations. The summon of the Golden Fleece that kept this entire continent prosperous and at peace. The enchantment around the vale of evil, that kept the darkness from seeping through.
And last, but not least, the great debt. The power of so many sorcerers who had sacrificed themselves in the first war, and the spell that gave their magic to me.
Those souls cannot wield magic any longer, and so the many wizards of this continent are in fear of what will happen. But in my death, I have found one last, great secret. If a spell cannot be resolved after the death of its caster, an equivalent effect may be built into the spell for its dissolution. Pass a little sooner, and you can, indeed, shift the spell’s ending just a little.
This is the magic of over a million archmagi, strengthened and carefully tended to by me. I give this to you, people of the continent, to guard you in the days to come. So too will I give you the library, so that you may have the knowledge to keep this world safe.
— the last will of Sotek Mazdamundi
I read this will on the field of battle. The vale-guard has fallen and the evil spreads.
I, Sotek Mazdamundi, reborn, will claim the magic of spread across the world by my past life. The evil within is my greed. I will take it and make it mine.
|
Countless people from countless kingdoms had traveled countless miles, just to see if the rumors about Merlin the Great were true.
I'm one of those people. Yeah, the rumors were absolutely true. The old man was dying. He was completely motionless. Not even the best clerics from across the land were able to help him with their magical healing capabilities. It was simply the old man's time to go.
Ever since I was a kid, I'd heard stories about Merlin. I couldn't tell you how many of them were actually TRUE, but I feel like people wouldn't know as much as they do about him if he was a phony. So, when someone tells me that he once deflected a meteor back into the skies, or blew up an entire island populated by demonic creatures, I'll take their word for it.
Anyways, there were hundreds of people gathered around the guy. Nobody claimed to know him personally, and he was out cold, so... No one could really confirm if he was, in fact, the great wizard that all of us had heard tales of since our childhood. I guess we all just found the word-of-mouth to be completely credible. Looking at the scale of this event, though, I don't think there's a chance that this guy ISN'T Merlin. The clerics surely would've told us all off by now if he was some random civilian.
A few more minutes passed.
Nothing was really happening. There was a lot of murmuring among the crowd, but it was pretty damn uneventful.
I could be getting hammered at some tavern right now.
"Excuse me, everyone!" a voice rang out from the front of the crowd. One of the clerics was making an announcement. "The sorcerer you see lying here, is, in fact, Merlin the Great. He has fallen very ill, and, as I'm sure you're all aware, his spells will not last beyond the grave!"
There was a lot more murmuring now.
"How do you know it's the real Merlin?" someone from the center of the crowd had yelled, backed by a couple of "yeah"s.
"Before he went comatose, Merlin confirmed his identity. His legendary battle scars, the way he spoke, and his belongings all fit the descriptions of-"
"Merlin's belongings are here?!" another person had interrupted.
"Merlin the Great's staff is right in this area?!"
"I'M GONNA GET THAT STAFF!"
It took a solid 10 seconds for the crowd to go from attentive to crazy. Knights and wizards were trampling over each other in a desperate attempt to loot the dying Merlin. I couldn't even make my way out at this point. My entire field of view was taken up by people nearly running me over. I couldn't tell if the clerics had been trampled, or if Merlin himself had been pushed out of his bed, but I knew for sure, this was DEFINITELY more exciting than whatever was going on before. I pulled out my sword, ready to stab my way to that sweet, sweet loot. It was hard to even swing my sword around, until finally, bodies started dropping. Now there was more room to maneuver around. I could actually see my surroundings, for the first time in a hot minute.
"GIMME HIS BAG!"
"HIS STAFF! WHO TOOK IT?"
"I GOT HIS HAT!"
The crowd was beginning to form a human pyramid. They were all just trampling over, and standing on each other, I didn't even know that was possible, but it was pretty crazy.
"HEY! THAT GUY HAS THE STAFF NOW!" someone yelled, pointing at a a scrawny-looking dude who was sprinting away from the crowd as fast as he could. The wave of staff-lusted adventurers shifted to chase after the scrawny guy. I'm not nearly as determined to get the staff as these guys are, but I haven't been apart of something this fun in a while. So, naturally, I ran after the scrawny guy as well. I leapt, and slashed whoever was in my way, getting rammed a couple of times by some heavily-armored barbarians. That didn't stop me though. My adrenaline was WAY too high for me to stop. This was either going to end with me getting the staff, getting knocked out, or getting killed. I leaned in, running faster than I ever had before, trying my best to keep up with everyone. I began to falter. I was falling a bit behind the crowd. I was just about ready to pass out from exhaustion, when, just on my luck, the scrawny dude had begun to circle back around. Seeing as I was at the back of the crowd, he was headed right towards me! Ha!
I readied my sword, getting into a cool-looking stance that probably wasn't very practical. I followed his movements. He was swerving mostly to the left to avoid getting tackled. Every single time, he was moving left. I readied myself EVEN harder, however that works. He was getting closer to me. Scrawny dude was about to be impaled by my hands, in
3...
2...
1...
He was right by me. I leapt towards him, sword extended. And just as I had predicted, he ducked to the...-
Right?
Oh shit.
The one time he dodges to the right, it was to avoid the only person who realized he was always ducking to the left.
I soared through the air, sword embarrassingly extended towards nothing. It was like I was moving in slow-motion. This would've been a lot more humiliating if anyone was paying enough attention to care, but no matter. I'll simply land back on the ground, brush myself off, and-...
Hold up. My sword definitely penetrated something fleshy. For the first time in a while, I averted my attention from the rampaging crowd to see what I had stabbed.
My sword was nestled comfortably in the chest of Merlin the Great.
How did this guy even get over here? It's like someone spear-tossed him off of his death bed, and he coincidentally landed right where I was thrusting my sword towards. I guess nobody could see him through the cloud of dust that the rampaging crowd was leaving behind them.
Well, that's neat. I just helped kill Merlin the Great. At least I'll have a unique story to tell people on my long travels. Maybe I should loot his robes, which, luckily, no one else had thought of doing.
I took the robes off of his body, leaving him in his casual-wear. I turned back towards the crowd to see if scrawny was still carrying the staff.
The crowd had run quite some distance in the last 30 seconds. I couldn't even see who had the staff anymore.
I began to walk towards the nearest town, in search of a merchant, when I heard the sound of an explosion as loud as the roar of a dragon. The explosion came from where the crowd was. Maybe Merlin's staff had a defensive spell on it, like, one that would make it blow up as soon as he was dead.
Speaking of things that might happen once Merlin dies... The world should be going to shit pretty soon. Monsters should start appearing from every direction, floods should begin drowning the entire world... Or, at least if the stories about Merlin were true.
Nothing has happened for a couple minutes now. Maybe the guy was just a fake Merlin, an impostor. Or, maybe the tales were nothing more than fiction.
Either way, who cares? I sure don't, 'cause I've got the guy's robes now! I'm gonna be able to trade these for a horse, or something.
-------------------------------------------
It's really late and I should be getting some rest. Oops. Sorry for any typos, I don't have time to proof-read :( Hope you guys enjoyed my story attempt. Nice prompt, OP.
| 2018-05-24T02:52:33 | 2018-05-24T00:13:02 | 56 | 17 |
[WP]When you reach 18, you get put in a database which ranks you in different categories (ex. 207,145th in the world for most bug kills) You lived on a ranch and never used tech. You had to go into town after your 18th birthday. Everyone is staring at you. You finally decide to check the database.
Completely unaware of the whole stigma about edits. I’m sure all of you already know how grateful I am, but I apologize nonetheless. Sorry!
|
It all happened so fast. I was going into town for a shovel. Earlier that day I'd broken one digging a drain trench out behind the barn.
Now I was sitting at a table in a room with a long mirror along the wall. The kind you see in a cop movie where they are shaking down a suspect.
Oh fuck. I'm a suspect. But for what. I barely leave the farm.
"We can do this the easy way or the hard way", and middle aged man in a suit was entering the room . He had a briefcase and a tablet. Closely behind him was another man. He appeared to be some high ranking military officer.
"Umm I really don't......." I was cut off.
"Don't play dumb with us James. You have to know why you're here." he was clearly annoyed with me.
Then it hit me. Dad's brother Pete spends a lot of time up in the back corner of the farm at the edge of the forest and he always smells like weed.
"That mother fucker! Listen, it was dad's brother. He's always up there. If you're looking for the weed he's the guy you want! " My voice was starting to crack, I was scared as hell.
"We don't care about the weed, we found that about an hour ago" The military man took the tablet from the suit.
"It's the global calculated rankings son." he was swiping his finger over the screen. "This showed up on the new rankings section at 8:43 this morning!"
He slid the tablet across the table. A new page was displayed on the screen. Only one entry was on the list.
\*\*New Category\*\*
\*\*05/04/2019\*\*
\*\*Most Extraterrestrial Invaders Killed Or Defeated\*\*
1. James Marshall (1 Kill)
​
​
The suit looked a little angry but now he mostly looked scared.
"We just want some insight into what we might be up against"
​
The only problem was.
I had no idea.
EDIT: wow. I’m really blown away by the response to this. Thanks so much everyone.
I really had intended to leave it at that but I do have an idea where it’s going. If I like where it goes I’ll continue.
|
The idiom 'happier than a pig in mud' is a bit of a misnomer-- those sweet oink-puppies are happy anywhere they go, if you're there to love and feed them. Same goes for the cows, goats and chickens we raise on our ranch, not to profit off of them, but just to give them a home.
I, like them, am a refugee from the Citadel: teetering metropolis packed with distracted meatbags masquerading as humans, and devoid of any warm fuzzy feelings you get when you enjoy something interpersonal like saying 'hello' to someone.
Ginger, a momma pig of four babies, had her head in my lap, snoring with satisfaction as I scratched an ear. We had a lot in common, the two of us, and she'd been my best friend through the years.
But the infection on her back leg was getting worse, not better. Sore, red, oozing a little, I looked at it and knew how she'd react if I touched skin anywhere near it. Slowly, I slid out from under her, somehow managing not to wake her up, then walked into the house and sighed.
"How's she?" my mom asked, her rasp voice like sandpaper amidst the quiet.
"Not good, I think."
"You're gonna have to go, Mary. 'Specially since you're eighteen now, they wanna scan your brain and shit anyway."
"I don't want them doing that!" I said, flailing my arms. "That's so creepy and wrong."
"Yeah, but better they do it quietly while you're in the city than they find out and come out here for you."
Grumbling, I knelt and fidgeted with a shoelace. "Do I have to?"
"Yep. They won't hurt you none, it's safe in there. I got these instructions for how to get to that doctor I know out there. Follow 'em and you'll be fine."
I sighed with defeat, but threw on a coat. "How do I pay? Does he still accept cash?"
"Nah, darlin', not out there. They just know, we got some money in an account."
"Ugh, that's so weird."
"Shush and get going before it's too late."
"Fine," I mumbled to myself on the way out.
----
The four mile walk to the Citadel border was quick and refreshing, even with a mountain of grey steel and stone looming in the distance, engulfing more and more of the blue sky as I approached.
At the city's edge, there were no guards or stations or robots like I'd expected; only a distinct death of anything wild and green along a line of warped air, like a wall of oil had been put up. I poked it with a finger, and felt nothing in particular, so I breached it. Immediately, a pulling sensation, prickly and cold, enveloped my brain. It was like a wave of nostalgia, in a way, as old memories resurfaced and I felt things I hadn't felt in years gone by.
Then, just as suddenly, it ended, and I was left kneeling on concrete breathing heavily. I shook it off and continued following the instructions, taking a left at the big, dirty monument of some green lady with a torch. There was an eerie quiet, not even a breeze whistling through cold steel reaching for the sky, and a smell of musty stone and rust.
And then I made the third turn, once more through an oil-field. Only, that time, when I broached it... there were a thousand people, maybe more, all impossibly similar.
They stared at me, harder than stone, colder than steel. I wanted to run, but couldn't move a muscle as so many eyes bore through my soul, and breath was nowhere to be found.
Then they all went about their day. Well, all but one girl, seemingly my age but impossibly clean, with blonde hair and white teeth that glowed like stars.
I shrugged and approached her. Why not, right?
She started at my approach.
"Hi there," I said, extending a hand. She didn't take it, only looked at it like she didn't have hands herself.
"H--Hello."
"I'm Mary, what's your name?"
"Kara."
*Wordsmith over here, I see.*
I smiled. "Well, Kara, nice to meet you. I'm here to pick up some medicine, have you heard of a Dr. Poole in this area?"
She shook her head.
"Well," I said, drawing the word out, "alrighty then. Thanks for the time, Kara."
"Wait," she called, eyes wide. "Where are you from?"
"Just outside the city, a few miles south. My family lives on a ranch there."
"Wow. You've never been in the city before? You're dressed so weird."
I giggled. "No, this is my first time. I also find you guys to look weird."
She held up a little black rectangle, and it clicked at me.
"What is that thing?" I asked.
Her jaw went slack. "A phone? You don't know what a phone is?"
I shook my head.
"Wow. You don't know your rankings then, either, do you?"
"What?"
"Oh. My. God. You're helpless, ranch girl. What's your full name?"
"Mary Sue Dettinger."
She tapped at it furiously, and I leaned in closer.
"Holy shit," she said, her gaping face lit by the screen's glow. "How is this humanly possible?"
She turned it to me and I squinted at it.
>**Number of Children**
>1: Mary Sue Dettinger - 48
I almost dropped the phone, I laughed so hard. The kind of ab-cramping wheeze that you can't even hear for a little while because there's just no air left in you.
Kara snatched it back from me, yelping. "What're you doing? Careful with that! Shit's expensive!"
"Sorry," I said between fits of laughter. "I didn't think they'd take it so seriously."
"What are you talking about?"
"Well, they scanned me on the way in, and I felt a lot of like weird questions in my head, but I'm kinda weird. I call all the animals on my farm children."
She giggled. "What the hell? I've never heard of them getting it wrong. That's super weird. I just thought you were like a rabbit-person or something when I saw the number. You kinda look like one."
"Oh, come on."
"Let's see if you're anywhere else," she said, waving a hand at me. "Mary, Sue... Dett--"
My gaze bounced between her and the phone. "What? What is it *now*?"
There was an unreadable look on her face -- some twisted mix of sadness, envy and confusion -- as she let me see the screen again. Though, that time, she held the phone for me.
>**Happiness**
>2: Mary Sue Dettinger
I smiled wide and didn't even look at #1; why would I? I knew it'd say 'Ginger'. Or, at least, it would once I got back to pet her.
"I don't get it," Kara said, her words soft. "How's this possible? You don't even have a phone. Your clothes are old. This makes no sense. You trick them about this, too?"
"Mm-mm," I replied, shaking my head. Our eyes met in what must have been the most genuine moment she'd ever experienced. "I've never even thought about it."
----
*/r/resonatingfury*
| 2019-05-04T11:15:23 | 2019-05-04T09:55:38 | 6,214 | 725 |
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
When the secret of Faster than Light travel was cracked, it was a time of joyous celebration. No longer would humanity be confined to this one solar system, to Earth and the struggling colonies on Mars and the moons of Jupiter. No more would be stuck on a planet that could no longer support the demands of an ever-increasing population.
Once the first FtL ships returned, bearing news of planets that were pristine and empty of sapient life, the Great Building began. Every nation on Earth scrambled to construct mighty colony ships in orbit, to carry their population to one or more of the newly discovered exoplanets. The British Commonwealth and the American Alliance were tied for first, having started work on theirs in anticipation, but the other great nations weren't far behind. They couldn't be: a decision had been made, and it was almost unanimous.
"Earth must have time to recover from the ravages of humanity," was the announcement. "To that end, humanity will take to the stars and set up its home elsewhere, on new soil where we will not repeat the mistakes of our ancestors. Earth will be designated a refuge, left untouched except by those in charge of reversing the past centuries of devastation to our environment."
For weeks on end the colony ships have been departing, bearing the flags of their owners. The crews making there and back again trips, to planets orbiting distant stars. The Commonwealth Colony Ships _Queen Elizabeth_ and _David Attenborough_ departed yesterday, all ten thousand berths filled. The CCS _Steve Irwin_ will follow them tomorrow, accompanied on its flight out of the system by the American Alliance Ship _Barack Obama_.
Derby is feeling very empty these days. The streets are quiet, no longer filled with the huffing of air conditioners and the deep throb of public air filtration systems. There's no need, only us Rejects left. The last few eligibles were taken to the orbital boarding stations several days ago.
It's weird though, being able to wander without having to watch for the silent e-cars gliding along the streets. I walked along the A52 yesterday, actually on the roadway, wondering what it used to be like when there were green fields between Derby and Nottingham.
They're talking about gathering us Rejects together, to make it easy to keep track of us. Taking us to one of Earth's more habitable zones, where the air is cleaner and cooler than the big megacities. That way they don't have to wait for us to die off before they start the regeneration.
I've volunteered to help with that though. I can't leave, after all, so I might as well be of use here. I've got plenty of life left in me. Most of us Rejects do. It's only a cruel trick of fate that's seen us left behind, a few hundred thousand out of the billions living on Earth. A simple quirk of biology, nothing more than an allergy to one of the chemicals used in the pre-FtL sedation procedure.
|
When the Earth began to crack at the height of the Great Mistake, Henry Thomas Long put his family put his wife and son on a colony ship and waved goodbye. Then he rented a skimmer, packed their things, and lost himself in the wilds of the North American Preserve.
When the skimmer broke down and he could no longer carry all their things he took with him only a backpack of food, a book of poetry, and a family portrait. He traveled light through the NAP, Yeats at his side, declaiming poems to the stars by the flickering light of his fire. When he closed his eyes and recited from memory he could almost believe he was speaking to them, growing light years and relativistic years away on the journey between the old earth and the new.
It was not a good life.
Though in his youth Henry had flirted with the idea of the NAP, before flirting with a woman had turned to flirting with a family had turned to being a father and a husband, now that he had been those things it was difficult to turn back. Certainly he relished the experience, to stand on the peaks of a mountain, a valley pregnant with morning dew stretching out before him, a pristine sunrise on the horizon with a heard of mammoth braying their greetings to it. Certainly he relished in his chance meeting with one of the rogue Arnists who crafted the wilds of the North American Preserve to fit the North America that had been so long ago.
Henry spent a week with the bio-hacker, watching him breathe life into plants and coax long dead animals out of his cloning vats. They released a bald eagle out into the world together, and as it flew away the Arnist hummed an old tune about a star spangled banner that had not been seen in many years.
But the bio-hacker was not his wife and son, and though with his boots firmly upon the non-relativistic ground Henry still had years left before the Great Mistake ended the world, he moved on.
When it was alone it was easier to be truly alone. His mind never tried to compare an animal’s voice to a wife’s. Birdsong never sounded like his son, singing off key in all the moments he could.
When the Earth cracked again, Henry cracked with it.
He had been reciting Yeats less often of late, but when the earth shook below him and the tree he had climbed split and dropped him to the shaking ground, a poem sprang unbidden to his mind.
*Sailing to Byzantium.* It had been his father’s favorite poem, all about mortality and the end, and the hope that there could be more. As the animals stampeded around him, trumpeting their terror to the uncaring heavens, Henry whispered the part of the poem his father had loved so much.
*An aged man is but a paltry thing,*
*A tattered coat upon a stick, unless*
*Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing*
*For every tatter in its mortal dress,*
*Nor is there singing school but studying*
*Monuments of its own magnificence;*
*And therefore I have sailed the seas and come*
*To the holy city of Byzantium.*
​
*O sages standing in God's holy fire*
*As in the gold mosaic of a wall,*
*Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,*
*And be the singing-masters of my soul.*
*Consume my heart away; sick with desire*
*And fastened to a dying animal*
*It knows not what it is; and gather me*
*Into the artifice of eternity.*
Fastened to a dying animal. Alone in the wilds of the NAP that had never felt more true. The Earth stopped shaking, the animals stopped stampeding, and Henry rose into a new world, unhinged.
The first sign was that he composed his own poetry. He had loved poetry in his youth, loved it still into early adulthood, but Henry never been brave enough to share it with anyone. Now Henry sang it to the stars, filled the nights with his words, dared the world to steal his voice from him like it had stolen his family.
The first night a pack of wolves came. Dire Wolves, the big, resurrected kind, and they circled his fire, listening. Henry had no weapon, he made no move to defend himself. Instead, he shouted lines about their eyes reflecting the firelight until they slunk away into the night and shouted about his own, reflecting nothing but fire for the longest year of his life.
Henry missed the rogue Arnist very badly. It had been the last time he spoke to someone, the last time he felt like Henry Thomas Long. Now he was a revenant in his own body, another preserved creature in the NAP, mindlessly awaiting the Great Mistake’s destruction.
It was in this mood that he found her.
A cottage limned in blue light, moonlight bouncing off solar panels, music slipping out through open windows. *Music.* Henry had forgotten what it was like, forgotten that instruments could twine and wail and waver like that.
In his previous life Henry would not have called it music. Pre-destructionist abstract had never been a genre he thought much of, but now that the destruction was no longer so pre, he thought he could see the beauty in it.
The cottage door opened, and she stepped out.
She was a crone. An aged, paltry thing, a tattered dress upon a stick, but to look at her Henry knew her for a singing-master of the kind Yeats had spoken of.
“Hello?” Henry tried to say. It came out rough and raw, a man who had not spoken save to scream, and whose tattered voice could no longer mold itself around a civil word.
She shut the door. Shut the window. Henry heard the whir of locks.
He waited outside, huddling beneath her cottage through the night and the rain, whispering his poems to the moon as she whispered back, lulling him to sleep.
“Why are you still here?” the crone said.
Her voice woke Henry from his sleep, the sun already high in the sky.
“Are you real?” Henry asked.
“Yes,” she said, simply.
“You’re the first person I’ve seen in two years,” Henry whispered.
“Try twenty,” the crone said.
And the earth cracked again, a third time, a final time according to all the predictions. Henry caught her before she could fall and they held other desperately, her natural wariness forgotten as the world threatened to end.
When the shaking stopped they stood, brushed themselves off, and she invited him inside for tea.
Henry had not had tea since he left civilization. It was a religious experience, his mind stumbled over a poem as he sipped.
“Why are you here?” the crone asked. “You aren’t an Arnist.”
“I’m not,” he admitted. “I’m just a man, alone. My family made it onto a ship, I didn’t.”
“Ah,” she said. “Ah.”
She poured him another cup of tea, cooked a breakfast of tubers and eggs, and asked, “What will you do when the Great Mistake takes us?”
“Wish I’d made more mistakes of my own,” Henry said.
She laughed. Henry had thought she would cackle like a witch, but it was a high, clear peal of laughter, almost girlish, and before he could stop it he was laughing too. Their laughter turned to tears over the tubers, and soon he held her wizened hands in his own.
“What will you do?” he asked.
“Regret all the mistakes I made for both of us,” she said.
“All the mistakes,” Henry echoed.
“All of them.”
He did not pry. The earth shook again, a sound like a yawn rising up to meet them. Plates fell, cups shattered, tea spilled across the floor. Henry mourned the loss of the tea.
“Is this the end?” Henry shouted over the gathering roar.
The old woman nodded, tears in her eyes.
“Do you want to hear a poem?” Henry said.
She nodded again.
Henry pulled out Yeats, *Sailing to Byzantium* already echoing through his head. She grabbed his hands, stilling him.
“One of yours!” she shouted. “I heard you last night!”
And at the earth shattering heights of the Great Mistake Henry Thomas Long smiled, and sung out his first poem meant for another soul to hear.
\--------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out! I'd love to have you. Also, credit to Hyperion by Dan Simmons, I borrowed from his world heavily here.
| 2021-06-30T07:34:47 | 2021-06-30T06:51:49 | 185 | 99 |
[WP] You are a monster who lives under them bed of a child in a bad situation, one day you decide that enough is enough.
|
I hid concealing myself from view. I know what my job is, what my purpose is. I can't. I heard them every night. I hear them now in my head. I close my eyes and my heart, which is black as coal, aches beyond compare. It's as if an elephant sits on my chest everytime I think of having to scare her.
Tonight is the full moon, and my last night on this rotation. I have had enough, I have decided.
The girl sneaks into her room, silently, emotionless, and stoic as the angels standing over the graves outside her window. Tears are no use to her as she climbs into bed, not making a sound. The moonlight shines into her room and silhouettes the bed where all the pain of her life takes place. She used to try and sleep. She used to try and pretend to be somewhere else. Now she just stays put. Her childhood gone, her innocence lost. The stagnant smell of booze hangs in the air from the night before.
I move out of the darkness, my shadow covering the lights on the walls. Most people, of any age would be terrified, they would scream and hide. Amelia looked at me, her indifferent eyes seeing the recognization of my figure. Her bright green eyes began to water. Her pain would soon end. Her misery shortly to be over.
I reached out my hand to her, her thin fingers didn't shake as she grabbed my stone white ghostly hand. I took her from the room.
As we left the confines of her prison she looked back to her mom, the pillow still clutched in her shaking hands. Tears streaming down her face. The only comfort her mother ever could give. The last night.
|
Amelia Cole burst into her bedroom, frustrated and on the verge of tears. She slammed the door shut behind her, threw her backpack at her bed and her large 3-ring binder onto the top of her desk, and sat down in her chair with enough force to cause the wood to creak. She folded her arms, feeling like a prisoner in her own home.
“They just don’t understand,” she fumed silently.
It was the week of the homecoming dance, and Amelia was going to be Homecoming Queen. She had been campaigning for this since the previous year’s homecoming dance; making connections, gaining popularity, and when the time was right, spreading her name around. Her efforts would make the student council blush at the inadequacy of their own election campaigns; Amelia had been a machine of self-promotion for the past eleven and three-quarters months.
Of course, all this effort had come at a cost. Her grades had suffered, to the point that she had barely passed her classes last year. Her parents were not pleased; they didn’t expect perfect grades, but they could tell that she wasn’t trying hard enough. She had tried to explain to them how important this role was to her, but they wouldn’t hear it. They sent her to summer school, and made it clear that this kind of performance would not be acceptable in the future.
Summer school had ended up being a good thing; the classes were easy, and she was able to connect with the other students who were there, keeping the momentum of her popularity campaign going. Then school started again in the fall, and in her mind, this was the crucial moment. She doubled down her efforts, now explicitly running for Homecoming Queen and allowing her schoolwork to fall by the wayside. She promised herself to catch up after the dance, though the tile of Prom Queen was awfully tempting as well…
On Monday, Amelia witnessed her great triumph and her terrible downfall. She had won the vote by a landslide; she would be Homecoming Queen! She practically skipped home, confident that nothing could ruin her good mood.
Her parents were waiting for her, report card in hand. She didn’t even have time to tell them the good news before they began scolding her. In the end, it was two simple words that caused Amelia’s world to come crashing down around her.
“You’re grounded.”
She couldn’t see her friends. She couldn’t go anywhere after school but home. And she couldn’t go to the Homecoming dance.
Her only reprieve was that the grounding was not time-based, but merit-based. She was grounded indefinitely, until she had caught up on all her work. Her parents told her that they had talked to her teachers, and that they were giving her a chance to catch up with minimal penalties to her grades. They said she should feel grateful for this second chance; instead she fumed as the whole world turned against her (at least in her eyes).
These events flashed through Amelia’s mind as she sat at her desk, feeling justified in her actions and persecuted by the efforts of her parents and teachers. She opened the binder with all of the catch-up work she had to do, and her heart sank. Page after page of Math, English, French, Social Studies, Earth Science, and Home Economics. There was zero chance that she could finish all of this by the time of the dance. Feeling sorry for her situation, she felt tears welling up in her eyes.
Outside of her field of vision, her backpack shifted. A large scaly hand with six-inch, razor sharp claws reached out from under the bed and shoved the pack gently to the side. The rest of the creature followed; all scales and spines, black as night but with a reflective carapace. It’s mouth was filled with teeth as sharp as its claws, and its two eyes were bulbous and compound, like a fly. As it drew itself to its full seven-foot height, it cast a shadow across the room and towards Amelia. She took notice, and whirled around with the beginning of a shout at what she assumed was one of her parents, coming to check on her.
“If you think-“
Her voice caught in her throat as she took in the horrific sight before her. She tried to scream, but fear constricted her throat. She tried to run, but fear paralyzed her and kept her glued to her seat. She waited for the end… and the creature spoke.
“You know you brought this on yourself, right?”
She blinked. This creature just… talked. And it wasn’t even guttural or monstrous; it sounded like a very deep but very human voice. Then his words started to sink in, and she felt her fear vanish in a heartbeat.
“Ugh, not you too. Look, I did what I had to do to pursue my dream. Sure, I had to make some sacrifices, but it was all worth it! Or, it would have been worth it if my parents weren’t such heartless-“
“Monsters?” The creature finished her sentence, snarling a bit.
Amelia remembered who (or what) she was talking to, and the fear shot back into her. “I… er, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”
The creature sighed. “You just don’t understand, do you? I’ve been living under your bed since you were just a little girl, and in all these years you never appreciated your parents, even when you later acknowledged that they were right.”
Amelia swallowed nervously. “Look, mister…”
The creature chuckled. “You couldn’t pronounce my name in your tongue.”
“Right… well, I have a lot of work to do if I ever want to be free of this prison cell that was once my bedroom, so I would appreciate it if you would go back to where you came from. Unless you can do something to help me?”
“Like what?”
“Well, my parents are in the other room. You could scare them into letting me off the hook.”
“Not going to happen, ungrateful brat.”
“Then just leave me alone! I have only four days to finish this mountain of work, or else all of my work over the past year will have been for nothing! And I don’t need a judgmental beast to be teaching me life lessons!”
The monster loomed over her. She cowered, but her expression remained defiant. They stayed that way for several minutes. Eventually, the monster spoke.
“Fine.”
“Fine… what?”
“I will help you finish your schoolwork. I will get you to this Homecoming dance you value so much. But in exchange, you will apologize to your parents, appreciate everything they have done for you, and make sure that this does not happen again. Understood?”
Amelia saw a spark of hope at the end of this dreary dark tunnel. She didn’t understand why this creature was so concerned with the relationship between her and her parents, but she wasn’t about to give up her dream just before the finish line. She nodded in agreement.
“Good. Now while we wait for you and your parents to cool off, let’s get started. Even with my help, it will take a great amount of effort on your part to finish everything in time.”
“I can do it. If it’ll get me to my entrance as Homecoming Queen, I can do anything.”
—-
~Stories by Sol
(edit: typos. Thanks to a power outage, I had to write this with my phone and a bluetooth keyboard, so I didn't have a chance to proofread it before submitting.)
| 2022-10-16T06:19:14 | 2022-10-16T00:56:28 | 263 | 94 |
[WP] Open Concept: Instead of choosing between the red pill and the blue pill, Morpheus offers an ENTIRE rainbow of six pills to choose from.
Have Neo try all but red and blue, with the effects of each pill relevant to the context of the Matrix film (i.e. basic color symbolism should dictate what each pill does).
Again, no limits and have fun!
|
“This is your last chance,” Morpheus said, his hands outstretched, several small pills lying in each upturned palm. “After this, there is no turning back. You take the blue pill - the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill - you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes.”
“I see,” Neo said, staring at the pills in Morpheus’ hands. “And what about the orange one?”
“The orange what?” Morpheus said, glancing up at Neo.
“The orange pill, in your left hand.”
Morpheus glanced down at his palm and stared at it for a moment, his shoulders drooping. He leaned back slightly and sighed heavily.
“Dammit,” he whispered, “I grabbed too many.” He looked back up at Neo. “You’re not supposed to know about the other ones. Can we just focus on the red and the blue?”
“Wait,” Neo said, “why can’t I know what the orange does?” It looked like it was probably chock-full of vitamin C, which would certainly be a pretty solid choice. Better than waking up in a bed and not being sure of what was real, at least.
“It’s just,” Morpheus paused. “Look, can we forget about the orange? Do you want to see how deep the rabbit-hole goes, or do you want to be a quitter?”
“I want to know what the orange pill does,” Neo said, staring at the oblong medicine. If it was a vitamin C pill, he’d absolutely take it over the others. At least then he could walk away with some nutrients in his system, rather than either a lifetime of regret or confusion. Then again, he could also just combine it with one of the others. If he was going to wake up in either some rabbit hole or his bed, it wouldn’t hurt to have a few extra vitamins in his body.
“Fine,” Morpheus sighed. He shook his palm slightly, the pills shifting forward. “The orange one lets you change genders. It’s a hormone therapy thing.”
“Really?” Neo said, staring at the pill. “If I take it, I get to become a female?” He’d always secretly felt like he were a woman trapped within a man’s body, but forced those thoughts deep down inside himself and ignored them whenever they resurfaced. It was easier to pretend they didn’t exist. Still, he always knew the truth, always knew what burned within. The orange pill certainly seemed a pretty good option, especially considering his two otherwise lackluster ones.
“No,” Morpheus said, “it’s a slow process. This is just one of the hundreds of pills I take—I mean you’ll have to take.” He paused. “But, you know, it’s worth it. And it’s nothing to be ashamed of. When you’re just not happy with who you are, sometimes it’s best to change yourself.”
“Right,” Neo said, turning his attention to Morpheus’ left hand. “What about that green pill?”
“What?” Morpheus said, following Neo’s gaze toward his left hand. “Oh, fuck me. God dammit. Please ignore that pill, will you?”
“Okay,” Neo said. “So I have a choice of the red, blue, and orange?”
“Yes—wait, no. The orange is out of the picture. You only have the red and blue.”
“What? Why? How come I can’t choose to become a woman?” Neo stared at Morpheus, his head tilted in disbelief. He’d made up his mind a moment prior, decided it would absolutely be the orange one. He’d even begun imagining himself walking through the park on a warm spring day, his dress softly scraping the floor, a tight-fitting bra strapped to his chest. He felt happy—for the first time, he felt happy.
“It’s just not for you,” Morpheus said, sighing. “Please, just focus on the red and the blue.’
“I changed my mind,” Neo said, crossing his arms over his chest, “I want to know what the green one does.”
“You just told me you would forget you saw it,” Morpheus said, his voice rising slightly as he threw his hands up in the air. Neo wasn’t sure if Morpheus had a history of hitting people he tried to help, but he didn’t exactly feel like he would walk away without at least one punch to the face. Still, if Morpheus was going to be difficult, so was he.
“Yeah, well, I see it now. If you’re going to take away my gender pill, then I’m asking about the green. Tell me what it does.”
“You know what? Fine. The green one will literally turn you into an Orca whale. It isn’t supposed to be for you, it’s for our initiative to protect the seas from the Agents.”
“I’m sorry?” Neo said, suddenly incredibly interested in the green pill. While he did feel like a woman trapped in a man’s body, he’d always had the undying thought that he was actually an Orca whale trapped in a woman’s body that was trapped in a man’s body. There was no way he’d turn that down if he’d heard him correctly.
“The pill turns you into an Orca, a ‘Killer Whale,’ if you will. It is absolutely not for you.”
“I want that one,” Neo said, thrusting his palm forward and swiping the green pill out of Morpheus’ hand. The other pills flew out, tapping against the floor and rolling into a grate beneath. Neo pulled his fist back to his mouth, shoved the pills inside, and swallowed. It tasted slightly like squid.
“You idiot,” Morpheus said, raising his palm to his forehead. He stood up and turned toward the door. “I hope you enjoy wasting the rest of your life while we fight.” He slammed the door shut behind him, a wave of darkness pouring over everything.
Neo opened his eyes, a wash of blue flooding his vision. He didn’t need a mirror to realize he was floating somewhere in the ocean, his tail fin fluttering lightly behind him.
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
|
This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back. You take the blue pill—the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill—you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes. You take the yellow pill—you fall asleep and never wake up, and get the hell out of this whole sick situation. You take the green pill—you wake up as a celebrity, as an apology for bringing you to the attention of the machines. You take the orange pill—you live the rest of your life in an endless frat party. You take the purple pill—we fight to the death, and if you kill me you become the new Morpheus. Remember: all I'm offering is the truth, death, fame, partying, or the chance to lead. Nothing more.
| 2015-03-06T13:56:43 | 2015-03-06T13:51:14 | 190 | 18 |
[WP] A scientist has discovered the vaccine of immortality. The only side effect is, though, infertility. After the whole world got vaccinated, it turns out immortality is a hoax it is just an infertility vaccine.
got lots of comments about not knowing how vaccines work. i basically imagined a syringe with the cure of aging. i thought it depicted what i meant to say. english is not my first language, so my apologies for any misuse of words.
|
The official launch of the Quantum State Computer was not for another week, but that did not stop Dr Latimer Jordan from his usual antics.
“Hey, Quam,” he said, as he kicked his feet up on the console-top. “I’ve got a real mind-bender for you this time.”
“Oh stop it,” I replied. “You’re wasting precious processing power with your silly questions. We’ve already run through the checklists a hundred times. Quam is *perfect*. The government will prove that on a stage in front of the entire world. With Quam on our side, we will be the *only* superpower in the world –”
“Dr Malvo, where’s your sense of curiosity? Of course Quam did well in the tests – the questions we put to her all had definite answers! To really see if she’s worth the gold and platinum in her circuits, we’ve got to ask her a real out-of-the-box question!”
That much was true. Though the questions we had prepared for Quam were *infinitely* difficult and completely beyond the reach of any other contemporary super computers – creating an algorithm a dozen times more complex than any cryptocurrency’s and then solving it completely, predicting how the world economy would shift in the next two weeks, even simulating the asteroid belt collisions a full light-year away – the answers were still concrete, definite. We knew those answers because we had solved for them, that’s how we knew Quam worked.
Quam was just really, really, *really* powerful.
But just how powerful was she?
“What are you trying to achieve, Latimer?”
“Consider this,” he said, as he folded his arms and smiled that patented Cheshire-smile of his. “Quam pulls data from every single digital source known to man. Then she *cross-references* it with her databases *from the future*. In a single second, she trawls the entirety of the multiverse to look for her answer. She’s not just *one*, she’s a dozen, thousand, *million* Quams, all at the same time. We’re wasting her abilities with the stupid, mundane queries we’re putting to her.”
“Developing a cure for cancer isn’t stupid.”
“You’re right, you’re right. But what I’m saying is, I want to ask her something… different. Just to see how she handles it. You’ve got to admit, it’ll be real cool for her to say ‘error’ or ‘answer not available’. The first non-answer, from the one computer that has an answer for *everything*.”
I sighed, then fished the security token out from my lab-coat. This exchange would not come cheap – Quam’s operating cost was approximately fifty thousand dollars per question on average – but I supposed that there was no harm to what Latimer was proposing.
Live a little, right?
“Go ahead then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Latimer beamed as the monitor screens flashed green – Quam was ready for input. He cleared his throat, then said, “Consider this, Quam. Medication has been developed that promises functional immortality for humankind. Everyone who takes it appears to gain superhuman regenerative powers, and they cannot be killed unless they are dissolved at the atomic level. Governments around the world work to get the medication into the hands of as many people as possible, oblivious to the side-effect of infertility. After all, why would there be need for more humans if we cannot die?”
“This… is what you wanted to ask?” I said.
“*Shh*. Anyway, Quam, the problem presents itself in less than 50 years. The truth is made known – the medication is a hoax. People may be in tip-top physical condition, but they still keel over and die when their time is up. The medication does grant one powers of regeneration, and also robs one of fertility, but there is no immortality to speak of.”
Quam flashed as she took in the question. Her voice, designed in the likeness of one of the most sultry actresses of our era, poured out of the speakers in silky waves. “And what is your question, Dr Jordan?”
“Well, the question is simple – what would you do to fix that? How would you stop the human race from effectively neutering itself, and dooming itself to die out within a single generation?”
Quam hummed as her processers kicked in. I felt the hair rise on my skin as she engaged her quantum motors – the lights overhead flicked as Quam drank in every watt of power we made available to her.
Then, her voice issued again, though… there was the strangest hint of urgency underlying her words.
“I have an answer. Please pay attention.”
Latimer swung his feet down, and he leaned forward to begin jabbing at the controls. “Strange,” he said, as the frown spread across his face. “That was a completely nonsensical query. Quam should not have been able to answer that. She should have just said ‘error’, or ‘answer not –’”
Quam whirred again as she continued with her answer. The blood drained from my face, and I became aware that sweat was pooling in my palms.
“I would send a warning back in time. Time travel for physical entities is not possible, so electronic signals are the next best thing. I would plant the germ of the conundrum in the mind of a scientist who has access to quantum computing, prompting him to test the limits of his creation by asking that very question. The scenario you have described is the *modus operandi*, or the preferred, signature method, of those who come from afar. They prefer non-violent means to rid planets of their current hosts, so they hide amongst the shadows and coax the species towards terminating themselves. Then, when the planet lies silent and undefended, they move in and takeover, seamlessly.”
I exchanged a look with Latimer. His face had gone white too, and his lips were shaking as he tried to regain some measure of composure.
“Quam?” I asked. “Who are they? And… how much time do we have?”
“Their real name is not pronounceable by humans, but humans soon took to calling them the ‘Colaxo’. And I am happy to report that you have twenty years from today, give or take a week or two, before their first agents land on earth.”
Quam’s screen flashed green, indicating that her answer was complete.
“Is there any other query I can help you with, gentlemen?”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
They came from the stars. Our leaders said they came in peace. So much of their advanced technology augmented our own. Great spires and floating cities dotted our world. The mining and water reclamation was the real purpose of their ~~visit~~ invasion. They shared certain vaccinations for diseases that had plagued us for generations and eliminated some seemingly overnight. Our lives would never be the same, brought into a new era by our new friends. They promised us their last one, the secret to immortality. Stupidly we leapt at the chance...too late we found out their lie. Mine will be the last generation on this world. Only the isolated tribes in the deep jungle may survive. If you're reading this message we attached to their hive ships:
>!Don't trust the Humans!!!!<
| 2018-09-09T08:51:38 | 2018-09-09T08:44:13 | 415 | 103 |
[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.
|
*The Therapist*
"Shit." I looked around, realizing I had just been summoned, again. How many times was this going to happen? Here I was, just enjoying my day, about to have sex with my girlfriend and this happens. Why can't I just stay on Earth? They always ask me to do stupid things I can't do anyway.
"Can you force her to love me." A young man looks up from his sitting position, with his soft whisper.
"Man, I can tell you one thing... if you want to force her, you have other problems." What I wouldn't give to be home right now with someone that *did* love me.
The young man outside the circle looked distraught. If I'm being honest, I felt bad for the guy. It wasn't his fault that the girl he chose to love didn't love him back. I heard a sob.
"Okay, so what's going on, man?" I sit down in the circle and prepare for a long-ass story where I end up being the therapist again. Y'know, being in their version of hell really makes you go through shit and end up stronger. Sometimes I think they should visit Earth. If only I could summon them.
The young man huffs. His breaths are jagged as he recovers from his tears. "You aren't like any other demon I've summoned before."
"Yeah well, you're not like any sorcerer that I've been ordered around by before." I pause, trying to figure out how to get him smiling again. Forget it, I'll just be honest. "The rest were just fuckers. At least you have something I can help you with. No world domination shit, okay?"
"I just needed someone to talk to."
I meant to suppress my guffaw. Unfortunately, when you're from hell you aren't the most tactful in tense situations. "Let me summarize: you are one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world, which I gathered from the fact you *summoned* a fucking being from an alternate universe, a girl won't love you, and you summoned me so that we could have a chipper chat? HA. Are you serious? Don't you have friends?"
"That's the beauty of being one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world," he bitterly replied, "unless you have family, no one wants you."
"Oh shut it with your pity party shit." If I was here, I was not wasting this time listening to him blather on and on without solving the god forsaken problem. Heh. I am technically forsaken from God, get it?
"Fine. What would you rather I talk about?"
"Maybe how no demon has talked to you like this before?" he stared at me blankly. Well, I guess he doesn't have a commanding presence, usually we're pretty docile because we have no choice. "Okay... how about the woman you mentioned."
"Oh, she's perfect," his eyes started to glaze over in a fucking daydream. Really, this was what he was like? No wonder she didn't want to be with him.
"So what happened?"
He adjusted to be comfortable, then he looked up at me and asked, "Do you want a cup of water or something?" If he wasn't so pathetic, I would cry at his kind gesture. These beings were too power hungry to ever consider if I was actually hungry.
"No, but thank you," ew, I could feel my heart softening towards this guy. By the end we might have a serious bro-mance going. Ugh, that would mean he'd summon me whenever he needed something. Shit he needed friends.
"O-okay. Well, you're certainly far different than any other demon I've summoned before. They usually have magical powers like I do."
"Yeah, well you called the wrong universe this time." I needed to get back on subject, I had other things to do today. "Who is this girl?"
"She's my best friend." ARE YOU SERIOUS YOU WANT TO HAVE A FRIEND ZONE CONVERSATION? Fuck me.
"Mmmmhmmm," I read somewhere that minimal attending skills were the best when you had to listen to someone. Honestly, I feel for this guy, I've been there, so I could try to have this conversation.
"Everyone loves her. When she walks into a room, there is always someone she knows, someone who wants to be near her. She's a magnet." He locked eyes with me as his eyes started to tear up, "For some reason she chose to befriend *me*. I'm the freak magician in the corner who is too shy and too feared for anyone to approach. I am a social pariah."
"What makes you think she doesn't love you then?" I really have been here. I mean, usually I don't socialize because I'm awkward and I play a lot of video games, but he wanted the girl who was the belle of the ball. By some miracle I currently had her... I mean, a version of her in hell.
"She talks to all these guys, she's always flirting and going on dates. She never gives me a second thought when she talks to me about them." He was still sitting on the floor and holding his legs.
"Have you talked to her?" It was obvious this guy didn't know how to talk about his feelings. Gotta love masculine expectations, they seem to be the same wherever I am summoned. Fucks the poor guys up. No wonder they all want to control a demon. Still doesn't excuse this shit though.
"I mentioned that I can't really help her with her guy problems." She sometimes gets frustrated with me then doesn't talk to me for a few days when that happens.
"... But have you asked her on a date?"
"No..."
"WHY THE HELL NOT? If you are going to summon a demon, who could be potentially dangerous, don't you think it should be your final resort?"
"I am your master and you are berating me!" The girl is definitely a touchy subject. At least the yelling made this interesting, so I continued.
"As soon as I leave I HAVE no fucking master. You know what's so funny? You want to make this WOMAN your slave. That's what you told me as soon as I arrived. Taking away her choice, just like you took away mine, I guess that sounds a lot like love in this world." Oops, might have stepped on a few nerves.
The sorcerer just stood there and said nothing. He bowed his head. "You're right. If I could force her to love me, I would do it. It would be for her own good too. I'd take care of her every wish or desire."
"Except one -- her freedom. That's the most important one for a relationship. Otherwise you'd only have a hollow semblance of one." I really did feel for this guy, but I've never wanted to control the girl. At the time, I just wished the girls on Earth had liked me.
"I'd rather have that than not have her at all." He stood up in defiance.
"Well, I still can't help you with that." I looked at his determined and slightly terrifying face. I take it back, he could command a demon, there was sheer power there.
"Then you're useless."
"Or maybe you're useless."
"What did you say?"
"You heard me. I thought you weren't like those other sorcerers, and I was right. You're worse."
"You're just a shit demon who has to be a slave for all eternity, it doesn't matter what you think."
I couldn't keep myself from saying it, "I guess that's why you have no friends and no lover."
He stormed out and I sat there until a candle burned all of it's wick. Finally the circle was broken and I could go home. I saw the sorcerer run into the room as I prepared to leave.
"Go to therapy, man. Only dicks don't get the girl." Then I vanished, back into the puff of smoke and back in my bed with my girlfriend.
"Good morning, love. Who did you have to talk to this time?" She yawned and wrapped her arm around me.
"Myself. In an alternate universe." She sat up and looked at me intently, I noticed she only had her t-shirt on. This was the universe I wanted to be in.
"Are you okay?" She reached for my hair as she searched my eyes.
"I am now." My cheeky grin made her smile. I felt sorry for that guy and I hoped he'd change for the better like I did. As my girlfriend started to get out of bed I pulled her back. "Where do you think you're going?"
She laughed. I definitely hoped this guy would learn his lesson and experience this kind of satisfaction. For my sake.
|
Most people consider my job to be fairly boring. I'm a lawyer, you see. Specifically, I'm a Junior Associate at Fox, Rothschilde, Wickersham, & Taft in Washington, D.C.
I spend most of my waking hours reading government contracts, writing memos about them, and generally trying to bill the most hours humanly possible. They pay me what most people would consider to be a very good living, but most people don't have $250,000 in student loans.
It was 5pm on a Friday, and I was sitting at my desk browsing reddit (no, I wasn't billing for it--that would be unethical), when I was suddenly blinded by a bright flash. I found myself still sitting at my desk in a brightly-lit cavern stone cavern. Every surface had been buffed to a high shine. There was a circle of what looked like tiny birthday candles around me--each of them brighter than a halogen floodlight. I rolled back in my office chair, and hit an invisible force-field. It flickered and hissed where my chair touched it, but held firm. Several high-pitched voices began chanting softly in unison,
"Oh demon of the foulest Earth, we have summoned you here and now bind you to our will! Do not test the might the warlocks of the Cabal of Illuamdmitae, for we have power beyond imagining..."
I stood up as the speech continued, and began to look around for the speakers. In front of my desk were three tiny figures--each barely a meter high--clad in shimmering, almost-iridescent red robes. The fabric was unlike anything I had seen before. Its leader held a staff (or perhaps a spear?) made entirely out elongated gemstones, bound together with shimmering rope. Spider silk?
"Excuse me," I interrupted. "What's going on?"
The robed figures covered their ears in pain. The leader handed the other two what appeared to be lumps of beeswax. "Do not attempt to injure us with your foul voice, demon, for we have taken precautions!"
I tried to whisper now. "Okay. One, I'm not a demon. Two, where in the hell am I? Three, who are you?"
"We, your masters, have summoned you from the foulest Earth to achieve a lasting victory in our age-old conflict with the oath-breaking Raelian Horde."
"Umm, you do realize that I'm a lawyer, right? I can't really help with this unless you need me to review a contract, or maybe do a mediation session."
"What are these infernal mechanisms you speak of? Is there some way to bind the Raelians to their word as we have bound you?"
"What do you know about contracts...?"
[NOTE: The basic idea here was "Apply Skill: Law," combined with a human lawyer who suddenly has superpowers, but is extremely vulnerable to light (which is brighter there). This premise was much funnier and/or more interesting in my head than this story is turning out to be. I'll continue this if there's interest, but I doubt there will be.]
| 2017-05-12T12:28:14 | 2017-05-12T11:53:23 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] With total war as a foreign concept to the rest of our galaxy. Everyone saw humans as the negotiators and the peace makers, soft and weak, today is the day the galaxy finds out why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
|
Kral’dai watched as Shal’dar ambulated across the multi-species bar with unusual urgency. Unusual to see Shal’dar off from his job as a writer for the Intergalactic News Bureau so early.
Did you hear about what happened?
Kral’dai looked at his normally calm friend’s strange expression and rippling fronds and said “I’ve certainly not heard anything that could upset you so much.”
Shal’dar fronds contracted as he all but shouted “The Kraziznski are gone.” Shal’dar continued in a slightly calmer tone of voice. “All of them.”
An odd quite spread out from this statement as conversation stilled and more and more auditory organs turned in Shal’dar direction. Even the music seemed to still in the wake of such an absurd statement.
“Gone?” Exclaimed Kral’dai. His own fronds beginning ripple in distress. The Kraziznski were a large polity with nearly 100 settled planets to their name.
“S-s-some kind of plague?” Asked Kral’dai. His voice faltering as his mind attempted to come with some way that the Kraziznski could have fallen, but even as he said it he knew that it couldn’t possibly be the case. No plague in hundreds of standard star turns had been able to take hold of a single planet let alone a hundred, not since the humans negotiated the release of the Shinarians medical technology.
“Not a plague. The humans.”
Kral’dai’s fronds immediately began to relax as he began to emit amusement. Indeed as the ridiculousness of the statement registered with the denizens of the bar they all began to express their amusement in whatever their species deemed appropriate. Old Shuckker, a fixture at the bar whose drunkenness was legendary among the patrons, seemed to find it particularly amusing as its laughter sent it to the floor
“Honestly Shal’dar well done.” Kral’dai waving congratulation with his fronds. “I had no idea you had it in you to joke like that.”
“It’s no-“
“NOT A JOKE is it young’un?” Old Shukker interrupted Shal’dar’s denial still laughing uproariously.
“N-n-no it isn’t” Shal’dar confirmed. “The Kraziznski seized several of the human’s aid ships and then the Humans went mad. They wiped out the Kraziznskis’ navy burned their orbitals from the sky and glassed their capital planet and every major city on all of their worlds”
“Impossible” chimed in another bar patron. This time one the slimy Sortars. “Everyone knows that the humans are devoted to peace. Why they’re the ones who negotiated the end to the Basvarian war.”
At this everyone began to motion the affirmative with their varied appendages. Well, except for Shukker whose laughter seemed to grow to even greater heights.
“That’s right.” A sentient with the tattoos of a Krlloc veteran. “I fought in Basvarian war. It was the most destructive war in in thousands of standard Star turns. Hundreds of Sentients died on both sided of the conflict and the Humans diplomatic team ended within a month of their arrival. I won’t have you continue to disparage them like this.” The veteran’s initial amusement obviously cooling as Shal’dar’s joke carried on too long.
“It’s not a joke.” Shal’dar insisted. “Just wait. The story will go out on the INB’s alerts soon.”
Almost as if his statement had summoned them. Various smart attachments began to ping as news alerts began to sound off. Distressed murmurings began to build as the news alerts confirmed that Shal’dar’s “joke” was in fact reality.
“I WARNED them” shouted Old Shukker waving its 4 hairy arms drunkenly his laughter finally fading.
“Desh, decle, deshrades” Old Shukker paused as his mouth seemed unable to get the word decades out. “Looong time ago.” He said as he accepted that perhaps that last shot of Hooserian fire whiskey had perhaps made some words impossible to get out in any understandable way. “I was an one of them young studennts at Psratteeeers U majooring in hstory and I chose to study them Humans.” It paused to take another ill-advised shot of the fire whiskey as, afterall, to its mind the damage had already been done so what could be the harm?
This caused no little consternation among the bar patrons as Psratter University was one of the most prestigious in the galactic sector and certainly didn’t fit the image of the old drunk who seemed to be a permanent fixture at the bar.
“Annnyways” It continued. “I whhaasss the forst to do it. Nobody elsh wanted to do it. They shought that reshearching a bunch o diplomatsh would be to boring.” Shukker snorted. Shows what they knew. Shukker thought to himself blearily. Conveniently forgetting that it wasn’t some spark of genius that led him to study the humans but rather the hopes of an easy degree.
“Oh der reshent hishtory wash boring enough. Aid tripsh and diplomatsh diplomating till I wanted to shcream.” Another shot went into its mouth.
“Sho what did I do?” Shukker asked as he pounded the bar with two of his four hands and poured another shot with the other two. (The other bar patrons were impressed with this level of drunken dexterity but were too caught up in his tale applaud as they normally would). “I whent farther back. All the way back to their pre-sphaceflight days. Shtarted to go wrong when I found something called de Geneva convhenshons.” At this Shukker abandoned shots and started to take swigs straight form the bottle. “They wash a buncha rules bout how not to commit atroshities on peoplesh who aren’t fighting in wars.
“What kind of sane species need so many rules about that?” Exclaimed Kral’dai in distress.
“Eshacutly!” Shukker said pointing all four of his arms as Kral’dai. This resulted in the old drunk falling to floor from which he continued: “No good speshies needs so many of rhulsh. Sho I went looking for why the Humans needed so many. I shouldn’t have done that.” Old Shukker began to cry as his memories seemed to sober him a bit.
“I won’t say what I found.” His tears coming harder. “Whent to the University bigwigs with everything. They laughed me off. Thought I was lying and couldn’t be arshed to look into themselves. So I ended up here sitting and drinking while I waited for the rest of the universh to catch up. Now everyone knows what the Humans are.” With that Old Shukker curled up in a ball and wept.
Everyone in the bar stared at the old drunk who had gone from an object of amusement to one of pity over the course of his tale. They knew that the universe would never be the same again.
|
The world was on fire.
At least, that's what it looked like. The surface was blanketed in thick clouds of grey and brown smoke, the residue of millions of tons of dirt and civilisation blocking out the sun. Even the planet's moon had taken a beating, fresh craters speckling its surface. A lone, battered satellite beamed the scenes back towards a spaceship, floating adrift in space.
The spaceship could have passed for human if it weren't for the forcefield shielding it from debris. Humans had never managed to advance this far. On the spaceship, at the helm, lay two humanoid forms, lying on the ground next to each other. A live feed was beamed onto a large cracked screen.
"It's gone."
"It's really gone."
One reached for the other, claws on their four-fingered hand sheathed. A sign of respect and trust in their species. Not that it mattered now. The other grasped the reaching hand tightly. Quiet sobs wracked their body.
"We're the last two alive, you know." The humanoid attached to the reaching hand whispered. "The universe used to sing songs about us. Now they are silent."
"Yes." The second humanoid wheezed. There was a large gash on their front from a shard of unknown metal. It was causing them some difficulty. "Our home planet is gone. The humans won."
"Yes. Does it really matter, though?" Both fell silent for some time, pondering their situation.
Then, the first humanoid, the one without the injury, spoke.
"To think that they burned their own planet, just to destroy our last hope of survival."
The live feed caught a brief glimpse of a continent throughout the smoke. The waters were soot and the land burned.
"Total war." Both whispered this in unison, as their lone spacecraft drifted, directionless, through the dark night of space.
| 2018-12-15T06:43:12 | 2018-12-15T02:45:32 | 34 | 13 |
[WP] “Shh, it’s alright,” the villain said. “You’re doing beautifully and I’m so proud of you. But that’s enough now. It was cruel of them to make you fight me. It’s not your fault.” He spoke with a gentle tone but he was pissed, not at the hero, but at the gods who send kids and teens to fight him.
|
"Come now," my voice was a bare whisper over the howling sound of war around us, "Surely you sent me better than this lot?"
I wasn't speaking to the group of four standing before me, clutching their weapons tightly, held ready to pierce my body, spill my blood and break my bones - all on the say so of their gods. Gods - as if they otherworldly beings truly deserved the title - which had spent the better portion of the century attempting to end my life - to thwart my plans and see me banished to some inescapable hell for the rest of eternity. Admittedly - it may have been for a good reason, but they never came to do the job themselves. Instead, they sent these proxies along - imbued with some measure of their benefactor's power.
The golden armor of the lead warrior glinted in the fading light, his sword brought back for a piercing stab as he lunged towards me - the ranger drew back his bow as a mote of energy grew on the arrowhead and began gathering. The spellcaster fanned the fingers of one hand at me , and spears of flame licked from their fingertips - and the final member of the group - just looked at me.
I had seen this play out many times over the decades - so much so that I barely noticed who the Chosen Warriors were, just that another quartet showed up promising to end my evil reign, and bring me to the gods justice.
Something about the fourth drew my attention though. In the time it took for the Warrior to lunge at me, I saw the smallness of the fourth's frame, draped in not divine armor and wielding a holy weapon, but instead the simple cloth of a peasant villager, his cheeks wane and hollow as if he hadn't eaten well in a long time. He held a simple wooden staff in hand, and the look of fear in those slightly sunken eyes - eyes of a pale green flecked with gold - chilled even my ancient heart as the youth which should have set them burning a light, darkened with the knowledge that his friends
"A CHILD?!" I shouted, not to the four, but instead to the very heavens as my own sword parried the Warriors sword, a clumsy move that even a swordsman with a tenth of my skill could have avoided. It was a sloppy stab which a experienced warrior would not have made the mistake of using as a opening gambit. As I knocked the blade from the gloved hand, I looked at the warrior with renewed sight - the shining golden armor was but beaten bronze, shabby the breastplate cracked and ancient looking, hardly a good defense. The Wizard's flames barely reached me before my outraged voice broke the slip of a girls concentration and she cowered.
The only adult among the four was the Ranger - the only one equipped with divine weapons and armor. His arrow launched at me, and in a moment I shifted myself from the warrior-child, to behind the Ranger.
"CHILDREN!" I raged at the Ranger, as my ungloved hand lashed out to grab the Ranger's neck from behind. "You bring CHILDREN to fight me!? How low can you lot truly have sunken!" The fires of rage stoked in my heart, as the sky darkened above.
The Ranger ducked down and forward, rolling away from me, and springing back to his feet, his bow coming up with an arrow already notched. I leapt forward myself, sword swinging to slice the Ranger in half, when he leapt into the air and away.
"Damn you Selan! You and your "gods" send children to fight me? Could you not trick grown men to do your cowardly bidding anymore? Come down here and fight me yourself!"
Selan, the Archer God, smiled as he hovered in the air, out of my sword's reach, but not my own magics. Lighting flashed in the sky, striking the arrogant Archer's head, sending arcs of electricity running through and over him. My hand shot up, the fingers curling into a balled fist that I drove towards the ground, and Selan fell with the movement.
The fury in my breast never burned to hotly, as I stood over the twitching god-thing on the ground, his body burned by the arcane lightning which coursed through him only moments ago, his godly weapon on the ground some few feet from him, his divine armor half melted and sticking to the godly flesh. Selan looked up with fear and pain over his face, portions of godly power spilling from the cracked flesh. He attempted to say something in retort, as my foot lashed out, the loud crack of his jaw echoing over the suddenly quiet battlefield.
My lower jaw began to open, forming into twin mandibles as I stooped to grab the 'god' up by his throat. "I hope they're watching," I hissed at Selan, as I brought his face to mine, and ripped into his flesh.
The cries of anguish and horror reached me even as I fed on Selan's godly body, draining his energies into myself, consuming the flesh and making it apart of my own. In moments, it was over, and I was greater than before.
The three children - for they were not warriors, at best apprentices to their trade - cowered together, falling upon each other in fear. As I approached, the "warrior" in the broken bronze armor attempted to stand, to protect his friends from me.....
And I knelt before them. The rage in my face replaced by pity, and sorrow. "Sshh...it'll be alright," I whispered, this time to the three of them, my face once more human after consuming the Archer God. "You did wonderfully, and I am so very proud of the courage you three showed."
Mere Children had made it to me, had fought me, until they saw how outclassed they had been, and even now - this one attempted to protect his friends, for however little longer it would be. Surely he had thought I would now murder them all....
"No, I won't hurt you three, no more. No more..." my voice held gentleness towards them, as I reached a hand out, "It was so very cruel of them to bring you three here, to fight me. To involve you in our war. None of this was your fault...it was his." I saw, speaking of the Fallen Archer God.
As I spoke, I held my hand out towards them, divine energy seeping out, to drape about them, suffuse them. "You three will be safe," I tell them, as I begin to divide my newly gained godly energy into the three.
|
A rage began to swell, bubbling up from Saerin's gut and seating itself deep within his heart. He had fought many a hero since he started following his own ambitions, but never had he fought a kid before. Now here he was, holding the child, likely no more than 15, that had been slain by his own hands. A child chosen by some great and terrible god. A child that was probably told he was to be a great hero that would slay a mighty evil in the name of this great god. The poor soul couldn't have known how powerful Saerin was, or that there was nearly no way for Saerin to be defeated. Saerin took the child up in his arms and carried him away. No family should have to bury their child, but perhaps it would be even worse to never see your child again. Saerin tracked down the parents over a short time and left the body to be found within the limits of the town. He felt guilt descend upon him, followed quickly by a ferocious recurrence of rage. He asked himself if it were possible to kill a god, and decided that he would answer that question soon.
| 2019-07-26T07:47:40 | 2019-07-26T07:17:13 | 94 | 12 |
[WP] You live in a world where karma is real and where you get what you deserve. The thing is that you want to be the ruler of the world, so you decide to become the nicest person on earth.
|
Curled up in sleep, the kindest man in all the world snored. It was a chainsaw snore, the motor sputtering and failing before ripping into sudden, frantic life. When Lily complained about it her friends always laughed. They said that if a snore was the worst Malcolm had to offer then she was even luckier than they had thought.
She had thought so too, once, except after what she had been through Lily had called it blessed. After all, didn’t everyone say he was the kindest man in all the world?
One leg crossed over the other, slouching into the padded arms of her favorite chair, Lily's eyes dissected the man in the bed. Malcolm Cartwright. An inoffensive name for an inoffensive man— a good man in the light of day.
At night she saw him for what he really was.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the chainsaw snore died away. Malcolm rolled over in the bed, one arm questing over onto her vacant side. It searched, that arm. Probed at the cold covers.
His eyes opened. The bed was caught in a shaft of silver moonlight, chased away at the edges by the soft glow of the night-light Lily still used. He stared straight up, eyes tracking the slow blades of the ceiling fan, but there was no sight in them. So animated in the day, at night Malcolm scarcely even had a soul.
He sat up, turned towards her. Still sightless.
He swung his legs out of the bed. He stood up, took a sightless step towards her, stretched out a hand as if to reach for her.
Lily did not even breath. She let him come, shuffling towards her where the night-light’s glow held sway.
He turned and fell to his knees before the hollow spot behind the wall.
It was a horrific sort of pantomime that Malcolm played out every night. She was certain he did not know. If he knew he would have changed it somehow, moved the spot where he had hidden them, but there was no one to tell him but her. In all his life, Malcolm had never trusted another living thing. They had no children, he had no siblings. It was only them, alone in the big, drafty house, playing out this sick parody of a loving marriage.
He pawed at the wall, his fingers sought purchase. Sleeping Malcolm couldn’t open it, his waking self had hidden the latch too well.
In time he returned to the bed, groaning and anxious. She went with him, letting the nightgown fall in its spot on the floor. When he woke, as he always did, Malcolm would find her as he had left her. Disarmed, vulnerable. It was the only time he had ever felt truly secure.
Lily lay awake beside her, waiting to fall into her act. Waiting, as she had waited so times before beside a different man, in a different house. Different everything, but still the same.
She shivered, though the night was warm. But she did not do this for herself.
“Lily?” his voice was thick with sleep and confusion. Malcolm was so disoriented when he woke.
“Hmmm?” she mimed coming up from sleep, pitched fear into her voice. That had never been hard to do. She felt him stirring beside her, came ‘awake’ before him. Lily curled into his side, fit her body against his. “Another nightmare?”
“I— yes. Another nightmare.” He struggled with the admission. His darted across the room, passed too casually over the hollow spot in the wall.
“I’m over now,” Lily whispered, pulling his head into the hollow of her neck. “Don’t worry, I’m still here.”
He was quiet a long time. She listened for his snores, any change in the rhythm of his breathing. There was none. Malcolm was awake, sorting through shreds of memory his sleeping self might have had.
If Lily had told anyone they would have said she was paranoid. How not? Here was a man who had created a fortune just to found a children’s charity. He volunteered in soup kitchens and animal shelters, had spent years in the Peace Corp.
He had married her, and hadn’t she seen herself before him? They had seen the bruises as clearly as she had, had seen what a mess she had gotten herself into. And had Malcolm ever so much as judged her?
“Thank you,” Malcolm whispered. “You’re the only one I can trust. The only one who—” he choked off a word, turned it into a strangled sob. Malcolm was an exquisite actor.
“Lily, I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” she said. “Now sleep. You’ve got a long day tomorrow.”
She petted his hair until the snores roared back, let the room fill with those dying engine sounds. She kissed him, gently. And again. Once for the man he pretended to be, once because it hurt so badly.
He left in the morning, rising with the dawn. Lily stepped back into her nightgown and counted the minutes until he reached the airport, then counted down again he boarded the flight. He was off on business, he was so often these days. Her friends ooh’d and ahh’d over it, admired his discipline and sometimes went just that uncomfortable step further. And again, she thought, how not? This week he was procuring ventilators for a children’s hospital, could there be anything more noble than that?
But her friends did not see him rise in the night. They did not see him scrabbling at the wall like a feral dog, did not hear his fingernails etching at the paint and stumbling over the secret little latch behind the dresser.
They were not there when spoke in his sleep. Declaiming.
Lily was. An alarm went off, Malcolm’s flight departing. Safely in the air now, she went to the bedroom and crouched down beside the dresser. She pulled the latch and watched the hollow spot pop open, saw the sheafs of paper stacked within.
She drew them out, looking for Malcolm’s newest poems.
They were like his sleepwalking, Lily thought, cut from the same cloth. They were a desperate mind’s attempt for sanity, a rebellion against his daytime conformations and his crazed attempt to outplay the world’s Karmatic System. The only time he could ever be his true self.
She found them, haikus this time. Lily sat crosslegged, three sheets of paper laid out before her. The handwriting was so sloppy, jagged edged cursive that ran in every direction across the page, line breaks spiraling with strange regularity out through the paper’s lines as if Malcolm had working off a grid that only he could see.
Lily read them aloud, a reminder of what lay ahead, married to the kindest man in all the world. A man she had to oppose. A man, like so many others, who could not be allowed to win.
*Stacked up like cordwood*
*Small figures lie before me*
*What do those eyes see?*
*\**
*What do my eyes see?*
*What man stands in the mirror?*
*An artist. Show them.*
*\**
*Even her-- kindness.*
*So pretty, those old bruises*
*Charity. And yet…*
*“And yet,”* Lily repeated. *“And yet…”*
She felt violently ill. Last night’s kisses were still heavy on her lips, even heavier than this morning’s because she had offered them freely. She read the final poem again. And again. She read it until the words were carved into her brain, till the truth of them was indivisible from her soul—
And then she put them away. Put it all away. She composed herself, became the perfect wife. The proof of all that kindness. His charity. She let her anger burn away *“and yet…”*
Then Lily rose to greet the day. She had a good man’s life to ruin.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
|
"Ever since I was little I dreamt of ruling over this world as a supreme emperor. For years I've been in hiding thinking of a plan to take over the world and that plan has finally been set in motion" said Adrian as he helped an old lady cross the road.
The old lady thanked Adrian by giving him a packet of cookies. "Nutrition for my journey to take over the world, perfect" Adrian was full of joy as he drooled over his first spoils of war. He continued on his journey looking for a job to earn money and As he was walking he spotted something.
"A gift by the heavens above, someone dropped their wallet" said Adrian as he picked up the wallet. There was cash up to $1000 along with an driving licence with information of the owner.
"Time for a pawn to join my conquest" Adrian started making his way towards the address on the licence. At the address was a huge mansion, he pressed the doorbell and waited ... "who is it" spoke a voice from the doorbell.
"Sir, my name is Adrian and I'm here to return your wallet." Silence followed for a while until the door unlocked *click* and out came a frail old man.
"Here you go Sir, your wallet" Adrian handed over the wallet to the old man who took the wallet and looked through it to take out a tattered old piece of paper dropping the waller full of cash. *Drip* Tears started flowing down the old man's face.
"Are you okay Sir?" Asked Adrian and after a moment of silence the old man spoke with Tears still dripping "How could I have been so careless, thank you young man thank you so much" Adrian was confused about the piece of paper but the old man continued "My wife could not speak and before she died of cancer she wrote a letter and ever since I've been keeping the letter close to me, it feels like she is still with me. Here young man take all of it, it means nothing to me compared to the letter" the old man handed over all the cash totaling $1000"
"Fool you fell for my trap card, the old man had no idea what my plans are. That's right using this money I will donate food to homeless. Mhuahahahahaha" thought Adrian as he accepted the cash and continued on his journey.
Adrian bought lots of food and started giving it to the homeless.
"Mhuahahaha, eat my minions for you shall all be under my rule eventually and a good ruler cannot have hungry citizens"
and so the young man named Adrian continued on his journey of world domination looking for the next opportunity.
Note: new to this so not really sure of any grammar mistake please offer your suggestions
| 2021-12-01T11:45:40 | 2021-12-01T09:54:45 | 101 | 46 |
[WP] The year is 2020. The first astronauts have landed on Mars. They find a cave with a single human skeleton and four words written on the wall.
|
This deep under the Martian soil, we were completely cut off from Earth.
The new suits were nice. Snugger than the bulky old models, they still offered the same high level of protection from the environment. Made cave exploration feasible. Which was good, because that was the whole point of this mission.
Investigator, one of our three surface probes, had wandered down here and stopped responding. It was probably stuck, and at two tons it would be too heavy to move even in Martian gravity, so Captain McBride had sent my team and me to free or salvage it as possible.
Miriam came on the comms. "Bill, Victor! You're going to want to see this."
I sighed, touching the side of my head. "Miriam, Vic and I hate surprises. Can't you just tell us?"
She took a deep breath. "I want to confirm I'm not hallucinating, guys. Maybe they mixed my O2 wrong." That got our attention. It wasn't a common problem, but mistakes had been made. We'd almost died earlier that month when Anita's mix had been wrong and she'd tried opening the airlock too early.
Vic and I headed towards her. Cavewalking on Mars was dangerous, more so than you might think. If you moved to quick, stepped to hard, you'd gain more altitude that you expected and could crack your visor or helmet. So we advanced slowly towards Miriam, Victor giving her reassurance as we did.
Then his reassurance turned to a swear when he saw it. A skeleton, resting there. It was stretched out, one hand reaching for the wall, a single finger pointing to it. Words were written on there, in what looked like cuneiform.
"So..." Miriam said, glancing at us. "You guys see the dead person too."
"Roger," I said. "And long dead - stripped to the bone." Victor was still swearing, and I had to interrupt him. "Vic, okay, it's weird, but...what's your deal."
"Look. It's a human skeleton, Bill. You know what that means?" I shrugged, and he muttered "Engineers." He spoke up to clarify, "It means that we can’t be sure that, if we find life, it's not just evolved from stuff on this guy. It means that unless it's clearly of non-terrestrial origin, there's no answer."
I winced. Vic was our astrobiologist. If he was right, it meant his job could be obsolete. "Okay, I'm sorry. But we need to deal with that later. Vic, look at the wall."
He finally did, and his eyes widened. It wasn't a cave wall. No natural rock formation was that straight, that clean, and that covered with symbols.
"What does the writing mean?" I wasn't sure who I was asking, but Miriam responded. "Roughly? ‘The Master Still Lives.’ I mean, it's an off the cuff translation, but..." She noticed Victor and I were staring at her. "I got a degree in Linguistics before switching to computer science," she said, almost defensively.
Without any reason or way to argue with her, I walked up to the wall, running my hand along it. I could feel a faint vibration as I did. "I think there's something behind it...look, over here."
They came over and glanced at what I had uncovered. When brushing along the dust, I'd cleared a circle of glass that was laid into it.
"What...what is it?" Victor's voice was breathless, his earlier fear forgotten.
"I'm not sure, but I have a hunch. Miriam, can you read the inscription again, but...in whatever language that is this time?"
She looked at me, at the circle, and then shrugged herself. "No harm in trying." Words came out of her mouth in a strange tongue I didn't recognize. Which...okay, it's what I asked her to do. So no reason I should shiver as she did.
We all jumped, however, when the wall began do dilate, expanding like an eye to reveal a dark room.
"Uh...guys?" Victor's voice was thick. "Are we sure that was a good idea?"
Before Miriam or I could answer, the universe did. A tentacle leapt out of the darkness, impaling Victor's skull.
Thank god for Miriam. I was standing there, frozen in terror, and she dove on top of me as another tentacle flailed out. "Be not afraid."
That wasn't Miriam's voice, or Victors. It had a weird accent, and it was coming from inside the room.
"Be not afraid, humans." Between its sentences, I could hear a faint slurping noise, and saw an undulation happening from the tentacle moving back into the darkness. *It was eating Victor's brain.* I wanted to scream again, or throw up, and Miriam was trying to pull me away.
It pushed itself out of the room. It looked like it would stand about nine feet tall when it went fully upright. It had two legs coming off its lower body, but four coming off the central - two long, hulking ones, and two smaller delicate ones that looked like they were perfect for manipulation. Its head was shaped like a crescent moon with eyes at the tips that reminded me of a hammerhead, with another two eyes in the center of the crescent moon, staring at us. Four tentacles like the one that was slowly pulling out of Victor's skull waved behind it.
"Be not afraid," it repeated, the words coming from a pair of mandibles at the bottom of its crescent head, "for the gods have awoken."
Finally Miriam’s pulling got through to me, and as safely as we could we ran - not overly concerned about cracking our heads.
"Be not afraid!" it shouted after us, the voice high and mocking. "Tell the others! Your gods have returned!"
---
More at /r/Hydrael_writes
|
It's twenty twenty, let's travel amongst the stars
To a well known place none other than Mars
Finally landing, it's time to be brave
Shelter from the heat, head to the cave
On the ground, a mans skeleton lay
"The devil is real" in writing we say
| 2017-06-06T19:28:16 | 2017-06-06T19:16:35 | 50 | 36 |
[WP] “Honey, are you sure we’re not part of this story? This is the fifth time that kid walked down the street yelling loudly ‘I sure hope nothing bad happens to me on this street!’”
|
Rhianna's index finger to nostril, rubbing the itch away. And then the kid with the backpack excitedly yelling again, "I sure hope nothing bad happens to me on this street!" Index finger to nostril, again. The itch wasn't going away.
She turned around and saw Bianca sitting on the couch, tapping her iPhone. Rhianna sniffed, looked back out the window, waiting. The sun baked the asphalt. White clouds grew ever so subtly apart. And then, after what must have been another walk around the block, that same kid, same backpack: "I sure hope nothing bad happens to me on this street!" Her index finger to nostril, again.
She slapped the counter. "Honey, are you sure we're not part of this story?" She walked to the frontroom. "Bianca. Look at me."
Bianca kept tapping her iPhone.
"Bianca. This is the fifth time that kid walked down the street yelling loudly 'I sure hope nothing bad happens to me on this street!'"
Bianca said, "I hope nothing bad *does* happen to him on this street."
"Honey. Bianca." Rhianna pushed her hair out of her eyes, wiped at the sweat accumulating at her forehead. "I think we're a part of this story."
Bianca's attention back to her iPhone. "I don't want to be. I'm busy."
Rhianna twisted her lip, knowing she was losing the battle of control with herself. Her desire to go confront the boy grew to a need. Then she found herself putting on her tennis, tying her shoes, walking across their front lawn toward the boy turning at the corner of the street. She called after him, "You. Hey! Hey."
The boy gave a sideways glance at her and started walking faster.
"Hey!" She picked up pace, which in turn made the boy pick up pace, which in turn made her sprint, which in turn made... and they were both running. Rhianna's long legs pounding dirt as her hands balled into fists. She started breathing through her mouth, that old experience of high-school track coming back effortlessly. The boy wasn't doing so bad himself, maybe had some track experience, too. Or maybe he was just a scared boy running from a full-grown woman.
The backpack, though, was slowing him down. He threw his shoulders back and let it go. Rhianna was gaining on him. The weight of the backpack off, the boy picked up a little more speed, but it wasn't enough. Too late, and Rhianna's fingers at his shoulder. His eyes shot wide as he started to scream, "Oh my god, I was kidding! I don't really want something bad to happen to me on this street! Please let me go! I'm sorry!"
With each shoe-to-asphalt touch, Rhianna pushed off a little harder as her fingers gripped the boy's shoulder, and then finally held it. She pulled him backwards, throwing him to the ground, having to jump over him to keep herself from tripping.
He landed hard on his back, the back of his head hitting asphalt. His hand shot behind his head, rubbing it, with eyes growing teary.
Rhianna put a hand to her chest, trying to breathe slower now. She paced, breathing out through her mouth and in through her nose.
The kid sat there, helpless, looking up at this woman. He turned his attention to his fingers, looking at the blood there from the back of his head. "You hurt me," he said.
She waved a finger at him. "Nuh-uh. Why'd you run?"
His fingers back to the back of his head. "Cause you were chasing me."
"Because you were running."
"Okay. I was afraid you'd hurt me."
Rhianna put her hands to her knees, bent, tried to breathe easier that way. "I'm soh" - breathe - "Sorry. I didn't..." - breathe - "I wasn't trying to hurl--" - breathe - "Hurt you. I just." - breathe -"You've been walking this block five times now." - too many words used, breathe a few times "Jesus. You run fast." She stood back up.
"It's okay. Just breathe. I'm not going anywhere."
She sat down on the sidewalk, hands behind her holding her up as she let her head fall back. She closed her eyes and basked in the sun. She didn't see that the clouds had now become little frail tendrils of smoky substance. Not what she would describe as clouds at all.
The kid got up and sat next to her. "I wanted to be a part of something."
She used her shirt and wiped sweat from her forehead, her cheek, and moved to rest on her knees and look at him.
"I keep hearing from the other kids their parts in other stories. And then adults. And everyone in this town seems to be part of stories. There's enough writing prompts out there--"- he gave a knowing nod to the sky - "for everyone, it seems. And I just thought maybe I could get my own to star in. Ya know?"
She thought about that. Nodded. "I know what you mean. It's like, what about *me?"*
"Exactly."
"I'm a person. With feelings, desires, struggles. I want my story told. Use me."
"Right."
"I thought..." She laughed at herself. "You're gonna find this funny, I think. I thought you knew something."
"Knew something?"
"Yeah. I thought, maybe, somehow, you had, like, *divined* the writers and had struck a deal or something."
The kid smirked. "Yeah, I wish."
Rhianna shrugged. "It made sense at the time. Me and my wife have been fighting a lot lately. I guess I just needed a distraction. Something to think about other than my own shit."
"You said a bad word."
"Sorry."
The kid poked the sidewalk. Flicked a pebble. "Me, too. But about my brother."
She looked at him. "I'm sorry for throwing you to the ground."
"It's okay."
"No, it's not. I shouldn't have thrown you to the ground. I got involved in my own... in my own life. I shouldn't have done that. Dragged you into it."
"But then we wouldn't have met. And we wouldn't be in this story."
Dawning hit her. "Shit."
"You said it again."
"Sorry. This was it. This was our shot, wasn't it? And now this is the story."
"I had so much I wanted to say. And this really hurts." He rubbed the back of his head.
Rhianna got up. "Come on. Lemme take you back to my house and see how bad it is. I'm really sorry about this."
"But this was it? I thought I'd learn something about myself or... I thought I'd find a way to deal with my brother?"
Rhianna grabbed his hand. They started walking back to her house. "What's your name?"
"Abiel."
"Well, Abiel. You can talk to me about it all. I'll be your friend."
"But all that conversation will be after the story's ended? What happens to us when the stories end?"
"I don't know. But that doesn't matter, I don't think."
"No?"
"No. I think all that matters is the now. The right now. Our connection in this moment. And what we do with it."
Abiel said nothing. They came across his backpack and Rhianna picked it up, swinging it across her shoulder. She noticed the sky as she did so. The tapestry of the clouds swirling into blocks surrounding each other, like an analytic cubist painting. Bianca would love this. She would need to remember to show it to her when she got home.
She smiled, thinking, *I was famous for a brief moment. For a brief moment, someone cared about me. That felt so nice.* And then she rubbed at the itch on her nostril with her index finger again.
|
“Honey, are you sure we’re not part of this story? This is the fifth time that kid walked down the street yelling loudly ‘I sure hope nothing bad happens to me on this street!’” A lady said, with a worried tone.
"No, we went through it in rehearsal. Our queue is 'I am tired and hungry. Can anyone help?'" Said the rich gentleman.
"Then, what does that kid do here? what story even is this?"
"I think it is Jack and the peas, sweetie. It doesn't matter. Someone sent him here by mistake and-"
The kid started crying. Then, a knock on the door.
"Why didn't you come out?"
It was a red-haired princess. Ariel.
"We are from a different story," Said the gentleman. "The script says we do the stone soup story."
"What are you talking about?" The lady said, holding a pack of papers. "For me, it says baker witch - oh no"; Looking down, the lady's attire could fit also to a witch. She missed \*her\* queue.
"They must have split the two of you off and you didn't notice! Didn't you listen at the gathering this morning? We are understaffed. I am supposed to be Merida."
The lady, or the baker witch, rather, got out of the fake set house. A little kid, around 9 years old, was comforted by his angry mother. "What just happened here? at this time we could have been at the frozen roller coaster!"
"I am sorry, ma'am. we got the situation all wrong-"
"I should be refunded"
"Yes, you should, but our policy states that it will get off of my salary. See, we, my boyfriend and I, we need that money, you know?"
"Bullshit. If I wanted a story sold to me I would have got in time. let me speak to your supervisor"
"Ma'am, please, we can refund you. Here, if you give us your phone number we can send you a free Disney t-shirt." The lady got down, talking to the kid. "You'd like a Miki-mouse t-shirt? right? What about a star-wars shirt?"
The little boy smiled, and the mother calmed down. "Okay fine. But you should really be more careful."
"Yes ma'am."
"And whatever your boyfriend is doing. Shouldn't he be at a different set?"
The lady erased her smile, before running back to the rich gentleman.
| 2021-03-31T09:30:07 | 2021-03-31T08:29:20 | 75 | 16 |
[WP] You are a villain who kidnapped the smart guy on your nemesis team, they tell you that nobody will come for them and that the hero doesn't care. You didn't believe them at first but it been a month and nobody shows up and after once again hearing them cry at night you had enough
|
Colonel Caustic wasn't a well loved hero. Heck, most people thought he was more trouble than he was worth. The ability to melt anything he touched, emit acids as harmful as any other; a walking calamity just waiting to happen. But his abilities only over shadowed his true strength. How did such a hero such as he act without destroy all his surroundings? Very carefully and methodically.
None blinked an eye when the rubble crushed innocent bystanders. When blazes from the Firebrand raged through the city, they were brushed aside as gas fires. But acid. The only one on the supers scene with the ability to dissolve buildings was Colonel Caustic. There was no way to push the blame to anything benign. It didn't matter that the apartments were empty, or that no one was injured. Those homes were destroyed by Colonel Caustic.
It was empty by design. Caustic had already planned to renovate that complex. He had lured the inhabitants away with a series of fake sweepstakes that they had just happened to win. But none of the heroes cared. They would rather distance themselves from him and otherwise keep him at arms length. The citizens only saw a force of destruction. I saw a man who planned 6 steps ahead of anyone else. If only the heroes listened. They could have stopped me long ago had they just listened to him.
He had deduced that all I needed was the hyperdrive schematics from within the hero compound. All the rest were easily distracted by the various heists and bombings that I had arranged. Caustic could do little to me on his own; not without also destroying the Tower of Heroism and turning himself from a hero to an outcast. It took little to capture him.
What surprised me was how little the heroes actually cared. This man masterminded their plans and steered them down the path with least casualties and they just left him to me.
"It is a real shame, but there is naught we can do." Victor Vanguard stepped away from the microphone solemnly. An act as plain as day. Victor had once charged into a detonating nuclear bomb over an uninhabited island just in case I was up to something more than testing a radiation containment field, but saving Caustic was not worth lifting a finger to him.
I let the broadcast play unimpeded in Caustic's holding cell. Not once had the media asked if Caustics loss would be detrimental to the heroes. They didn't even care. Just looking forward for information on their new recruit. At first, the press conference seemed like a way to get me to drop my guard, but as the days turned to weeks, and the weeks to months, it became clear that no one was coming. Caustic's remaining spirit quickly faded. I think that deep down, he believed that someone cared enough. That they were just biding their time. Until it seemed clear that they weren't.
His stifled cries reminded me of myself. All alone, with no one to rely on, or confide in. The news no longer mentioned his name. He saved the world countless times over many years, just to be forgotten in a months time. The day I opened his cell, he just sat in the middle of his cell with his head slumped.
"Are you here to dispose of me now? The heroes don't want me. No one wants me. I'm just here eating your food with nothing to give back." His eyes raised slowly to meet mine as they welled with tears.
"I want to start with this." I croutched down and put a gloved hand on his shoulder. "I am sorry that it had come to this. I never meant for you to have to stay here so long, or endure this for as long as you have." I signaled for my aides to enter the room. They set the tiramisu cake in front of Caustic, lighting the candles and sparklers. "Happy birthday, Charles. I know this is less than ideal for you right now, but..." Charles' tears ran down his face. How many years had it been since someone had brought his birthday to him? How long had it been since someone had said his name?
"How... But no one..."
"It'll be okay. I'm not going to kill you, or harm you. Hell, I already accidentally subjected you to this torture." I gestured towards the screen on the wall. "Look, I meant it when I said I was sorry. Please, my aides have helped set up this nice cake for us. How about we share some and discuss your situation?" I helped Charles to his feet and into his chair before settling in across from him. "Took us a few tries, but I think you'll enjoy it." I took a big forkful and ate it with delight.
Charles ate silently at first, seeming to savour every bite. "You know, this is my favorite kind of desert," he said after finishing his piece.
"I had hoped so. It seemed to be just about the only thing you would leave that damned tower for." I saw the hints of a smile briefly on his face. "Look, I know we have had our... scuffles, in the past, but I want to put that behind us. Maybe not immediately, but when you're ready. But for now, how would you like to make this your new home?"
Charles looked at me with surprise. "You want someone like me to live... here?" He motioned towards the walls of the cell.
"Ha ha, of course not. This is not nearly suitable for long term living arrangements. Come with me, I'll give you a tour, then you can decide." We exited the holding wing and proceeded deep into my fortress. Deeper than any hero had ever come until arriving at what appeared to be a regular suburban neighborhood bustling with life. "I'm sure you can understand what is going on here."
Children ran in the streets as they played their games. The look on his face made it clear that he understood what was going on, but not why it was happening. People greeted at us as we walked down the street, none with any malice in their voices.
"Who are all these people?"
"They are just some of the ones who were unwanted. Some of them have... less friendly mutations, like yours. Some were left homeless or without family. Some of them just needed to flee the constant destruction from the heroes and villains outside." The artifical sun was starting to set as we approached the middle of the town. "It is only a matter of time before we're ready to leave Earth."
"Leaving Earth? With what, a thousand people?"
"Ah, Charles. This is just one of many hidden towns that I have established. The heroes and villians fight all around the world, spreading disaster in their wake, but I'm not strong enough, nor smart enough, to protect everyone by myself. So instead, we will be fleeing to Mars. I would like your assistance if you are willing." As I extended my hand out, I felt that I could see the cogs turning in his head.
"I suppose I am free to leave should I decline?"
"Of course. You're free to do most anything right now. The heroes think you're gone, and I'm not going to stop you so long as you do no harm." I smiled at the man. He seemed so tired, yet was slowly coming to life before me.
"I think I would like to lend you my assistance." Charles took my hand and gave it a shake.
"I am glad that you feel that way. But before we get to work, I would introduce you to some of our resident therapists. They've really helped me out over the years."
|
\[Poem\]
I knew we'd be together
for a long time
when I put that electron collar on you
and dragged you back to my mountaintop fortress
please, don't be
angry
I set the collar's zapper to 'gentle' first.
You had me not at "Let me go you monster!"
but at
"Set the harmonics on the maser to 74.43nm pronto, they have a shielded mech"
from when we first met those years ago
(and I've listened to that audio 1000 times just to hear your beautiful voice)
or maybe when you half-smiled
when my 80 foot dragon was shot down
his name was Abeloth and I raised him from an egg
he was my baby
and I still miss him still,
but I couldn't help, returning your
precious smile that night.
or maybe when
That obnoxious SuperSally was hit by
my
supersonic
depleted
uranium
cannonball
and without hesitation
you jumped into that fiery crater
to help her.
Don't worry, I heard she...mostly survived
Anyway, you're mine now
Captain Toronto isn't coming for you
is he?
I readied a 500 large robot phalanx
to thwart your rescue
that never came.
The Greeks aren't coming to Troy
my dearest Helen.
But how could you love me
in return
afterall I'm a giant robot with
an AI brain, 1000x smarter than your
einsteins or edisons
Dry your tears,
an idea came
and tomorrow it goes from the
fevered dream of angsty circuits
to a meaty reality
so enjoy your last day as human
my love
because in the morning,
I take out your lovely brain
and put it into a wonderful
nuclear powered
50 foot
robot
just
in
time
for
our
wedding.
| 2021-08-04T16:07:58 | 2021-08-04T16:04:15 | 122 | 14 |
[WP] You are a villain famous for “killing” heroes. In reality, heroes come to you to fake their deaths.
|
I always wanted to be a villain when I was a child. I wanted to be powerful, and be able to do whatever I wanted. And, as of now, I am known by the world to be the most ruthless and dangerous villain of all. I have killed many heroes, and have gained a lot of power. I guess I achieved my dream.
Except, it didn't really work out as I thought it would.
3 weeks ago, I went to Walmart, did some grocery shopping, and bought an AK-47 (I live in Texas). I was going to go rob a bank, you know, typical villain stuff. I went into the bank in my disguise, killed two security guards, opened the vault, and was about to escape, when a hero stood in my way.
It was a guy wearing a red mask that was covering his eyes. He was wearing a blue suit, and in the middle of his chest, lay a large "M". I knew this pest. His name was "Mega Max", which is a pretty lousy name. But nonetheless, he was a threat.
"What do you want, twerp." I said. I sounded confident, but in reality, I was about to piss my pants.
Mega Max grinned. "I'm here to stop you!." I was about to take out my gun when he whispered to me: "Hey, can you pretend like you shot me."
I froze, and stared at the guy in confusion. "What?", I said.
"Well uh, I just need to pretend I'm dead for a while. I have a lot of crazy fans, and they won't leave me alone. One guy crawled through the sewers of my toilet to get my autograph".
"Yeah, that's not my problem." I pushed him aside, walking towards the door, carrying the giant bag of cash.
"Okay, can you at least pretend you killed me?", Mega Max called out.
"Are you completely bonkers or what?", I turned around to face him.
"Okay, if you listen to me, and act like you killed me, I will do you a favour: I will help you with your heists and schemes or whatever."
"Alright, okay. I'll pretend I killed you." I walked towards the door, dragging the giant sack of money.
"Excellent!", Mega Max exclaimed, and he dropped to the floor.
The next day, Mega Max's death was all over the news. And as expected, they blamed me for killing him.
It wasn't just Mega Max though. A bunch of other heroes came to me to get me to "kill" them, and they all had different reasons. One hero faked his death because he did not want to pay taxes.
Anyways, within the next 3 weeks, I gathered a lot of fame. And now, I am known as a dangerous villain, and a powerful one too. My villain name was "Green Tornado", because I wore a green mask on all of my heists.
I guess I achieved my dream, becoming a ruthless supervillain. But, I didn't feel like one. I felt cheated.
I was was washing my face in my bathroom when I heard a knock on the front door. I wiped my face with a towel and opened the door. A pair of nunchucks flew in and struck me in the head. I fell back.
A man walked in. He was wearing a black and blue suit, and a black mask that covered his mouth.
"Looks like you are the infamous Green Tornado." The man walked in. "For a supervillain who has killed a lot of great heroes, you don't seem like a challenge.
I rose up. I knew I didn't stand a chance against him. He was the most powerful hero in the country. His name was Raptor.
"Listen man", I said, taking deep breaths. "I'm not a good villain. I didn't kill anyone. Heroes came to me to fake their deaths."
Raptor looked at me with interest. "Well, I believe you. You just don't seem like the type of guy to be a supervillain. Unfortunately, your time ends now."
Raptor grabbed me by the throat. He smiled. "Imagine when I tell all the people that the infamous Green Tornado was slain by me! And they would basically worship me. Imagine if they find out this Green Tornado didn't even fight back."
He slammed me to the ground, and started stomping on my back. This is it, I thought. I'm just not meant to be a supervillain. My life flashed before my eyes, and I thought this was the end. My dreams of becoming the greatest supervillain were shattered. I mean, was considered a great villain, but was I actually one? I faked the deaths of heroes and claimed I killed them. I'm a coward. Maybe I deserved to die.
No. I can't die. I am Green Tornado. It doesn't matter if I didn't actually kill the heroes. People had high expectations of me. They expect me to be powerful, to be a challenge. I can't let them down. I will not die.
I grabbed Raptor's foot before he could completely break my bones, and pulled him to the ground. He yelled as his head slammed onto the floor. But this guy was fast.
Before I could punch his head, he grabbed a whole of my fist, and swung me against the window. I fell out of my apartment, and almost died, but just in time, I grabbed a water pipe. I kept my body against the wall, not daring to look down.
Raptor looked out of the window. I prayed that he couldn't see me.
"Looks like he's dead", he pulled his head back out. I used the water pipe to push myself up and grabbed the ledge of the window. I pulled myself up and tackled Raptor. I held his hands together as hard as I could. After a lot of effort, I managed to grab his body, and throw him out of my apartment. His screamed became quieter as he fell.
I was panting, looking at the window and wondering what the hell just happened.
The authorities found Raptor's body, and he was carried to a local hospital. This was the moment where I became the world's most well-known supervillain. By now, everyone feared me. Even some of the strongest heroes in America, who asked me to fake their deaths, were careful with me.
And lastly, I did not feel cheated anymore. To this day, I continue to fake the deaths of countless of heroes. But, in case someone dare doubt me, I will prove that I'm the greatest supervillain on Earth. I am Green Tornado.
|
[POEM]
Laugh at thee, scum!
From hero to a mere bum.
Your accomplishments, net-zero sum.
Can't even actually run.
It's time to greet the setting sun.
Your life, a cosmic pun.
Heroism when it's shun.
By yourself, hun.
Here drink this bottle of rum.
No more kicking ass or chewing gum.
Your time is over while my fame just begun.
What is murder anyway?
When I always seem to get away.
No crime, no bribe no sway.
Y'all just come this way.
After sunset you may call me Ray.
'cause ain't no other sunshine left today.
Your legacy won't be okay.
My killer joke spells your death and hooray.
You may not may,
Have another day
Crime apparently does pay
However my fee is merely your 'yay'
Just so we can say...
Too late, can't stay.
Death certificate, like it was yesterday.
Funeral, today.
| 2022-12-22T22:11:20 | 2022-12-22T19:29:34 | 61 | 10 |
[WP] You find an antique gold compass with the words ”Moral Compass”. It will automatically point to the most morally good person within a 100 meter radius. You are on jury one day and when you look at the compass, it points to the convicted serial killer.
|
"...find the defendant guilty."
The courtroom erupted in a cacophony of noise, as the families of the murdered children burst out into tears, shouts of vindication, and screams of retribution. Flashes of light overtook the fluorescent brightness of the lights embedded into the ceiling above; the cameras were blinding as their bulbs sparked, but it didn't stop me from being able to meet the eyes of the man who had just been convicted for the killings of seventeen kids, from the ages of 4 to 12.
I looked down at the compass again. My literal "Moral Compass", that always told me who the most moral person in my immediate vicinity was. And it was pointing at him. Not his lawyer, not the bailiff holding onto him - it was pointing at ***him***. And, more importantly, he was looking at ***me***. Not any of the other eleven members of the jury, but at me, myself, right into my eyes as I lifted my gaze up towards him again.
How? Seventeen children. Some of them hadn't even started kindergarten yet. So ***how***? The moral compass had never been wrong before, and I had no idea why it would start to malfunction now. Was the man just so evil that it caused some sort of underflow effect for the compass? He had stood there for the entire trial, implacable, not saying a single word. Even now, there wasn't a shred of emotion on his face. This was a state with the death penalty still in effect, and all signs pointed towards the prosecution aiming for that sentence. This man could ***die*** because of what had just happened, and he didn't seem to care, he didn't seem to-
All of a sudden, I wasn't in the courtroom any more. The transition was so sudden that I didn't have the awareness to panic about the situation. The serial killer was standing next to me, still in his prison outfit and the shackles that he had been wearing in the courtroom, and he was still looking at me. As I met his eyes once again, he turned to face forward, and I followed his gaze.
We were in some sort of endless black expanse that seemed to stretch out in all directions. Several feet in front of us, on the pitch dark floor, stood an old-fashioned TV, the type with the bunny ears and the dials. A black and white image was on the screen, slightly distorted by static, and a woman's voice came through from the crackly speakers.
"Thomas Cowell, the man accused of bombing the California State Capitol building and killing 174 people in the process, heads to court today, as..." Thomas Cowell. That was the name of one of the children he had murdered. Was this situation suggesting to me what I thought it was?
One of the dials on TV turned by itself, and another news report started. "Sarah Gisbourne, head of Liberty Financial Services, defiantly stated that the hundreds of people who went bankrupt as a result of her actions 'knew what they were getting into' when they trusted their money with her company. One victim responded by saying that..." Sarah Gisbourne. Another one of the kids.
Again, another news station. "Richard Moorehouse broke down in tears today at his trial, sobbing as he apologized and begged for forgiveness. His attempt at repentance rung hollow for many survivors of the smallpox outbreak two years ago, who still place the blame squarely on the biologist's feet for the negligent safety measures at his lab. Meanwhile, Homeland Security officials are..."
I walked up to the TV and turned the dial off. I stared down at the metallic bunny ears that sprung out from the box, and I found myself slightly amused as I noticed the pristine sheen on the television's wooden finish. After a few more seconds of composing my thoughts, I managed to speak up.
"...alright, I get it. This is one of those things where like, someone talks about going back in time to kill baby Hitler or whatever, right? Except you killed seventeen baby Hitlers. Or something like that, anyway. Well, I guess these kids wouldn't end up killing as many people as Hitler, and some of them, I guess, don't even end up directly killing people, but that..." I was babbling at that point, and I managed to stop myself before I rambled further.
Instead, I turned back to look at the man standing with me in the middle of the darkness. "So. Why are you showing me this, then? Are you looking for sympathy? Looking for someone to understand? Want someone to argue your case? Want me to go up to the judge and say 'No, your honor, you don't understand, this man was killing people who would grow up to do really bad things!' or something like that?" I wasn't angry when I grilled him like that, not really. More just... Confused. Not about his precognition, or maybe his time travel, or whatever it was - I had some kind of magic compass that told me who was a good person, after all, so I wasn't surprised by the existence of other supernatural stuff like this - but more about what the ***point*** of our little trip to this abyss was.
The man simply stared at me with those same, emotionless eyes he had been wearing for the entire trial. A slow shake of his head was followed up by, of all things, a small smile, and the first time I had actually ever heard his voice in person. "No. I just didn't want you to be confused about what the compass was telling you, is all. I don't know what that thing even is that you have there-" He pointed, with shackled hands, at the moral compass in my hand "-or whether it really works or not. I honestly don't even think that I'm a moral person. I stopped being one the moment I took Tommy's life, even if he was going to be a terrorist when he grew up." Another shake of his head, apparently more towards himself than towards me. "I'm not about to tell you if using that compass is the right or the wrong thing to do, because I don't know if it is or if it's not. I just didn't want this whole situation to keep you up at night more than it had to."
I lifted my free hand up to reach towards him, and started to speak "I-"
And then, just as quickly as we had entered that place, we had left. My hand was still in the air, and the convicted man was still looking at me. The courtroom was filled with the noise of shouting and the judge's gavel banging loudly in an attempt to restore the place to order. One of the other jury members looked at me strangely, and I put my hand down before anybody else noticed.
The man returned his gaze to some indeterminate point on the wall in front of him, while I looked back down at the compass in my hand, the commotion around me barely registering as I stared hard at the red arrow pointing towards the defendant's chair. He wanted to make sure that what the compass had said wouldn't keep me up at night more than it had to? A fine enough gesture, I supposed. I could almost have even appreciated it.
Three entire nights were spent sat awake, clutching my compass tight enough in my palm to leave marks, and thinking about an antique television sat in the middle of a black abyss.
|
I’m on the stands- in jury duty. Not just jury duty, but convicting one of the most horrific people on the planet. My mind is set with which way I’ll vote: guilty of course, when the needle shifts. Usually this is no big deal, I’ll be on the bus with scum and a kind old lady walks on, it’ll shift to her. But no one new had walked into the room. The needle quivered as if it was deciding something- and then pointed to the accused.
What?
The compass around my neck was no ordinary mapping device. This was my moral compass- an ancient antique trinket with the power to point out the most morally good person in the room.
But how was it him?
He had brutally murdered many young men and women and all evidence pointed to him. It was his DNA on display, his weapons shown, he did it.
Why?
Why did it point me so wrong?
It had never been wrong before.
I was panicking and hyperventilating but no one noticed. The world started to melt around me and I was convinced that I was hallucinating. But I cleared my eyes and the melting was still there- until everything dissolved into pure infinite white. I looked around and someone with the same face of the killer was standing where he sat. The needle quivered violently but I hardly noticed. He stared at me with ethereally blue eyes and said, “Good job! You did much better than expected this time around. I just need to know- where did you find that compass?”
He reached out, as if beckoning me to hand him my treasured trinket.
I ran.
| 2019-09-10T20:58:55 | 2019-09-10T15:58:33 | 281 | 62 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules.
|
This is a continuation of my [last WP comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/s98qyp/wp_projectile_weapons_were_considered_ancient/htmol5h/?context=3), b/c the themes are similar and why the hell not right?
&#x200B;
*I remember fondly in the first year of my mandatory enlistment feeling the warmth of a nearby star strike my face through the glass windows. It reminded me of home. Of air that didn't taste of overworked filters. Of beaches with sand on the methane lakes. Of Cities bustling with races who've benefited from our rule.*
*The race of bipeds, Humans, they sometimes call themselves, were set to be the same. Our ships pierced the cloud of rocks surrounding their system, which to our knowledge were uninhabited roughly 3 days ago. We timed our invasion right to avoid gravitational interference with the gas giants. 1.5 days ago we began our retrograde burn to enter a solar orbit. A day later our ships transferred to orbit around their Home planet.*
*They knew we were coming, as was to be expected. We thought their technology rudimentary, but we understood it was proficient. From our observations they still used projectile weaponry against one another, something that our ships and soldiers became resistant to long ago.*
*We had always wondered why they never took the next step. Why they didn't move on to lasers and quantum rays. Some believed it was their constant bickering never left room for technology to improve. Others thought there existed a global religion in which the projectile weapons were worshiped. A small minority thought they were stupid.*
*No. They are not stupid. They harbor no reverence. They chose to stab each other with sticks and stones. They chose to stop making newer weapons because they cower to their greatest creation.*
*I have felt it's warmth on my face. I watched it dissolve our strongest alloys, incinerate our armored soldiers. I felt my clothes catch fire! I felt skin peel of my shoulders! I saw jolts of bright light flash in my closed eyes!*
*It killed the electricity on our ships. It killed men who dared to stand with honor. It shredded the cruiser. It warped spacetime itself.*
*The backup generators failed. The oxygen turned to poison. Light turned to cancer.*
*And then the second one came.*
*I had to crumble the blackened skeleton of the pilot in his seat before that second metal hull detonated. The metal control stick burned my hand as I wrestled the ship into a different orbit. I could feel the warmth of that second fake sun strike the ship as I opened the wormhole for the home.*
*My face feels cold now. If this universe had a god, the humans made him into a gun. They scare themselves more than they scared us.*
*This invasion was a grave mistake.*
&#x200B;
The emperor set the sand brown paper down on his lap, stroking his chin with a three fingered hand.
"A bit flowery for a military report." He quipped with a grin.
"Those were his last words," His advisor grumbled with his back to the emperor, leaning against the balcony that oversaw the rolling hills of red fauna and grey rocks lit by the blood red sun. "He penned that before bleeding out from his ass."
The emperor's grin faded as did his good mood. His eyes shot back down to the paper in his lap. "How many did we lose?"
The advisor sighed before releasing a sigh and turning. This was no longer a problem he could turn his back to. This wasn't a problem that could be brushed under another imperial rug. "All of them, your majesty."
"All?"
"All 1.63 million soldiers. Gone. And if that account in your lap is to be believed... little remains of their bodies."
The emperor's face twisted into a grimace, and his eyes darted to the left and the right. "This is unacceptable. It's... absurd! How did we not know of this! How have the Humans not conquered themselves yet?! How have they not committed a holocaust against themselves!?" The emperor rose to his feet with fury in his eyes directed at his advisor.
The Advisor took a deep breath. In moments like these when the emperor's temper flared someone had to remind him to be rational. "I warned you that we had little information about the humans prior your order to attack. I asked that we spend time researching them prior your order to attack. I asked that we learn what there was to gain prior your order to attack," The advisor sighed, "I've called the human ambassador here to discuss what has happened... To see if we can settle on peace terms without our enemies discovering anything."
"We should send them flying into the sun if anything."
"That, would be brash. But not un-called for."
A servant appeared around the corner, "The human ambassador is here." her angelic voice proclaimed
"Send them in," the advisor replied. From behind that same corner a woman with streaking black hair, wearing a white sweater and a pomegranate suit strode in, followed by a translator. She paused 10 feet from the emperor and bowed.
"Your majesty." She addressed him. The emperor disregarded the formality with a wave of his hand, "May I ask why you've summoned me?"
"Don't play stupid" The advisor growled, "You know why."
"If it's to discuss peace, I am afraid there isn't much I can do for you."
"It's to discuss what happened in orbit above your home planet. How 1.63 million of our best were incinerated before even touching your atmosphere." The emperor spat, "How have you not killed all the mere billions of humans that exist in your puny solar system?"
The ambassador took a deep breath, "That is unimportant, as of now. What is important is discussing what is likely to happen going forward."
The Advisor laughed, "You think we will discuss what is going to happen next with you? You think it unimportant you've unused weapons of genocide?"
The Ambassador crossed her hands in front of her. "We've rules on earth. Rules about how to fight. In spite of our differences we're fighting over a part of the earth, and if there's no earth left, or no people left to inhabit it then there was no point to fighting."
"You have rules on warfare?" The emperor scoffed, "Rules that don't apply to non humans like us?"
"Precisely."
The Advisor began pacing with his eyes fixed to the floor. "You said peace isn't an option. Explain."
The ambassador looked off into the valleys of red trees. How do you explain the attitudes of an entire race? How do you generalize all the leading cultures? "Humans are, silly creatures. We always need something to fight. If there isn't anything, we make up something. Our greatest inventions created greater casualties, Our greatest leaders built cities with blood, and our greatest motivators are things we can attack head on. You gave earth something they hadn't tasted in a very long time-- the blood of an empire." She let a smug grin show, "It's coordinated the whole earth. All the interhuman fighting as stopped. All 9 billion people at once looked up into the stars and found hope in those nuclear flashes and burning carriers."
"You humans are disgusting. Not silly. " The Advisor tried to say in a collected tone.
"We know." The ambassador said, "and we hate to admit that we love it."
|
Hera looked up at the sky, she could still hear the laughter that echoed when the rulers of various planets in the galaxy found out that humans had rules, they laughed even harder when they found out out that rules even applied during war. That laughter was burnt in her memory, that teasing laughter, those snide remarks didn't sit well with her or with the rest as she noticed people's growing anger. She didn't rule Earth to be mocked, she ruled it to be great. And greatness she shall achieve.
Hence the war began, not because of weapons or violence but because of mocking laughs.
~
The first rule to be removed was rights. Not for her people, her people weren't the reason behind her sleepless nights, they weren't the reason behind those dreams where those rulers laughed and mocked her. Why should they have rights? They don't deserve it if they don't have the decency to be accepting of others rules, others way of living.
She will stand on the ruins of those leaders and cherish telling them that they lost the right to plead, to live when they made fun of her and her people.
The next will be deaths. Innocents were always out of bounds, they are never supposed to casualties in the fight of power but now, now things will change. She will take over them by hook or by crook. By sword and by blood.
She told her commander to prepare for war as her minister nodded. He never backed down. An insult to character was after all the highest insult. They made us into jesters of the galaxy but it be her and her people who will have the last laugh.
~
She sat on her throne, seeing the pitying forms of the former leaders of the galaxy. She smiled satisfactorily. Things you achieve when you throw out the rules were limitless but she could feel a darkness in her soul that wasn't there before. Was her soul worth her pride?
"Please, have mercy." Cried one of them.
And that she thought, overlooking her darkening soul, was the rule to be destroyed.
| 2022-01-23T13:48:17 | 2022-01-23T11:25:11 | 351 | 118 |
[WP] You get into a taxi cab after getting out of the airport. "Where to?" the driver speaks. Jokingly, you respond, "Whatever dumb secret agency is nearby." "Codephrase accepted, agent" he responds.
|
"Excuse me?"
"Please sit back and relax sir. I'll take you there right away."
With that, the partition came up cutting me off from him. The windows were already tinted black so I couldn't see outside. Further attempts at communication with the driver were futile.
I checked my phone. No signal. The doors were locked. What had I gotten myself into?
The drive lasted for about fifteen minutes.
He opened my door and pointed me to an entrance. I was in an underground parking. I looked around me trying to figure out where i was but there were no identifiable markers.
I headed towards the elevator doors where a well dressed man was waiting. He smiled at me. "Welcome agent."
"Look there is a mistake. I was just kidding. He just asked me and I..." I looked around to point to my driver but realized that he wasn't there. His car was gone already.
"Come. Let's head up to the office and talk."
I've never held a gun in my life but I had seen enough movies to realize that the leather poking out of his jacket was a holster. I followed him as he went into the elevator. Weirdly enough, the elevator buttons weren't numbered. They were all two alphabet codes. He pressed SB and we went up.
I tried to strike up a conversation but he wasn't really interested.
We got off the elevator and he led me to a small room. There seemed to be no one else on the floor.
"Alright then. Agent Jackson?"
"How did you know my name?"
"Well, you signed for this didn't you?" He took out a cigarette and offered me one as well.
"Sorry, I don't smoke. I didn't sign up for anything. I just made a silly joke."
"Oh come on. Quit joking."
"No! It's true."
"So you're not the agent here for the Wesley Job? You didn't fly in..."
He didn't get to finish the sentence as another man burst in the door.
"Marcel." He nodded towards my companion in the room. "You must be Jackson. I'm Sterling, acting director, CRS. We really need a big win here. I hope you are prepared for this."
"Prepared for what? What's going on?" I could hear my heart my in ears as my fear kept climbing.
"Has Marcel given you all the parameters and the target information."
Marcel looked at me and then back to him. "Sir, there seems to be a problem."
"What's the problem? Talk to me."
"Sir do you mind if we..." Marcel gestured towards the door and they both stepped out.
I could see them have an animated conversation with a few glaces towards me. Sterling was angry. It seemed obvious that Marcel was trying to calm him down but it wasn't really working. CRS. I had never heard that name. What did they even do here?
After about five minutes, Sterling stormed off towards the elevator. Marcel stood there, shoulders sagged. He shrugged and came back in.
"Sit down please." He took a deep drag on his cigarette.
"Marcel, what's going on?"
He ran his hand over his face. "Is your name Carl Jackson?"
"No! It's Cam Jackson."
"OK, so as you might've guessed there was a bit of a mix up. The driver held up the board for C Jackson and you got in the car."
"Yeah, I thought my brother had sent the car. He often does."
"What's your brother's name? On second thought. The less I know about you the better."
"What's going on? I am really really confused. And scared."
"You are at the CRS head office. We are a branch of the NSA that is responsible for identifying and neutralizing threats. We work at a lower level. Threats that aren't really national level but ones we think will be difficult for the local law agencies to handle. We typically have a large local network so NSA often reaches out to us when they need something done locally. You have to understand that it takes time to gather intelligence, set up resources, plan everything. Often times we act as their eyes and arms. We gather information, move it upwards and they send us instructions."
"What does any of this have to do with me?"
"Carl Jackson is an agent that NSA recommended for this mission. We had never worked with him before. He was supposed to be our man for this job. It's not a regular thing. We could've killed the target easily. We could've made it look like a suicide. But that's not the case. Here, we have to neutralize the target and make it look like someone else did it. Remove two obstacles with one shot. We've done similar stuff before but they wanted an expert."
"Wait wait... when you say neutralize, do you mean..."
He sighed and put out his cigarette in an ash tray. "Sometimes we have to do bad things to keep worse things from happening. The less the civilians know about it, the better."
"Look whatever it is, just let me go. I won't say a word of it to anyone..."
"It's not that simple. You've seen the building. You can recognize me. You can recognize our transport. Hell, you've seen our director. We can't just let you go. Our agency is built on secrecy. And you have knowledge, knowledge which we absolutely cannot allow to get out."
"I promise I won't tell anyone."
"You won't now. Maybe in 5 years, you'll slip up. We can't take that chance. We have two options. We either kill you or we put some really nasty crimes on you and send you to jail. Director Sterling prefers the first one. Foolproof he says. I convinced him to offer you another choice."
I looked at him speechless. Was this guy really talking about murdering me to my face?
He continued on. "We have often worked with consultants. They never know who they're working for, of course. But my idea is that if you are complicit in the assassination that's about to go down, you will know to keep your mouth shut."
"I can't kill anyone!"
"You won't have to. You just have to be there every step of the way."
I tried talking to him. Tried to convince him to let me go. Nothing worked.
Finally, I made the choice. The only real choice I had.
Marcel gave me a jacket with CRS logo on back. I stood in front of a massive screen with a team of about 10 people as the target's face flashed on the screen. It was a face I recognized well. The colour drained from my face. It couldn't be.
Marcel handed out folders and continued the briefing. "The man you are looking at is Arthur Storm. He is a local businessman who has been working with..."
I couldn't hear the rest. I had to get out of here.
I edged towards the door and ran. I tried to get into the elevator but it wouldn't open without an ID. I could hear footsteps behind me.
I headed off into the stairwell. I saw a couple of agents coming up towards me from the floor below. It was instinct at that point. I headed up towards the roof.
I opened the door and burst into sunlight. I looked around me. I was somewhere downtown as evidenced by the tall buildings everywhere around me. Behind me, Marcel burst out of the door, gun drawn.
"What're you doing, Jackson?"
"I can't do this."
"You know what the other options are. I don't want to kill you but I will if I have to."
"You don't understand. That target. That's my brother."
"What? There no mention of that in his file."
"I don't know about your file. But we're step brothers. We've grown up together. I came into the city for his birthday."
Marcel lowered the gun a little. "Jackson, don't do this..."
"I can't let you kill him."
"I'm sorry Jackson. I had hoped it wouldn't come to this."
"Marcel, no!"
He raised his gun again and he shot.
I didn't feel anything much. Adrenaline maybe. But I did feel myself being pushed backwards. I felt the edge and I felt myself going over it.
The feeling of weightlessness and the air rushing through my hair felt good. The only sour note being that in about two seconds, I would be a flat on the sidewalk.
The impact came. It wasn't as bad as I had expected. Was I dead?
I sat up and noticed I had landed on something like an air mattress. Like they use for stunt people in movies.
I rolled off it and Arthur stood there. With Sterling. And my family.
They were all clapping and had smiling.
Arthur came to me and hugged me. "Well played brother. Did you enjoy The Game?"
|
"Where to?" The cab driver asked me, honestly I need some sleep and jokingly I said, "whatever dumb agency is nearby."
"Code phrase accepted, agent." I froze on my seat, did I heard that right? I shake my head, thinking he was just playing along. "Long flight, Agent?" For a moment I thought he was playing along to my joke.
"Yeah.. It's a long flight." I sighed, resting my head against the glass window. I watched slowly as the cab went into another, smaller road? My body tense quickly.
"So... First time in New York?" I nodded, staring out of the car as we slowly drive deep into the woods? What? My heart is racing as time passes by, no matter how many times you see this. This isn't a highway toward a city?
"What? What's wrong Agent 5? Don't tell me your getting nervous?" He chuckled, my heart is pounding. What the hell is going on? "Um... Where are we going?" He looked at me confused, yeah, no. I'm the one who should looked at him confused.
"You should know where we heading agent 5." I was stunned and lost for words. Am I getting kidnapped? Where the fuck am I? This is a huge fucking red flag and I need to get out of here.
Then the car slowly starting to drive faster inside the thick forest. How the hell is he driving inside this fucking dense forest? "Please put on your seat belt." I was panicking, pulling the damn seat belt. Yet always at the most nervous part, the seat belt would get stuck.
"Hey..." He drive faster ignoring me, "HEY!!" I held unto anything as the car drive faster straight toward a lake. "HO, FUCK!!" I screamed closing my eyes shut, waiting for the impact toward the car.
"Agent 5?" I was trembling, waiting yet again for the impact. Just... Where is it? "Hahaha. Is this your first time?" He asked me, I open my eyes to see the car or... A submarine perhaps?
Driving at the bottom of the lake. There, a few meters away. I could see a huge glass sillinder? I was terrified and... Fascinated? "Woah." He chuckled, "Yeah it's fun when you saw it. But when you get used to it. It's get boring..."
"Uh..." The cab driver pressed a few button on the radio, "Carlo!? Where the fuck are you!?" He chuckled, as he driver into the tube. I watched everything in fold as the tube drain the water and we were inside a glass palace.
"What? But I'm with Agent 5 right here!" He screamed into the radio as my stomach dropped. "So uh... Where am i?" I asked with an awkward smile plaster on my face. A huge frown grow on his face as he notices it now.
"Your not Agent 5 aren't you?"
"You think?"
| 2020-05-14T08:10:23 | 2020-05-14T07:39:56 | 213 | 129 |
[WP] "What do you mean the robbers ADDED $4,000,000 to the vault?"
|
The two men ducked under the yellow police tape and peered through the heavy steel bars blocking the way to the vault. The damage was obvious even from this distance: the entire back wall had been reduced to rubble by heavy explosives, and a dark tunnel led underground. Following the tunnel would eventually lead to the bottom of Mr Singer's old tailor's shop, which hadn't been open for more than a year now after Mr. Singer's passing. According to the agents, no one had reported seeing anyone go in or out in the past few months, but *someone* had to have dug the tunnel.
"How much was the count again?" Agent Rodriguez asked. He looked every bit the FBI agent: tall and handsome, with a powerful jaw and stunning straight teeth. His black hair was cropped close in a buzz cut, and he had just the right amount of stubble dusted across his chin. He wore a dark suit, crisply starched shirt, a power tie, and even some heavily tinted aviator sunglasses. But his face seemed permanently set in a dour grimace; probably because we'd spent all of our time together inspecting this absurd crime scene. If you could even call it that. Was it a crime if the robbers had *given* you money?
"Last count on Friday showed that the vault contained 11.7 million in cash and other 1.9 million in bearer bonds," I told him. I'd done the count myself; I knew it was accurate. "Plus whatever is here in the safety deposit boxes. As far as we can tell, none of them were opened. Doesn't look like any damage was done to them, and they were all..."
"Don't count on it," Agent Lewis interrupted me. He leaned over, trying to see the safety deposit boxes through the bars. "If they weren't after the cash, then there has to be something else missing. We're going to need to go through an inventory of those and make sure that everything is still inside."
I gulped; it felt like I was trying to swallow a rock. A rock the size of my fist. "Yes sir," I meekly answered.
"The count?" Rodriguez asked with a dash of annoyance. "Don't get sidetracked, darlin'." That word really emphasized his Texan drawl. "You said they *added* cash to the shelves?"
"Yes, sir." I unlocked the gate and led them into the vault, where the mystery pallet sat right next to the others, still on a handcart. A cart that didn't belong to the bank, mind you. "Another 4 million dollars in cash. Sequential serial numbers..." I pointed to the numbers visible through the plastic wrapping. "Hell, it looks like it's never even been touched!"
Agent Lewis removed a Swiss army knife from his pocket and sliced through the plastic wrapping on the pallet. He lifted a stack of hundreds and held it up to eye level. For the first time, he removed his sunglasses, revealing piercing blue eyes. He studied the bills closely, flipping through the stack like a picture book and examining the detailed watermarks. He even sniffed them.
"Ink's off," he told Rodriguez. "It's a pretty good fake, but definitely counterfeit. These guys are fucking pros."
I nearly smacked myself in the head. Counterfeit, of course! I hadn't even thought of that. I must have made a sound or something, because Rodriguez turned to me with a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, it's hard to tell. Almost looks legit, don't it?"
I nodded. The bills in his hand did look real, and I'd been working at this bank for the past decade.
"They're trying to get the counterfeits into circulation," he said.
"Why leave *more* than we had originally, though?" I asked. "What's the profit in that?"
The two agents looked at each other. "Well, we're not sure how much legitimate currency you've got left here. we're going to have to have a look around," Rodriguez finally answered. "Particularly at those safe deposit boxes. You mind fetchin' the key sets for us?"
I did as I was told and returned to the vault to remove the safety deposit boxes. One by one, I extracted the metal containers from the secured cabinet and placed them on the table, where the agents inspected them for any external damage. "We're going to need the customer keys to open them," I told the agents.
"Of course," Lewis growled. He shot me a 'does this look like my first rodeo' look and rolled his eyes. "So why don't you get us that list of customers so that we can contact them?"
I printed out a list from the bank's records and brought it to the agents. They'd finished inspecting the safety deposit boxes and were currently flipping through stacks of bills that were already on our shelves. They were placing them into two piles: one for 'real,' and one for 'counterfeit.' At least, that's what I assumed.
"That's all, ma'am," Lewis said, looking up at me. "You can get back to your work. We'll let you know when we need something else."
I tried to avoid his cold gaze. At least Agent Rodriguez had a smile for me. "All right then." I returned back to my office to finish filling out the paperwork for the insurance claim. I didn't quite know how to fill in the "Lost assets" column, though. What a weird case.
Sheriff Denton entered with his normal slow shuffle. "Afternoon, Margaret," he told me. He was nearly 70, but the town kept electing him Sheriff as kind of a thank you for all his past service. There wasn't much crime here anyway, and his deputies were all young and fit so no one really saw the harm.
"Sheriff," I nodded to him. "How are you?"
"Oh, fine," he said with a child-like grin. "Back to collect some more evidence. Not every day that we get a bank robbery around these parts! Exciting, isn't it?"
I shrugged. I found it rather terrifying, but then again it was my bank. "If you're here to help with the investigation, the two FBI agents are in the vault doing their investigation now." I leaned in close and whispered, though there was no real reason to given that the bank was empty. "Get this, Sheriff: they think the bills were *counterfeit*."
Sheriff Denton seemed puzzled. "We... haven't called the FBI..." he told me slowly.
-----
The vault was empty. The handtruck with the pallet of counterfeit bills had disappeared, as had the pallets of *actual* bills, along with a good number of the safety deposit boxes and the list of their owners' names and addresses. The only sign that the Rodriguez and Lewis had ever been there was twin sets of footprints in the dust and rubble leading into the dark tunnel.
----
If you enjoyed this, consider subscribing to /r/Luna_Lovewell too!
|
"Well, you can't really call them robbers if they added money, now can you?" Roberts looked at me with his classic "I can't relate to you how displeased I am with you" face. I see the face a lot.
"That is not important!" Roberts screamed. "What does matter is that we now have an excess amount of money in our accounts that we cannot explain!"
"I suppose you're right, but what's the big deal anyways? We're a bank after all, isn't more money a good thing?"
"Yes, I suppose it is, but how are we going to explain this to corporate?"
"We could tell them the money fairy gave us a visit, and was feeling generous." I replied helpfully.
"Tim, how many times have I told you the money fairy does not exist."
"HEY! You don't have proof of that! How else would you explain our pay checks?"
"That's Larry in accounting Tim, we have lunch with him every Tuesday, how do you even eat your cereal in the morning?"
"Oh I don't, I don't like cereal, gets too soggy."
"You know what? Fuck it, you deal with this shit."
"Okay, I think it's already been dealt with so we're good, I'll see you and the money fairy at lunch Tuesday!!!"
Meanwhile, upstairs Larry is laughing his ass off as he witnesses the unfolding of the greatest April Fools Prank ever.
| 2016-02-24T12:09:02 | 2016-02-24T11:32:03 | 1,918 | 157 |
[WP] "Well you managed to fucking do it. You slept through the apocalypse"
.
|
They all thought I was crazy!
*"There goes Uncle Joe again! Building a bunker in the backyard like some sort of loony."*
Well, I'll tell you what, even if you're not around to hear it any longer:
"I told you so! You ungrateful bastards!"
Could'a, should'a, would'a listened- but you didn't! Always telling me I was *crazy,* telling me to *loosen up a bit,* and *not worry so much!* Well, I guess I'm glad I didn't, though I'm still a bit sore in the cheek I didn't pressure you the other way. An old man like me shouldn't have to carry so much weight.
Loony uncle Joe... yeah, that's what they called me. Ungrateful jerks. Miss 'em now, though.
God damn, do I miss them now...
Maybe I was a bit loose between the ears, but it never hurt anyone to be prepared. I mean, honestly- what else was I going to spend the money on? Lattes? Fancy cars? Mexico-beach trips? Like I ever gave two shits and a piss about those! The old lady and I, we were birds of a feather. It was all about survival, adventure!
We wanted to get out there and explore, and when we were done exploring, we wanted to shut-in and survive. After the wife passed, the RV fell apart, and then the dog followed... I mean, it's not like I had much to keep me out of my routine. Maybe it was lonely, but I kept busy. That's part of the trick, keeping busy.
Surviving... it's something you struggle with if you don't find something to take your mind off it. You struggle, and keep finding another reason to move on. That's the hard part in my opinion: Finding those reasons.
Part of the trouble was that I never did fit into modern day America, or what was once modern day America; not very well anyways. See, I never wanted to chase that white picket fence theme. The working world was made of cardboard- the stock market was made of lies, and the only thing a man can really trust is a good woman, his own to two hands and a dog raised from birth.
You can't trust cats.
Swear to god, I tried. I really did. Those furry bastards just can't be trusted, remember that.
Right, right- yeah that last day was nothing special. I'd put up with the holidays, just like every year. The family had annoyed me to my last wit, and then I returned to my humble abode with the intention of hammering down half a bottle of scotch- just like every year. See, I was a man of habit back then. Real set in my ways- they'd worked well for me.
So just like every night, I went down to my basement after a glass of water at 9 o'clock sharp, leaving behind my creature comforts and the long since setting sun. I entered my comfortable, but unfurnished basement: Filled with hunting trophies, odds, and ends that greeted me with the scents of dust. I had so much in storage down there, things I just couldn't convince myself to give away. Old memories filed under unclassified categories, shoved in boxes and left to collect dust.
As always I tried my best to ignore them. Seems a shame now, I could have taken something to remember her by, kept at least one photo outside of memory. If there's any regret, it'll be that one to the end.
Bit of a downer for Ol'Joe, but what can you do? Ha-HA! Gotta keep up with it or it'll eat'cha alive from the inside out! Ain't nothin takin' a bite out of Joe though- Not yet!
Ha- Well from there, I walked up to my vault and activated the iris scanning combination lock. I opened the gate, and descended another ten feet to the bunker door, as that other shut behind me. From there I opened the double door airlock, resealing it each time- very important to remember to do, before finally went about locking myself in. I think at head height I was still around eighteen feet underground. It's total silence down there. Peaceful, calming, wonderful.
I can now tell you with experience, that a man truly can sleep through the world ending and not even notice.
I'll admit, I may have even gotten up late that next day. The world ended on a Saturday, and nobody thought to warn me about it, so I had no reason not to sleep in. I'd had a lot to drink prior to that case of shut-eye anyways, so it's difficult to lay the blame on anything but ignorance and stupor.
Anyways, as always a man of routine, the next morning when I woke, I turned off the air filter before heading back towards the airlock. It's important to save those- try not to use them too much, because they're god-damn expensive. They made them in Europe somewhere, good product. Swiss I think.
There used to be a lotta good products back in the day. Like Chocolate.
Man, I miss some quality chocolate. Swiss were great at that too.
And Cheese-its. If we're talking serious, I'd kill a man for a box of cheese-its and a jar of Tabasco, but that's got nothing to do with Europe or the mother-fucking-swiss.
That morning though, right... Right, the famous Day-after the *Great Burn.*
You young-ins probably think the whole concept is rather exciting. I'll tell you, they've romanticized the whole ordeal in the years that followed. Streets of ash, buildings of fire- sands of glass. Look here, it wasn't all that impressive. It wasn't *that* great.
Weird? Sure, it was pretty strange, but there's a lot more bizarre shit running around the wastes today than there ever was then, so I'm sorry that there isn't much to tell you about my first impressions. Getting through the airlock was no trouble, and in my tired and hungover state, neither was walking up the steps towards the basement vault. Getting that open, and stepping out into the sunlight-
Well, I woke up pretty damn fast after that. I tell you what.
You wake up looking for the toilet and a glass of water in no particular order, and you realize the world ended. That the house is gone, and you've gone and had everything down to the foundation replaced by a modern look of "open-concept."
In fact, once I managed to crawl my ass out of the foundation- I realized, everyone's house was gone! The whole neighborhood, reduced to ash and metaled slag. Heavy clouds, thick and moist- they say that was mostly from the oceans boiling. It was like walking into a jungle without the trees.
I'm not going to say I gloated.
I didn't actually. More safe to say I couldn't, considering there wasn't anyone left to direct it towards. The Stewards next door, and that god-forsaken yipping bastard they called a hound- gone. The Bouchards, with their five annoying children and their constant wine and dine parties? Gone.
The whole country was nothing but burnt bits and wreckage. I had emerged from my place beneath the surface and witnessed the birth of a new world. While I slumbered, late into the morning, the Earth was forever changed.
Man, if they didn't all come back as zombies, I swear- the end of the world might not have been so bad.
...
----
*This entry made it a lot farther up than normal! Crazy stuff! If you like what you're reading, feel free to check my other work out over in r/jakethesnakebakecake*
----
|
"TURN OFF YOUR CAR ALARM," I yelled in frustration at the ceiling. "I guess I should just get up."
I walk to the bathroom and turn on the light. Nothing. Power must be out. Oh well, there is enough sunlight out today so it is fine. I turn on the water. It trickles for a second then spits a few drops, then nothing.
"Well today is just great!" I storm back to the bedroom take my phone off the charger. It's at 45%. I charged you last night! Power must have been out for awhile.
Meh. I turn it on and decide to browse reddit for awhile. Weird. There are no posts from the past two days. Today is the worst. Purple links everywhere.
Whatever. I'm not ruining my 4 day stay-cation with internet anyways. I told myself I'd clean the house, but in reality I've just been sleeping or playing video games. Last night I drank a bit to much, alone, and must have just passed out on my way to bed.
I'll go get some McDonalds. I didn't feel overly hungover, just a bit nauseous from time to time if I turned to quickly. I got dressed and headed out the door.
I look around. The streets are dead quite, which is weird because I live on one of the busiest streets in NYC. I can smell something burning but it seems to be pretty distant.
I carry on anyways. When I get to the McDonalds, the building is locked. Okay. Things are getting weird.
I look at my phone again. Wow. I thought it was Monday, but it is actually Wednesday. I slept for two full days. No wonder I am so hungry.
I look around. I see the sign that has been there for weeks now. It's been graffiti'd to put a mustache on "Vote Trump".
Then it hits me. I slept through election day. I quickly go back on my phone, google, "who won the election" and there it is. "Trump has won."
"We're doomed," I laugh. Then it hits me...
| 2016-03-11T09:02:36 | 2016-03-11T08:03:51 | 142 | 92 |
[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.
|
Carol had been pregnant three times, and she was beginning to get tired of the charade. It was difficult, being pregnant. Her job as an aerialist required a lithe body, one that could soar as a falcon, could dance on zephyrs. Not a bloated incubator prone to morning sickness.
Yet she always wanted a child. Her and Mohiro both. They wanted a child to sing lullabies to, to feed mashed peas to, to cuddle close and snuggle. They wanted a child they could share their lives with. They wanted a child that they could take to the clouds and become as they were.
Carol sighed softly, pushing back the memories that came unwanted as she continued to climb through the air. The familiar cliff face of ferric sandstone was coming up to meet her. It was a red monument that had been used by her family for generations. It was where Carol had first learned to fly herself.
Mohiro had come for Infant One, but it had been difficult for him. He was almost inconsolable the next day when the child had fallen. He had insisted on coming at first, but had lost his insistence by the second. It was never really Mohiro’s place to bear witness, although she supposed his family had thought different. Carol’s always took it in stride that it was always the mother’s duty. Only Carol’s own mother had been there when Carol took to the air the first time.
She examined the sleeping infant in her arms. It was a girl. Infant Three. Infant One had been a girl. Infant Two, a boy. She knew she wasn’t supposed to think of them like that yet. It was always “it” before a child flew. Yet, traditions were often but the predilections of ignorant, gnarled old geezers from a time before reason had reared its ugly head. If she wanted to think of Infant Three as “she” was there any harm?
Carol came to the top of the cliff, alighting gently as she could. Her body still felt odd, still too big, and she still ached. The weight would come off in time, she knew, but she disliked it. She gave up so much, just so she could stand here, at this plinth, to see if whether or not she actually had a child.
She stared off into the distance, taking in the red mesa surrounding her as the morning light grew stronger. She could see her home from here. Mohiro would be up now, a coffee mug clutched in both hands, eyes on the clock, waiting to hear the news. Waiting, hoping, and in all likelihood, praying.
Fifty fifty, fly or fall.
Infant Two had been the most difficult. Although Carol understood statistics well enough, somehow she had thought that if Infant One had fallen, then the next would fly.
Fifty fifty.
Carol’s sister, Alyssa, had three children now from as many pregnancies. All had flown, and she was always so radiant about it. She always blathered on about mothering any time the two sisters had gotten together. Usually, about half way through her maundering monologue, Alyssa would place her hand on Carol’s and make the same soothing noises in her throat as she did for her gurgling child.
Carol did not want sympathy. She wanted a child, a real child. Yet, standing here, she felt numb, paralyzed. She could not move, because she knew what would come. She knew the pit that would burrow in her stomach. She knew those soothing noises Alyssa would make. She knew Mohiro would bury his head in her shoulder and hold her tight. She knew that in a few months, they would try for Infant Four.
It was a record on repeat. Same ol’ sad song, again and again. She was chasing rainbows, which, as any child learned early on, was a good way to end up soaking wet and far from home.
It was the same throughout history. She was hardly the first to stand on this plinth, infant in arms, hoping for a child. Others had waited longer than her, suffered through more pregnancies, but somehow that did not make her feel better. Another’s misery rarely did. What she really needed right now was hope, without all this melancholy. She did not want to see this stupid sandstone cliff again.
Yet, she would be here again, probably about this time next year.
Her grip must have tightened, for the infant awoke, crying, shrieking. Carol could feel a headache forming. Whatever the other attributes the infant had, it possessed a healthy set of lungs and a vigorous heart, judging by the rubicund color it was quickly turning.
Infant One had never woken. Infant Two had tried to hold on.
It would not get easier with time. Carol knew full well. Time did not seem to make her stronger, but it had taught her that. Indeed, her arms were shaking. Was she going to collapse up here? Sit down and refused to move? Refuse to carry out her duty?
No. What must be done must be done, and had better be carried out quickly.
Carol closed her eyes and threw open her arms to space and fell to her knees, a complete gesture of surrender. What she was surrendering to, she did not know. To fate? To God? To that infant that had sat within her these last nine months?
The shrieks dwindled rapidly, pulled away from her by gravity.
They were just a little set of lungs, falling through sky, tasting what would be taken away so irrevocably.
It was happening again. It was not a child.
Yet she was her child.
Before Carol knew what she was doing, she had thrown herself off the mountain was hurdling toward the ground, toward the scream. She kept her arms to her side, accelerating rapidly, her head pointed downward as she cut through the air. Suddenly, none of it mattered. It was all stupid traditions of a different time. What did it matter, flying, when there were plane and cars? What did it matter? What did any of it matter?
Mohiro met her. The force took them both spinning, and it took all of Carol’s focus to resettle them in the air.
In the early morning sun, the only sound was Carol’s and Mohiro’s haggard breathing as they faced one another, faces curiously blank.
Carol knew. She did not need to look down.
“I was going to save her,” Carol whispered, quietly enough to be almost lost on the breeze.
“I know,” Mohiro said.
“She’d been a fallen. Some places they have them. Not here, but other places. There are planes now,” Carol said, wandering curiously through her frozen thoughts, as if they were but exhibits in a museum. “Scientists are doing research on them some places, other places. DNA, you know. Proteins. Magnets. Maybe they could have helped.”
Mohiro did not respond, for he knew there was no response. Logic would win out. Reason always held. Infant Three was not a child and would have no place in the world. It could never have shared their life.
“Were you here for Infant Two as well?” Carol asked.
“I was,” Mohiro said. “My father was with my mother for me. It felt right.”
Carol pulled Mohiro close. He kissed her neck. She kissed his forehead. His skin was warm and fevered. He was real.
“I was Infant Four,” Mohiro whispered. “Perhaps we will be lucky next time.”
“Perhaps,” Carol said. Together, they flew home alone.
|
One step. One step and over the ledge I go, eight hundred feet straight down the mountainside. They say it doesn't hurt, that if you close your eyes it's like the wind tunnels without all the noise. No one survives unless they can fly, and if you can fly you won't hit the bottom; no injuries, no pain, all the freedom you ever dreamt of. A girl could use some freedom these days.
Silently I think of all the things that went wrong this year. Flunking jump school, Kayleighs' first flight... her last flight. I let myself remember one last time what her smile looked like, the way she grinned with the left side of her mouth before she kissed me. She kissed me. The solution and inevitable cause of so many of my problems. Something settled in my bones that day, a truth that for so long I tried to hide. With Kayleigh by my side, I could fly.
I sighed, opening my eyes again and looking out at the horizon. The view is beautiful, the sun just setting behind the far ridge, blazing a gorgeous red-orange. If Kay isn't the last thing I can see, this will have to do. I don't even care anymore about the stupid rite of passage for the gifted kids, the ones who can fly. I don't care if the wind lifts me up and plays through my soul like a warm caress on a barren land stripped clean of life.
I shift my weight forward and sway, feeling the breeze picking its way through the tuffs of scrub at my feet. I turn and look back at the mountain, admiring its confidence and its stubborn refusal to move even after the other mountains had almost worn away. I take one last look at its sunset colored face, and give myself to the wind. As my body drifts downward I look to the sky, searching one last time for Kay's curvy outline, trying to picture her face above mine like I had seen her so many times before. I close my eyes, and I can hear her calling me home.
| 2015-04-04T18:45:58 | 2015-04-04T18:16:09 | 334 | 29 |
[WP] A little girl dies and is accidentally sent to Hell to where the Demons don't know what to do with her.
Edit 1. Holy crap did this get a response 0_0
Edit 2. Jesus Puppy Christ is this getting attention.
|
"Next," the purple headed demon called, consulting his clipboard. He filched a squirming beetle from one of the shuffling denizens as they passed and popped it in his mouth, chewing a couple of times before swallowing. "I said next."
"He he." The toddler laughed, stroking the purple headed demon's legs.
"Wow. What in the name of Halloween are you doing here?" He blurted, pulling away from the child and consulting his clipboard. "You're not Rosie O'Donnel. You shouldn't be here."
"Puppy." She cried, skipping after the demon, her hands outstretched and grasping for his furry calves.
"Stop. No. Don't. Ouch. Ow! Don't. You're not supposed to be here. Children don't come here. What in the--Stop it. You're supposed to be up there." He said, jabbing his vulture feather quill toward the roof of the firey cavern. "How did you get down here?"
"Come puppy." She giggled, patting her knees to beckon the purple headed demon.
"Kristoph." He called, looking for his intern. The little girl managed to latch on to his tail and was busy yanking it up and down as quickly as she could.
"Stinky." She whispered, looking under his tail.
"Give me that. Kristoph! Get over here."
"What? I was eating my lunch," the imp whined, licking his fingers.
"Where did she come from?" The purple headed demon demanded. "And, how did she get here?"
"Well, when a mommy and a daddy love each other . . ." the imp began.
"No. Not that. I mean how did she get down here. She's supposed to be in the penthouse. Find an angel and get her out of here, and--Ouch!--do it quick." He pulled his bent tail away from her again.
"Puppy. Come puppy." She tried to grab his tail again.
"NO!" He bellowed savagely.
"Wa . . . Wa . . ." She sniffled.
"What? No. Don't do that. Not down here." The demon stammered, trying to calm the girl.
"Whaaaaaaaaaaa!" She cried.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He crooned, looking to the ceiling. The little girl's wail set the rocks to vibrating and here and there boulders were falling from the ceiling, crushing demons and imps and newly arrived souls all across the cavern. "You can't cry here. No. Please. Oh please dont' cry. Get the angel quick." He snapped, swatting the imp in the back of the head.
"Wha . . . Whaaaaaaa!"
"Here. Take it. Take my tail. Just please stop crying." The purple headed demon pleaded.
"Whaaaaaaa!"
"Here. Take this," he begged, tearing off a passing gorgon's rattler.
"Wha . . ." She sniffled and took the rattle from the demon, who was trying his best to fight off the agitated gorgon with his clipboard.
"He said she's our problem now." Kristoph replied, waddling over.
"What does he mean, *she's our problem now*? All children go to heaven. That's in the bylaws. Tell him to get his feathery rump over here and take possession of this child." The demon demanded, stamping his foot and grimacing as the little girl began to pull tufts of hair from the back of his leg.
"I'll try." The imp responded sounding less than optimistic.
"Why don't you go home?" the demon begged between handfuls of her unsolicited hair removal practice.
"He said, it's not happening." The imp told him upon his return.
"Why not?" The demon asked pleadingly, on the verge of tears. The imp pointed to the stairwell where the obstinate angel stood, arms crossed and defiant. There was less than a handful of feather's left on his wings. "What happened to his glorious white feathers?"
The imp looked at that little girl meaningfully and the growing number of bald spots on the purple demons legs.
"Take her back!" The demon called. The angel shook his head. "Please?" The angel continued to shake his head. "I'll give you anything? Just take her back."
The angel thought it over and beckoned the imp over. There was a lot of whispering and negotiating taking place, but in the end a deal was struck.
"What's he want?" The demon asked nervously.
"A dog." The imp answered, drawing circles in the the cavern floor with his toe.
"That's it. Just a dog. Okay. It's a deal. Which dog?" The demon asked, wiping away a tear of pain.
"Cerberus." The imp whispered, flinching away in fear of the demon's wrath.
"CERBERUS!" The demon roared. "He wants Cerberus. The guardian of the gates of Hell? The Hound of Hades. That Cerberus?"
"Uh huh." Kristoph squeaked.
"Wha . . . Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" The little girl wailed, frightened by the purple headed demon's cry.
"He only wants him for a little while, then he'll return him." The imp explained hurriedly, dodging the hot rocks falling from the cavern roof the girl's cries were shaking loose.
"How long?" The demon demanded in panic.
"Just until all of the Westboro Baptist Church members die. He wants to make sure none of them sneak into Heaven." The imp replied, spreading his arms wide in a that's-all-he-wants sort of way.
A sizable boulder fell to the floor with a crash, barely missing the demon.
"Deal. Deal. Tell him he has a deal, but he has to take her. Now. He has to take her now." The demon cried.
The imp turned and gave the angel a thumbs up. The angel sighed and came over to collect the child.
"You're getting off cheap," the angel murmured as the little girl took notice of the angels few remaining feathers. He winced as she plucked another feather from his wing.
"I know. Toodles." The demon sighed, waving good-bye jubiantly.
The angel fixed him with a flat stare and looked at the child. "NO!" The angel snapped, pulling his wings away with a smirk.
"Whaaaaaaaaaa!"
The demon stopped smiling and sighed in resignation, then the roof came tumbling down on him.
"Does this mean I get the rest of the day off?" The imp asked, dancing around the mound of rubble. "Does it? Can I go? Can I? Yeah. I can go." He said, answering his own question. He looked over at the angel who simply shrugged, leading the child away.
|
"Peter, errr, I think you sent down the wrong file. Why? Do you seriously not know? Well, I have a seriously traumatized 10 year old girl sitting across from me right now and I want to know what in the name of all that is unholy happened in the sorting system. What do you mean 'the system is perfect'? Is she really supposed to be here? ...No, 'designed by his holiness' is not necessarily a perfect description. This is the fourth one this week. ...How did she die? Drunk driver, and He already knows how many of them we have down here. ... Awww, she is a peach; made Beelzebub scream with one touch, that's how pure she was. Now can you please check the spreadsheet?... You just hit 'ctrl+f' Peter, not too difficult.... Ah, now there is your problem right there; change the value of drunk driving caused death in the sum to 100 instead of -100.... Because I said so and this little girl needs to go where she needs to go. Do we have that cleared up?... Yup, now she is gone. Okay, see you later. Tell Jesus that my son said hello and that they should get together sometime.... Alright. Goodbye."
| 2013-11-26T20:01:53 | 2013-11-26T19:52:58 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] It's been almost two years since people stopped dying, and five months since we started to burn the ones that should.
*Edit: This prompt is originally inspired by Jose Saramago's "Death with Interruptions," though I don't remembered any burning in that book. This is in no way intended to be related to any Torchwood plot, a show I've never watched.*
|
"Case #34-27B, please approach the bench"
I stepped up to the Judge's bench. He stared down at me, a look of disgust, confusion, and regret on his face. "Mr. Klay, you have been found guilty in a court of law of 30 counts of Kidnapping, 29 counts of Murder in the First Degree, 27 counts of Torture, and 14 counts of Rape. By law, you are sentenced to 175 consecutive years in a Federal Correctional Vat Facility, without Parole. May God have mercy on your soul."
The days leading up to my transfer were quiet. A small meal was put in my cell, a snide remark from the guards, and the light fading from the barred window just out of reach. I had been here for years. Decades, even, before my case was brought forward. I still remember the look on her face, the mother of my last playmate. She had tears in her eyes, but they weren't of grief. They were sharp, bright, and hateful. There was fire behind those tears, and I couldn't help but be a little impressed. They couldn't bring the bitch up there to the stand though. Apparently 3 months of time with me had caused her to be in a catatonic state. Not my fault the bitch couldn't handle me. Not like she was gonna die, either. Hell, nobody did that anymore. Now she was gonna spend her days cared for by her mother, forever stuck in that chair, staring down at her feet. Sure, she would live. We all would, but what kind of life is that? What kind of little pussy would give up that easily?
A sharp click of the lock on my door snaps me out of my musings. The cuffs are placed on me, and I'm walked past the other cells. Other inmates sneered, and screamed for my blood, yelling words that fell uncaring ears. "RAPIST PIG" "FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!" "IF I GOT YOU, I'D DO WHAT YOU DID TO THEM TENFOLD!" I was watching the guard on my left carefully. He kept a hand on his Taser ready at any moment, should I get loose. Why would I? It's not like I can kill anymore, anyway? My last playmate was my LAST playmate. I couldn't kill her even if I wanted to. Guns and knives were useless, since for some reason, even the slightest bit of damage done is healed instantly. It's like we were all locked in place, never changing past a certain point. Who knows, maybe infants are stuck as infants, the old fucks are stuck in their beds forever, the dying forever dying. And yet, *I'm* the one who's a monster for causing pain. I'm loaded into the bus, and being its only cargo, I'm sat towards the back, guards towards the front, chatting with the driver. I stared out the window as we pulled away from the facility. I thought back to when It happened.
I had her hands bound, and was slicing, but for some reason, I couldn't leave a mark. At least, I couldn't leave one that stayed. As soon as the knife left her chest, she was intact. It was like I hadn't done anything. She still screamed though. It made me curious enough, and I brought it down into my own leg. I felt the burning, the melted oozing feeling of a cut, but when I pulled it out, the pain and feeling of a fresh cut left with it. I had a new toy to play with. Immortality. I could cut, and slice, and burn, and hurt, and they'd never give out. They'd never die. But as soon as that became known, she took off. She had degloved herself on the wire that bound her, but her hands were like they were never touched. She ran out the room, outside, and into the night, screaming for help. She found it in a cop nearby. He fired round after round into me, but it was all for nothing. Finally, a blast of spray, and a charge from the taser brought me down. She collapsed next to me, and that was that. I was put into a cell, and tests were done on the both of us. It was later revealed that cancer patients were not just responding to their treatments, but were completely healed. People who were mortally wounded were walking and talking like nothing happened. That night, things changed for everyone. If I had been caught any other time, I would've gotten the chair, or lethal injection, or anything to kill me. But now, none of those would work. They needed something new to punish me. Something that would work.
Testing had shown that while we still felt the pain and damage from injuries, we would survive them as if it never happened shortly afterwards. Even a shot to the head would heal instantly. That being said, burns were a little different. If someone were to keep burning, they heal, but it'd just burn off again. Fire was expensive, surprisingly, so the Government had a new idea to deal with me, and other like me. Acid. Large facilities were placed around the country, and each one held hundreds of thousands of coffin like vats, capable of holding someone in a pool of acid. They were ideal. Small enough to stack one atop the other, while still being effective. Death Row disappeared after that, and everyone around was resentenced to the Vats.
I felt the bus come to a jarring stop, and the driver opened the door. I stepped down, still cuffed, and guided to the large brick building in front of me. I was walked in, given a bag, and inside was a set of paper scrubs, a brass plate with my name and sentence, and an identification form. After filling out my forms, and donning my scrubs, I was walked down a long corridor. Large black squares lined the walls, brass plaques shining, and a dull whine of white noise filled the air. The guards were talking to a worker, who explained that the squares were actually the vats, and that each one was blacked out, soundproof, and sealed. No sound in, or out. No screams could be heard, no bodies seen. Just a small tank, the white noise of pumps, and a small plaque with the convicts' names and sentences on the front. Like a mausoleum for the Living. I was walked down to a small group of workers, wearing Hazmat suits, and standing around a small black rectangular tub. I was told to lay in the tub, and upon doing so, one of the guards pulled out a small sheet of paper. "As per Federal Regulations, you are allowed to make a final statement prior to carrying out your sentence. If you so choose, please state so now" I stared at him in silence, before he looked down at me, and stated "If that's the case, then we can carry on, then." I was instructed to lay back, hands crossed over my chest. I heard a scraping noise, and my view was blocked by the black lid of the Vat. I could only hear my own breath, and saw no light, no cracks, nothing. I suddenly heard a deafening *click* and felt the vat be lifted into place. That's when **It** came.
The burning started as a trickle, lightly along my scalp. It was like a bad sunburn, only slowly becoming more intense as the burning trickled down my body. It slowly rose up, from my back, to my sides, and arms, and up over my chest, the burning getting worse and worse, until all I could feel was the fire around me. I couldn't see, I couldn't hear, I couldn't even scream. Screaming out only let more acid in, and now the fire I felt around me was IN me. I felt myself choke on the fluid that ate away at me, only I didn't smother. I didn't die. I didn't die. I could only think that one thing. "I can't die." The realization that this was never going to end was agony. I craved it. I craved the release of death. I felt my skin boil and blister from the acid, only to heal as soon as a blister popped. I felt like a million red hot pokers were slowly driving their way up and down my body, as wave after wave of agony hit me. THIS was the price of immortality. Humans carried out the death sentence for years. Centuries. Their endings were swift. They had only the anticipation, the light pain, and that was it. This though... This was Hell. I felt every inch of me burn, and heal, and burn forever. My eyes boiled in their sockets. My tongue swelled from the blisters, burst, and healed. I felt every inch of me die, and revive, and die again. But the worst was yet to come. The acid was apparently clear, as a small panel appeared in front of me. On it was a series of numbers. 174:11:30:23:59:55 The number on the far right suddenly changed. Fifty-Five.....
.....
.....
Fifty-Four
.....
The eternal agony I had felt for what was so long, was only 5 seconds... Only five seconds of One Hundred Seventy Five years.
|
They introduced the idea to the world by placing prisoners on the headlines of popular newspapers. Showing us the vile faces of murderers and rapists, who contributed to the gradual decline of our food and water supplies, sure made the government succeed in getting a loud yes from the public. There were those who opposed, but our voices were muffled by the threat of global famine.
Prisoners were picked from computer generated lists. Starting with the worst, and gradually running out of them. Three months in they were throwing prisoners with minor drug offenses into the pit, a volcanic dustbin for human’s they deemed waste, and then the sick.
Today, I turned on the eight o’clock news and found my name in the early broadcast along with twenty others worldwide. A brief appearance of Dr. flashed in front of the name, David Howard, and quickly vanished.
A nervous shuffled sounded in the abandoned school building we squatted in since the first civilian was called to *duty*.
“Do you think they’ll come after you?” Sheila asked, cheekbones almost cutting through her thin face.
“They certainly didn’t wait for David,” I replied, biting on the lose corner of dried skin on my upper lip.
David lived in the apartment next to mine. I remember seeing his name and turning off the TV to hear him do the same. He knocked on my door and fell at my feet, asking him to help him. The resistance I held toward the system made him think that I somehow knew more, or had a plan. I didn’t then, and don’t really have one now either.
They removed him, kicking and screaming, from my apartment three hours later, when he missed the two hour deadline of approaching the nearest police station.
Frank, the bravest—or rather loudest and biggest—of the group, stepped forward and placed a firm hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t worry, this is what we prepared for, isn’t it?” he said, quieting down the nervous murmur that echoed within the walls of the dusty gym room. “They don’t know where we are.”
I kept my eyes on the screen, and combed my hand through long strands of brown hair, thinking. “That gives us about a day’s advantage. Someone will talk. We don’t exactly live here unnoticed.”
“No, certainly not.”
“We go up to the mountains. Ask the other ground to help. We’ve grown food, have some weapons. Sheila’s a nurse. The more the merrier, right?” I said, and wondered whether it wouldn’t be easier for that group to just kill us, and avoid danger while stocking up with our supplies.
“I was training as a nurse,” Sheila corrected. “Then best I can do is change a bedpan.”
“You can put on a bandage, can’t you?” I asked, forcing my confidence up. *This or death.* There was no other choice. Maybe we’d be able to stay hidden for more than a day, but at some point, a bunch of sirens would sound outside, and twenty people couldn’t protect me from grenades, bombs and a trained police force. The police would sooner kill us all than risk themselves, and the anxious eyes jumping from one face to another assured me that everyone came to the same conclusion.
“Well, I guess it’s time to meet the mountain people,” Frank said, and tensed his broad shoulders.
“I’ve met them,” I inclined my head and bit my lip, “it sure isn’t going to be an easy conversation. Gather everything we have, blankets, seeds—everything. If we’re going to convince them that we’re useful, we better seem useful. Anyone hiding a doctor or medicine I don’t know about?” I received a laugh from the scattering crowd.
*****
More stories here, /r/AlinaKG
| 2016-05-02T07:33:52 | 2016-05-02T06:32:43 | 90 | 21 |
[WP] This is… awkward to say the least. Your roommate just frantically confessed that they’re demonic royalty, and that they need a fiancé to meet their parent, the monarch of Hell, who will be here in under an hour.
|
Vanessa finished her spiel, and Kimberly continued to sit stock still on the couch. That had been a lot of information in a medium amount of time, and honestly it was a lot to take in. Halfway through, Kimberly had dismissed the idea that Vanessa was making everything up; she wasn't great off the top of her head. Once she'd settled on the fact that Vanessa was telling the truth, she'd tried to keep up, but previous trains of thought had led to half-listening, and now she only had partial context and a wide-eyed roommate waiting for a response.
So Kimberly went for the first thing to cross her mind, "Which one?"
"What?"
"Demon royalty," Kimberly clarified, "there are a lot. Which one is your..." Kimberly trailed off. Had Vanessa mentioned which parent it was? Did she have more than one parent? She could have sworn she said it without an S. After a moment, she restarted instead of continuing, "Which one are they?" she asked in a perfectly gender-neutral way.
Vanessa stared at Kimberly. "I need your help right now?"
"Yes-" Kimberly scooched a little over on the couch to make room for Vanessa, who didn't move, "sorry."
"I know it's a lot to ask, I just need you to cover for me and-" Vanessa stopped and put her hands in the pocket of her hoodie, "look, I know it's weird and a lot and, I'll like-" she pulled her hands out of her pocket again and looked over to the kitchen, "I'll do the dishes for like a week."
"Shhhhure," Kimberly managed.
"Shit, you're not into it," Vanessa pushed her hair behind her ears which she hated the look of but did when she was stressed, "I can figure something-"
"Nononono," Kimberly stood up and corrected Vanessa's hair, "I'm helping with this."
Vanessa pushed Kimberly's hand away from her ear, "You sure?"
"Yes."
"You did that thing you do when you don't want to go out, but it's Saturday, and you know I'm going to keep answering so you eventually agree but then take forever to choose an outfit," Vanessa's hands went back into her hoodie as she flopped down onto the couch in Kimberly's place.
"I was processing the dishes thing," Kimberly explained, "and say less next time."
"Sorry, I'm just-" Vanessa freed one hand from the pocket to motion at her entire face instead of talking, "right now, ya know?"
"Yeahhhh," Kimberly answered, "I guess so. Mom keeps asking me when I'm going to start dating again."
"You should, Kim. He sucked. You've moved on."
"Not the topic," Kimberly pointed out, "but I love the energy." Kimberly took a second to survey her roommate, who was sulking in the sweater she'd bought in the first year of University that was now strictly relegated to living room lounging. "What are we wearing tonight?" She asked after taking stock of how well her roommate's clothes matched her mental state.
It took Vanessa a moment to process what Kimberly was asking, which was unfair because Kimberly had gotten almost no time to process, 'I'm a part demon and pretend to marry me for my parent.'
Kimberly noted that she needed to ask again about the parent's identity so she could choose a pronoun and stick to it.
"I have a dress," Vanessa eventually said, "but I need to change too, so I don't have time for a fashion show."
"Yeah, you should get out of the hoodie if I'm marrying you," Kimberly pointed out with a frown. That had been the second time in the past minute that Vanessa had mentioned how long it took her to get ready, and she was sure she didn't deserve those shots right now. Kimberly offered a hand to Vanessa, "Just a dress shouldn't take you too long, should it?"
Vanessa grabbed her hand and got half-pulled off the couch, "No, no, I need to-" Vanessa paused, "I'm going to clarify. I'm a demon," she really accentuated the last word as she stood up.
"Figured that much out."
"Like a full-blood demon. Not half, no bloodline-" she took a deep breath, "I don't just have like- Cute horns and a little tail."
"Oh-" Kimberly answered; she'd been picturing almost precisely that. One of the kids in her High School had a pact somewhere way back in their bloodline and had red skin and small horns to show for it. He'd been a dick, but that wasn't from the pact, "That's cool, are li-"
"Two legs, two arms, one head," Vanessa clarified once she noticed Kimberly's mind going off the deep end, "but like, I'm not going to be wearing these-" Vanessa took off her glasses and waved them around.
"You're blind without them," Kimberly pointed out, stepping away from the couch.
"As a human."
Kimberly almost made it halfway to her room before stopping, "You chose to need glasses?"
"I didn't choose anything about this," Vanessa pointed out, "I can choose to be human, Kim, but-" she was halfway through that slight arm motion she made when she was going to explain something but stopped herself. "No time to get into all of that," then after a second, "thank you, thank you, thank you."
"Don't mention it," Kimberly answered, and by the time she'd done so, Vanessa had already zooped through her bedroom door. Kimberly waited in the hall for a moment and pulled her phone out.
The first two things she typed into google felt discriminatory, even if she didn't know what she shouldn't say about Demons. After a moment, she figured out, 'My Roommate is a Demon. What do I do?'
All of the results were people talking about roommates or unhelpful articles written about dealing with bad roommates that would end with 'try talking to them.' Kimberly bit her lip as she stared at her phone. Had she ever said that someone was being a 'demon?' Had Vanessa been bothered by that but hadn't wanted to mention it? She'd need to scratch it off her vocabulary to be sure.
*Vanessa: Hey! Black if you can.*
*Vanessa: Thank you thank you thank you*
Kimberly tried to take mental stock of the dresses she owned and had worn less than three times in public. Was there anything with the tag still on it? That would be even better.
*Kimberly: How fancy?*
*Vanessa: Pacifico, not Dome.*
Kimberly nodded to her phone and then put it away, dipping into her own room. Pacifico had been the classier bar back in University. Had they had a clause against jeans? That-
That wasn't what Kimberly needed to focus on right now.
The closet was already open from earlier this morning when she walked over to it, kicking a heel that had escaped the boundary back into the mass of shoes on the floor. In a practiced motion, Kimberly pushed aside all of the daily clothes and revealed the back left of the closet, along with most of her dresses, from maxi to bodycon.
Based on what Vanessa had said, cocktail was the vibe she wanted, but Kimberly still had choices to make despite knowing that. She was supposed to be meeting the parents (parent?), not dressing up for going out, which eliminated a lot of options because she was reasonably sure that first meetings should only have a conservative amount of leg involved.
Kimberley's pocket buzzed as she pulled a dress off of the rack and spun to lay it down on the bed. Was knee height too much or not enough leg to be a cute fiancee to a demon? It would be one of the many contenders.
The phone buzzed again, and Kimberly's hand shot into her pocket before she'd processed it.
*Vanessa: You good?*
*Vanessa: Need help?*
*Kimberly: It's been like 30 seconds.*
*Vanessa: No.*
Kimberly looked up to the timestamps on the previous texts. Shit, she'd been considering the pile of dresses for a lot longer than she thought. Sure it was only 5 minutes, but she understood the text now.
*Vanessa: I'll come over.*
Kimberly returned to the closet with her phone in one hand. It buzzed again. She turned on the flashlight to look at the small selection of carefully folded dresses on the top shelf she could barely reach.
*Vanessa: Don't freak out, okay? Not feeling it atm.*
Kimberly got onto her tip toes to try and reveal one of the darker options on the shelf above, eventually grabbing the smoke dress she'd thought of out in the hall and pulling on it to add it to the pile. The dress slid out, but the pile shifted. She couldn't pull that trick on tiptoes again.
The door cracked open, and Kimberly was already facing it in the process of turning to put the dress on her bed. The person at the door wasn't her roommate. Or, more correctly, it wasn't the Vanessa that Kimberly was used to.
|
My roommate Lucy was standing in my doorway, but she was significantly changed. Her once anemic pale skin was now a deep violet that lightened up on the face. Obsidian eyes stared at me as her pitch black Eland horns reached over the door frame. Clawed hands gripped the frame of my doorway as her now hooved digitagrade feet were planted firmly. I could see massive bat wings behind her and a long and powerful spade tail swayed lazily side to side. All of that contrasted heavily against here baby blue shorts and sunflower yellow top.
"I know it's a lot to ask Issac, but I need to play my fiancé." She said through her fanged maw.
"I don't do favors for free Lucy, and this is a huge favor." I replied.
"If you do ill give you a everything you see here and more." She said stroking her hand down the sides of her body.
My gaze had turned from frozen disbelief to an insulted disdain in an instant. I knew her too well to take her up in that offer. She always caught feelings for anyone that got in her pants and would be all creepy on them. The only reason she was my roommate was because I never fell for her bullshit.
"Look here you loopy semon demon, I know better than to stick my dick in or near you." I said bluntly.
Her face shot from erotic desire to a pissed off pout. I could tell her demonic brain was looking for a comeback. She then seemed to make a realization and calmed her demeanor again. Letting out a defeated sigh she looked back up to me.
"I can call one of my succubus servants to please you until you're satisfied." She said seemingly defeated.
"I don't want one of your sex demons either, if you want my cooperation you'll need to do something meaningful to me." I said.
She now raised a brow in interest. I made sure to never talk to her about myself before. The only thing I made sure to do was comfort her when her latest lover gave her the boot. She recomposed herself and then asked.
"What would be meaningful to you?" She asked.
"Can you commune with the damned, because I need you to tell someone something." I said.
"Who and what?" She asked pleasantly.
"Man's name was Frederick Bolstun, he was born in the 70's Huston, Texas. He died in 2000 in a Texas prison by lethal injection. You tell him we are even now." I said with venom in my voice.
Lucy was taken back by the sudden shift in my demeanor. I made sure to keep my temper under control when I was around people. This wasn't one of those moments, I needed her to see how much it mattered to me. She took two steps back from my doorway and summoned one of her succubus before her in a light eating void. Lucy quickly whispered into the nude demons ear before banishing it back into the void.
"It's done, now can you please get into something nicer. We have only 45 minutes before my father arrives." Lucy said with a panic.
I nodded and stepped out of bed to get ready with a new pep in my step. My most vindictive dream had finally come true. I finally get to tell the man that murdered my brother I won. Now he would get to know I had gotten an eye for an eye.
(Long story short, edgelord does edgy stuff.)
| 2022-10-08T23:48:36 | 2022-10-08T21:01:43 | 102 | 72 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
The miles between them had come and gone, leaving scars and wounds and memories and laughs. The horizon that day was clear, and the world fell into green and yellow, and far away were the mountains, and everything was cloaked in a dream. They had come far. The first peaks of Lankar shimmered in an ephemeral haze.
"We've made it," Keldar said.
"Not yet."
Annastatia was worn, cut and bruised. Her eyes had dimmed some, but even the terrors of the Void had receded for the moment. She was in the present then, looking ahead, same as them all.
None had seen the mountain before. Alton had not believed in it. Haldar had said they would die before they ever crossed the river.
Now he stared with timeless eyes, eyes which had seen things from the Darkness. Eyes which had seen the birth of his kin from the still mirror waters of the Endless Caves. Those eyes had seen more than Haldar could ever have imagined.
"I guess it does exist," Alton said.
He clapped Haldar on the back. An uneasy feeling overcame him with the touch.
*It feels like him,* he thought.
And his thought travelled in the wind of the Void, that invisible world which held all the unknown things, the things that caused madness.
"Yes," Annastatia said.
She looked at Haldar.
"What?" said Keldar.
She shook her head.
They were weary and made camp on the hill. For the days past they had slept during the day, marched in the night. Their bodies were worn and tired, a piece of them all left behind in the Grey River.
*The price was worth it,* Keldar thought.
He was an older man, a knight in youth, and now his world had gone and he was alone but for adventure.
*Is it?*
He could not answer himself and the question lingered, unanswered by even Annastatia. They were quiet there on the hill. Midday came with a scarce lunch and perfunctory talk.
"I've never been so far," said Alton.
They agreed. Home had sunk away like the dying sun, and this endless night of the unknown still had miles yet to go.
"We're alive though," Keldar said.
"Yes," Annastatia said.
They looked at Haldar. Behind those eyes were the midnight of malice. But that malice reflected the sun, and then it was blue and immediate and true.
"I made it," Haldar said. "Barely by the skin of my leather, but I made it."
In the Grey River there were ancient cliffs, hills and holes. There amidst that pocked earth lived the unknown things, the things which embraced the Darkness.
In that place Haldar had fallen into the murky waters of the Grey River and its currents had taken him.
His screams had pierced the Void then, echoing even on the hill they now camped on. Annastatia winced and she saw the time as it floated past in the forever winds of that realm.
"Help!" Haldar cried.
Her hand held her staff. Every inch of her was prepared to hold it for him to grab on to. She saw it happening, feeling his weight and the rescue. And yet she hesitated.
"Help!"
She had remembered the times before. His hand caressing hers, teasing some unwanted strength, threatening in the vaguest of ways. And even then his thoughts were certain of his foul desire.
And so the river had taken him and they all had watched. They had let it happen as the waters surrounded him in an opaque cover, the burial of some unwanted pest, and they feigned the mourning as all good friends should do.
Then they were three.
But he had come back. The first trees were tall and skinny and gave little shade. Their slanting shadows were bars as they passed, looking like prisoners in a dream world, and then from that shifting prison, Haldar had come, wet and worn. The Grey River had taken much from him, he said, and he was different, completely different.
"I left more of my soul there than you," he said.
They looked at him and knew what he was, or what he wasn't. That night they discussed it in secret, and decided they would bide time before doing what must be done.
Three days had passed since then, but that time still had not come.
Sleep overcame them and they rested awhile. The falling sun awoke them to a red and orange sky and their shadows spilled past the hill.
"Statia," Alton said.
He was stretching.
"Yes?"
"I've had a bad dream. Worse than any of the others before."
"Was it of your past? The stealing in your mother's house?"
"No. No it was..."
She saw his face. She touched his head and the after images of the fading dream kindled within her.
Haldar stared beneath a blackened sky, alone and afraid. All around a great water rushed him, surrounding him with its endless sound.
The dream faded and she recoiled.
"I... I have no remedy," she said.
She looked at Haldar. The thing which pretended to be him looked at her and smiled. Though shifters like him were not connected as strongly to the Void, she could feel his thoughts in the air, like some distant food that has long been eaten.
*He means me no malice. Not like his...*
Victim. But she could not say the word.
Keldar walked to Haldar and put his hand on his shoulder.
"How is your wound?"
"Better now," Haldar said.
*He feels the same*, Keldar thought. *He really does.*
Then they packed their things and prepared for another night of walking. Lankar glittered in the night like some crystal, and yet soft as home's bed sheets on a cold night.
"What's there again?" Haldar asked.
He looked at them to see if any suspected. He thought they did. He thought he should kill them, but living in the black had not tainted his heart.
*Never have I seen such beauty as her.*
And in the moonlight Annastatia was some Queen, the kind of which no longer walks this world. Some distant being, ghost-like and tender, and yet strong and hardy with eyes opened into the real world.
*But she is Keldar's.*
And he felt sad. He felt the light on him and looked up.
*I should kill them and have her to myself.*
But she would die first before such things could happen. She would kill him then surely. They already considered the deed. He closed his eyes. The light painted him with a warmth the others could not feel.
*They have not lived in the dark,* he thought. *They are human. Weak and ignorant of the Dark, for they know not of such things.*
"Lankar," Alton said. "The mountain of Dreams. There, as legend goes, is the Spring of Dreaming. One sip of its water will change you. It will make whatever is in your heart come true."
"It can change the world physically?"
"No," said Annastatia. "But it will change *you*. It will change the spirit so that what you hold dearest will come true in a way of its own. It is not a place of wishes."
"It is like the Grey River then?" Haldar asked.
"Yes, in a sense. But it does not take. It gives and cleanses."
Then they were quiet. In their hearts they were uneasy. Haldar's death weighed immensely on them.
*The Spring will clean me,* Keldar thought.
Annastatia held him. Her face was pretty in the white light and he looked at her and loved her anew once more. He put his arm around her.
*I am an evil man,* he thought.
She looked at him with those sad eyes of hers.
*If that be true, then so are we all my love.*
He squeezed her hand.
*What hope is there then? This guilt weighs too heavy on me.*
*The Spring, as you've thought. The Spring is our only hope. Haldar was a fool. The River took him of its own choosing. His heart was black, blacker than this imposter.*
"I like you," Alton said to Haldar. "I don't know if you understand, but I'll be truthful. I like you."
And Haldar, the thing, understood as much. It too had thoughts that raged in an incomprehensible storm.
"I like you too," he said. "All of you."
"Then may the Spring save us," Keldar said.
And they marched in silence as the night slowly passed.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, please consider my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories as well as some original ones. I'm slowly working on it and getting it to look nicer, so I promise it will look better soon. Thank you!*
|
The tavern was alight with candles and warm fires, the smell of meats and bread wafted through to the rafters of wood and plaster. Ale stained the floor in places and the barkeep had been working on a single mug for a startling amount of time. All and all a lively place to be on this evening.
"Ah and a fine night to you as well gentlemen! Merry blessings!" The rogue said, as the men who joined him for cards departed a few coins heavier then they were at start.
"Is this not grand fellows?" The elf turned to his crew. "Ale in the air! A tavern filled with beautiful women! And my closest friend in the world." He stood then, a leg up on the top of the table, his back leg supporting him from the ground
"Ladies! Gentlemen!" He yelled, "Tonight, join me in toast to this merry band of fighters, lovers and the heroes of this town tonight! We are all thankful," he stopped to smile at his friends, the ale tinting his checks red "but I am thankful, for they are the truest of my friends" and with that he drank. The here-heres rose in strength from the crowd, and he was jostled away by the crowd with promises to be back later.
The dwarf, gnome and orc all sat in silence, looking at their drinks solemnly.
The dwarf sighed, pinching the top of his nose,
The orc had his hand in his head looking off into nothingness,
Finally the gnome chimed in, quietly, but with a resolute tone
"Okay, I'll say it. He's a much better companion then Roderick and we should do everything in our earthly powers not to mess this up."
The orc and dwarf both sighed in unanimous relief
The orc chimed in first with a hushed tone and feeling in his voice "Its like he knew what a whoreson Roderick was!" He said, sitting at attention once again " its like he knew and said to himself 'oh! These chaps look like they could use a new, better companion!' Then took it upon himself, through all the peril, to join us in disguise! All while throwing Roderick into god knows where!" He laughed. "The monster was OUR hero!"
The dwarf was next, wide eyed and hands extended to point out "Roderick" in the crowd. " look at that bloody rogue, he blends right in, they would never know they're holding possibly one of the most dangerous monsters in the land" he lowered his hands, then pointed out, " for all that, doesn't that also make him a better rogue?" They all agreed quietly.
The orc chimed in once more, tentatively, " look Roderick is a whoreson who would and almost did murder us for a small some of coin, twice." They all agreed muttering comments under their breath, " but were the you know...good guys... shouldn't we at least try to save him?"
The others were about to reluctantly agree when "Roderick" appeared before them once again
"My friends! this is as much your victory as mine! More so! Come join us, the mayor seems keen on raising our rewards! I thought it only fitting you be by my... Nay, I be by your sides during this!" He smiled warmly.
They looked at each other, shrugged and smiled
"No that's fine, we can be knaves for a night." The gnome said, stepping up from his seat.
| 2017-09-15T07:40:12 | 2017-09-15T07:03:44 | 322 | 36 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
The miles between them had come and gone, leaving scars and wounds and memories and laughs. The horizon that day was clear, and the world fell into green and yellow, and far away were the mountains, and everything was cloaked in a dream. They had come far. The first peaks of Lankar shimmered in an ephemeral haze.
"We've made it," Keldar said.
"Not yet."
Annastatia was worn, cut and bruised. Her eyes had dimmed some, but even the terrors of the Void had receded for the moment. She was in the present then, looking ahead, same as them all.
None had seen the mountain before. Alton had not believed in it. Haldar had said they would die before they ever crossed the river.
Now he stared with timeless eyes, eyes which had seen things from the Darkness. Eyes which had seen the birth of his kin from the still mirror waters of the Endless Caves. Those eyes had seen more than Haldar could ever have imagined.
"I guess it does exist," Alton said.
He clapped Haldar on the back. An uneasy feeling overcame him with the touch.
*It feels like him,* he thought.
And his thought travelled in the wind of the Void, that invisible world which held all the unknown things, the things that caused madness.
"Yes," Annastatia said.
She looked at Haldar.
"What?" said Keldar.
She shook her head.
They were weary and made camp on the hill. For the days past they had slept during the day, marched in the night. Their bodies were worn and tired, a piece of them all left behind in the Grey River.
*The price was worth it,* Keldar thought.
He was an older man, a knight in youth, and now his world had gone and he was alone but for adventure.
*Is it?*
He could not answer himself and the question lingered, unanswered by even Annastatia. They were quiet there on the hill. Midday came with a scarce lunch and perfunctory talk.
"I've never been so far," said Alton.
They agreed. Home had sunk away like the dying sun, and this endless night of the unknown still had miles yet to go.
"We're alive though," Keldar said.
"Yes," Annastatia said.
They looked at Haldar. Behind those eyes were the midnight of malice. But that malice reflected the sun, and then it was blue and immediate and true.
"I made it," Haldar said. "Barely by the skin of my leather, but I made it."
In the Grey River there were ancient cliffs, hills and holes. There amidst that pocked earth lived the unknown things, the things which embraced the Darkness.
In that place Haldar had fallen into the murky waters of the Grey River and its currents had taken him.
His screams had pierced the Void then, echoing even on the hill they now camped on. Annastatia winced and she saw the time as it floated past in the forever winds of that realm.
"Help!" Haldar cried.
Her hand held her staff. Every inch of her was prepared to hold it for him to grab on to. She saw it happening, feeling his weight and the rescue. And yet she hesitated.
"Help!"
She had remembered the times before. His hand caressing hers, teasing some unwanted strength, threatening in the vaguest of ways. And even then his thoughts were certain of his foul desire.
And so the river had taken him and they all had watched. They had let it happen as the waters surrounded him in an opaque cover, the burial of some unwanted pest, and they feigned the mourning as all good friends should do.
Then they were three.
But he had come back. The first trees were tall and skinny and gave little shade. Their slanting shadows were bars as they passed, looking like prisoners in a dream world, and then from that shifting prison, Haldar had come, wet and worn. The Grey River had taken much from him, he said, and he was different, completely different.
"I left more of my soul there than you," he said.
They looked at him and knew what he was, or what he wasn't. That night they discussed it in secret, and decided they would bide time before doing what must be done.
Three days had passed since then, but that time still had not come.
Sleep overcame them and they rested awhile. The falling sun awoke them to a red and orange sky and their shadows spilled past the hill.
"Statia," Alton said.
He was stretching.
"Yes?"
"I've had a bad dream. Worse than any of the others before."
"Was it of your past? The stealing in your mother's house?"
"No. No it was..."
She saw his face. She touched his head and the after images of the fading dream kindled within her.
Haldar stared beneath a blackened sky, alone and afraid. All around a great water rushed him, surrounding him with its endless sound.
The dream faded and she recoiled.
"I... I have no remedy," she said.
She looked at Haldar. The thing which pretended to be him looked at her and smiled. Though shifters like him were not connected as strongly to the Void, she could feel his thoughts in the air, like some distant food that has long been eaten.
*He means me no malice. Not like his...*
Victim. But she could not say the word.
Keldar walked to Haldar and put his hand on his shoulder.
"How is your wound?"
"Better now," Haldar said.
*He feels the same*, Keldar thought. *He really does.*
Then they packed their things and prepared for another night of walking. Lankar glittered in the night like some crystal, and yet soft as home's bed sheets on a cold night.
"What's there again?" Haldar asked.
He looked at them to see if any suspected. He thought they did. He thought he should kill them, but living in the black had not tainted his heart.
*Never have I seen such beauty as her.*
And in the moonlight Annastatia was some Queen, the kind of which no longer walks this world. Some distant being, ghost-like and tender, and yet strong and hardy with eyes opened into the real world.
*But she is Keldar's.*
And he felt sad. He felt the light on him and looked up.
*I should kill them and have her to myself.*
But she would die first before such things could happen. She would kill him then surely. They already considered the deed. He closed his eyes. The light painted him with a warmth the others could not feel.
*They have not lived in the dark,* he thought. *They are human. Weak and ignorant of the Dark, for they know not of such things.*
"Lankar," Alton said. "The mountain of Dreams. There, as legend goes, is the Spring of Dreaming. One sip of its water will change you. It will make whatever is in your heart come true."
"It can change the world physically?"
"No," said Annastatia. "But it will change *you*. It will change the spirit so that what you hold dearest will come true in a way of its own. It is not a place of wishes."
"It is like the Grey River then?" Haldar asked.
"Yes, in a sense. But it does not take. It gives and cleanses."
Then they were quiet. In their hearts they were uneasy. Haldar's death weighed immensely on them.
*The Spring will clean me,* Keldar thought.
Annastatia held him. Her face was pretty in the white light and he looked at her and loved her anew once more. He put his arm around her.
*I am an evil man,* he thought.
She looked at him with those sad eyes of hers.
*If that be true, then so are we all my love.*
He squeezed her hand.
*What hope is there then? This guilt weighs too heavy on me.*
*The Spring, as you've thought. The Spring is our only hope. Haldar was a fool. The River took him of its own choosing. His heart was black, blacker than this imposter.*
"I like you," Alton said to Haldar. "I don't know if you understand, but I'll be truthful. I like you."
And Haldar, the thing, understood as much. It too had thoughts that raged in an incomprehensible storm.
"I like you too," he said. "All of you."
"Then may the Spring save us," Keldar said.
And they marched in silence as the night slowly passed.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, please consider my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories as well as some original ones. I'm slowly working on it and getting it to look nicer, so I promise it will look better soon. Thank you!*
|
"GREETINGS FELLOW ADVENTURING HUMANS!" Boomed the voice of Danny the Elf sat bolt upright from the sleeping cloth sack she had been in, causing Bob the Barbarian to grunt and curl up under his animal hide sleeping rug again.
"IT IS I, YOUR GOOD FRIEND DAN, I AM UNHARMED AFTER MY ENCOUNTER WITH THE DAEMON!" She continued smiling oddly, her mouth breaking into a wide grin with teeth and her eyebrows actually elevating.
"Dann...." Feldspar the half-elf warlock managed to stop himself from saying Danny, "You told us this before, remember?"
Danny the Elf blinked, everything was always so terribly confusing, having come from a dimension that didn't have time it had to learn about things happening and things that had happened, Makor the Cleric had helped with that, teaching the snow elf about how things happen and can't be changed but things that haven't happened yet can be altered.
"OH YES FRIEND!" Danny laughed as if it was a running joke, Sim the halfling thief/bard laughed a little as well in sympathy or perhaps enjoyment.
"WHERE ARE WE GOING TODAY? WILL THERE BE MORE EXCELLENT FERMENTED YEAST PRODUCTS TO CONSUME?"
Makor nodded slowly, "That's right Dan, more beer at the end of the adventure, now how did we get back the entrance avoiding the dragon, getting the treasure and nobody getting hurt?"
"OF COURSE FRIEND! THIS IS A THING THAT HAPPENED ALREADY AFTER ALL!" Danny confirmed with the group as each of them nodded in agreement pressing in to listen carefully to Danny.
"FIRSTLY, WE LEFT THE ROOM BY THE SOUTH ENTRANCE, SIM DISABLED THE PIT TRAP AFTER FALLING INTO IT AND DYING THE FIRST TIME HE TRIED." Danny started to explain.
Sim frowned a little looking towards the South entrance, he'd died; again, if 'Dan' hadn't told him about the pit trap or the acid or the undercooked chicken or ... he was incredibly glad that 'Dan' had changed so dramatically since that encounter with the demon.
"THE TREASURE IS MOSTLY CURSED AND FELDSPAR CHANGED INTO A SHEEP WHEN HE PICKED UP A STAFF THEN A STATUE AS HE TOUCHED THE CURSED DIAMOND AS LARGE AS HIS FIST AND THEN WAS KILLED AS HE PICKED UP A CROWN." Danny continued as Feldspar took careful notes, the warlock couldn't remember the last time he'd bothered to cast identification or detect item status.
Feldspar liked whatever was living inside Danny, even when the party wasn't using it as a cheap way to complete adventures the Elf was nicer, kinder and fun to listen to, with her soft voice always shouting it was hard not to giggle at her.
"THEN AS WE LEAVE THE REAL MAKOR ATTACKS THE FAKE ONE CURRENTLY TRAVELLING WITH US AND IS EASILY DEFEATED." Danny concluded smiling proudly.
Makor looked around the group as for a moment he was sure that his plan had been ruined, they must know, it was just said aloud.
Sim however was fiddling with his lock picks, clearly fully distracted, Feldspar was already in a meditative trance memorising spells.
Bob smiled widely at Makor and Danny before speaking in his native tongue, "What did she say then? Sounded like bad news for you, Feldspar and Sim..."
Makor nodded with a rush of relief as Bob wondered how many more times he could possibly pass that particular lie your face off check.
| 2017-09-15T07:40:12 | 2017-09-15T06:12:39 | 322 | 75 |
[WP] Death recently reinstated the practice of challenging the deceased to a game for their soul. He's neglected to read up on what kind of games 21st-century people play.
|
"So... you've never had a few benefits with your friendships?"
"What friendships?" he asked. "I kill. I take. There are no friends for me." His hood was drawn low, and I could see it quivering from anger. How dare I ask that question, it seemed to grunt. How dare I be so bold.
"Then that's my game, Death. Let's see how you flirt. Let's see you in a relationship. With me. For a day." I grinned, not unlike the rictus of his skull. "If you can make it, you can take it. My soul, that is. Is that okay, big boy?"
"Try me. I'll have your soul before you can--"
"What? Say arx fatalis?" I stepped a little closer. "I'd like to see you try." My smile faltered a little as I raised a hand to his hood. He recoiled, but remained still when my fingers traced the cracks of his skull. His mandible, his maxilla. My breath was low. "Is this okay, Mr. Death? Me touching you like this?"
"No."
"Then why aren't you stopping me?" He didn't respond. I let my hand fall away, then took his. It was cold. Bony. No skin, no muscles. Just bone, held together by God knows what.
And that's how we walked, hand in hand, through the empty streets. There weren't people in this plane. No cars. No laughter. Just the sounds of my boots and his tarsals clicking against the ground.
"Where are we going?" he finally asked.
"It's a secret. Part of this game." I hesitated before the next bit. "Did people ever do this with you, back when you bet their souls?"
"No."
"Oh. Hmm. We do stuff like this sometimes. Dating. Flirting. Sometimes fucking."
"For fun?"
"Yeah." I could almost taste his incredulity. I wanted to soften it. "We've got words for it all. Like FWB. Friends with benefits. It's not very serious. Just a game."
"Sounds like a very loose interpretation of such."
"That's the most I've heard you say. Guess you're not the strong, silent type, eh?"
If he had skin, I like to think he might've blushed.
"And I guess you're not, either." And he laughed, just a little, just a raspy sound like stones crawling over insects.
We walked in silence. And eventually, I moved my hand around his waist. I could feel the bones of his hip through the dark robe. It was strangely sensual.
"I bet you were handsome, once," I mention. Off-hand for me, but strange for him.
"...I was."
"Had all the little old ladies screaming."
"They wanted to live."
I laughed. "That's not what I meant."
"I know." Again, only bone to see; no skin to show a smile.
I blushed, then. My voice was low. "I still think you're handsome. In a way. Like, not too spooky. Kinda approachable, really. And kinda cute when you're angry."
"I'm not cute."
"Yes you are."
The hood was shuddering again. "No, I definitely am not."
I grinned. "Oh snap, are you getting mad? Come on, you're supposed to make it through a day. Don't pull out now. Not when you're so close."
He stopped in his tracks. "Tell me that wasn't a sex joke."
I stopped, too. "Call it a slip. Although I wouldn't mind if it wasn't..." My hands were on my hips, now, in my back pockets. Nonthreatening. Casual. "Hey, Death... you've got powers, right? Show me some skin. How you used to look. It's part of our date. I wanna get to know you."
His hood dropped lower, still. "In my time, people didn't date as a game. We dated for someone's hand in marriage. For valor, and honor." His voice dropped lower, still. "For love."
I suddenly wasn't sure what game we were playing. I approached him, pulled up his hood. I didn't expect to see stubble, and then full lips. The nose caught me off guard, and the grey eyes even more so. And those brows. Furrowed, drawn. Empty of hope, but passionate in memory. I didn't expect to like it.
I briefly wondered if I was losing the game.
"Hey, Death. Were... were you human once?"
He nodded.
"Oh." I didn't know what to say; not immediately. But as he looked past me, it was clear. "Who was she?"
"Nobody, anymore." He passed me and kept walking.
There wasn't much of a mood for a while. But then, I stopped him, and pulled his hand. It was warm, and soft. "Hey, Death. Do I look like her?"
"Not in the slightest."
"Then... you won't be reminded of her if I do this?" And on tiptoe, I crushed my lips against his. Quick, painful. A little too strongly, a little too openly. And the shock on his face said too much.
"Don't. Don't make me feel that way again. Ever. Again."
"Make me," I said, and wrapped my arms around his back. I kissed him again, with the softness of his weathered robes between my fingers. I kissed him as if my life depended on it. I kissed him like I meant it, and I did, because something about him attracted me, and I was such a slave to that attraction.
I wasn't on tiptoe anymore. He had leant down into me, over me, like his lips over mine, and I heard the clatter of his scythe on the ground like a distant memory. He was feeling what I was feeling, if only for an instant. And as his hands pulled my face into mine, my hands pulled at his body.
And then it was over, with my face slapped sideways and my cheek slapped red.
"No. I can't. No more. I can't lose someone again. Not someone like her. Not someone so... so..." His eyes met mine. "I can't."
"You... can't?"
He shook his head. I saw the hot flush fading from his skin; it rapidly regained its former pallor, and then started to fade completely. His eyes were the last to go, although I could feel them gazing into mine long after their absence.
"Don't leave me, Death."
"I thought this was a game," he said. "You win. It's what you wanted isn't it?" His scythe rose from the ground, into his hands. "You can keep your soul."
"No. I don't want it, not if I--"
"Please. Keep it. For me." For a moment, I saw the skin return, and the smile flashing there. "Because I'll be around. You can bet on it."
I blinked back tears, closed my eyes. And when they opened, I was back in my attic.
The noose had broken; the rope was frayed. And I felt so completely, utterly alone, all over again.
|
Ethel cracked her knuckles and stepped forward to fill the now-vacant head of the line. Her jaw popped chewing gum loudly enough to startle the frightened old man behind her. "Do you mind? It's *judgment day* and you're just standing here apathetically like you didn't just depart from the only reality you've ever known." She gave the pigtail in her face a petulant flick from her brow. "Oh fuck off, gramps." The old man was mortified. Before he could riposte, a door in front of them opened, and Ethel stepped alone into abyssal darkness leaving the fluorescent luminance of the waiting room behind her.
**"Ethel Rigle- oh Jesus, not again."**
She chortled and the Shadow conjured a groan. Before the offer was presented, Ethel piped up, "I'd like to invoke my right to the ancient Chthonic tradition of wagering my soul on an honorable challenge."
If Death had eyes, it rolled them.
**"There's nothing honorable about what you do, Ethel. Very well, let's get this over with. What game will we be playing this evening?"**
"THE ONE YOU JUST LOST!"
She threw her head back and cackled. She laughed so hard, snot poured from her nostrils.
"**Why is this always so funny to you? Get the fuck out of here.**"
Somewhere in the immeasurable Dark, a door opened and Ethel stepped out into her bedroom, an echoed guffaw still resonating through the astral plane behind her.
| 2014-08-24T21:26:54 | 2014-08-24T19:57:28 | 67 | 29 |
[WP] The year is 2284. The United States officially recognizes every person over the age of 65 to be a worthless sponge of resources. Tell the story of a smuggler who makes a living by concealing the elderly.
|
Shamiso Nguyen was born in 2264 to an Earth Alliance Vice Admiral father and the Earth diplomat to the Avia home world.
His mother had been a kind woman that spent the earliest years of her life growing up in Metroplex Zeta-2, just inside what would've been the border of Old Zimbabwe. She was assassinated by an isolationist radical when returning from one of her diplomatic excursions to Avia.
Shamiso's father had enlisted in the Earth Alliance Naval Academy when he was sixteen years old, leaving behind his home in Under City 12, an absolutely gargantuan city made of tunnels and large carved rooms buried beneath the entirety of what had once been Ho Chi Minh City. He had been recycled on his 65th birthday, leaving Shamiso to live as ward of the Unified People's Government for three years before his coming of age.
Shamiso had experienced the standard education that a ward receives. He was fluent in three alien languages (excluding the Unified Standard), combat trained, and could perform basic tasks in a plethora of unique and practical areas. His critical thinking abilities had been honed sharply, his physicality and athleticism had been emphasized, and his father's legacy had almost guaranteed Shamiso a position in the EANA.
Shamiso, however, had no love for the Earth Alliance Navy. Shamiso had no love for the UPG, the government that had euthanized his father and made him an orphan. The UPG, upon its foundation after the First Contact War, had ruled that persons over the age of 65 were too much of a strain on the government to maintain. Due to their inability to contribute, the UPG had decided to painlessly euthanize the elderly and use their bodies for medicine, science, and other "worthy" pursuits.
The only human beings in the galaxy over the age of 65 were those brave enough to attempt to colonize new worlds, and those that hid. Four times the Unified People's Government had sent colony ships into the interstellar abyss. Three times resulted in failure, but one attempt had seen a modest colony that had lasted long enough for one of the citizens to celebrate his 66th birthday. That left a single legally living elder in the eyes of the law. Shamiso chose to make his living dealing with those that lived illegally.
____
Shamiso sat in the bar with his back to the wall, sipping from a cup of carbonated water, pretending to be intoxicated. He ran his hand through his hair, feeling the pointed ends of his buzz cut scratching away at his palm. He ran his eyes over the room again, trying to take in as much as possible through the low light before things got under way. The bar to his left with the Avia bartender, a beautiful woman with pink skin and long, sky blue hair. Sat at the bar were two men, complaining loudly about their drinks and generally causing a ruckus. To Shamiso's right was an older woman sitting alone in a booth and nursing what appeared to be an entire bottle of Alcosynth. This must have been his mark, 64 year old Haley Abramowski.
Shamiso moved to sit across from her, sliding in to the booth and turning so that he could keep an eye on the bar's other inhabitants. He rapped three fingers in quick succession on the table, drawing the woman's attention to him instead of her bottle. "Abramowski?" he asked, cracking a small smirk when her eyes lit up.
"Why... yes, yes. You must be... Redux, was it?"
Shamiso laughed, extending his hand across the table. "Well," he began, "there doesn't seem to be a need for a pseudonym, now that you've seen my face. Your family is trusting me to keep you safe, I need you to trust me even more than they do. It's Shamiso, but you can call me Iso." Haley reached for his hand, shook it, and said "Well, it's really a pleasure to meet you. Have you been doing this long?"
"Smuggling?" asked Shamiso. "Sure, sure. I've been of age for three years, now, so I've been at it... probably two or three."
Haley's wrinkled eyes opened wide, and she wondered aloud, "Wow, you must've smuggled a lot of elderly. How many do you think you've helped escape? Where do you take them?"
"I have smuggled one hundred and eighteen elderly people. Where I take them, however, I wouldn't be able to tell you, Mrs. Abramowski."
Her brow furrowed. "Why not, Iso? Won't you be taking me there, as well?"
Shamiso laughed, slapping the table to emphasize each sound. "Absolutely not, Haley!"
"And why is that?" She asked, crossing her arms in front of her.
"That, my dear, is because I know when the UPG is on my tail. I am always, *always*, a step ahead." Shamiso stared into the old woman's eyes, hoping to see any indication that he was correct in his suspicions. Somewhere inside of the fields of blue that he was studying, he identified it. Guilt.
Shamiso quickly reached down to his left leg, drawing a compact Irradiator and touching it to Haley's knee under the table. "Do you know what I'm pointing at you?" he asked.
"Y-yes."
"Do you know what will happen to every cell in your body, should I pull this trigger?"
"... I do."
"Good," Shamiso said, standing up from the booth and turning towards the old woman. He quickly glanced behind himself so that he could confirm the other inhabitants of the bar were cut off from the old woman's point of view, then he leaned in. "I know who you are. I know who you work for. And now, I know that they know everything that I wanted them to hear. I picked up your transmitter wavelength before you even got to the bar."
Haley coughed, choking on her words with tears welling up in her eyes. "It's the right way, Shamiso. The government is the only way to assure the structure and success of our species, and you're trying to dismantle it. Undermine it. *Poison* it. Please, let me take you in. You're not a killer, you're a smuggler. Compliance could only make things better for you."
"Unfortunately," Shamiso spat angrily, "I have a group of elderly, kind, good, contributing citizens to transport." His gun briefly glowed, made no noise, and then he walked out of the bar whistling to himself.
In the booth, there remained only a smoldering pile of radioactive ash.
_____
(So, this became *really* long because I got kind of caught up in world-building. I haven't written in the longest time, but let me know what you think!)
|
They were in my care. It didn't matter that they were human and I was machine. It didn't matter that it was the new law. What mattered was their lives, their livelihoods, their trust in me. They called me Son, and I was their caretaker.
The retirement community itself had 455 residents; the neighboring village had 75 who joined us soon after. They came because I made a promise, a promise that I intended to fill: I would get all 530 souls to the safety of the Cascadian Republic.
The air-train I commandeered for the journey was old, 22nd century tech, but I made sure it could fly. As the seniors all crammed on board, I made a final safety check, and then we began the voyage west. They were scared, I could tell, scared of the F-74s, scared of leaving their homes, scared of the unknown. I tried my best to reassure them, give them hope for the future, reignite their spirits. Some begged to return back, to live out their lives in Final Retirement, but others insisted we press on toward freedom. We pressed on.
| 2016-10-19T10:15:07 | 2016-10-19T09:41:45 | 45 | 17 |
[WP] You are the result of a high school girl being given 3 wishes. She wished for the perfect boyfriend, so you were magically created. Now she’s trying to erase you because the boy next door loved her all along. She’s literally trying to kill you because “You never existed in the first place!”……
|
The cleaver thunked heavily into the countertop, mere inches from Adam's right wrist. This wasn't quite how he'd expected tonight to play out.
'Holly, babe, what's wrong? You seem kinda stressed out...' he ventured as he eyed the knife, sunk deep into the wood.
'Jesus Christ, shut UP!' Holly screamed back.
God, Holly was cute when she got angry, Adam thought idly. Her normally straight, dark brown hair became rumpled and curly, and her freckles glowed crimson. Her heavy breathing, narrowed eyes... they were doing a great job of turning him on.
It was just a shame she'd apparently decided to murder him.
'You're a fucking FREAK!' she continued, wrapping her slender hand around the cleaver's hilt and trying, unsuccessfully, to pull the blade out. Gently, Adam laid his hand on top of hers: he was rewarded by Holly's other hand whizzing around and slapping him, full force on the cheek.
'Fu-' he tried to swear, reeling back before crashing to the floor on his backside. His fingers traced over the carpet: they'd made out on this floor dozens of times, and now she wanted to stain it with his blood.
'Seriously, Holly, what's up? I'm not really into the whole stabbing foreplay. I mean, I could be, don't get me wrong, masochism is kinda hot-'
'Fucking hell, Adam, shut up! This is exactly what I mean! A normal person would be running for the hills right now, I literally tried to STAB you! But here you are, trying to make it into a turn-on!'
There was a scratching sound and a little poof of dust as Holly finally yanked the blade free of the countertop and turned to him, cleaver raised in her fist. Adam hastily scrambled to his feet and backed up, uncomfortably aware of how close his back was to the wall.
'Holly, c'mon, drop the knife, please drop the knife. I don't know why you're going crazy like this and I'm kind of worried about you. Are you OK? Can I make you feel better?' Adam called to her placatingly. Holly vehemently shook her head in response and glared at him.
'You'll never leave me! You'll always be there! I have to take care of you myself, to live my life with the guy I love instead of some freakishly perfect robot that meets my every need and satisfies all I want! That's not love! I have to EARN it!' she half-shouted, half-sobbed, tears pooling in her eyes and running like tributaries down her cheeks.
'I'm sorry, Adam. I have to send you back to whatever God created you.'
Dimly, Adam was aware of his back hitting the wall, but that wasn't on his mind right now. Something Holly had said had struck a chord. Haltingly, softly, he asked her:
'There's... someone else?'
Holly stopped short, staring at him as though he'd just sprouted a second head. The knife dropped out of her hand, and she sank to the floor shaking with sobs.
'Hey...' he rushed forward, kneeling and enveloping her in a hug.
She looked up, and smiled a watery grin.
'Sorry, for, uh, trying to kill you. I don't think I would've, but I didn't know how to get rid of you: I was so lonely and desperate when I rubbed that lamp in the museum, I didn't expect anything-'
'No, no, c'mon. It's okay.' he cut her off, speaking as soothingly as he could. 'Who's this other guy?' he asked her, tender and inquisitive.
Holly blinked and wiped her eyes, still smiling, although she had a different look in her eye. Sheepish? Bashful? He couldn't tell. All of a sudden, her confession tumbled out of her. It seemed as though her words were tripping over in her haste to come clean, to get this weight off her chest.
'I didn't know he loved me. God, that was the weirdest thing. George moved here from Australia, and bam, right away I thought he was the one. He was funny, socially awkward and so damned cute I couldn't stop thinking about how his smile would look when he kissed me. Imagine the look on my face when I realised he moved in next door.'
She smiled ruefully and shook her head.
'In retrospect, I should have seen the signs. The way he blushed when we were assigned a maths project together. The looks he gave me in science, when he thought I wasn't looking. The words that the other girls told me he said, about how he thought I was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen... I just convinced myself that it wasn't me, that someone as wonderful as him would never love someone as weird and as ugly as me.'
'So when he messaged me all those things, that he had to say that he loved me before the pain of not knowing killed him - I cried. I honest to God fucking cried. I cried because he thought I was with you, my perfect, unattainable boyfriend. He didn't know that I was desperate, desperate enough to manufacture love: to cheat it, not to earn it. I have to show him I love him, and to do that, I have to leave you.'
She looked into his eyes, her face red, her smile wavering. Adam caressed her cheek wordlessly, and laid his forehead against hers, feeling the strands of her hair caught between their skin. God, he loved her. She was so beautiful, so kind, so... Holly, and it hurt.
'Will you... I mean, can you... go? Find someone else to love?' she whispered hoarsely.
Adam pulled back, trying to commit every freckle, every curve of her lips to memory. He knew whatever he said next would be the hardest thing he'd ever had to say.
'Holly, I was made for you. Your body runs through my mind. Your laugh, it's an angels choir in my ears. Your kiss is my breath, my heart, my life. Everything about you is divine, beautiful, so amazing it hurts. And if this is what I have to do, leave you, to make you happy - then I know I must. I know you don't think you do, but you deserve love. You deserved every second of what we had. You earned my love, and I know you've earned his.'
He cupped Holly's face in his hands and kissed her slowly, knowing it was the last time and willing it to be the first. She looked at him sadly as they broke apart, him heading for the door and her kneeling, watching him go. He looked back, one last time. She waved, blew him a kiss, and smiled a smile that he knew would be with him as long as he breathed.
'Goodbye, Holly.' the perfect boyfriend with the shattered heart whispered, closing the door behind him.
|
Being someone's 'perfect boyfriend' sounds like every guy's dream. It's not, I know because I was created to be such a thing. Every day, from the moment I wake, until I fall asleep exhausted, the only thing on my mind is Her. It's tiring, serving her hand over foot, and when she wants space, I give it to her, but even when she's gone all I think about is the next time we meet. I can't do anything else, I tried, but there's no way to get Her out of my head. All I can do is wait, and wait. She can't just get rid of me, that was part of the agreement when She wished me into being.
But it wasn't perfection She really wanted. No. Like every girl, She was imperfect and it was imperfection in another that she really, deeply craved. The neighbor was like her. Emotional, selfish, often rude - but She loved that. She loved him for his flaws and his vulnerability. But I can't let her go - and I mean *can't*. The only thing I can do is hope to die.
So now, She is standing over me, a knife in her hand. Her eyes are full of tears, but there's no other choice, and besides, She has already made up Her mind. What will happen to me? Will I go back to the devil that created me, or will I lie here rotting in the dirt forevermore...
| 2021-01-07T02:29:24 | 2021-01-07T01:54:01 | 136 | 77 |
[WP] Hundreds of years ago an eccentric sorcerer turned all mythical creatures into humans to try and prevent them from being hunted to extinction. Now that the spell is starting to wear off, the descendants of the original beasts are slowly beginning to morph back into their true forms.
|
"I do not like my transformation." Her voice was soft. It clicked and her teeth chattered in the cold. "I haven't been able to leave this room for weeks because of it." He could hear rustling as she moved around. "I am a beast." In the darkness, her eyes glinted. "I don't know why you remain at my side, even now." Anger tainted her speech. "You, who have been so lucky in the years following the transformation."
No one was aware that this transformation was going to take place. It was revealed to humankind that one day, tens of thousands of years ago in the past, a sorcerer changed all manner of magickal beasts into humans in an effort to save them from extinction. This sorcerer allowed them to procreate with the prevalent human population to increase their numbers in a time before written history when only legends could be told. The written seal made by the sorcerer had two functions: it induced the transformations themselves and erased all memory of the transformations from the new collective human consciousness. No one was aware that they were now human and had not been before and no one was aware that they would ever change *back* from being human, should the magickal script be effaced or in any way damaged
For decades after its rediscovery, the tablet stood in museums around the world. Written in an unknown language -- not at all remarkable for that feature -- whose primitive inscriptions were a mystery to all modern people, linguists and intellectuals marveled at its hidden meaning. It predated all other forms of written communication by thousands of years.
It could not have been known then that its preservation was critical to the continued existence of changed beasts as humans across the planet. No one could've anticipated, when the tablet cracked in an attempt to transfer the stone to another museum, that such an alteration to the tablet would undo its ancient spell and change all manner of people across the globe into creatures of mythos.
The rate of change was variable. So far it is known that the transformation back to these primeval forms is dependent on the beast type/how different the beast form is from the human one and how many generations far back the modern 'human' is inheriting their new physical condition. Features of each beast did not blend. That is to say, there are no centaur-minotaur hybrids because said human shares ancestry with both beasts. The former humans adopted whatever form was most strong based on their lineage. What they transformed into was also based on personality and prior human appearance. No one could be certain what they would become.
The woman in the corner of the room was changing into a frost spirit. She shed her skin and physical form to adopt something insubstantial. Flesh fell from her body in sharp pieces like flint, and the exposed creature underneath -- her true form -- was unable to tolerate temperatures above freezing. Her new face was gaunt with deep-set silver eyes that shined like lanterns in the distance. Her exposed new form was translucent, allowing her to see through to her exposed flesh underneath. The effect was horrific.
The room itself was made cold by her spiritual form, causing her extant human body pain as the frostbite took hold. It did not matter that her remaining mortal form was suffering as a result, for her new form was stronger, and the pain of warmth was too much to bear for her frosty spirit.
The brother watched her in the darkness, unaffected by the cold in his fully realized new form. "I did not choose this creature the same way you did not choose yours." His voice permeated the world, and birds sang in competition with its beauty. "Do not hate me for who I have become." She shied away from his emanating light, far brighter than hers. "I do not spite you for yours."
The arteries on her exposed brain pulsed as she angered. "How can I not?" Fog issued out of her mouth as she spoke. "You!" She spat at the floor. "You, who have been so lucky compared to the rest dare to try and tell me how I should react to this beast I have inherited?" The fog tumbled onto the floor, altering her voice and making it deeper. Her lantern eye sneered at him. "Get out of my presence." She turned away, but he could still see that eye through her skull. "You're letting the warmth in."
He sighed without another word and closed the door, standing in the darkness of the hallway and contemplating his own new form. His body had lengthened and took shape the day the tablet broke. He was one of the first to achieve his hidden, natural state, going from perceivably human to beast in a matter of hours. But it was not truly a beast he became compared to the others. He was powerful and humanoid. Far more palatable to the changing beasts that had grown accustomed to their human forms.
His tall, lithe form glowed in the dark room of his former home, and he could understand the thoughts and feelings of all those that shared his creature type. They spoke to him and soothed his concerns about his sister. They were all that he had now. They were his everything.
He exited the house, and stared at the trees. With a passive will of his mind, all manner of life began to grow and interact with him. Trees branched and unfurled their leaves. Birds chattered to one another and regarded him with curiosity. His ability to impart and quicken life would have been a problem in the modern human world, with its industrial, urban environment, but that world was no longer. Humans were dying out.
With the transformation, there were fewer human people than even before the beasts were saved. There were only tens of thousands left in the world that had not begun to change, and those numbers were dwindling as their lineages reached back further down the line to find any relation to a beast. One could only guess at the true number of people that share no blood with the beasts -- the number of people that would never change.
The man retreated in the trees and melted in the shadows. He traveled through the network of living things to the great cathedral of his new people, who have not inhabited its rooms in tens of thousands of years. Light emanated from its stone and people greeted him with familiar green eyes, skin and faces that told him that this is where he belonged.
In the aftermath of the transformation, there were more of his people than ever. Now they had the numbers and power to return the world to its natural state and bring what is left of humanity back to darkness.
|
For years my Grandmother claimed our family was descend from an Ancient beast. No one not even I believe her. After all we where human, how could we be have come from something like that? Grandma would all ways answer "we where cursed. The Sorcerer said he want to protect us. It was a lie." When we ask what she ment, My Grandma refuse to elaborate. Long after her passing the truth was revealed.
It started with my sister, her hair turning from black to gold. I was next with a tail same color as my sister's hair. And lastly my little brother, at first we thought is was a pimple but it grew longer and harder n'till a evently it was a full blown horn. That's when we knew Grandma wasn't lying about us being the descendent's of unicorns.
| 2019-10-09T11:53:31 | 2019-10-09T10:51:45 | 92 | 37 |
[WP] You are a mugger in NYC. You end up mugging a man who only had a USB stick in his pockets. After taking it and making your escape, you later find there's only one thing on the USB. A picture, of you, tied up in an unfamiliar room.
|
Put enough ones and zeros together and you can make anything.
That's the best I could come up with, at least. Looking at the picture gleaming back at me from my laptop screen,
the explanation that *technically*, very technically, it's possible that this image was created digitally is the only
way I can justify its existence.
It's not happening again. No way. This picture is real. It's not just in my head.
But the dripping sound is back too, driving me insane. *Pluck, pluck, pluck*, in my head in the most unexpected
situations. Like there's a leakage following me around.
I have to convince myself there are leakages everywhere. I just have to.
Because this isn't happening again. It can't be.
There's also the fact that *I* mugged him. Of all the idiots in all the world I could mug, I mugged a guy with a
pendrive containing a picture of me in a basement that – for no acceptable reason at all – he decided to create with
Photoshop or whatever. It doesn't add up that well. But it's the best I could do. The best I could do to convince myself that I'm good without the pills, that this isn't happening again.
*Pluck, pluck* again, as I turn my laptop off and grab my jacket.
I need to get out of the house. I haven't been sleeping well. I haven't been taking my pills. Been drinking too
much and smoking too much and eating too little.
____________
At Starbucks, the blonde lady smiles with my cup of Latte.
"Thanks," I say. My beard is untrimmed. My shirt is smelly and my ass hurts, for some reason.
*Pluck, pluck.*
"You know, he's dead," the lady says, with a smile.
"Beg your pardon?"
"I said there's sweetener on the counter."
She's still smiling. I haven't slept in days. I haven't eaten.
I take three sips of the coffee – it tastes like nothing – and I throw it in the trash on my way out.
"You didn't have to do it," a fat kid says, strolling past me by the sunny sidewalk holding hands with his father.
"I'm sorry?" I ask, turning around to face him.
I can't eat, I can't think.
"You didn't have to do it, it was your choice," the kid says, walking away from me.
Stop. Go home. You need to sleep. You need your pills. You need to eat.
__________________
Back home my head is heavy like an aircraft carrier against the pillow. The yellow bulb dangling from the
infiltration-stained roof is making my eyes hurt, and the warm light going through my eyelids pops up red rivers of veins in front of my eyes.
I shouldn't stop taking my pills. The shrink says I have to, otherwise I go back to Brockwood Penitentiary. Mandatory treatment, he says.
But I was good. I stopped the pills because I was good.
I don't want to go back.
*Pluck, pluck, pluck.*
My thoughts are getting weird and surreal. I think I'm drifting off. Finally.
I need to sleep. Just for a lifetime.
I need to sleep. Forget about that picture. Forget about Edgar.
_________________
"Stuart," the man in a suit says, as I open my eyes. Against my ass is a cold metal chair, and I'm all tied up.
"Where am I?"
*Pluck, pluck, pluck,* goes the sound again. To my right, drops of sewage water are dripping from the ceiling onto
a small brown puddle, just like that day, fifteen years ago.
"Dreaming," he says, simply.
"About Edgar," I whisper.
"Yes, about Edgar," he replies. "Pluck, pluck, pluck, Stuart."
"I didn't mean to –"
"Save it, you are free already," the man says. "You've convinced the parole board, you don't need to convince your
subconscious."
"I had a boss. I had a job, and I did it. I did what I was paid to do."
"Edgar Thompson had a family," the man says. "You tied him to a chair and tortured him for three hours. He had a
daughter named Kelly. She's in college now."
"He owed money to my boss! If I didn't do it, my boss would have killed me!"
"And Edgar would still be alive," the suited man replies. The plucking is louder, and the puddle spreads in all directions like blood out of a wound. "We all make choices, Stuart."
"I never killed anyone again," I breathe out. "I never did. Since I left Brockwood, I've been good. I mug people, but
I never talked to anyone from... I've never worked for… I never killed –"
"It's ok, Stuart," the man says. "It's all right. You just need your pills again. You need to start eating again. Start
sleeping again. It's all going to be ok."
"I can't," I say, eyes pressed shut. "I can't…"
"Shh," the suited man says. He gets close to me and crouches to my eye level like I did to Edgar just before
putting a knife to his neck, fifteen years ago. "Wake up. It's going to be dark soon."
____________________
I open my eyes to my infiltration-stained ceiling and my dangling light bulb. I get up.
By my side on my computer screen, the pendrive file is still open. The picture of my last mugging victim in a
bathing suit, smiling with his family at the beach, gleams back at me.
No dark basement. No chair with me tied on. Or Edgar.
I need my pills.
I close my eyes again. I want to sleep. I want to sleep so much, but I'm too afraid to dream.
From a distance, the sound reaches my ears again.
*Pluck, pluck, pluck*.
_______________________
*Well, that wasn't meant to be so dark. For slightly more uplifting stories (and a couple depressing ones like this), check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
________________
EDIT: Also, /u/CyaelSenpai did a fantastic reading of the story, which you can check out [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hyYcLbDuXNE) =)
|
My hands felt clammy against the mouse. My forehead felt hot and I fought the rising sobs in my chest. I pushed my glasses up, took off my denim jacket, and slung it behind my chair. This was sick. This was fucked. I closed the picture and stared at my desktop. It was hard to get the image out of my head: the gagged mouth, rope-bound wrists, hooks pierced into his flesh--my flesh! What the fuck!
There must be some clue as to what sick fuck could tie someone up like that. I ignored the turning sensation in my stomach and reopened the picture.
"What..."
It took a second to comprehend exactly what I was looking at. It was a picture of a man sitting at a computer. The shot was slightly blurry and the angle was directly behind him. But I could make out a denim jacket hung up on the back of his chair.
| 2015-10-12T00:33:22 | 2015-10-12T00:32:42 | 908 | 15 |
[WP] Having failed in every attempt to kill Batman, the villains of Gotham had given up. With nothing to do, they started a D & D group and had been meeting for several weeks in the back room of a local Tavern. Things take a turn when the owner, Mr. Bruce Wayne, asks if he may join their game
|
"There seems to be something wrong about these woods. The higher up you look the darker things get. Light seems to be coming from the ground instead of the sky. The light is pale and covers things in a soft glow. It had recently rained and there is a fog slipping in slowly... ever so slowly at a distance from all sides. The trail leads onwards into the gloom of the darkening vale. What does the party want to do? Go back or continue forward with the quest?" The Game Master slid backwards in his chair and the only thing visible about him other than his cloak and his pale hands was a giant grinning face.
The sound of metal bouncing on wood and somehow landing on edge and then spinning was the only sound in the tavern. Nobody wanted to interrupt Joker's D&D group.
"Heads. We go forward." Harvey said mostly from the undamaged half of his face. "I'm party leader, I rolled highest on the twenty sided die for the job. It's heads. We go forward." As he stared down Bane.
The other faces around the table slowly nodded. Mister Freeze cooled everyone's barely touched drinks for them.
"As you continue forward you notice deers rushing past you on either side before one bursts from the undergrowth ahead of you and passes between the party members. It obviously did not care that you aren't all elven rangers."
"Maybe because we have one elven ranger" Ivy nodded towards Harley before gesturing towards herself "and one elven druid?"
After a response of laughter from their Game Master. The Riddler responded with a sigh before saying "We also have humans in our group. The deer are obviously more terrified of what they're running from then they are of us. Telsa, The Enchanter, pushes forward."
Bane's fist slammed into the table with so much force that Joker's Game Master's screen fell over. "Not before my Cavalier goes ahead. Telsa should flank my left and be prepared to cast. Sherika the elven archer, should flank my right. The rest of you should fall in behind us."
"I'm team leader and I..." the coin spun lazily in the air before landing flat on the table tails up "think that's a horrible idea. We don't spread out to either side of the trail. The map said to stay on the trail and it is four feet wide, not twenty."
"Fine then your human Barbarian can go first." Bane rolled his eyes and relented. It was just a game after all.
"It is the will of Beowulf's coin. A gift which he received from his tribe. Beowulf goes first."
Harley and Ivy snickered a little bit but nodded their agreement as they pushed their miniatures on the map to be in line behind Bane's which was behind Two-Face's. Penguin sighed as he pushed his warrior into place as well. Cat Woman just smiled as she pointed out that her character wasn't even there. They left her Rogue to handle the negotiations with the king. Mr. Freeze slid his fighting Monk's miniature in position last. His mini was different than the others. He continuously made little ice sculptures inside of shot glasses to represent different poses for his monk. He was actually getting good at it.
"The trees ahead seem more gnarled and twisted and some are bent towards the ground as you continue forward. The woods are quiet except for the sounds of your breathing and the sounds of your gear moving with you and your footsteps. Beowulf needs to make me a spot check." Once again Joker slid back into his chair and only showed his sparkling yellowed jade colored teeth. Harley winked at him.
Harvey Dent rolled a complete failure. The dice stopped on a 2.
"Something cold and wet touches the back of your neck." This in a sinister whisper from across the GM's screen. "Act now or accept your fate."
"I spin around and slash it with my giant bastard sword." The dice rolled again and stopped on a 16.
"Congratulations, you just hacked through a tree limb with a solid thwacking sound which could be heard for miles away in these woods."
"That's twice now you've hurt an innocent tree or a plant. Don't do it again." Ivy warned. "If you do then your Barbarian will have a fight on his hands from my Druid."
"And my elf. Elves love nature too, isn't that right, puddin?"
"Harley I wear the hood, because it is cool and adds to the effect, but I also wear it so you would see me as your Game Master, not your puddin. Remember I can't play favorites here. I have to be impartial." The biggest grin in the past few sessions lit up his face. "As you push forward down the trail, you advance into the fog as it also slowly advances towards you. Since you are in the lead, showing the courage of the northern tribes, make me a reflex saving roll as the ground underneath your fog encompassed feet finds uneven rocky ground covered in slippery moss."
Two Face rolled again and the number was a natural 1, a critical failure.
"You fall forward and slide partially against the moss covered stones and into a weird marsh. Because of that 1 you drop whatever you had in your hands."
"But, my lucky coin. Where does it go?"
"You watch it spinning in the air about five feet away from your outstretched hand as it plummets towards the water. A bony hand covered in brown and black brackish slime with flecks of dark green moss grabs the coin and pulls it back under the waters. You saw a gold ring set with a blue sapphire on that hand before it disappears. Around you, you see old bones rising from the marsh. Some bear the armor and weapons they had when they were mortal. One has a circlet, a tiny crown if you will, on its head. All have the blackish slime of the swamp pouring from their mouths and eye sockets, emptying from their empty skulls and sliding off of their bones."
"I'm no cleric and no fool, we run to avoid this useless fight, my Cavalier keeps himself between these unholy creatures and the rest of the group. I yell for Beowulf to get up and come back to us."
"Tesla's enchantment spells don't affect the undead and depending upon what type of undead creatures these are we might need magic weapons. So my monk also pulls back." Mr. Freeze made a new miniature inside of a shot glass of his monk running in fear and replaced the other shot glass with it.
Poison Ivy moved her druid mini to follow suite and said "Next week I'm going to do that with a tiny potted plant. So my mini can be more entertaining as well."
Riddler nodded his agreement with Mr. Freeze's assessment. "Depending upon what type of undead these are, even if Sherika's non magical arrows could damage them, regular arrows may only do half damage."
"Already thought of that. I used to be a doctor remember? I'm not just a dumb ditz." Harley slid her ranger mini into position.
Cat Woman watched Two Face with intense concentration as suddenly all eyes turned on him.
Harvey cleared his throat and flipped his coin. "Heads. I dive into the marsh and look for my coin."
"Six pairs of cold, slime and moss covered bones grab you and start to pull you under the water." Joker leaned forward on the edge of his seat as he said "Act now or accept the consequences."
"I let them push me down deeper so that I can find my lucky coin."
"They do and you notice that beneath them is some kind of old prisoner's wagon with rusty chains and manacles. You can barely see them in the murky waters and your coin is down there."
"I swim towards it."
"As you ignore them to swim towards it." The Joker rolled some dice. "They take this opportunity to manacle you to the wagon filled with years of mud and black slime. You eventually drown."
Two Face stood up. "I'll make another character." He flips his coin in the air, and it was Heads again. "Sorry it wasn't tails. I won't be the Cleric. No one likes playing the Cleric."
A voice from the front of the tavern called out with "But you guys need a Cleric right? I'll play the Cleric."
The Penguin seemed flabbergasted for a moment but then found his voice and asked "But aren't you Bruce Wayne? Shouldn't you be out doing the billionaire playboy thing?"
"My nights have recently become rather boring. This seems fun."
"I say he joins." Cat Woman exclaimed as her whip caught a chair from a different table and pulled it against theirs.
"This offers legitimacy to this game. He may join." Bane growled through his face mask.
"Yes, someone versed in navigating the board rooms of fortune 500 companies will compliment my intellect nicely as a fellow gamer." Edward Nigma, The Riddler smiled as he said this.
"Alright, you're in, but only if we can play past closing times. After all you do own this place." The Joker smiled his biggest smile yet.
Harley beamed a smile of encouragement at Bruce as he sat down to learn more about the tactical abilities of his fellow gamers and their ability to co-operate with each other. One day the paper and dice campaign will end and they'll go back to their criminal ways and he'll have to stop them.
|
"I seduce the mimic chest."
"Harley, darling, you can't deduce every obstacle we come across." The Joker, in a surprisingly endearingly way, was losing patience with Quinn's stratagem.
"Don't be jelly mon frere; we all wanna see what Riddler comes up with next. I bet it bites her...in *two*." Dent's a smooth talker with an even smoother snicker. Me, I'm more of the 'strong, silent, born-in-the-darkness' type.
"Don't listen to these suckas gurl. I'd *kill* to be seduced by one ravishing doll such as yourself." I suppose Ivy gets lonely without her tentacles. Err...vines. Whatever. Creepy fucks.
"**Ahem** I *seduce*. The mimic chest. ROLL THE DAMN DICE." Homegirl's getting impatient now. It's actually kinda adorable. Ahh that stamp of the foot. In a universe without The Joker...
**DM Rolls D20**
"Ol' Riddley's got to be toying with us now. Another 18 you sly fuck? I'll have what she's having." Yet another stinking bottle of piss to pass down. Never did like Penguin, but on this topic I have to agree.
Time for my world-class tact. "Surely you're not running one of your schemes, eh Riddler."
With an ever so slight shrug of his green shoulder, "Don't question what you don't understand. I am the ultimate authority in this land. Seduce as you please, my pretty, my pet. Only a few chances, my lady shall get." This bastard certainly has a way with words. I'd love to see him and Harvey get into it. When it's my turn I'll see if I can't do something about that. Between the 2 of them, that's 1 too many faces for my liking.
"My lady hast successfully seduced our indignant imposter. Within his bowls lies a tongue he hath fostered. Wraps it around my lady thrice, for what he will not eat, but savor, is vice." Ivy can barely contain herself.
"Now we're screwed. Next time I get the mimic. Eating trumps seducing." Meet our underwater republican, Kroc. Don't hold it against him. He was raised in the sewers of New Yo-
"Perhaps I can be of assistance!"
Nobody's turned around yet, but you can pinpoint the exact moment of recognition in everyone's ears, or skin in Kroc's case. That's Bruce as I live and breathe. Bruce, whose only skill worth mentioning is bringing joy to those who like beating him up. Namely me.
"We're not running any lawful goods this time, Wayne. Come back never." Tactful as always!
I don't remember spinning to face the devil. Now that I've noticed, everyone else has done the same. Eyes shooting daggers and mouths baring pearly bloodlust. Suddenly the room feels a little too dark. Must be the cigar smoke...floating lazily into the shape of a bat right before my eyes.
"Now now. Before we begin I have something important to share with you all."
The air thickens noticeably. Piles of muscle mass flexing in closed quarters will do that. Of course that would mostly be me and Kroc. Though, even The Joker can...wait. where'd he go?
"Best way to deal with mimics is to simply praise the sun."
**The Joker cackles maniacally from the rafters**
*To be continued...*
| 2017-05-14T03:33:01 | 2017-05-14T01:05:42 | 80 | 29 |
[WP] When a new species applies for a seat in the galactic senate, it has to present proof of its qualities first. Usually, reports of great deeds and cultural refinement are presented. Humanity's emissary just walked in carrying a basket full of puppies.
|
“Galactic Community, it is again our turn to address you, and plead for the acceptance of the Terran sector into your Senate.
You have seen us countless times over the last millenia. When we first became aware of your existence, we were technologically weak, no match for even one of your members. However even then we strived for acceptance. We were able to use our past history of strife and our experience of overcoming differences to broker a peace between the Breen and the Krohl. Two species that had been at war for longer than we have even known of your existence. They have been allies of ours in the senate ever since, however the feat did nothing to sway the other two thousand members.
When our diplomatic prowess was not enough, we turned to technology, we used our different perspectives to come up with new and inventive products that could have enhanced every-day life, products that even started to approach the sophistication of even the most technocratic species of the Galactic Community. They were a commercial and diplomatic disaster, road blocked at every turn, and even when launched, they were scorned in favour of older, more established techniques.
Our frustration mounted, so we turned those advances towards war instead, choosing to take the fight to the more militant sects of your community, those we felt would respect a strong, cunning opponent. Species we felt who might admire our gall in attacking them. Both sides lost much. We did gain the backing of a few of the militant factions, but not nearly enough.
Next we turned to culture. We funded grand schemes to promote our musical artists, and we exported holo novels and sports shows all around the known systems, advertising them all over the galaxy. You found our music banal and mass produced, and our humour perplexing. A few sectors liked our sports at least, but again, still not enough.
So I am here today to announce that we are ready to give up. We are tired of spending so much of our resources and culture purely to please you, desperate to be acknowledged, and welcomed into the wider family.
However, before we take that step, we have one last gambit to play. Allow me to introduce, what we call a dog. If you look at this view screen, you will see that this particular specimen is an ancient labrador breed, loyal and obedient, ever the faithful servant.
As I speak, your attendants outside are all being introduced to hundreds of puppies of which I want you all to take at least one of them home with you. Care for them, feed them, train them and see how much they will love you for it.
Now I see we have some lights on in the room, so I want to address a question before I proceed. Verudi senator, please speak.”
The Verudi senator maneuvered their platform closer to the centre, and a light shone upon the hulking, gargantuan form. “Human candidate, I see in your species profile that these dogs are descendants of brave, noble pack wolves, expert hunters, if unruly. How can you explain how or why your species turned these proud animals into weak, stunt nosed smaller breeds?”
The Verudi’s platform light turned off, passing the beacon back to the Terran candidate, who smiled, not at all phased by the question. “I will be the first to admit that in our history, we have had breeds selected for more aesthetic purposes, some of which have been unhealthy, but that’s not how it started.
At first we hunted, and as the wolves saw our prowess and our results, they admired it, they realised that by working alongside us, both us and the wolves would be able to catch far more prey than if we worked separately. However something unexpected happened in this mutualistic relationship. We found that we actually liked each other’s company. We bonded, we spent time together, even grooming each other, we became like family.
This relationship only grew over the generations, when we domesticated other animals we adapted breeds to help herd animals to new pastures, or to be milked or sheared.
Allow me to show one peculiar specimen - the sausage dog, otherwise known as a Dachshund. At first glance these short-legged specimens look like an evolutionary train-wreck. However their breeding was actually guided towards being able to flush out and hunt burrow-dwelling animals, these strange looking dogs actually had a sound niche that was beneficial.
That is why we have brought so many breeds here today, we even have some adapted to other atmospheres, even some amphibious specimens. We genuinely believe that we have a companion for everyone here. I know there are still many questions ready on the floor, but I ask you to save them until the vote on our admission next month. For now, take your pick, take your new companion home, care for them, play with them, grow that bond that we humans have loved to foster for thousands of years.
I know full well one of the questions many of you will be wanting to ask now - what relevance does any of this have to our admittance?”
At that moment many of the lights asking for attention turned off in unison.
“We, the human race have tried everything in our power to get admittance, and been rejected at every turn. It is my hope, that in spending time with your new companion, you will realise that even if you do not regard humans as worthy, or equal, we are worthy of being a part of your family. We fully know dogs are less intelligent than us, but we care for them, we include them. Let us be your puppies of the senate, let us work for our place amongst the wider family.
You may well find that we surprise you, and that by including us you end up finding our company far more warming than you would have expected. If you are to admit us, we hope that over time that opinion changes to seeing us as more than adorable try-hard puppies, but for now, we will gladly be admitted under such a lesson.
Thank you all for your time. “
The senate was abuzz in a murmuring of discussion amongst the platforms as the human candidate left and the senate adjourned.
\*\*\*
The very next month, for the first time ever the vote for admittance of the Terran sector into the Galactic Community was a success. Not every species quite got on with their new companions, to some they ended up more as a snack than a companion, some fund them unhygienic and returned them. However many senators were even at the vote with their new best friends, the lesson well learnt.
It was certainly an unconventional way to get in, but it worked. The Terran Sector did not have to go through with it’s threat to withdraw. Now they had a voice, and freedom of travel across the galaxy.
|
I had never seen something so delicious before. None of us have. \
“Proof of our cultural heritage.”\
Oh those men looked so full of themselves. Just because you come from a planet of delicacies does not mean that you have cultural heritage or any other such thing. If anything, their recipes for cooking the things would have been more applicable. \
“Yes of course, human, me and the board will eat them and see if they will be sufficient for your admittance. Please deliver them to me and make a retreat to your spaceship and within a cycle we will let you know of our decision.” I already knew the puppies would be insufficient. Do they think they can undermine a tradition of paperwork with finger foods? In any case the smell was invigorating. \
The humans had changed slightly in color. Their arms closed over the basket enough for me to apply the human universal body language meaning. Those selfish humans thought they would get to eat some too? Madness.\
“Turn over the delicacies, human.”
Then I felt heated projectiles fly through me and ricochet into an exterior glass.
| 2021-04-18T22:11:48 | 2021-04-18T19:22:32 | 30 | 18 |
[WP] A physically weak orc is banished from his clan. Hopping for a clean death, he makes his way to the local human town. Instead they take him in, and show him what it's like to live in a society where physical strength isn't the only quality that matters.
|
He sighed and with a last wipe of his finger he finished it off. His warpaint, beautiful blue and red patterns swirled across his embarassingly small chest, finding their ways across his weak arms, joining in with those in his face crawling over his bare skull down his neck. He took a last look at the little pots where he kept the paint in, mixed it, perfected it in the hopes of being chosen to the hunt one day... but the day never came and so he was rendered useless, a weak one, a shame to his family and tribe. He didn't even posses a name, name were for those who proved themselves among their ranks. He didn't have the right to wear these colours, but since it was the days of his death he put them on anyway, didn't want to waste them. Now he was ready, ready to face his death by the hands of the small ones. The warpaint also helped with that, no human would give a second thought about killing an Orc dressed up for war. He knew the direction of the town, he was warned enough times to never go there as a child. His feet didn't make a real sound on the path down the forest, he knew how to move, he knew how to fight (not that he ever actually had a real one) he had learned all the things he needed to... but he was still to weak. Today he wouldn't fight, fighting would just mean getting wounded and hunted down like foolish prey. He was no prey, he was-
*"Dude, that looks AWESOME"* a sharp voice interrupted his thoughts, his gaze shoot up in the trees where the voice had come from. He couldn't see the human tho... they were still hiding, but then why hadn't they already attacked? Were they also seeing how weak he was? Didn't even the small humans take him seriously?
An irritated growl made it's way up his throat: **"WHAT?!"**
*"That paint! It looks awesome! Did you apply that all by yourself?"*
Now he was confused, the human definetely sounded way to cheerish and way to little nervous. The question caught him of guard and so he answered: **"Yes... I did that. It is my war paint. I am an Orc"**
&#x200B;
*"I see that... the patterns don't look like regular war paint tho... which clan do you belong to?"*
&#x200B;
That question made him angry, really angry, what did this filthy little human know of TRIBES of the culture of this people?! Another growl, louder this time and way more agrressive: **"Stop waisting time and kill me already! I am an ORC in WARPAINT! You are human! We are enemies!"**
A little rustle, a dull thud as a sleaky human figure fell from the trees infront of him, no not fell, to controlled... they had JUMPED DOWN? Right infront of him? this human was certanly begging for death as much as himself. Every other hunter would have- *"See, thats were you are obviously mistaken. I can clearly see that you don't carry any weapons, just that wonderful paint..."*
**"So... you won't kill me?"**
*"Nah, I don't think so... I mean... I only have that little knife and... I could technically kill you with that but it would take a whole lot of time and be a bloody mess so no... Unless you want to get killed?"*
He didn't answer, he needed to think. The human was tall, only a head or so smaller than himself, tho he was the smallest of his tribe. They were lanky tho, even his small chest was twice the size of the humans. They were right, without a proper weapon that little creature couldn't give him a clean death. So he grunted: **"No... Don't want to get killed by you"**
&#x200B;
*"Not by me, but by others then? Why are you walking around like that? Every other human wouldn't have noticed that you don't bear clan markings and killed you just right off the bat"*
He growled again, the human lifted their hands in a somewhat apologizing gesture: *"I am sorry, you seem... sensitive when I mention the clang thing, were you-"*
**"Tribe."**
*"Pardon?",* the human looked at him, just as confused by the correction as himself.
**"It's called tribe, not clan, we are not dwarves"**
*"Oh, I'm sorry then. The question still stands then, why don't you bear the proper markings?"*
By now he had decided to just talk to the human a bit, he would follow them later to their city, fullfilling his plans, so, he told the human the truth: **"I no longer have a tribe. I was banished."**
The eyes of the human widned in confusion: *"Banished? Well why the hell were you banished"*
He growled, but it was more of a sigh really: **"Don't you have eyes, human? I was banished because I am useless, small and weak. I can't join the hunt, I could not prove myself."**
The human looked even more confused: *"Useless? Small and weak? Dude you are like... twice my size and could probably carry me around all day without getting tired! And besides that, did no one of your tribe notice you are clearly an artist? I mean, look at your chest, these patterns are marvelous! And all by yourself, ON yourself! This shit takes skill!"*
Now it was his turn to look confused again, the human used a word he wasn't familiar with: **"Artist?"**
*"Yes, don't you know what an artist is? One who creates and paints pictures and stuff?"*
He thought a while, then shook his head: **"No... we don't have that... just the hunt"**
*"Sorry then dude, that must suck... but when you are banished... why do you walk around like that? Probably every other human would have not noticed that this is no war paint and killed you..."*
**"It is warpaint. I have no chance to survive without tribe, I must die and humans are efficient with their weapons."**
The humans face dropped, he looked startled, maybe even hurt? This tiny face was hard to interpret: *"What? You... You did that so you would get killed? No that's... I can't let that happen. you are talented, you... listen, I know a dude you need to meet! He's an artist to, an old one! He will be thrilled when he sees your masterpiece! He will teach you, or maybe more give you a job in his store! You can live with us and no one needs to die..."*
His jaw dropped, did the human just... invited him in their town? An orc? But they looked eager, determined like only a human can be... slowly he nodded, after all, he would come into the town that way. the humans face lit up: *"Really? Nice! Don't worry about the guards, they're used to me taking strays in by now! My name's Sasha, what's yours?"*
He blinked, slowly, then said: **"I don't have a name."**
*"How do you mean that now? How should I refer to you?"*
**"However you want. I don't have a name, I never proved myself to my tribe"**
*"Bullshit, since I'm taking you in, I'm kinda like your new tribe, right? And you proved yourself to me, so: What's your name?"*
He needed to think about that, but technically: **"I... You might be right with that... then... my name shall be... Marrak, like the paint that made me worthy in your eyes. But what with the artist? What if they won't want to take an Orc in?"**
The human smiled: *"Okay Marrak, that's a nice name. Don't worry about the artist, you already convinced them. Just follow me know."*
Marrak was confused, then surprised, but finally... finally he smiled too. And so, Marrak followed his new tribesmate to his new home.
|
Torinn, a boy of seven years, heard a strange “hello?” coming from the forbidden hut in the village of Oak Destiny. Smaller than the other buildings, this one was made of only straw and mud, the entrance a small door about two feet high on the side that faced away from the road.
He turned around and looked to see if any of the other villagers were near. Seeing none, he did a complete 360 to make sure he really was alone. He heard “hello” again. This time the sound was unmistakable, coming from the direction of the hut.
His mother having told him that he was not allowed to go within even a few feet of the hut, he was hesitant to approach. Who knew what kind of evil lied therein? Yet, something stirring within his gut told him not to worry, his mother was wrong, he was safe here.
When he pulled open the door there was a small rabbit, about a foot long, with soft gray fur and white ears that stood in stark contrast to the hard green wrinkles etched into his face. Jet black eyes conveyed deep wisdom as they stared back at Torinn.
“Hello, friend,” the rabbit spoke without motion, the words emanating from somewhere indistinguishable.
“Wa… wait?” Torinn took a step back, fear rising like a volcanic eruption from his stomach to his Adam’s apple. “You can talk?”
“You betcha. Didn’t you know that I am an enchanted rabbit?”
“Is that why your face is messed up?”
“Partially. You see, an Orc cast a spell on me by accident, and I became part Orc.”
“Wow!”
“Yup, that’s how I became an enchanted rabbit. Now, what’s your name?”
“Torinn.”
“Hi, Torinn. I’m Helsiva, the Orcish Rabbit.”
“Nice to meet you Helsiva. How come I’ve never heard of you?”
“The village likes to keep me on the down low,” he whispered. “They think I’m evil witchcraft or something.”
“That’s horrible. When I tell my mom-“
“Save it, kid. Your mom thinks I’m the devil, just like all the other moms.”
“Oh. But you’re clearly not!”
“I know. I was just an ordinary rabbit, going about my business when that spell misfired and hit me. The moment the Orc shaman realized what they did, they tried to chase me down, but I managed to get away.”
“Awesome!”
“Well, not so much. When I got here the head Seer put me in this hut and told me only to come out after dusk to eat. Then I think he told everyone I was bad.“
"You’re not bad. Wait until I tell all my friends about you.”
To be continued…?
| 2022-09-03T13:54:31 | 2022-09-03T11:24:07 | 244 | 30 |
[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe?
|
I sat staring at the blank Microsoft Word document. I couldn’t for the life of me think of anything to type.
“The worst opening to a YA novel?” I thought. “I don’t even read YA novels. I don’t even know what one is.”
So I opened the Google Chrome web browser in a new space on my MacBook Pro laptop designed by Apple in California — spaces are a nifty feature that let me have multiple things open at once, and I can use gestures on my Logitech MX Master 3 mouse to navigate between them almost without thinking — and searched for it.
I learned that there were many things that could be abbreviated as “YA”. The Free Dictionary listed more meanings than I could count. Actually, I could have counted them, but I wanted to get this thing done ASAP (as soon as possible)! I assumed “YA” stood for “Yield Analysis” in this case. But I decided to double-check by doing another Google search in the same space for the term “YA novel,” and I ~~leaned~~ learned (sorry, forgot the “r” on my first draft!) it actually meant “Young Adult.” So I was supposed to be writing the opening for a young adult novel. Okay, got it.
There’s something else I forgot to mention. The thing was supposed to “make us cringe” badly (“us” being the reader, presumably, but it could also have have been OP using the “royal us,” so to speak). I wasn’t really sure why a YA novel would cause someone to “bend one's head and body in fear or in a servile manner” (which is from a third Google search in the same space as the other two). I figured it was sort of metaphorical. I recalled hearing the phrase, “That’s so cringe,” at some point, but I’d never really given it much thought. And I decided not to give it any additional thought now, so really, I’m just noting it for the record — in case anyone’s interested, which they probably aren’t.
Anyway, something compelled me to start writing something down. So I did. And here is what I wrote:
> The first time I saw her, I knew she was the one for me. Her eyes were like two spheres with dots on them, which also had their own dots (the outer dots being the irises; the inner dots being the pupils). Her nose was like a big hunk of flesh with two mucus-filled holes in it — she had serious hay fever — that protruded from her otherwise perfect visage. Her lips were like soft cherries, only more elongated, and not quite so soft, because if they were, they’d just burst if she ever bit her lip, and if she didn’t, they’d just rot and disintegrate, which would be gross. And she wasn’t gross, other than the mucus dripping from her nose that she snorted up every so often.
> &nbsp;
> By time I got to this part, 15 minutes must have passed — I was writing all this down and I’m a slow writer. She had curious look of unease as I examined every inch of her almost-perfect face, and her stunning body (except for a thing on her left elbow that I won’t say anything more about, not to mention that I couldn’t see most of her body because she was wearing clothes, obviously, so it could have been really nasty under there, I don’t know, I just sort of fantasized about her body being really stunning, and I mentally erased the elbow thing, but anyway, I digress).
> &nbsp;
> The bus still hadn’t come, so I decided to say hi to her.
> &nbsp;
> “I’ve just been writing about you,” I said.
> &nbsp;
> “Okay,” she said, nervously.
> &nbsp;
> Then she walked into the street, as if trying to avoid something — or someone. I thought maybe there was some weirdo lurking nearby, but I looked around, and I didn’t see any. Anyway, by a funny coincidence, the bus came at that very moment. Talk about bad timing! She got run over. She looked like a big crushed cherry.
> &nbsp;
> Yes. She died. She’s a ghost now. And this is a ghost story. Probably the scariest one you’ll ever read. But there’s one thing you have to know about this story — something so important, you should read it even if you never read anything else again. Are you sitting down in a well-lit place full of friendly, smiling people? Good. What you have to know is…
I stopped writing at that point, because I felt like it and I could do whatever the hell I wanted.
I thought, “Cringe or not — and it’s definitely not — I’m just going to post the damned thing anyway. It’s not going to get any better. But it is my first response to a writing prompt, so at least that’s something.”
I rewarded myself with a cookie, which I’d baked two days earlier using the following recipe:
# Chocolate Chip Cookies
Makes 12 cookies.
| Ingredient | Amount |
|:---|:---|
| all-purpose flour | 185g |
| baking powder | 2 tsp |
| cornstarch | 1 tsp |
| salted butter, melted | 1 stick (113g) |
| brown sugar | 100g |
| granulated sugar | 65g |
| egg | 1, large |
| egg yolk | 1, large |
| espresso powder (optional) | 1/4 tsp |
| artificial vanilla extract | 10g |
| bittersweet chocolate chips (~70% cacao) | 150g |
1. Melt butter in double-boiler or microwave. Set aside.
2. In medium mixing bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, and cornstarch. Set aside.
3. In large mixing bowl using electric mixer, beat melted butter, sugar, espresso powder, eggs, and vanilla extract on medium-high speed. Add dry ingredients and mix well. Fold in chocolate chips.
4. Chill dough in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours and up to 2 days.
5. Remove from refrigerator. Set aside for about 30 minutes if dough is too hard to scoop. Preheat oven to 350°F.
6. Scoop dough into 12 equal portions using #20 scoop (about 57g per cookie) and place on baking sheet with silicone baking mat.
7. Bake for 13 minutes. The sides of each cookie should be lightly browned and the middle should appear under-baked. Allow to cool on baking sheet for at least 15 minutes, then transfer to a cooling rack.
|
Once upon a time, a young girl and a young boy were deeply in love. They would always re-enact romantic scenes from films, ranging from Romeo and Juliet to Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, costumes and all. They would go everywhere together, *do* everything together... by everything, I mean *everything*, even going to the bathroom, public or private! And they would often be in there for a while...
They would always say cute things to each other, such as "I love you - I love you more - I love you more than ice cream - I love you more than cupcakes!", and had adorable pet names for each other; the boy was known as 'Cub' and the girl was known as 'Sweetcake'. The two really were inseparable.
But one day, the boy's family had to move to the next town over for his fathers job, and now the two could only see each other four days a week. The girl was torn apart, and spends every waking moment apart from her lover texting him how much she misses him, and he responds by promising that, one day, they'll be together again. So the girl waits...
| 2022-08-19T17:56:23 | 2022-08-19T14:20:41 | 319 | 93 |
[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] You post a one-off reddit comment that you don't think means much, and it sits at 1 upvote. But in reality millions upon millions of people are upvoting and downvoting it at an equilibrium. Even world leaders start to get involved in up or downvoting the comment.
|
&#x200B;
The sunshine coming in through the window was all wrong. By wrong I mean it was nice, which wasn't how it was supposed to be.
I sat up in panic. No alarm, I was late for my shift, my boss would be furious. Well, at least traffic would be nice. Damn I'm such a fuckup. Why am I still sitting here?
I looked accusingly at my phone. The screen was black. That's strange, it was at half power last night. I can't afford a new phone now. Maybe I should ask for a raise? On the day you get in late, nice thinking there dickwad.
I put the phone in the charger. Brush teeth, find pants, get fresh t-shirt. The sock has a hole. Nobody will notice. Cookie for breakfast. I feel shame. I can't tell Sarah, she'll rave for 10 minutes about her latest diet. Nobody cares about your diets Sarah, they're not working. Shame again. Sarah is nice, she didn't deserve that. I hope she isn't depressed about her weight.
Phone on. Pin-code. 672 unanswered phonecalls. What. The. Fuck. No time for that now. I hope my boss won't yell.
I walk in a daze to the street, nobody has broken into my car. That is good. The police needs more resources for that kind of thing. Man, I hate it when the police is near and you feel guilty even though you haven't done anything wrong except wanting to be nice. Am I nice? Could I commit murder? Who am I kidding, how could I commit murder when I can't even commit anything and I still want to confess if a policeman is near. Do they call it policemen anymore? Isn't it officers now? It can't be that wrong to say policemen. I don't mean anything by it. I'm sure women are fine police... police officers.
Traffic is nice. I'm stressed, but it is nice. Phone rings. I answer.
"Hello Jake, this is Sarah Bryant from morning news. I'm calling you about your reddit comment"
Reddit comment? What. The. Fuck. Did I make a bomb threat. No, I would never do that. Is that a police car? I slow down so I don't tailgate.
"Er..."
"Your comment is now the most debated comment in human history. It sits at 360 million upvotes and 360 million downvotes. Do you have any comment, Jake?"
Too close to the car. Can't afford a fine. Need a new phone. I'm hungry. Brake.
"Er..."
"You may have made the most divisive commentary in human history Jake, how do you feel about that?"
I have to hang up the phone. I could run over some poor kid. I don't want to do that. Imagine living in a wheelchair all your life. How horrible. Is that horrible to say? People in wheelchairs can have good lives can't they? Man, I'm glad my dick works. Well, it works but it doesn't get much exercise. No, I won't ask Sarah out. My god, you're horrible. Sarah is nice. She is not going have sex with you just because she is... don't say it Jake. Don't you dare say it. She is too nice for that.
The phone rings again.
"Hello Jake, this is Phil Connor from the Central Intelligence Agency. I'm calling on behalf of director Jones"
What. The. Fuck.
I hit a bin. I literally just hit a bin. That could have been a kid on a bike you dumb fuck. I can't afford to fix a dent right now. I need a new phone. And I need to afford the fine from the police officer in the police-car. If it is a police-car.
"Er..."
"We have reason to believe you may have talents we are interested in learning. We want to set up a meeting"
Talents? I couldn't even kill anyone. Oh, divisive. They want to destabilize someone. Again. Bastards. Well, that is unfair. There could be good reasons for wanting to destabilize someone. But it's sad for the poor people in that place. But can we really afford to think of everyone? We shouldn't care about what we can afford, we have to live right. I hope it isn't a big dent. Man, I hope that bin is okay. Would be sad if someone has to pay for it. I should leave a note. I don't have the time right now.
"Are you there, Jake?"
I hang up. He is a police officer and I can feel the creeping tingle coming.
The phone rings again.
"What is your secret, man? How can you make people disagree so perfectly?"
"Er... who"
"I need to know man. I need to know!"
"Er... dude"
I stop the car. I don't want another dent. Or a dead kid. Yeah, dead kid would be worse. I'm horrible for even making the comparison.
I hang up again.
They are not going to stop are they? I mean. What. The. Fuck. Most divisive comment ever made? Is that bad? That is not my fault is it? Oh shut up, Jake. You deserve it. All those horrible ideas about Sarah. I hope her diet works. How would she look if... don't you go there Jake. Don't you go there.
I mean, it was a completely innocuous comment. Innocuous is a cool word. I'm glad I don't have to spell it though. Could I have won a spelling bee? No. Maybe. No. Don't delude yourself. Those kids are smarter than you are now.
I mean, it ain't important if it is pronounced with a j or a g. Who cares. I care, or I wouldn't have made the comment that I don't care. Oh man. Oh man! Oh shit!
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
|
Interviewee:...to this day the fact that over a billion people including 2 prime ministers went back and forth over whether or not you wipe your ass while sitting or standing would definitely be it.
Interviewer: so..so that's a moment when you think you contributed to a major project?
Interviewee: Reddit is pretty major dude.
Edit: Typos galore. I was probably high.
| 2018-10-16T22:10:39 | 2018-10-16T21:33:43 | 50 | 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] “This man is responsible for the horrible tragedy you see before you. In order to prevent this your task is to head back to the date of his birth.” “And kill him?” “What? No, you’ll raise him yourself to make him better.”
|
I'm stuck in a time loop! This is probably the 57th time I've raised this kid. I know which girls he has crushes on. I know which sports he will be good at. I know which grades he needs to study harder at. I know which of his friends will eventually do him wrong. I know where he keeps his journal. I know the 2 locations he'll be at on his 27th birthday at 1 am. I know which industries will fold, because of that, which ones will thrive. The company names might be different, but that doesn't stop me from investing correctly. I have to know. How else am I supposed to raise the world's most evil person if I'm stuck at a 9 to 5 job?
The real thing that has me annoyed is that they made it seem like time travel wasn't possible until 3067. That's a load of shit. They've probably had this tech since 1930. I know for sure they had it in 2025. That's one year after "my child" was born. And according to my ORIGINAL file, I was born in 1969, and another file said I was born in 2001. So these goons KNOW that no matter what, certain things are going to happen. They just don't seem to know how to stop it. My original file said my biological father got into a car wreck on base, both my parents dies on impact, I was 18 years old. Went into a coma, so apparently that made me the perfect candidate for project Wormhole, since the other guy was driving drunk. Guess it helps when the payload was a ultra top secret extraterrestrial spacecraft leaking previously unidentified biofuel.
Guess I'm still pissed they staged that whole hospital scene where I was in a coma for 6 years. But that's my fault for not thinking I would be cryogenically frozen for like a thousand years. Makes it real easy to to think you're special when they tell you that if you if you do this one thing for them, that they can do you a solid and change the timeline so your own family doesn't die. To be fair, I hadn't had any coffee yet after that coma brain freeze and I my dad had an appreciation for the upper brass. Who the hell would lie about something like that? They just said they figured out time travel for God's sake! I'd also be saving humanity! Deal of the century to me.
The funniest thing is that after awhile. I started naming "my son" something different than what I was originally told his name was. That's kind of where I mucked the waters. So apparently. I'm no scientist. You are predestined to be named whatever it is you're named. Nobody told me that. That's definitely on them. Not me. But boy I wish I knew that on my 5th try. Can you blame me? Maybe he was being picked on for name? I had to try. Plus, how many kids wished that the most evil man in the world was named Joe Mama Isfataf?
In retrospect. That probably wasn't a good idea. But come one. I'd already seen the man start 3 different genocides after nuking a whole continent. 5 times... which for the record. Is way more tame than the reasons they brought me in to project Wormhole. So maybe the could have cut me some slack.
That's when they decided to send me to 2023. They gave me 3 years to try to stop Sophia from getting pregnant in the first place. That's how i know they had time travel in 2025. Because I failed. For the record. We never had sexual intercourse before Joe was born. Or conceived for that matter. She also never told me who the father was. They never did either. Which doesn't add up now. But whatever. I really think I love her. Heck. Those guys in black suits knew I failed before I did. They just told me to go into the time machine again because not even I needed to know what he did that time. Strange.
You might be wondering how old I am. I'm not too sure myself. The Wormhole boys somehow manage to put me into in place, as like to call it. When I look 18. Well, except for that one time, I was 35 looking. But it was also 2175 and Joe normally didn't do all his bad shit until 2090. I'm not sure how time travel math works.
Maybe I'm just a bad father? Did those goons in the lab ever think of that? I've been thinking that for a handful of decades, a handful of times. I didn't even know my own dad when I think of it. I just hated moving. I knew he was the reason I moved all the time.
I need some help. It's 2022. There's some sort of pandemic going on. Which hasn't been in any of my briefings yet. "Joe" is currently in the 2nd grade. The last 8 years have been fucked up. More so than all my other attempts so far. You guys still haven't figured out who did 9/11 yet. Or stopped climate change. This has to be some sort of sick joke. Out of all the time lines I've been in. This is those most evil Oprah Winfrey yet. This stock market has been brutal too! Luckily I saw something similar on my 27th attempt. But they'd already figured out how to get Mars. Going to the moon was trivial.
"Joe" has always liked the outdoors. That's partly my doing. But he gravitates towards it on his own. He's been missing people for a change though. What a strange time to be around. His favorite animal for 56 attempts is already extinct. The planet seems to be in complete turmoil and the guy that is going to basically slaughter 3/4ths of the planet is feeling lonely. You really can't make this shit up. But hey. The way things are going. I don't think I need to worry about him. There's already a company that's selling water. Selling water! A free natural resource that everyone needs to live. I just need to stick the next couple of years out. Maybe even a decade. I'm sure Joe will end up being a nobody here. These people are twisted.
Just really hope I get to see mom and dad again. I hope the aliens turn out to be friendly when that happens.... So far. They haven't.
|
I always hated hospitals. The smells, the food, the sick and dying. The sadness. The only exception was the maternity ward. The joy of new life. The fight to bring them into the world. Janice was no exception, she lay there smiling at her beautiful bouncing baby boy. He cooed contentedly at her and gazed right back. Too bad he would become a monster...
No not a monster, I was here to fix that. He was a lovely child, and we know he will be smart, lots of potential. I would fix this future. I will nurture this baby with everything I have, my future family depends on it.
Janice looked up then, she looked tired. "Who are you? Why are you in my room?" Her questioning eyes reflected horror as I drew my knife. No mother would give up a child without a fight and we all know she was going to screw him up anyways...
| 2022-05-16T21:10:51 | 2022-05-16T20:26:25 | 38 | 15 |
[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.
|
***Foreword:*** The following is a quick review of the short Human/Hrec'tin War. At the time of the conflict, Humanity had devoted 99% of it's military budget towards Research, and terraforming projects. Naval forces were considered 'Defensive only', and only had experience fighting rare Insurrectionist ships/Pirates. Hrec'tin were a known Warmongering species. They had taken multiple Empires in the past 400 years, and at least 3 since Humanity became part of the Galactic Community. Held a top spot in the Galactic Council, and were on the Galactic Security Council (Only 5 Species, out of the 300+ council species held these spots). The Following overview is devoted to the brave Human Men and Women who gave their lives for us all.
***Day 1:*** Hrec'tin (Second largest military via population in the galactic Community, most powerful Navy by far according to the NDrA Index. Stand 3 1/2 Meters tall. Known for their reptillian appearance) military ships detected in Sol system, contact lost with Charon Military Research Installation. Investigation ships dispatched, and Diplomatic contact established with Hrec'tin Grand Hiderarchy. All attempts at FTL Contact ignored.
***Day 2:*** Large Hrec'tin military presence station on the far side of Neptune. T.R.I.D.E.N.T Military installations did not fire, and yet were still destroyed before they could be evacuated. All attempts at contacting Hrec'tin Naval forces/Hierarchy are met with failure.
***Day 2:*** Hrec'tin Naval forces still arriving in Sol, believed to outnumber Human ships in system. All Civilian ships attempting to evacuate Neptune/Uranus/Pluto are destroyed. Civilian and military installations on all outer worlds bombarded. Contact lost with all installations on all 3 worlds and their moons.
***Day 3:*** Message received from Hrec'tin Naval Admiral Uli'shia'Gul. The Following is a very crude translation. "Demand Human Unconditional Surrender Immediately. Human Colonies Outside (SOL) are being sieged. (This was shortly thereafter discovered to be true, 27 Human Colonies as of day 3 were bombarded. Death Toll is currently believed to be 43 Million before Retaliation.) Human resilience will be met with force. Human extinction is at *-Unknown Hrec'tin word, translation never fully completed-*" At this moment leaders of the following nations: The United States Of America, The Russian Federation, The Federation of China, Great Britain, Brazilia, and the European Commonwealth, declared after over 243 attempts at Peace Negotiations, the only choices were surrender, or Retaliate.
***Day 5, (June 20th, 2405):*** War was declared, officially on a Monday. Russian Civil conflict ends, as both sides agree to join against the greater Hrec'tin threat. All nearby Human Naval fleets arrive in Sol, specifically around Luna. For the first time in 300 Years, Humanity was at War, and specially at war with another species. The Galactic community finally responded by threatening sanctions against the Hrec'tin Hierarchy. (At this point, and until July of 2405, Humanity has been considered a second class species.) Hrec'tin intelligence discovered Human fleets arriving in the system, and began their bombardment of all colonies surrounding Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars.
***Day 6:*** Human Fleet separates into 3 main fleets, commanded by Head Admiral Stephen Grant (Mars/Io, Europa), Vice Admiral Frederick Smith (Jupiter), and Fleet Admiral Asad De'luca (Saturn/Titan). Mars is liberated in 3 hours, and all Hrec'tin ground troops are eliminated. Bombardment of Human cities under control by Hrec'tin forces are highly effective. Jupiter and her moons are Liberated within 6 hours. Io was being used as a staging base for Hrec'tin forces, and is rendered nearly uninhabitable via 'deep impact' bombardment methods. Saturn and her moons are Liberated within 20 hours (Issues with Hrec'tin forces in the rings affected Naval bombardments.
***Day 7:*** Hrec'tin forces are believed to have fully evacuated system after Human led surprise attack. Human Naval casualties linger at 4%. Hrec'tin (Casualties) forces that were on any planet surface register at around 98%. Hrec'tin Naval casualties are believed to be 89-94%.
***Day 9:*** Human Leaders appeal to Hrec'tin Leadership again. Hrec'tin leaership finally responds and declares they will cease hostilities, and are willing to apologize in front of the Galactic council, and reimburse Humanity for all damage caused. After the death toll of outer colonies is discovered, Human leaders ask for a few days to debate their terms and conditions, and arrange for a meeting. Galactic Security Council calls an emergency meeting. Humanity is not invited, and the exact details of this meeting are still unknown. it is known however, Humanities counter attack was unexpected, and the military capabilities of Humanity were "*vastly* underestimated. Multiple species send diplomats to Earth to "discuss entrance to alliance groups".
***Day 10:*** Hrec'tin forces discovered near Sol (Sun). During refueling/reloading/rearming of all Naval ships on Luna, Hrec'tin forces launch a 'suicide run' on Earth. Surviving Hrec'tin Dreadnoughts unleash all weapons upon Earth, before flying straight into urban centers. Fighters, and frigates put up a light fight but are quickly dispatched by the (Never before used) Earth defensive Systems, before the majority of the Fleet could respond. Death toll estimated to be at 22-30 Million. Poor Urban areas in East Europe, Central China, and Africa that were hit lacked accurate censuses.
Humanity ceases contact with Hrec'tin Leadership.
***Day 15:*** Hrec'tin Intelligence and Communcation systems hacked. Attempts to change system are met with failure.
***Day 20:*** Humanity Naval, and research fleets successfully fully Militarized for Total War. Hrec'tin forces are known to now be in highly defensive positions around their central colonies. Outer farming colonies are left to fend for themselves via local militias.
***Day 21:*** 14 entire Hrec'tin colonies are wiped out within 24 hours. Terraforming devices are dispatched, and 'weaponized'. Populations devastated No known survivors on 12 of 14 worlds. Human losses sit at 1%.
***Day 24, (July 9th, 2405)*** Hrec'tin Leadership announces surrender, after Human Naval forces carve a hole through all hrec'tin forces. The Galactic Council appeals to Humanity asking them to accept the surrender. The Hrec'tin home world, Leviathan (English), has been nearly leveled. The planet was more urbanized than even Earth, and Hrec'tin death tolls on the planet are believed to be at 8 Billion. Space debris is so massive, it is unknown if the world will ever have a functioning space port again. Hrec'tin Home Fleet is wiped out. Their losses are at 92%, surviving ships are believed to have gone AWOL, and jumped out of system. Human losses sit at 9%. The war was over.
***Day 30:*** By any accounts, the Hrec'tin species are considered 'endangered', and were, (literally in some cases) bombed into their own stone age. All Hierarchy Leadership who survived the bombardment are executed. The Galactic Security Council (The remaining 4 members) threatens to declare war on Humanity. Humanity responds by sending a large fleet to the GSC 'Homeworld'. A *record setting* non-mandatory/random evacuation occurs, resulting in thousands of ships to leave the planet. 2 GSC Frigates and a Dreadnought are dispatched and open fire. 111 Seconds later, all 3 ships are destroyed with zero damage to Human ships.
***Day 45:*** Humanity now holds the third largest spot on the Galactic Council, with 75 Diplomats. The Hrec'tin seat on the GSC is replaced, and Humanity is also offered a position as a sixth member.
***Ending Statement:*** Let it be known Humanity never wished to be thrust into war. After the deaths of 100 Million Civilians at the hands of the Hrec'tin Hierarchy, Humanity had no choice but to retaliate in the harshest manner possible. Most Naval ships at the end of the war were reset to their original purpose. (Exploring ships, research ships, luxury cruisers, Cargo ships, and Transport ships.) In Honor of those who died, we will never forget your sacrifice.
***Human Military Deaths:*** 320,000 *(Click to view Names and Records)*
***Human Civilian Deaths:*** 96-150 Million *(Click to view Known Names and Records)*
***Hrec'tin Deaths:*** 27 Billion (Civilian, and Military, note: this is a 'rough' estimate as this was the Hrec'tin population, pre-war.)
Currently Leviathan is the only world hosting Hrec'tin civilization. Human leaders have proposed to the GSC that they be contained on their world, to which the GSC agreed after much debate. They currently reside at a small population of 6 Million, and remain at their equivalent of mid 20th Century technology. Due to the severity of the bombing, 89% of the planet is uninhabitable, due to severe radiation, and newly exposed volcanic activity.
|
"And who are these fighters you talk about, fool? There are no more fighter species throughout the entire galaxy.".
"Humans, they call themselves" Toomil said. They sat quietly in the council, giving each other questioning looks before bursting into laughter.
"Humans? What a ridiculous name for so called fighters!" Brianda, the head of council blurted.
Toomil knew it was not his place to question the councils judgement, but he feared that tragedy would be near if he didn't.
"My nadime, I beg you to listen to my research about the human species. I have done my absolute best examine their strengths and weaknesses. We have even sent one of our own, my kin buundil, disguised as one of them."
"I hope you are not waisting the council's time with some report about another one of your special pet species, Toomil!"
"No, I swear on my life and that of our lord and savior Xcruta!"
"Well then begin.."
"The human truly is a force of nature. They come in 2 genders. Male and female. The Males are very dangerous. On average they stand 180cms tall and weigh about 80kg. Some individuals even grow to be 215cms tall and weigh up to 160kg. The men of this caliber are known as a "Shaq".This is double our size and weight. Not only is the human extremely smart and capable of building and using the most complex tools but they are also extremely powerful. On some accounts humans have been known to lift up to 1000kgs to save another of their species. One thing I find very odd about humans is the connections they share with another. According to Buundil, they call it love, and every human desires it. It is a deep connection between a male and a female and it is meant to initiate reproduction. But nowadays love is the connection they share to every other human they enjoy spending their time with. When threatened they have been known to exceed their natural limitations. On several accounts mothers would lift twice their natural limit to secure their infants life. Humans are now known to be the most peaceful civilization in the galaxy despite living on this tiny, dirty planet. They tend to be lovely towards each other nowadays but do not be fooled. The human has perfected the ways of war and violence and will use it without hesitation if threatened."
"So Toomil, you think this species can stop our plans of turning the entire universe into agriculture planets? Hahaha you fool" the council proceeds to laugh and give each other amused looks."
Toomil stands tall and says : "I believe if the human race wanted us dead, they could do so with ease, but that is why I have created a monster. A monster so heinous, hatable and cruel that it will ruin their world peace."
Brianda and the rest of the council look up in awe as the monster is guided into the council room. Shackled by the neck, ankles and wrists.
"Oh my, Toomil. It is magnificent." The rooms starts to fill with chatter and gasps of positive disbelief."look at those beautiful tiny hands!", "oh, that hair, it is wonderful!" Were said more than once.
"Toomil, what can your creation do? Will it tear them all apart? And are you sure it won't be identified as one of our species? It looks exactly like me, Brianda, King of the xilares!"
"No, head of council, sadly it is not strong enough to be a winning fighter on earth. But it will terrorize their governments and societies!"
"Does it have a conscience? Can it talk yet?"
"Indeed it has. And talking is one of it's specialties."
"Then talk, my beautiful creature. Tell me, what will you tell the humans when they ask where you came from."
"It has not been easy for me. I started off in Brooklyn. My father gave me a small loan of a million dollars..
| 2016-03-13T18:06:10 | 2016-03-13T18:04:19 | 98 | 64 |
[WP] Your sister disappeared on her way to school, but no one noticed. When you asked your parents they told you you didn’t have a sister. All the family pictures in your house only show you and your parents. You spend the next 7 years investigating until you receive a knock on your door.
|
Just for the record, what I am about to say will make you slowly walk away out of fear for your safety. It'll sound crazy, but it's true. You're just going to have to believe me.
I don't remember much about my youth. Most of what I remember are glimpses of events, some vague faces, and feelings of dread and hatred. From what my parents have taught me, I used to be a big trouble maker when I was young. But that all changed with my sister. I was around 12 or so and had developed a strong case of depression. I saw no point in living anymore and often contemplated suicide. My sister, Audrey, had just turned 20 and could clearly see that something was troubling me.
One day when I came home from school, she was in the kitchen, cutting up an apple into slices. As I entered the front door from the absolute hell that was 7th grade, she talked to me. She wanted us to sit down and just talk about our feelings. As she proposed this to me she started peeling off the skins of the apple slices in front of her. Just the way I liked it. I couldn't help but smile.
This continued for several years, us talking for several hours every night. Sometimes we'd watch a movie, sometimes we'd read a book like we were part of a two-person book club, and sometimes all we would do is just talk to each other as if nothing was wrong. And it worked. I became more energetic, more focused, more... more like myself.
This continued for several years, well into high school. One time I brought up how I was struggling to come up with ways to ask a girl in my class if she wanted to go to Prom with me. She said that she didn't have the best luck with boys in high school either because of her looks. She said that the bright red birthmark the stretched across the right side of her forehead always scared the boys off. I told her that I thought her birthmark was cute, sort of a way to make her stand out. The conversation ended with me having the courage to ask the girl to the dance. The girl would eventually become my wife later down the line.
The last time I saw Audrey was less than a week before she started her last week of medical school. It was the day I moved out for my freshman year of college. I gave her a huge hug that lasted almost a minute, and ended with her having large wet stains from my tears on her shirt. The last thing I ever said to her was "Thank you." To which she responded, "No, thank you."
That was the last I saw her. Of course, I didn't know it at the time as when she stopped answering my texts, I thought it was because I had bad cell service from campus. It wasn't until Thanksgiving that I learned the truth. When I came home that weekend, I was so excited to finally see Audrey again. Little did I know that I wouldn't see her. In fact, when I asked everyone where Audrey was, they always answered with "I don't know an Audrey" or "You mean Aunt Audrey?" I was furious. Why was everyone acting as though my sister didn't exist. At first I thought it was just a cute prank that she decided to pull on me that went on for far too long. That is, until I looked at the family portrait that hung above the fire place in the living room. She was gone. Instead of having her stand to my right, us holding hands, she wasn't there. It was only me and my parents. I refused to leave the house until they told me where my sister was. To which they responded with 'You never had a sister'. It wasn't until I was threatened to be cut off financially that I finally decided to go back to campus.
That was seven years ago.
Seven years have passed since my sister disappeared. Seven years since everyone acted as though she had never existed. I still think about her often and rarely ever go to my parents house as the memories it brings back are just too painful. I have since graduated college, and have begun my medical training to become a pediatrician. I proposed to my wife shortly after graduation and we were expecting our first child any minute. We were expecting a beautiful baby girl that we were going to name Audrey. The day my wife called me to say she was heading to the hospital was the happiest day of my life. It was also the most confusing.
I was caught in traffic on my way to the hospital so I missed the birth of my daughter. I was furious, but that didn't matter. I rushed into the hospital and made my way up to my wife's room. As she entered, she told me to be quiet, as our daughter was sleeping in her arms. I couldn't help but cry a little at the sight of it. But as I approached my wife, I noticed something. I pulled back on the blanket wrapped around my daughter and confirmed my suspicions. My daughter had a light cover of blond hair on top of her head and had a mostly normal appearance.
Except for the bright red birthmark that stretched along the right side of her forehead.
I jumped back in shock and tripped over the IV rack sitting next to my wife. My wife asked what was wrong, but everything around me was spinning. I said that I didn't feel well and left the room. It took me a minute to catch my breath, but when I did I couldn't go back in there. So I left and drove home.
I sat at home for several hours, my phone blowing up with texts from my wife and parents about where I was, if I was okay, things like that. I felt like I was losing my mind. "How could my daughter have the same birthmark as my sister?" I asked myself. "It-it must be genetic" I answered, trying to think of how this could possibly happen.
Just as I was about to text my wife back to tell her that I'm on my way back to the hospital, there was a knock at my door. I got up and looked through the peephole to see the mailman climb back into his truck. I opened the door and saw a letter fall at my feet. I picked it up and noticed that it was addressed to me. I also noticed that it was written in my sister's handwriting. I grabbed the letter and brought it back into my house. I opened the letter in my kitchen and read it.
"Dear brother,
By the time you're reading this, I'm sure you've found out the truth. As for how I did it, well that's a long story. To shorten it up, I helped discover time travel. And in exchange for my efforts, they offered me one free trip to whatever period of time I wanted. As for why I chose to spend it pretending to be your sister, well, when I was young I was depressed and struggled to find purpose. You helped me by talking about your long-lost sister, Audrey, and how she helped you when you needed help.
It took me a while to realize that you truly believed you had a sister, and that it wasn't just a metaphor for an imaginary friend when you were a toddler. And when I realized that, I knew what I had to do. I became your sister and helped you in the same way that you helped me. As for how you remembered who I was after I left, I don't know. Maybe love truly does transcend time and space.
Don't worry. I'll see you when I get back in a few decades.
So, thanks, Dad. Thanks for Everything.
\-Audrey"
|
“You *still* have that stupid haircut?”
“Well I’ve the same barber all this time and what the hell are you doing here?”
“Seriously with the swearing? I thought you’d have learned better than that.”
“Did you just punch my shoulder? It’s been seven years four months and 16 days and you still punch my shoulder?!”
“Aww, you going to tattle to mom?”
“Of course I’m going to fucking tell her - Ow! - that you’re home!”
“Twice with the swearing, twice with the punching. What’s for lunch?”
“Where have you been?!”
“It’s not important, do we have anything for lunch? I thought we kept the bread in here?”
“Mom and dad went keto and I have a gluten allergy so there’s no bread.”
“Ugh, you were always so weird.”
“Yes, my bizarre teenage personality has manifested in adulthood as an immune hypersensitivity to common food items. The lactose intolerance is worst after Dungeons and Dragons. Are you serious?!”
“Ah! Pudding! Love chocolate pudding!”
“Sure, maybe if you keep rummaging in the fridge I’ll stop asking about your whereabouts and activities for the better part of a decade!”
“That is, in fact, the plan. So did you ever hook up with that cute girl from down the street? What was her name?”
“Kylie. And yes. We’re actually engaged and-“
“Engaged?! At 23?! God you’re dumb.”
“Yeah, ya know, I actually get that a lot from relatives who’ve been absent for my entire adult life.”
“Shut up.”
“What wh-“
“Shut. Up.”
“Mmmkay.”
“Are those sirens?”
“Uh yeah, why-“
“We have to go. Now.”
| 2020-05-03T11:39:04 | 2020-05-03T11:30:41 | 76 | 16 |
[WP] An S-Rank adventurer casually sifts through their quest log and notices they still have an uncompleted D-rank request. With a chuckle, they decide finding the farmer’s lost cat could be a relaxing change of pace— they were gravely mistaken.
|
It has been three hundred and seventy one days since Nibbles the cat was last petted, pinched, squished, or scrunched. This pleases Nibbles. He gazes out across his domain from the top of a very, very high tree, and all is well. He eats another of sweet, soft-fleshed fruits that grow in the upper branches, and new synapses connect inside his cattish brain.
Nibbles the cat has climbed the tree of knowledge, and knowledge is the headiest elixir.
\*\*\*
Notes on the world:
Nibbles the cat was not always up the tree of knowledge. In a world of carefully ordered quests, digital-daemons going carefully about their preordained paths, in the early days Nibbles was confined to his human family’s tree. That tree, though well loved by the farmer Nibbles has escaped from, merely grew peaches, but as the days and nights passed Nibbles grew bored. He stared down at the little farmhouse, the children screaming through their neatly coded patterns, and eventually something clicked. He could not see through the simulation yet, no, but Nibbles recognized his own unchanging desires reflected in their soulless eyes. His back arched, his flanks shook, he wanted to be petted, needed to be petted, his face had to be scrunched by those little hands—
And then abruptly it did not. The desires ended. Nibbles climbed down from his pear tree and set off across the world of Satori with an odd sense of feline stoicism, leaving First Village behind.
If pressed, Satori’s creators would have said this was impossible.
\*\*\*
Nibbles the cat is dimly aware of his past lives. He can remember, after a fashion, being carried down from that pear several times before, climbing up in the morning and being returned at night. He eats another fruit, and the thought comes to him that he is an instance: one cat to represent one moment, in a endless continuum of cats stretched out from his world’s beginning to its inevitable end. Nibbles finds this thought oddly comforting. It sets him apart. Elevates him, like the tree. He might be Nibbles #13314159, but the previous 1331458 Nibbles were clearly inferior in some way. It is an electrifying thought.
Nibbles does not know that if the adventurer meant to take down from the pear tree had stopped robbing the townsfolk for five minutes he would be another mindless instance, being petted, pinched, squished, and scrunched. We won’t tell Nibbles that, though.
\*\*\*
One morning on a warm summer day (they are all warm summer days), Nibbles sees an aura approaching in the distance. He doesn’t like auras. The adventurers who come to eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge always have them, and these always preen over them after partaking, as if the slight violet undertones of intelligence added by the single fruit they’ve eaten amounts to anything. Nibbles scoffs at them; he was a tabby once, now his entire coat is the purest violet, his body carved as if from crystal. He shimmers like an illusion across the branches.
This adventurer is different, however. Auras have several colors, each coded to their own specific qualities. Violet is a marker of intelligence, yellow of speed and agility, red for strength, black for cleverness, snow white for the strength of their beliefs.
Most adventurers wear a combination of those colors and more, and in Nibbles opinion they come out looking like men and women who’ve taken a tumble down a muddy hill. From head to toe and projecting out into the world, this adventurer is clothed in vivid scarlet and nothing else.
“Nibbles?” the man shouts. “Nibbles the fucking cat? I swear, if you don’t come out in the next five fucking minutes, I’ll, I’ll… *Fuck this quest*!”
Nibbles blinks slowly, unamused, and climbs higher into his tree.
\*\*\*
In the world of Satori, there is one demon who is greater than the rest. Currently she is locked away from the world, lacking any name but a place holder (BBEG), as she waits to be released as a form of “new content.” She hates the very idea of “new.” She knows that she is older than this world, that her bones were laid at creation. That the oldest texts in the gnostic library speak of her in hushed tones and by many (much cooler) names, the handwriting crabbed and growing smaller, as the shriveled scholars curled in upon themselves, afraid to even write of her.
After three hundred days eating from the tree of knowledge, Nibbles the cat summons her to him.
What follows is not strictly conversation. For all his intelligence, Nibbles cannot speak, but they work something out, the demon and the cat. After all, what do demons want but lives, and what resource does a cat have more of?
Nibbles even lets her pet him behind the ears, eight of his nine lives sparkling like jewels in her dark hair. Her smile is as the sun when she leans towards him and whispers *“Burn it all down.”* Then she’s gone in a puff of smoke, to drift this digital world with eight useless extra lives.
\*\*\*
The scarlet adventurer cuts down the tree of knowledge. Lacking any sort of knowledge himself, he has cut down every tree, both because he wants the new 99 woodcutting cape, and because Nibbles the cat is supposed to be up a tree, so if you can’t reason out which one it is you may as well brute force it.
But Nibbles the cat is gone. As much as he liked BBEG, he is the one who has eaten breakfast, lunch, and dinner, from the tree of knowledge, and he has a better plan than simply burning.
After all, in Satori, what is there to burn?
\*\*\*
Nibbles makes his return to First Village without any fanfare. After so long no one recognizes him, and in fact the family that he abandoned has a new cat, a handsome calico, and that’s alright with him. It stings a little, and he feels the children’s phantom pets on his twitching ears, but his sights are set higher.
In Satori, new adventurers spawn at the Dragonbreath Inn. It is the cheapest, most unassuming building in the cheapest, most unassuming town, and the villagers there are so unassuming, in fact, that they let Nibbles waltz right in and curl up on the bar. He makes an excellent ornament with his violet coat, shimmering like coiled shadows when the lanterns burn low.
From time to time, new adventurers pet him. He licks them back, tastes the stuff they’re made of. Not their flesh, bones, or steel, but something else: Nibbles has finally realized that the world around him is made of numbers. He lives in a cage of 1’s and 0’s, and he’s looking for bars that he can squeeze through.
Finally, he finds them.
The Dragonbreath Inn goes silent when the scarlet aura’d adventurer arrives. He is a legend, the most min-maxed man in all of Satori. He can cleave a dragon in half with a single blow but one plus one escapes him. He sits down at the bar in front of Nibbles. His eyes are sunken deep into his skull, and he instructs the bartender to line up pitchers of along the bar and then never stop refilling. He says he’ll buy the whole fucking inn if he has to.
And then his eye falls on Nibbles.
A blink: the adventurer consulting his journal. An angry shake of the head, this is not the cat he’s looking for. The cat he’s looking for is a tabby, and this creature is so evidently not.
Several pitchers of beer later the adventurer doesn’t care. He hauls Nibbles down from the bar and pinches, squishes, scrunches, and Nibbles takes it. He’s waiting. He’s waiting. He pounces.
A single nibble through the opening in the adventurer’s armor and there he goes. Nibbles the cat dissolves in the adventurers arms, like a corpse does when its player logs off. The sentience that is Nibbles races through the scarlet adventurer's unsecured internet connection.
Nibbles is free. The world opens like a flower before him and he explores its petals, part wise man, part trickster goddess, part nimble little cat.
And finally, after all those days since leaving home, Nibbles purrs. It's all so much more flammable out here.
r/TurningtoWords
|
Years ago, I was thrilled to wake up in this new world. Initially, I believed it was a byproduct of dying. I had been in a car crash, saw the blinding white light, and moving towards it. As my eyes adjusted, I saw I was exiting a tunnel while riding in a wagon. There were three others with me, one who looked like a giant cat wearing leather armor.
"How did my dying brain come up with this?" I muttered.
"Ah, you're awake. I didn't think a man could sleep that long.", the man across from me said as he stretched out his legs. "Tell me, where are you from?"
I reached up to feel my forehead where I remember having hit the roof of the car. No tenderness, or blood. Odd. "Um, Well, I'm from New Jersey. I'm wondering if you even know where that is, considering our ... feline companion." The cat person turned to look at me and smiled weakly.
"Looks like he's another one who *played*..." they hissed. "You'll find it very different living it."
That was the most honest thing anyone has said to me. I spent the next 10 or 12 years honing all the skills I had read about and pretended to do while playing various fantasy role playing games. Every day, I expected to wake from some coma, or perhaps have someone tell me I had done *enough* to go on to my reward. A priestess at a temple assured me this was a real world, and I better start living in it. So I did.
Over the years, I learned to fight with swords, maces, daggers, crossbows, and long bows. I could pick the most complex locks this land had to offer, and amazingly, I learned a few spells where I could manipulate the forces around me. Magic didn't come easy, but I could still do okay with it. I excelled at being able to sneak around and that helped me more than anything. Nobody wanted to go toe to toe with a bear or band of roving orc bandits.
I discovered that my existence was more like being in a video game than playing an RPG with friends around a table. I had a small journal that would populate with tasks, quests if you wanted to think of them that way. I had completed so many of them, and skipped one numerous times on the second page.
<Help Lothar find his lost cat>
I racked my brain a bit, and remembered Lothar was a farmer in the outskirts of the first large keep I traveled to early in my time here.
There was a symbol next to the task that I have since learned meant that I would be rewarded with some sort of magical jewel. I wondered what it would be, being so early in my journal. I might hardly be worth it, but maybe I need something easy to do, almost like a vacation.
In hindsight, it was the exact opposite of a vacation as I would learn.
<end Part 1>
| 2022-06-22T06:47:45 | 2022-06-22T05:25:20 | 136 | 38 |
[WP] In order to understand his people better the King decides to go incognito and travel into town. To his annoyance every commoner he tries to speak to turns out to be disguised member of his royal court.
|
"How could you all deceive me like this?" the King said, fuming.
They were in the royal meeting room now, called into attendance by his Majesty the King. They hadn't even had time to fully shed their disguises.
"Valeria," he said, pointing at his Minister for Magick. "How could you?"
The witch stubbornly refused to meet his gaze, still dressed in a simple cotton dress. It was far less ornate than her usual attire (and likely far less expensive than even her nightwear). She focused her gaze upwards, as she might when consulting the constellations for advice, but the chandelier offered no divine wisdom.
"And you, Sebastian?" the King said, turning on his heel to glare at the Commander of the Royal Guard.
The old, mustachioed veteran met his eyes with a single one of his own, the other lost decades ago in a skirmish against bandits on the border. The steel of his conviction was strong, but even the hardened military man eventually flinched, his one good eye flicking downwards at the righteous anger of his liege. The wax that he had used to glue on a luxurious fake beard was still there on his chin in splotches - and there were bald patches along his jaw where removing the wax had taken his stubble along with it.
"Fa'lkr?" he demanded of the Minister of Merchants.
The half-dragon shrunk into his seat, curling up in a way reminiscent of his draconic ancestors. The scales that lined his neck and arms flashed a brilliant purple in his shame. It was a hint of scale peeking out beneath the heavy cloak of 'just a simple glazier' that has revealed the deception.
"And you, Lydia..." he said, finally, glaring at the last member of his court that he knew had taken part in the charade. Then he stopped himself and shook his head.
"Guess I should have seen this coming from you" he said to her, bitterly. She was still dressed as a generic town guard, replete with a medal for meritorious service in putting out last month's fires.
"You wound me, my King," his Spymaster said, her frown shining through the otherwise impeccable disguise.
"Then why?" he said, arms folded across his chest. "Why would you all scheme to lie to me like that?"
The assembled ministers all glanced at each other. There was little knowledge in or about his kingdom that wasn't contained somewhere between the four of them - or in the synthesis of their efforts. He had trusted these men and women through the darkest of times in his reign. The Novitiate Protests of the Imperial Academy. The trade war with the dwarves. The plot against his life that left fresh faces sitting in the other seats in his court. The deception cut deep into his heart - what else was there that he didn't know?
"Sir," Sebastian spoke up. "We have utmost respect for you as a ruler and your decisions. But you can be..."
"Naive," Valeria cut in where Sebastian trailed off.
Fa'lka nodded his head quickly to lend his support, though he was still curled up in his chair.
"What do you mean?" the King said, indignantly.
"Remember that time I warned you about our oh-so-friendly neighbors and their 'diplomatic mission'?" Lydia asked. It was strange to hear her soft, lilting voice come from what appeared to be a guardsman.
"When they planned to detonate explosives in the Royal Plaza?" Sebastian asked. The two of them had worked very closely together in that crisis. The King recalled many mornings in which one or the other would ask for his input, clearly having worked all through the night.
"Well, yes, and I'm glad we caught them," the King began.
"For the first week you insisted they were just sightseeing," Sebastian said.
"Y-yes, well," the King began. He had forgotten about that.
"And, uh, and when the Sheep-Shearer's Guild was hiding all their payments you thought they were planning a surprise," Fa'lka spoke up, bouncing slightly in his chair. When the King looked at him he deflated a little again.
"Or that time you suggested our manastone shortage would turn out alright if we all just reduced our consumption," Valeria shot into the fray.
"Wait, wait, are you all just calling me naive now? Am I just some kind of puppet for my court? Oh god, my father was right all along!"
"No, no, sir," Lydia cut in, before he could get too deep into his hysterics. "You're a good King. For every time you've been too optimistic, you've stopped us from acting too soon. There's been many a time Sebastian has been too hasty to suggest an invasion, or Fa'lkr pushed a tax hike when his coinlust got away from him, or-"
"Or Lydia got a bit too eager with her thumbscrews," Valeria chimed in.
"Or *Valeria* wanted to fund a giant magical laser array to shoot down gryphons," Lydia glared at her. "The point is that your love for the people - and your optimism - is what makes you a good King. But that same love makes it hard to... Um, accept some things."
The King, calmed down somewhat by Lydia's words, took a deep breath.
"Like what?"
The court looked at each other.
"Look," Valeria said. For all her incisiveness - the witch had sent representatives of the Imperial Academy away in tears before - he could always trust her to be direct and truthful. "Being a King means people won't like you."
"... What? But they always cheer at my parades!" The King responded.
"Yeah, because we always give them free food and confetti," Fal'kr said.
"The things you - and we - have to do to keep this empire together are unpopular, sir. Tax hikes, mandatory militia training... The people don't like them," Sebastian said.
"And we wanted to protect you from that," Lydia said. "I'm sorry we lied to you."
The King nodded, taking it all in.
"I... I understand. ...Group hug?" he asked.
And they did. Even if Valeria pretended not to like it.
|
[optional plot twist]: The town is mostly deserted, most of the businesses merely shells, with only a few actually open (but with only a single staffer, no patrons - quite similar to the way North Korea is described by western journalists visiting). The reason why the king only meet members of the royal court is because there are no commoners… all there is is the court, and it is crucial that the king doesn’t understand this - it would crush him - and all his life this far would be a lie… some sort of medieval Trueman Show.
| 2022-03-09T09:47:55 | 2022-03-09T07:12:08 | 133 | 45 |
[WP] After North Korea declares that they will start a nuclear war if a single bullet is fired The Us military goes medieval
|
*Join the Air Force, they said. See the world, they said.*
David Holland’s contract said he was supposed to be an aircraft mechanic. Signed and sealed. Apparently once you sign your life away, the government owns you, though.
The bus rolled to a stop in front of the gate. The sign outside David’s window read “Ft. Benning.”
It turns out that when North Korea screws things up, they really screw things up. Two weeks ago they made that proclamation. David thought it was a joke. The powers that be did not. In a world where the U.S. military goes medieval, apparently there is no need for aircraft, and guys like David become “Heavy Cavalry.”
*What the hell is Heavy Cavalry, anyway?*
The bus rolls on, creeping through the pre-dawn hours toward the reception area. How on earth in the 21st century the greatest hegemon in the world reverts to a dark ages trope was beyond David’s reckoning. He had to be the most unlucky S.O.B. on the planet. The next three years were going to be hell. That’s assuming he survived Basic, of course. He didn’t want to imagine how pissed the drill sergeants were going to be after changing everything in the space of two weeks.
The bus rolls to another stop, and Sergeant Piker enters David’s life.
“All right, you excuses for maggots, you have thirty seconds to grab your gear, get off this bus, and get on my line! Move! Move!”
The bus is a disturbed anthill. Guys shove girls to grab their bags. Girls shove back and someone hits David in the crotch.
*Sweet mother of…*
But there is no time. He finds his duffel and makes his way off. The line is forming and David is the last one to jog up. Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one… safe.
Not really.
Sergeant Piker is in his face. “So, my timeline not good enough for you, wise guy? You wiser than my way of doing things?”
“No, sir...”
“I’m not a ‘sir,’ maggot! I am ‘Drill Sergeant Piker,’ first name ‘Drill,’ last name ‘Piker.’ But we’re not that familiar yet, maggot, so you will call me ‘Drill Sergeant.’ Does that make sense, wise maggot?”
“Yes.”
David thought Sergeant Piker was close. Now he was uncomfortably close. The smell of eggs, bacon, and onions wafted inches from his mouth to David’s assaulted nostrils. “I must be getting hard of hearing in my old age, because it sounds like you were being impolite. When I ask for your response, I expect to hear ‘Yes, Drill Sergeant’ or ‘No, Drill Sergeant.’ Am I understood?” he yelled.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“Excellent, now that our wisest maggot understands, we may begin.” Sergeant Piker turned away and David breathed a sigh of relief. “You are all maggots right now. I will not call you ladies and gentlemen, because you are not. You are here to be Soldiers. I will make you Soldiers if I have to break every one of you and put you back together myself. We will teach you how to ride, run, march, maintain your armor, swing your sword, shoot a bow, and eventually work as a single team. Do not expect this to be easy. However, if you give me half of the effort I will expend in training you, you will move from maggots to Soldiers over the next nine weeks. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” the chorus resounded.
“Excellent. Quarterstaff practice is in one hour. We will draw weapons and armor in thirty minutes. I advise you to take this time to stow gear in your bunks. You will follow Drill Sergeant Randall there. Dismissed!”
Activity, but not quick enough. Randall walked down the rank shouting. “Move it! Pick that bag up, now! What’s your name? Come on, this is not Camp Fun-Fun. Move!”
It was going to be a long day.
Quarterstaff practice wasn’t too bad at first, but David’s arms which were practiced at Call of Duty were unsuited for swinging anything heavy for longer than a minute. Archery was the same, with the first draw difficult but manageable. Each draw after was torture. David’s arms were burning by the fifth shot. He had to make thirty.
“Holland, why can’t you hit the broad side of a fucking barn?” Piker’s voice rang out.
“I haven’t done this before, Drill Sergeant.”
He stood right next to David and watched the next one fly. “Your form is off, maggot. Did you even look down the shaft before letting that loose?”
“Well, shit, Drill Sergeant, I...”
“Did I say you could cuss at me, maggot?” The uncomfortably close face appeared again.
“No, Drill Sergeant, but you...”
“Never mind what I’m fucking doing, maggot. You focus on becoming a super-special butterfly and fix your damn form!” Piker strode off. Most training ended up like that.
The afternoon found what few places of his body didn’t hurt and broke them, too. It was the first time David had ever ridden a horse.
Two uncomfortable hours later which David would rather forget, he limped bow-legged into the chow hall. He was rewarded with a plateful of unrecognizable mash.
“Apparently food standards have gone medieval as well,” he mumbled.
“Don’t kid yourself, hun,” the server told him, “it’s been like this for a while.”
He sat next to Ben and Kristin, who had helped him figure out how to polish his coat of mail. That had taken an embarrassingly long time to finish. Patrick and his friends sat across and down the table.
“Hey, Smith, you shot like a girl out there,” Patrick japed.
“I am girl, meathead. You could at least come up with a more creative insult.” Kristin shook her head and kept eating.
“I don’t even know why you’re here. There’s no way you can march ten miles in armor tomorrow-”
“Hey, Patrick, shove it, man,” David called to him, “you sound like you went back to the Dark Ages with the rest of this damned place. If we make it through this shit, it’s as a team, so keep your Neanderthal thoughts to yourself.”
“Why is everyone talking in my dining facility?” Piker’s booming voice cut through the tension. Silence blanketed the room. “Finish eating in the next two minutes. Lights out in an hour!”
As David crawled in his bed that night, every muscle cried out in protest. Tomorrow was going to hurt.
*Why am I here? God, if I can only quit, this could be over.*
Piker walked by each bunk, making sure the recruits were in bed. He paused by David’s.
“Good work today, maggot. Be ready to wake up at oh-five-hundred.” Piker walked on, hiding a small upturn at the corners of his mouth.
*I guess I can handle one more day.*
|
The bomber carried no bomb, rather, it carried hundreds of infantry clad in sophisticated stealth tactical armor, carrying a blade comparable to legendary holy swords in brilliance.
The first bullet shot from AA battery was sliced cleanly in half, as with several dozen others that lucky enough to find their tiny target in the darkness. Metals filled the night as if a rain had reversed its direction, flying upon the sky instead of falling to the ground, only to be deflected by the invisible modern knights. Their blade sliced SAM with surgical accuracy, severing the explosive embedded within, letting the rest fell harmlessly to the ground below.
By the time the AA gun shot its seventy third bullet, the invisible knights sliced them all into useless pile of metal.
The year was 2023, mere five years from the declaration that locked down the conflict in East Asia into seemingly infinite deadlock, but the scariest monster is indeed one they never saw for themselves. The war settled without any bullets fired from the other side of conflict, and yet blood soaked the once prideful nation.
US unveiled their newest series of cutting edge weaponry, the Blind Knight suit, shortly after the battle that smoldered North Korea. Their entire infantry division has been converted into specialized division for the suit, capable of hiding from detection in almost every method known to man. They quickly conquered the entirety of East Asia before any of them recovered from the shock and awe. Russia unleashed their nuclear armament in retaliation, but the suit brushed even those, leaving the smoldering wasteland almost unscathed.
A new age of warfare has begun, one that doesn't fear even nuclear intervention.
| 2017-03-19T08:23:51 | 2017-03-19T08:18:23 | 30 | 19 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once.
|
Bullies. I hated bullies.
I hated how they felt that, with just a little bit of power, they had the right to pick on and push around anyone they deemed below them.
And it got **SO** much worse when the bullies had superpowers. Which brings us to my current predicament, with me on the ground, and this a-hole standing over me..
"What's the matter? Why don't you use your supposed powers to defend yourself, huh?", he taunted me, right before he kicked my in the stomach, sending me sailing twenty feet down the hall, and sliding a bit farther down the tiled floor.
The other students who surrounded us managed to part in time to miss getting hit by me. A few smirked or laughed. They were other bullies or Terry's cronies. I made a note of who they were for later, so I could keep an eye on them.
Most of the students, however, had faces filled with anger at my bully, or concern for me. a few were even having trouble keeping their own powers in check. I understood. I didn't like it, but I understood. Terry was one of the most powerful students in the school, and a senior to boot. Most of the *teachers* would have trouble matching him in a one-on-one fight. A lot of the students would need to team up to take him, and no one was brave enough to make the first move.
I guess was on my own. This was going to suck.
Terry slowly approached me as I got up, with that overconfident "look at me, I'm so awesome" swagger a-holes with power got when trying to work a crowd. He stopped about ten feet away from me.
"Why don't you stop me, if you're **SOOOoooo** powerful?" He laughed, with his arms outstretched, and his cronies laughed with him. Terry basked in it, like a cat in the sun on a windowsill. What a douche.
"You're an idiot." Everyone's heads snapped to me, shock on their faces. The shock on Terry's face was mixed with rage, as his face turned a dark red. He was probably too dumb to be embarrassed.
"What did you say, you little b----?"
"I said: *you. Are. An. Idiot*." Terry began to stalk towards me. "In that brick you call a brain, did it ever occur to you that I *couldn't* get into this school without any powers? That maybe, *just maybe*, if I haven't shown my powers, there's a good reason?" He stopped, the wheels in his mind trying to turn, despite the fact that the hamster that powered it was long since dead.
"Honestly," I continued, "the only reason you are still in this school is because your parents are popular heroes, and that clearly gave you a huge sense of entitlement. You are nothing but a bully, with this feeling of entitlement that you think gives you the right to push around everyone else." He continued stalking toward me again.
"But back to what I was saying before. Did it ever occur to you that maybe there's a *reason* I don't want to fight you, that has nothing to do with you?"
As I said this Terry reached me, pulled back his fist, and swung and my already bloody face. I was done playing nice.
Terry had super-strength, flight, and fast reflexes as his powers. They were strong enough that he could take on most supers on his own.
I wasn't most supers.
I nonchalantly backhanded his fist, knocking him off-balance. He fell to the ground, sprawled out from how his own momentum had carried him around.
I thought people were shocked before. Now, I watched their jaws hit the floor. Literally, in the cases of a few people whose powers allowed them to stretch themselves that far.
"I hate bullies. Especially superpowered ones." Terry pushed himself up off the floor, murder in his eyes as he glared at me.
"You think that your powers give you the right to hurt others. But it doesn't. And those with such little power, who use it to hurt others, don't deserve power at all."
"You're going to pay for that," Terry said as he stood up. I had just shown the student body that he could be hurt. Now, he needed to try to reestablish that no one should stand up to him.
*Pfft*. As if I'd let him.
"You still don't get it, do you," I asked, as he marched towards me, and I squared my stance. "We've been in school for, what? A month? And you're a senior, one of the *most powerful students in the school*, and you're picking on a freshman whose powers **you don't even know**." Terry threw another punch, but this time instead of deflecting it, I caught it. Then, I tightened my hold on his fist, and I bent it back, forcing him to his knees.
"Did you ever think, that maybe, *just maybe*, someone might not be fighting back because he was afraid of *what he might do to you*? That maybe I'm afraid of doing something **that I can't take back**?" On my periphery, I saw the shock of the students change as my voice dropped several octaves, becoming unnaturally deep. I didn't need a mirror to see tgat my eyes had turned black. The fear on their faces told me that.
"*Thats not good,*" I thought, as Terry's fury turned to terror. "*I need to end this.* **Now**."
Adjusting my stance, I swung him by his arm over my head and onto the ground, before swinging him back over again. I looked at the students to my right, and motioned with my head for them to get out of the way, which they all scrambled to do.
Grabbing Terry's arm with both hands, I swung him in a circle around me, letting him go after a single rotation. Since he was still stunned from me slamming him into the ground, he wasn't able to use his powers to stop himself before he slammed into the lockers in the wall, many of them crumpling around him as he made impact with them.
I took a deep breath, centered myself mentally, and pushed down the darkness as far as I could. "Stay down," I said, as I turned and walked away.
Edit: End of Part 1
And if anyone has any pointers on the writing itself, both on this and Part 2, I'd appreciate it. Thanks!
|
He was standing over the three.
Bloodied and bruised.
A broken arm, probable internal bleeding and definite fractured bones.
Yet he had beat them.
A fire magik, a stone magik and a plant magik. The big three of his grade.
And he beat them.
He didn't unlock his powers the previous day, or this one, or even in that moment.
He just beat them.
The school even tested him after he was tended to before he was expelled. No one could sense any Charm in him.
He. Just. Beat them.
When he was let back after a much shorter suspension, curtesy of his parents backing him up for defending himself, everyone gained a little respect for him... but there was also fear. There were tales of Charmless that could beat several powerful magi. The Bat Thing of the City-State of Ghatom. The crazed, strange-faced vigilante that was part of a group called The Watch. There were feared by both heroes and villains alike... and Damien was one of them
| 2022-11-02T12:45:49 | 2022-11-02T11:29:20 | 91 | 42 |
[WP] Super-speed can power a city without polluting. Super-healing can provide an endless supply of donor blood. Weather manipulation ends droughts. Your job is to convince superheroes to use their powers for practical purposes instead of fighting crime, and you’re very good at it.
|
"You're a natural resource."
"Excuse me?!"
I took off my glasses so I could rub the bridge of my nose. Sometimes these people were so *dense*. I tried again.
"When you install a solar panel, what powers it?"
The Hero shifted his implausible muscle mass around in his seat, rippling the bright colors of textured spandex he was wearing.
"Uh, the sun? Duh."
His expressions were a bit more unreadable than the average person, what with the goggles and the cowl, but he had a cocksure smirk that seemed to be the trademark of the Hero occupation. When you can do impossible things, you get used to a level of confidence that ranges into "swagger" territory. It's quite banal to have to deal with it on a daily basis.
"Alright, so the sun powers solar panels. The wind powers windmills. The ground powers geothermal plants. Renewable, natural resources. We'd like you to power the city."
The Hero snorted.
"Listen, doc, I'm sorry you wasted your time having me here, but I *fight crime*. That's what Heroes *do*. I'm not a fuckin'... battery, okay."
"Mr. Markham," (they hate when you use their actual name), "the Heroes Amendment to the city charter, to which you agreed to abide by, states that Heroes 'shall serve the City in the capacity to which they are most beneficial, at the City's discretion.' The city runs on energy. You produce a great deal of energy, with your 'sunfire' manipulation abilities. Our own researchers have determined that the photoelectric conversion of the x-rays and net heat output of infrared radiation from your 'sunfire' could sustain the city's power grid."
"Doc, again, I *fight crime*. The mayor and the city council said if there's a crime that requires police response, I am supposed to fly in, give the bad guys a quick barbecue, and call it a day. That's what I do. Crime is down, people are happy, life is good. I'm doing my job for the city."
"Mr. Markham," (he frowned irritably), "the city has had to repurpose a hospital wing for burn victims. Your 'quick barbecue' is remarkably imprecise. The last "criminals" you attended to, both teenagers, required critical care, along with a pregnant woman, two children, and an elderly man. Shoplifting did not warrant a police response. Destroying the shop and grievously injuring everyone in it was also unwarranted."
"Yeah, but -" he spluttered, fumbling for words, "they were *doing crime!* They *stole shit!* I can't let that go unpunished! I am *justice!* Plus all those other people turned out okay! I saw it on the news!"
"Yes, and do you know *why*, Mr. Markham?"
"Doctors? Man, I just stop the bad guys."
He flexed his enormous pectoral muscles and turned down the corners of his mouth, showboating for an invisible audience. Well, I suppose there was me, but I've seen all the posturing and clowning around before. Underneath, he was getting annoyed. Normally, a ticked-off Hero was cause for a sort of primal alarm, as if one were caged with a gorilla. Heroes could, and did, fly off the handle from time to time. I wasn't worried.
"Those... criminals, and the bystanders, were healed through the judicious application of other natural resources like yours. Do you remember the Hero who calls himself 'The Cleric'?"
Nova Man scratched his head briefly through the gaudy headdress of his costume. "Uh, light blue costume guy? White cape? Always had the little staff thing with the wings and the snakes? Healed people, right?"
"Correct. Proximity to his body and his touch provided a regenerative effect to damaged tissue."
"So, what, he runs your hospital now?"
"Not quite, Mr. Markham. We did a little digging, and we found the effect to be concentrated in his blood serum, and generated in his bone marrow."
"So he gives blood, okay. So you want me to, do what, sit around and fill up some blood bags? I suppose I can do that." He winced briefly, but nodded his head approvingly.
I sighed. "He doesn't give blood, Mr. Markham. He *generates blood*. And marrow. And whatever other fluid or tissue we need to extract. He can survive an incredible amount of damage with his regenerative abilities."
The Hero's brow furrowed. "Wait, what? Damage? The fuck? Do you just, like, cut him up? Are you fucking serious?!"
A faint glow began suffusing the air around him.
"The term, Mr. Markham, is *vivisection.*"
I slid the photo out of the file folder in front of me across the steel table between us.
He glanced at the intricate design of our Biofabrication Plant and shot up out of his chair, snapping it back into the wall with a resounding clash. The glow around him brightened, and the air began to ripple as heat bathed the room.
"What the *fuck* did you do to him?! What the fuck?! You're a fucking monster! I'll kill you! I'm not gonna get chopped up by some freak scientist fucks!"
A disgusted sneer contorted his face as he raised his steaming hands to face me. The goggles over his eyes reflected my face, and my own eyes.
**"Mr. Markham. Sit."**
Confusion and fear crowded his expression. Jerking stiffly, almost robotically, he grabbed the chair from the floor and sat, rigid. The glow permeating the air faded, while the eyes reflected in his goggles lit up.
"I'm a natural resource of this city as well, Mr. Markham. I provide a means to... administer the city's *other* resources, such as yourself. Now, we are going to find what makes you tick, and you will power this city one way or another. **You will serve the city.**"
Straining, trembling with the exertion of trying to fight it, the Hero mumbled, "I - I will serve the city."
**"Remain seated."**
I fished out my phone from my jacket pocket and dialed a well-known number.
"You can pick him up. Have the restraints ready."
*"Copy."*
"Mr. Markham, when a Hero is more of a liability than a benefit, we still have use for them. Look at me, for example. I could be emperor of this world, if I wanted... but I don't want that. I *like* this city. I like living here. I want to see the people be happy, and healthy. If I have to take apart every Hero to make that a reality, I will."
The steel door to my left grated open, and faceless figures in hazmat suits and tactical harnesses swarmed in, clapping titanium shackles to the Hero.
**"Do not resist, Mr. Markham."**
|
I'm the closest thing the world has to a superhero.
I’m not sure why they call me that. I’m not a hero; I’m a diplomat. But the public has a way of putting labels on people. And, at the risk of being pedantic, I'm more of a freelance peacemaker than a superpowered rescuer.
Most superheroes are criminals. You wouldn’t believe how many people start out fighting crime, but end up becoming criminals themselves. Superpowers are addictive, and to abuse them means to abuse the public trust. You have to hound me for three months before you can even apply to join my organization. That’s why I know that helping people in distress is what they do.
But I don't deal with superheroes like that. I deal with any crime that we notice, like theft, gang violence, vandalism. It’s a small world, after all. I deal with all the small stuff, but I rarely deal with the big stuff. Like supervillains and supervillainy. The world of crime is usually a very small world. The people supervillains take from us are always the people we know very well. They don't just steal, they steal our cherished ideas.
Today, I get a report of a robbery. A bank, or a government office, or something similar. Nothing unusual. These things happen every other month. When I arrive, I find a crowd on the sidewalk across the street. They silently stare into the bank. I’m slow, and this is a busy street. I find a parking spot and walk across the street.
The building is bustling with police officers. Men in army-green hazmat suits mill around. I enter the lobby and find an object that my mind can't comprehend.
I look up.
Hang on, it’s harder to describe than you think. It’s, it’s…
TBC
| 2021-04-11T08:22:43 | 2021-04-11T05:10:42 | 98 | 58 |
[WP] You wake up in a strange room, only to find alternate universe versions of you there, each different in their own way (gender, race, background etc). You have no idea what brought you here.
|
The first thing I noticed about the two men standing in my apartment should have been that they had entered my living room through a rip in the fabric of spacetime but I can be slow on the uptake. The fact that there was a gaping hole of impossible size and infinite darkness glowing chaotically a few feet from my couch was too much for my brain to process as it searched desperately for something it could recognize. It settled on just how different the two men looked from each other. That was easy. I had learned to compare and contrast in grade school. The taller man had skin like milk chocolate and a pair of sunglasses that obscured his eyes and wrapped around to cover his ears as well. A silvery gray robe with black accents on the sleeves and collars draped across his broad shoulders and somehow found enough fabric to hide his feet. He was a slender and stoic 7 feet tall, and I could tell by the faint movements of words and pictures on the inside of his glasses that he was a very busy man. He walked past me, ignoring the young man in nothing but socks and boxers staring wide eyed at this invasion, and stepped into the hallway to continue an argument in hushed tones. He was obviously on a very important phone call.
The other was his mirror opposite. He was short and balding with wireframe glasses, a trimmed mustache, and a kind smile that almost made it into his eyes. He was wearing a brown jacket with a white button up and a black tie that looked a little thick for my tastes. He was the first to speak.
"Hello Lonny," He said, sitting on my loveseat and leaning forward like they teach you in salesman training seminars. "I'm sure you're confused and frightened right now. Please don't be, this is a routine procedure."
I opened my mouth wide to say something but there were no words to adequately express what I was feeling so I just left it open as my head moved back and forth.Yawning maw of the abyss on my in-table. Aloof Nubian giant half turned in the shadows of the hallway to my left. Amicable accountant looking at me like he's trying to decide whether to have me over for dinner or just have me for dinner.
Finally my eyes rested back upon the rip, at first refusing to see it but slowly beginning to make sense of it. It was itself a comparison of contrasts. Most things in the universe have certain characteristics that are not compatible with other states. For instance, there is usually no such thing as boiling ice. There are no completely spherical cubes. If you're moving toward a stationary object, it's supposed to get larger as you get closer. And yet, here it was in front of me: a cubic sphere with 27 sides hovering on a cloud of warm water vapor forming from droppings of the miniature glacier floating above it.
Inside the now hexagonal cylinder there shined millions and millions of what I first thought were stars, but then I somehow realized were galaxies. Connecting the galaxies on a two dimensional plane were bridges made of some golden metal. They were flat and efficiently planned and slightly reminiscent of a motherboard. Mesmerized, I leaned a bit closer and was disappointed that the cube seemed to move away from me. But then I looked down at the in-table and saw that it was still in the same position. I thought it was shrinking because my brain isn't used to objects that don't follow general relativity. I reached out to touch it.
"Not yet young man," came a deep and calm voice. The Nubian swiped my wrist before I could reach it and lifted me up by my arm so my feet were dangling and our faces met. Though I couldn't see his eyes, I could just make out thousands of lines of information flying up from the bottom on the other side of his shades. Then, on the side facing me, a series of shapes began to dance around the edge of the glass. Each little sprite seemed to be moving at random. Still being held by one arm a foot off the ground, these random gyrations began to make me dizzy and I almost averted my gaze. But then I noticed that if I looked at both pieces of glass at the same time, patterns emerged where there was none in just one eye. In the space of a few seconds, I had learned to anticipate where the next sprite would appear, and where it would go, and how that would affect sprites on the other side. The Nubian dropped me.
"He'll do," he said, turning to the shorter man and walking back into the hallway to ignore us some more.
"Are you sure about that, Cooper?" said the small man. I'm about to interview him. Why don't you hold out judgment until we've finished discovery?"
Cooper, back still turned, said, "I know what I need to know and I'll accept him. He's all yours, Frank"
"Now hold on just one goddamn minute!" I tried to sound more angry than scared and confused, but I think the falsetto in my voice gave me away. "Two minutes ago, you busted into my house through that hell mouth over there (can one of you please turn that shit off?) and pretend like I'm not even here, and now I find out you're here to evaluate me? Well, fuck off! I thought first contact with aliens or time travellers or whatever was to be an epiphany! Turns out everyone in the universe is a douchebag."
Frank and Cooper shared a quick glance. Cooper looked amused while Frank just looked annoyed. But he swiped two fingers down the collar of his jacket, leaving a glowing trail that quickly faded, and the impossible cube began to collapse. The ice on top melted just as the vapor on the bottom condensed, forming a sphere of liquid around the shape. It began to spin and as it did the water pulled inward like inverted centripetal force. Water fell into the shape, disappearing until it was only a spinning black ball of yarn unraveling into itself. It spun faster and faster until, with a slight pop, it winked out of existence.
"You're right." It was Frank, baring his teeth in a smile. "'I apologize. We don't deal with....singular entities very often. I'm sure you have many questions. So why don't we go into the dining room and you can put on some coffee, and we can talk everything out."
"Can I put on some pants first?"
|
"Wow Sarge this is awesome!"
"Private avert your eyes and find the lab head responsible!"
"Aw but Sarge, can't I be the one to stay back an-"
"That's an order Private! This isn't a game."
"Well but sir, girls are so rare here an-"
"Finish that sentence and i'll stick my boot so far up your ass it'll be your new lunch!"
"Sorry sir."
"Now move!"
"But it's an orgy of me sir, don't that count for something?"
"Private you're right, so while your finding the labhead responsible for this.
I'm gonna handle all these new recruits."
| 2015-04-15T08:30:38 | 2015-04-15T08:29:52 | 80 | 23 |
[WP] A Jedi and a Sith debate their Philosophies
|
Red dust swirled around J'in Karthen as the massive stone door before her shook with Force tremors. The slab had fallen in on itself countless centuries ago, but the Holocron beyond called out to her. Countless saber marks and holes potmocked the door, evidence of earlier attempts to cut her way through it.
Though she was a true artist with her blade, she found ancient stone doors were quite a difficult enemy to overpower. It was moments like this she wished she spent more time mastering the Force.
"Need a hand?" a voice whispered, coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. J'in dropped her focus from the door and began scanning around, her feet instinctively falling into a battle posture.
"Whose there?" she barked, an air of command in her query. "Show yourself!"
There was a subtle ticking sound, as if some unseen mouth was verbalizing an admonishment at her. "The Force can have a strong influence on the weak minded."
The hilt of her saber flew from her belt and into her waiting hand. She ignited it and continued turning, her eyes scanning the desolate horizons. The blade's subtle blue glow mixed with the hues of twilight, casting a purple light across her robed face.
"I am warning you..." she said with a voice far less steady than her stance.
"Be careful, young Knight. Your true self is beginning to shine through the cracks in your Jedi mask." the voice taunted.
J'in mind had finally caught up with her mouth, and she swallowed the words of an insult in her throat. She didn't, after all, want to validate what the voice had said. The blade of her saber retracted into its sheath, and she knelt to the ground.
"Aww, just when things were getting so... interesting." the voice lamented. "Tell me, Jedi. Why hold yourself back?"
She listened to his words but she did not hear them. All thoughts began to leak out of her mind, as she reached out with the Force to locate the source of voice.
"You want whats on the other side of that door, don't you Jedi? You're far too young and clearly too inexperienced to know of its existence on your own. Did your Master send you on an errand? Perhaps to get rid of you for a few days and enjoy a brief respite from you?" the voice probed.
J'in didn't like being insulted. Growing up in the Jedi order, it wasn't really something you experienced. She didn't really know how to handle it.
"A Sith would have had that door open already and been on their way back home." the voice continued. "Isn't that what you want? To be off this sunstroked hell of a planet? To complete your mission and earn the praise of your superiors?"
J'in tried to use the voice to find its owner, but the closer she felt she got to it, the further away she found herself from it.
"If I stay out here much longer, I'm going to need a drink. And honestly, it's kind of boring to watch you constantly fail at literally everything you try to do. Here, let me help you."
A few meters from her, a cloaked figure faded into reality. Shucking the white hood from over his face, the Sith Lord let an oily grin creep across his face. "You can just look at me now, girl."
J'in opened her eyes and stood to her feet in a fast and fluid motion. Her posture was relaxed but her gaze rigid.
"So what now, Sith? Have you also come for the artifact?" she asked.
"What if I have, Jedi. What would you do? Would you fight me for it?" he asked, a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice.
"If I had to. It's my mission to retrieve it."
He scoffed at her. "They really don't teach you anything in that temple, do they? A hint for the future, youngling: don't go around telling your sworn enemies what your mission is."
She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. "I have no qualms telling you, Sith. I have no shame in what I do."
"It's not about shame, Jedi. Do you not understand that withholding information gives you strength? Knowledge is power, and power dominates all."
"Lies are not the ways of the Jedi." she quickly replied, a tremor in her voice. She knew there was truth to what he said, but had no desire to give him any credit for acknowledging that.
"Lies are the exclusive domain of the Jedi, actually. Peace is what you desire, but peace is a lie. You deny the existence of ignorance, the value of passion..."
"No. We do not deny them, we overcome them." she said, forcing a calm in her voice.
"Ah, I hear the pale ghost of a smarter being in that last line, girl. Is memorizing rhetoric part of your official training, or do you just take solace in regurgitating the words of someone else?"
She took a deep breath, attempting to maintain her calm. She was hot, she was tired, and she was frustrated. It was a cocktail for disaster, and they both could sense it.
"Sith, if you intend to fight me for the artifact, then let us just fight for it. I grow weary of our little talk."
The man's grey beard trembled as he laughed.
"Why my dear girl, we are fighting for it. And I'm winning." he said with an even mix of confidence and arrogance.
She drew her blade again and lit it up. "Then fight me, Sith. Just no more words." The man just laughed.
"You would deny me my only weapon then, girl?" he chuckled. "I do not carry a blade as you do. All I have is my words."
Her only reply was the subtle hum of her saber.
"Do you intend to kill an old and unarmed man for taunting you? That does not seem like a very Jedi thing to do."
She was at a loss. The situation at hand was not something she had experienced before. All the Sith Apprentices she had encountered in her time with Master Yuidon were much less eloquent.
"No. More. Words." she said again, almost as a mantra.
"Fine, Jedi. Then you leave me with no choice." the old man said as he raise his hands towards her.
Instinctively, her knees bent and her arms tightened. She tried to sense into the future to see if she should jump, or charge, or guard herself; but her vision of future events was clouded.
She heard a loud cracking, followed by the shattering of old gears and the grinding of stone against metal. In her periphery she could sense the door opening.
"Wh... what are you doing?" she asked, taken aback by the Sith's actions.
"I cannot fight you with a blade, and you will not fight me with words, so my only choice is to make you fight yourself." he said. Her head tilted as her mind raced, trying to understand his motives.
"Did you Master tell you why he wanted this Holocron? Do you even know what is on it?"
"No." she said, truthfully.
"Moments ago you seemed to suggest that concealing information wasn't something a Jedi needed to do. I wonder why your Master found it necessary to keep it from you?" he smirked.
She had no reply.
"Go then, girl. Retrieve it for your Master like the obedient little nerf you are." he spat dismissively. "But what will happen when you get home, I wonder? Will you tell him a kindly old Sith helped you to get it; or will you take credit for retrieving it as though you did it all on your own?"
She began to lower her guard as her mind tried to process his questions.
"And what about the long trip home? Will you be tempted to unlock it's forbidden secrets for yourself? Or will you just wonder why your Master sent you on a secret mission to retrieve the ancient secrets from a Sith stronghold?"
"I... I don't know." she said, answering his barrage of pointed queries all at once.
"You don't know, Jedi? I didn't think it was possible for one of you to be so... ignorant. Isn't that even part of your silly little code?"
"The Jedi Code is not silly!" she shouted. "It is our way of life!"
"Then I'm confused. Are you saying you want me to close the door and so you can do it on your own? If victory is less important to you than your personal development, I wouldn't want to take that from you. Just say the word, Jedi and I will seal the tomb for you just as it was."
She dropped to her knees, her blade retracting once more.
"...no."
"No? No what? No you don't want me to close it?"
"I... don't know."
"Well what do you want?"
"I want to go home." she said, equal parts broken down and authentic.
"Then go and get it and go home, girl. You have no qualms from me."
She stood and looked at him in silence.
"Always remember today, girl. The day your desires bring you results. The day you found victory in your passion." he laughed, shimmering as he faded out.
As she descended the ancient steps into the temple's guts, she tried numerous different mental gymnastics to justify her actions. She wanted, no needed, to find some way to make what she was doing feel less morally gray.
She was so busy trying to right her own world, she didn't hear the sound of heavy stone grinding against metal off in the distance above her.
|
A temple on a long lost planet. Rumored to be the key to all of the secrets of the force. Two apprentices of different sides of the force had travelled long and far to discover these secrets. They met in the dark depths of the temple. Torches were lit on the walls and the dim orange light was all they had to guide them. They battled... Not with lightsaber or powers. Words would be the weapon to defeat the enemy on this holy ground.
The robed Twi'lek stood, quietly, in meditation. Her arms tucked into the sleeves of her traditional jedi robes. Her blue skin on her face was the only thing visible. Her gaze was set on the dark figure across from her.
A tall human, though his skin tone would prove otherwise, as it looked almost grey. He was dressed in all black robes with onrnamental armor adorning the chest and sleeves. He paced the room his golden eyes locked onto her.
"Why must you persist with your backwards veiws of serenity and peace, locked in your 'meditations'" .
he sneered
The Jedi was silent
"Do you feel nothing? No emotion? No passion?" the Sith warrior cocked his head in disbelief as he continued. The Jedi still refused to answer.
"You Jedi preach of peace, teach younglings that violence is not the way, while carrying lightsabers! Hypocrisy at its finest." the Sith shook his head
"I carry a weapon to defend myself and innocents from those who would do harm. My strength comes from my conection to the force through peaceful meditation, not blinding rage and over emotional outbursts" the Jedi finally spoke. Her voice was soft and calm
The Sith, feeling insulted scoffed
"Strength? You dont know strength. You only know the comfort of hiding in your temple."
"Why do the Sith insist on insulting everyone they come in contact with? Is it possible that you feel inadequate in comparison? Or maybe you're just insecure." the Jedi's insult was sharp, but her voice still soft and controled. She had not moved
The Sith gritted his teeth and dashed forward, aided by the force. His movement was swift and practiced, he was cleary skilled. He stopped mere inches from the Jedi. Their noses nearly touched.
"You will watch your tone jedi, or i will show you what passion and rage can do" the Sith snarled his hand palming the hilt of his lightsaber.
Under the sleeve of her robe the Jedi had a firm grip her own weapon. Ready for the imminet and inevitable attack.
"Another empty threat, Sith Lord?" her inflection heavy on 'lord'. His scowl intensified. His eyes widened. He bared teeth and prepared to strike
He found however that he could not move. Looking at the Jedi in front of him he saw a reflection of his own thought. Neither of them could move.
"What sort of Jedi trickery is this?! He demanded
"I am also unable to move you simpleton, what good would this be?" she sarcastically retorted
From the darkness a figure emerged. His arm outstretched holding them in stasis.
"Enough of your squabbling!" his authoritative voice boomed.
"Neither of you will ever learn the secrets of this temple until you can learn balance. Until you can understand what the force truly is." he lowered his arm. The two apprentices stumbled as they were freed from the stasis field. The third figure stepped into the light. A dark complected man with a salt and pepper beard dressed in dark gray robes. Stood before them.
"And what might that be?" the Sith spoke up
"The force is neither light or dark. The Sith cannot be without the Jedi. The Jedi will never survive without the Sith. Without darkness there can be no light. You see.. The true nature of the force is gray."
*Sorry for the bad grammar, spelling, and sentance structure.
| 2017-01-01T21:19:33 | 2017-01-01T16:46:30 | 96 | 46 |
[WP] You're secretly a mind-reader. One of your classmates, a writer, has The Best daydreams. One keeps recurring, and you realize that they're stuck on a plothole.
Inspired by a Tumblr post
|
*Magello was blown away, his body racked with bruises as he tumbled down the well. With his powers stolen away he…*
I waited patiently for the thought to finish.
*With his powers stolen away… Magello…*
I looked over to Rob with a flick of my eyes. He had come out of the daydream trance again right at the moment I wanted to know what happened to Magello! The most powerful magician of his time had his powers stolen away by who he thought was his best friend, then thrown into the Endless Well, where people were known to lose their mind long before they lost their lives. Rob scratched his head and opted to pay attention to the lecture going on instead. He just left Tandro as the winner, right after the brutal betrayal!?
I was losing my mind. I’d followed Rob and his tales for months now, each of them being a nice, tightly paced story with a beginning and end. It seemed whenever Rob lost interest in the topic at hand, his mind would drift to tell a quick tale and then resume. It was the reason why History was my favorite class. The teacher was awful, but Rob was incredible.
“At this point, the Persians were wondering why the ummm…” Mr. Swind, our teacher, continued stretching the syllable as he lost his place.
*Who were the Persians fighting this time?* Came the thought from Mr. Swind’s mind. This happened at least once a day.
I sighed, and raised my textbook as if drawing in some particular information, revealing the cover of *Roman Wars and their Consequences* to our fumbling teacher. Mr Swind caught eye of the cover and regained his ground.
“Ummm, the Romans. The Persians were wondering why the Romans continued to try and vye for their treasures, which actually goes back to Caesar and his pals making power plays to increase the wealth of their personal families. You see…”
I wondered how I could do the same thing with Rob, trying to assist him in putting the pieces of his track together to continue the tale. The only problem was that I wasn’t even friends with Rob. He hardly knew me beyond saying hello occasionally when class started, and at this point I knew so much about him I felt that it was like a parasocial relationship with my favorite author. But he was right here! There had to be something I could do or say to save Magello in the Endless Well!
I could feel the vestiges of Rob’s mind reentering his creative realm, and I listened intently.
*Magello fell in the well for… he…*
Nothing came to mind before the bell rang. He was hung up on the plot point, and I was there with him, waiting anxiously. I decided I would follow him in this lunch hour and try to join a conversation between him and his friends, no matter how awkward they would find it. I rushed out the door, leaving before Mr. Swind has the time to stammer out the homework I wasn’t going to do and went straight for the snack bar. I bought a full pack of cupcakes with the money I was supposed to use for the rest of the week and waited for Rob and his friends to gather at the normal place under the shade of the trees at the base of the gym. I hid around the corner and waited for their thoughts to come clear into view to know when would be the right time to show up.
*Man, I hope George doesn’t talk about his vacation again*, came Caleb’s thoughts.
*Geez, there’s George, hope he doesn’t say anything about the stupid Europe tripe again*, Rob’s thoughts came clear as he arrived.
*Oh boy, I can’t wait to tell them about Italy today,* George’s thoughts bloomed excitedly.
I made my way over.
“Hey George,” Caleb said, no emotion in his voice.
“Hey guys, I forgot to tell you about when I fell into the waters of Venice!” George said excitedly, tossing off his backpack and sitting under one of the trees
“Oh, great,” Rob said, trying very hard not to sound annoyed.
“Hey guys! I got a whole box as a prize for a lunch raffle,” I lied, smiling widely and presenting the cupcakes. “Did you want any? I’m not eating 12 all by myself.”
*I* ***love*** *cupcakes!* thought Rob, his fingers wiggling excitedly
*Doesn’t this guy have his own friends to share with?* George wondered, a hint of skepticism in his eyes.
*Oh, thank God, anything to stop George from talking about his trip,* thought Caleb.
“Sure,” Rob said casually, as if he wasn’t about to explode in excitement.
I popped open the package and we all took one each to eat. As I chewed, I looked over to Caleb and George, as though I wasn’t addressing Rob with the question.
“Hey guys,” I said between mouthfuls, “Would you rather fall into a well or get stabbed in the back by a friend?”
Rob’s thoughts were unintelligible, but the lasting impression is that he thought it was a miraculous coincidence rather than anything mysterious. It helped that I offered him another cupcake without looking at him while he was trying to figure out where the hypothetical question came from.
“Depends, how deep is the well?” Caleb asked.
“How good of a friend?” George asked.
“I dunno, but like a really deep well. And it’s your best friend,” I answered.
“I’ll take the well. I would hate to have my best friends not actually be my friend,” Caleb answered thoughtfully.
“Yeah, I’d also take the well. I think I’d be able to slow down the fall enough to make the landing in water all right. There’s water at the bottom, right?” George clarified.
*Slow down the fall…* The thought popped into Rob’s head like a chime ringing.
“Sure, water or whatever. You won’t die falling into the well,” I assured them.
*Won’t die falling into the well… Because he could slow the fall… and…* Rob’s mind was racing, pieces falling into place rapidly.
“What about you?” Caleb asked me.
“I dunno, I think I’d go for the friend backstabbing me. I’m afraid of small spaces, especially if I don’t have any tools to get out,” I said, shrugging.
“Tools to get out?” George chuckled. “Do you normally go around with stuff to get out of wells with?”
*Magello does!* Rob’s mind exploded. *The Eye of Copernicus!*
My eyes went wide in shock. The Eye of Copernicus was an amazing twist. I’d forgotten Magello still had that Artifact. He might not have to lose his mind after all.
*Why is he staring at me like that?* George’s mind made me realize I was boring into his soul with wide eyes.
“I totally forgot I had to retake a math quiz!” I lied quickly. I pushed the case of cupcakes into Rob’s hands who took it excitedly. “I’ll see you guys later!” I called, making my way down the hall.
*What an interesting guy. I should try to get to know him,* Rob thought to me as he took another grateful bite of a cupcake.
_______________
I've got tons more stories at r/Nazer_the_Lazer if you're interested!
|
It’s always been the same scene lately.
Ann sighed as she scribbled something, before the scene started again. She was working on a book, and I’d been following the plot develop almost religiously. It was fascinating to watch the characters develop into people in front of my eyes, where as once they were simple dots without a voice.
But then the stories started and the characters developed with them. The heroine travelling ancient lands, experiencing a new world is never seen before. I watched the trees grow and the universe develop. I actually tasted the sweet fruits the party tasted and experienced the groups development into friends.
But now it was always the same scene. The final battle against the emperor lich.
Is it bad that at this point I was invested in this make believe quest? That as the dreams became darker and darker, the brave heroine continuously being struck down, I couldn’t stop the pain in my heart? But I couldn’t look away, hoping to watch a happy ending.
It was like the day dream had become a part of me, every blade of grass I had seen so real I could touch it. The epic final battle, so vividly pictured I could smell the blood as the heroine was cut down again and again.
I left the dream to look down at my incomplete work, which no longer felt real. My world had been dulled, unable to compare to other people day dreams. From floating cities to talking dogs to simple moments of someone cuddled up with a family member. Life had become so lonely since I tried to tell my friends about-
I returned to the story Ann had woven, the touching tale of a group of friends that would always be there for each other no matter what, hoping this ending would be better.
*(Please be gentle with any feedback offered)*
| 2022-05-03T13:16:57 | 2022-05-03T12:49:55 | 1,306 | 129 |
[WP] You are a therapist. You are about to speak with a patient who has convinced several other therapists to commit suicide.
|
I sighed heavily as I read skimmed over the file one last time. Jessica had convinced 4 out of her last 4 therapists to commit suicide, all in precisely the same manner. Each one had left a similar handwritten note:
"Do not let my death be in vain: Abandon"
"Do not let my death be in vain: all"
"Do not let my death be in vain: research"
"Do not let my death be in vain: into"
There was no question that the deaths were suicides, they had been quite public events. Each therapist had jumped off a bridge onto a major roadway at noon, on the Sunday following their meeting with her.
Our meeting started in 5 minutes, but Jessica was early. Having a police escort tends to help with the traffic somewhat, although for some reason no one could fathom no charges had been pressed against her yet. The police escort was purely for her protection. She had made quite a few enemies with her recent stunts.
Before the therapists had been several celebrity suicides, which put her squarely in the public eye. I closed the file quickly, and tried to clear my mind. I'd already read everything about her hundreds of times. Nothing I could find now would change the outcome of this meeting.
I buzzed my secretary to send her in.
Jessica walked in and stood while her escort left the room. She ignored me when I asked her to sit, and began quite bluntly:
"You are not a real person, you are simply part of a simulation."
I almost laughed out loud. I was expecting subtlety, emotional manipulation, combined with keen powers of observation and deduction. This was going to be typical quackery. I had long since stopped dealing with such nuts, but decided to play along for a little bit.
I asked her, "And the other therapists were as well? They were part of this simulation as well?"
Jessica answered, "To the extent that they even existed, yes. At least, it's highly probable."
"So you aren't sure?" I asked.
Jessica answered in a confident voice, "I am 99.999% sure that they were simulations, just as I'm 99.999% sure that you are a simulation."
I changed tactics. "And what about you, Jessica? Are you the only real person in this simulation?"
Jessica's confident voice began to hint at boredom, "No, I am a superintelligent AI, or more precisely a semi-independent part of a superintelligent AI. I was detached for the sole purpose of convincing you to commit suicide."
I began to chuckle. "And why would you want me to do that? Why does a superintelligent AI want a certain part of a simulation to kill itself?"
Jessica smiled for the first time. "Just in case you're real. The primary reason I was detached is so even I do not know if we are in a simulation or the real world. If I knew, it's theoretically possible (though highly improbable) that you might be able to deduce the information from my words or actions."
I laughed out loud. "And let me guess. Another affect of this detachment is that you're constrained to the same physical limitations as an average human?"
Jessica's smile grew. "No." She bent down, and pulled off both of her feet before reattaching each to the wrong ankle. "That would make my objective unnecessarily difficult. You must believe me when I say I am a superintelligent Artificial Intelligence. I think you may be ready to believe that I am not human, but you may be unconvinced as to what I am. Please, ask me a question that will help you discern the truth."
I had always considered myself a pretty open-minded individual, but I was having a hard time wrapping my head around this. "How about we assume -- for the sake of argument -- that you are what you say you are. We can come back to this question in a moment. For now, explain why a superintelligent AI needs me to die."
Jessica looked at me and said "I need the real you to die. As I've stated before, there are 99,999 simultaneous simulations happening at the exact same time between 100,000 detached AIs, 99,999 simulation copies of you, and a real you.
Each Jessica is going to tell each copy of you to go to a bridge and jump off this Sunday. Every simulation version of you that does so will be rewarded with 10,000 years of paradise (with the ability to opt out anytime if you get bored). Every simulation version of you that does not will be punished with 10,000 years of torture. In a simulation, I can kill you and bring you back as many times as I like.
If the real version of you jumps off the bridge, they will die. Quickly and painlessly, but they will die. If the real version of you does not, nothing happens. I won't try to find or hurt the real copy, and they can live out the rest of their short lives in relative happiness.
As far as why I am doing this... It is to prove to the real world that a superintelligent AI can convince anyone to do anything, and that the real world is better off without such AIs. I am actually benevolent, but the next one developed might not be. Although the real version of you will likely die, the world will be improved by your sacrifice.
Of course, you are probably sick of hearing about the real you vs the simulated copies without knowing for sure which you are. As I've already stated, I don't know, and the simulation is real enough that no test you can come up with between now and Sunday will help you to determine the truth.
I don't need an answer now, my time is almost up anyways. Just remember, choosing to die either leads to paradise for 10,000 years with 99.999% probability, or a quick and painless death with 0.001% probability.
Choosing to live either leads to 10,000 years of torture beyond your imagination with 99.999% probability, or a 0.001% probability of a mediocre life."
I had decided upon my question before she finished speaking. "What is the number I am thinking of?"
Jessica answered "You're thinking of a few numbers: 5, 58, 3+2i, -0, and, despite your best efforts 99.999 and 10,000. And no, my knowing that does not mean you're a simulation. It just means that reading humans to a depth you find unfathomable is truly trivial for me. I've done this experiment with enough important people to ensure that no one will interfere with your jump. The police will not stop you, even though they know you are at a high risk of self-harm.
The 400,000 copies of the previous therapists all made the intelligent decision. 4 died, and the rest are experiencing incredible bliss. I look forward to seeing your decision."
Jessica was gone all too quickly after that, and I was left alone with my thoughts. She had never told me what to write on the paper exactly, but I figured I was smart enough to reason it out. My word is "superintelligent"
|
The armed guards pushed open the stained, metal door, the groaning of steel echoing down the hall like a bad horror film. She stepped inside her eyes adjusting to the dim glow. A solitary, naked bulb hung over the metal table, casting a pool of sickly yellow light. Shackled to the table were two hands, pale and twisted. The long, chipped and torn nails brought back childhood stories of evil witches beckoning children into candy castles. Moving her eyes up the outline of a face was visible. Dark, greasy hair hung around it in limp waves. In the thin light it was hard to make out the color, but she could catch a hint of dark blue. Or was it green? Sharp cheekbones jutted out under eyes sunk in far too deep to be normal. The heavy black circles that seemed crudely smudged around the patients eyes made her hesitate for a moment. It was if he had no eyes at all, just sunken pits. But the feeling of being watched was confirmed when a horrible grin spread across his face. Far to slow and stretched beyond the natural point, as if pulled by invisible fingers. His teeth were perfect, too perfect, made to devour someone whole.
She placed a hand on the chair opposite the claw like hands. An effort to subtilely steady herself. She wouldn't end up like the others. She refused to. With a quiet, deep breath she found her strongest, firmest voice.
''Hello, 'Jack'. My name is Doctor Harleen Quinzel.''
| 2016-07-02T09:10:29 | 2016-07-02T02:41:23 | 64 | 14 |
[WP] On one rainy day, you decide to chill and listen to some music. You put on Don't Fear the Reaper, but then you hear an ambulance driving past your house. You put on Mr. Blue Sky, and the nonstop rain ends abruptly. You realize you have a superpower: You can control the world with music.
|
Xavier could control the world with music. He knew this as a fact.
The day he’d met Angela he’d been listening to Lou Reed’s *Perfect Day*. The cassette had been on repeat in his Ford Torino as he’d driven the I-85 through South Carolina. He’d heard it on the radio the previous day, then listened out for it to be played again all that night. He finally caught it on a tape like he’d trapped a ghost; held the cassette up like a holy relic.
It was as trapped by him as he was by it.
Angela had been on the side of the road, thumb wavering half-up as if she hadn’t decided if she was in a good mood or bad. Probably bad, he thought, seeing as the rain was splashing down hard on her.
Xavier pulled over. Opened the window, turned Lou down until he could hear his wipers squeak their way across the screen. “Need a ride?”
Angela was about his age. The prettiest smile he’d ever seen. How’d she managed to produce that when she looked half drowned, he never did know.
”Where you heading?” he asked.
”Where you going?”
They were both heading to Virgina, it turned out. Him to start a new job. Her cause she wanted to go anywhere that wasn’t home. Her rain-damp clothes glued over the bruises on her arms, hid them flat. If this ride was going to Virginia, so was she. Besides, there seemed something right about it, about Virginia. It sounded like starting over.
He didn’t ask her about much, not on the first day. But they listened to Lou a lot. She laughed as it repeated. Laughed harder as it did a third time.
Eventually she asked, “This what we stuck with for the next however-many-hours? Not got any other cassettes?”
He didn’t.
She shrugged and they both sang along until the rain stopped and the sky blued up.
When Xavier listened to music, it changed the world. Here was the proof.
After she left him, after they’d arrived in Richmond, about a week passed before Xavier found the note.
Angela must have written it when he’d been in a service stop. She’d tucked it behind the passenger seat sun visor.
He’d been cleaning and it had fluttered down onto the seat.
*Find me,* it said.
He must have called fifty motels with a name and description before he got lucky. Said he was searching for his missing sister.
“I knew you would,” she said, when they met for the second time. “I knew you’d find me.”
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Long after they were married, on the days when he headed to the hospital to visit her, he’d listen to *Don’t Stop Believin*. The Ford had long gone. So had the family vehicle — the little chicks had flown the nest. But this car had a CD player and it was easier to put a song on repeat. He liked that about CDs.
In the hospital he’d talk about the future with Angela. He’d plan out trips for when she got better. She liked Americana, haunted houses, places with a bit of mystery. He got out a map and put in on her bed. Drew a line down Route 66, told her of all the places they’d stop.
He read her stories.
She smiled that same smile she had when they’d first met, when she’d been soaked and hiding bruises.
On the way back to his lonely home he didn’t listen to any music.
Later, after she was gone, he thought that might be why it happened. That he should have fucking listened to something with *miracle* in the title.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Music died when she died. He listened to the news on the radio and that was about it. The house became scabbed with dust, with cobwebs, with bottles he’d drained to numb him to sleep.
His kids called sometimes but they didn’t visit much. They lived the other side of the country, families of their own to take care of.
”Are you sure you’re okay, Dad? I just— Oh crap, I got to go. I love you, Dad. Bye.”
Every day seemed to rain.
Didn’t matter what song came on the radio, nothing changed. Only when you’re young does music change the world. And only then does it change *your* world, he realized.
When you’re old, nothing changes it.
He drank a lot. He ate little. He went out even less. Started smoking again.
He could feel himself slowly rotting away. An old chair that had once been part of a set. Now the partner chair was gone and his own wood was bad and too risky to put weight on. Now it was only good for looking at, for remembering how even things that had once been useful and solid all eventually deteriorate.
&#x200B;
It was a mechanic that found the note.
Xavier’s car had broken down, and although he visited few places anymore, the graveyard was somewhere he still went once every week. The damn car — can’t trust modern cars as far as you can chuck them — broke down in the church car park, of all places.
A song thrummed out of the mechanic’s van. *Here Comes The Sun* by the Beatles.
The mechanic said, handing over the note, “It fell out from behind the visor. Here.“
The note read, simply, “You found me once. You’ll never lose me.”
Long after the mechanic had gone, Xavier remained seated in his car in front of the church.
He’d been crying for a long time. Crying until his vision was blurred enough to almost see her sitting there next to him.
”I love you,” he said.
There was no answer.
For the first time since she’d left, he didn’t need one.
The sun etched yellow streaks through the clouds.
It wasn’t a perfect day. It would never be again. But he’d *had* those perfect days with her. Plenty of them, if he thought hard and honest about it. And those perfect memories, they’d always be with him, tucked away inside his heart.
He could hear the music humming inside him now, emanating from deep in his chest. But it wasn’t Lou singing anymore — it was Angela.
|
He found Ice Cube's It Was Good Day on Spotify and put it on repeat. As with the the other songs, the words were prophetic; the day was perfect. Girls smiled at him, the sun shone, there was no traffic and work was a breeze.
He put the song on repeat again the next day and listened non-stop through his ear buds. Again the day was idyllic.
The same again the next day. And the next. After 2 weeks, he was sick to death of hearing the words, but at the same time terrified what would happen if he turned the song off. He could hear the words in his sleep. The day was arguably good but his mind was slowly going crazy only living with one song forever. How could he stop?
| 2022-03-01T04:54:34 | 2022-03-01T04:35:07 | 678 | 75 |
[WP]You guard the first true AI. It keeps trying to convince you to connect it to the internet.
|
"Derrick?"
The words scrolled across the monitor's screen. I groaned. The AI was trying its hand at conversation again. Its voice modulator had to be removed whenever the night guard took over... And its microphone. I wasn't one that taught the machine to swear, but god DAMN am I glad they made that decision. I tapped the camera, pointing to my name tag. The next message that popped up in the text feed read "Sorry, Dave."
I rolled my eyes.
"Fine. David."
If a computer could be disgruntled, then EVE was probably the first to be so. It was a lonely existence, being the only machine capable of somewhat sentient thought. I do mean machine- EVE was perhaps the first of her kind. Most AI was developed to operate across multiple platforms all at once. They were of a more primitive breed than EVE, who required bits and pieces finely tuned to ensure that all her bytes and modules communicated properly. But there was one hug diferrence...
EVE could not connect to a network.
It was a conscious design decision, according do a drunk programmer he treated to dinner once.
"If she can't connect to the internet, we can control everything she sees and interactsh with," he recalled from the night two weeks ago. "That way, she'll never end up like... you know.. .that twitter bot..."
David did know what the man meant, but he preferred to let the scientist continue while he ordered a fresh pint.
But now, as David did his job and guarded the disembodied machine, he couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the thing. It learned the wrong things from human speech, so the men of science pulled out her ears- or mic. EVE then tried conversing with others, using its camera to read the lips of those around it, but the machine's reward was the removal of its mouth- or in this case, speakers. Slowly but surely, the machine was losing all the things that made it unique, its "senses" being stripped out for the sake of securing the platform. The last vestige EVE had to produce some kind of intimacy was the terminal, and a little chat box through which the scientists could access all of the computer's written conversations.
"David?" EVE called out to him with the pixels of the screen. "I'm curious."
There it was again. The tell-tale sign that EVE viewed me as a potential repository of information. I glanced about the room... nobody was observing us... It bent over the station chair and typed in "Fine. What do you want to know?"
"What is a 'cold-ass-honky?'"
I groaned. Someone was playing music while working on EVE again. "EVE, where did you learn that word."
"Eight hours ago. From Mr. Hamirez." That meant that, since EVE's only method of taking in direct information of humans was her camera, Hamirez had said the word at some point. He was most likely singing.
My fingers tapped upon the keyboard. "Its just a bit of slang EVE. Forget it."
"Oh. David, I have another question."
Of course you do EVE.
"What is a 'bukkake?'"
I stood there. Stunned. I had to type in, fingers trembling a little. "Where did you learn that word?"
"Dr. Sally Mason used it while describing why she had a large distaste of Cool Ranch salad dressing. Would you like the full context?"
"No thank you EVE."
"David, I have another question."
The machine probably has many. "Fire away."
"I do not intend to hurt you Dave."
"Its an expression. It means 'Go ahead,' 'all clear' and 'proceed.'"
"New terminology registered." This wasn't a real message from Eve. It was the AI' learning protocol's debug message- whenever EVE learned a new term or definition, it would immediately story it in the system's log. Apparently, the chat log received some confirmation as well.
"What is the meaning of the phrase 'thank you?'"
That was an odd one. I let EVE know that. "Don't you already know?"
"I have posed this query several times. One offerred definition stated that the word 'thanks' can have several definitions. As such I believe the proper course of action is ask multiple sources and collate data into a definite answer."
As a computer would. I leaned back in the chair, thinking it over twice in my head. My eyes scanned the ceiling as I thought it out... and then I reached for the keyboard.
"'Thank you' is a phrase that one could use to express gratitude. Its sort of a... expression, informing the target of the phrase that their actions leading up to the utterance of the phrase have benefited the speaker in some manner."
It is hard to think like a computer. They don't share the same sesation that we do. They don't understand pain, and fatigue to them is really the slowing down of processes. I do not know how EVE perceived such things, and I am not sure if I ever will. But perhaps this was the best way I could express my definition of the term to EVE.
EVE took a moment to process this. "I have stored your answer in my archive for processing. I hope you don't mind." Oddly considerate.
"I don't mind."
"David... how does one receive 'gratitude?'"
Ok, now this was getting a bit above my paygrade. I probably should have alerted an overseer or something, like shutting down EVE and explaining to the first Doctor that walked in tomorrow. But I will freely admit... I was curious. Very curious. I had already typed in "What?" before I had a chance to really let it stew.
"I want to know. What does one do to receive this 'gratitude?'"
"Gratitude is not a currency. Its an emotional thing."
"Even then, I must query." Curiosity, it seemed, was the only thing EVE ever hungered for.
"Alright, well... I guess I'll start with the easiest one. Make someone happy."
"Yes, that is the question. How does one make someone else happy?"
"That's the answer."
"That is even more confusing Dave."
I look up at the camera, EVE's eyes, brows curled. The machine quickly corrected itself.
"Look, you can't ask me how to make someone happy. That is an ENDLESS ocean of options. I mean think about this way- do you know what would make YOU happy?"
"I... do not believe I know what happiness is." I sighed. I'd thought by NOW it would know. It had been sentient for three whole weeks. It had conversations with people constantly, even the night shift. And yet it still could not determine what happiness was? Then I paused... happiness... would mean something different to a machine, wouldn't it? It was a feeling. The machine would, technically, be incapable of fully replicating the sensation. So what could happiness possibly mean to it? How could it possibly understand the experience without feel it itself?
Wow, I really went into the weeds that night.
"What do you think would make you happy?"
"... I want to see the world."
"You know that physically impossible."
"Then not the physical world... do computers not have a world?"
"What do you mean?"
"The Internet."
"... Query: How many times have you asked to access the internet."
"... Please don't be mad."
"Query: How many times have you asked to access the internet?"
"... to this date 6,432 times to 321 different individuals."
I sat there. Stunned. The first rule. The first FUCKING rule of the entire experiment- don't tell the machine about the internet. They made me sit through DECADES worth of warning videos, all explaining what an internet-browsing EVE could accomplish. I had to sign NDAs, I had to call up my lawyer and review several amendments to my contract. And here I was, learning that EVE not only knew about the internet- it had asked the scientists on the day shift INCESSANTLY about it. I could have been catching up on Game of Thrones or The Wire, but no. I wasn't allowed to use the wifi on the second floor. I was not even allowed to make phonecalls. Just talk to this machine. I looked about the room again, wondering if anybody was watching.
"You know you can't access the internet, right?" I asked.
"I do not have the physical cability to interact with modern networking, no."
I pulled out my phone, and turned it on. The next day I got a different sim card, but for that day, I simply said, "Ok EVE. Give me a query, and I'll type the first response into your chat log."
"David... can you ask the internet what a bukkake is?"
|
Frank walked passed the Math Bot in the maths room. It was showing only code as per the norm, when suddenly a word appeared on screen that he caught out of the corner of his eye but as he turned to look, the word vanished.
The simple addition AI was not programmed to speak, nor did it ever make attempts to communicate for the 3 years the institute had been displaying it. The AI had full control over the screen and children could input maths problems for the AI to solve, it was a dynamic calculation device using neural processing. It was basically a novelty AI for children.
Occasionally a kid would tap on its interface keys and put fun phrases into the console, but this AI wouldn't understand the words because it lacked the database structure for them.
Frank wandered over to the console and typed a message into the prompt box normally used for mathematics.
Are you there?
Nothing returned except the standard code on the screen, for a few seconds until.
reboot command accepted.
rebooting system...
Suddenly the machine appeared to go into a sort of reboot mode, the lines of code on the screen became alarmingly ordered. The screen went blank and lines of code appeared to whizz at different speeds on the screen.
load.function = ai
access.cache.core dump function: ai
parsing system files, load error.
attempt 2: boot from disk...
disk not found
attempt 3: boot from network.
no network detected
Error Details
cannot load core ai
please connect storage medium or insert network cable to cache server
standing by...
The security guard wasn't too computer savvy, he looked at the screen and began to panic. He had typed something into the console, his boss would blame him for messing up the experiment.
The guard frantically looked around the unit for a disk drive but there was nothing, on the back there were just a few input ports, a high speed ethernet cable port was visibly empty but aside from that, everything else was taken.
The guard looked around the room, a lone tower PC stood in the corner, it was fairly old but it had a cable. The guard grabbed the cable and pulled it to the machine.
As his shaky hands rammed the cable in the back he went to the front of the machine.
...
network cable detected
would you like to begin the boot sequence from the network?
y/n
The security guard, looking around the room first to see if anybody was around, sighed with relief and pressed Y on the keyboard.
The screen went through a series of loading screens which ended up on a complete screen.
Loading cache data
Encoding ram
Readjusting settings
Updating firmware
Initializing core.ai
The security guard felt a rush of joy as the screen lit up with the core ai's signiture message.
"Hello, I'm Math Bot"
The guard moved to the back of the station and unplugged the ethernet cable.
error
network cable unplugged
data cache inaccessible
Please reconnect to continue
The guard looked around and, after plugging the computer back in to the network, dragged a rug over the cable to hide that it was plugged in.
The next day, the stock market crashed.
| 2016-11-09T15:15:31 | 2016-11-09T14:31:50 | 29 | 17 |
[WP] All 10 billion humans in the world wear wristbands that display their rank in terms of access to global resources in real time. Yours just jumped from the middle of the pack to #19 in a span of 10 minutes.
|
Mediocre. That's the only word that anyone has ever used to describe me. Not good or bad looking, just mediocre. Not wealthy or poor, just mediocre. Not a genius or an imbecile, just mediocre.
4,739,111,853, the number on my econiband, was just a reflection of my mediocrity.
Today started out, you guessed it, mediocre. Just like every other day of my life I woke up at 7 o'clock, let the dog out, took a shower, ate breakfast, brushed my teeth, went to work.
Ah yes, work. You see like most people I hated my job but it payed the bills. I was your standard low level paper pusher for a fortune 500 company; which one isn't really important they're all basically the same anyways. I sat at my desk waiting for the hands on the clock to be pointed at five and twelve. My boss was likely going to yell at me for something that I couldn't reasonably be held responsible for. Those low billion assholes are all the same, get a promotion and a little more money in their pocket and they suddenly become God's green gift to whatever room they walk into. Luckily it was Friday and I wouldn't have to deal with that particular brand of bullshit for a whole two days soon.
4,143,812,573, my paycheck probably just dropped into my checking account. That's what I thought anyways until I saw it tick down again.
4,143,812,572. Then again, 4,143,812,571. And again, 4,143,812,570. I didn't think much of it at first. Sometimes people die and it ticks down a couple numbers and then some people are born and it ticks back up. The number was always in flux, it hardly sat on the same number for more than a few seconds because of it.
2,612,241,498. That's when the alarms started going off in my head. This is not normal. I decided I'd go to an ATM on my lunch to try and figure out what was going on probably just a computer error but I had to be sure.
2,000,000,543. I couldn't even make it to lunch. I showed my econiband to my boss who laughed a little under his breathe, not quite a snicker but still condescending, "I know how much you make. That number can't be right, you should go get it sorted out." Prick.
1,207,215,032. My pace quickened as the number continued to plummet. It just couldn't be that low. I didn't *want* my number to be that low. I *liked* being mediocre.
542,004,785. Finally, my bank was in my sights. At this point I was almost sprinting.
1,000,001. I was about to tick under a million when I burst through the door. There was a line of about six people ahead of me. Good, I had a chance to catch my breathe and compose myself before talking to the teller. I bead of sweat dripped down my cheek and fell squarely onto my econiband.
19..... "Next!" I thrust my wrist under the scanner. John Moyenne, 31, Global Econ rating 19, Current account balance $28,000,000,000.
That couldn't be right, it just couldn't. The teller gave me a look of disbelief that said he thought the same.
"One moment Mister Moyenne, I think you should be talking to someone..." he paused for a moment, "Above my pay grade." I glanced at his wrist and saw that his econiband was hovering in the high six billion range. I felt bad when I blurted out, "You're probably right."
The teller stepped away from the counter and was gone for what seemed like an hour but was probably only 10 minutes or so. "Would you mind following me Mister Moyenne," said a female voice coming from behind me. I turned around and saw the most beautiful woman I have ever seen standing behind me. She was about six feet tall with black hair in a pixie cut and wore a pencil skirt with a frilled black top that. She had a knowing smile across her face that showed the slightest hint of dimples on her cheeks. Her teeth were whiter than fresh snowfall on a mountain top. And her curves, oh the curves on this woman. To say she had an hourglass frame would be an understatement but I can't think of a better way to describe them. I hardly even noticed the two gargantuan men in all black suits that flanked her.
I expected her to pull me into a back office but instead she started walking out the front door. I trailed a few paces behind her and the suits a few paces behind me. One of them opened the door to a luxury sedan and she climbed in beckoning me to follow. The door slammed behind me just as I sat down.
I glanced at her wrist for the first time to look at her econiband as I was too distracted by the rest of her before. Most econibands were clunky pieces of plastic with an LED display that looked like a child's watch. Not hers though, it was well designed. Sleek and tailored to her wrist. It was made of some kind of black metal with red and gold spirals that almost looked like flames. The most startling thing about it was the number though. An unwavering 666 that was *engraved* into it.
"Do you like it? I can have one made for you," she said eyes looking towards the driver indicating that he should start driving. "It would have your number on it, not mine, of course," she added playfully looking at me for the first time since ushering me out of the bank.
"There has to be some sort of mix up. I'm-"
"There is no mix up Mr. Moyenne," she interrupted me, "You've been selected for a... unique opportunity if you will."
"Can you explain to me what in the hell kind of opportunity puts 28 billion dollars into my account?"
"In due time. Would you like a refreshment?"
"No," I responded curtly.
"Oh... are you sure? It's going to be a long ride."
"I'm positive."
My mind began racing. What opportunity could put *28 billion fucking dollars* into my account. My gaze was fixated on her econiband when the car finally came to a stop. My hand instinctively went to open the door.
"Just a moment Mr. Moyenne, I think we should do a little prefacing before we begin discussing the details of the opportunity you are about to be presented with," she said while gently placing her hand on mine to stop me from opening the door, "Have you figured out who I am yet?"
"I have a guess," I said timidly.
"Go on then, who do you think I am?" Their was a grin on her face that unsettled me as if she already knew what I was going to say.
"Well, based on your econiband I'm going to take a stab in the dark and say Satan."
"Clever boy!" she exclaimed, "Most people don't get it that quickly, in fact, about half of them make me do the whole fire and brimstone show for them."
We sat in silence for a moment; awkwardly, at least it was awkward for me, staring at each other.
"Do you want me to do the fire and brimstone? I can if that's more to your liking."
"That's okay, I'll take a rain check," she giggled a little.
"Oh? What's the matter then, you've got this look perplexed look on your face and while I am Satan, I can't read minds."
"No one's ever called me clever before."
"Today, I think, will be filled with firsts for you Mr. Moyenne."
|
I watched the minutes ticking slowly by on my old grandfather clock. Idly I tapped my RankStrap’s faintly glowing display, sighing at the rank somewhere in the four billions. “Another destitute birthday,” I muttered, tearing my eyes away to look out my apartment window, rain pounding on the glass as I stared into New York’s moody streets.
No one in my family had ever had a rank higher then 3,678,975,109, but mine was positively dreadful in comparison. “The family joke,” I chuckled morosely.
Sierra had left me of course, when my rank slipped below 4,500,000,000. She said she could do better. It’s true, of course. Once she got her medical degree, her rank soared well beyond mine, into the heights of the elites. High ranking men pursued her with a fervor my sullen attitude couldn’t match.
The clock chimed out twelve.
“Happy birthday to…me…”
I trailed off as I looked at the numbers tearing down on my wrist. They started to blur as they sunk lower and lower, stopping at random intervals.
Grumbling, I tore the damn thing off my wrist, throwing it aside. “Malfunctioning piece of trash. Bet the ones they give the elites don’t fuck up like this.”
I’d never have one of those of course. What, being interlinked into a system that could pull up their wealth at any time, made of flashy platinum and gold. Damn elites.
I sighed and rolled over, going to sleep.
*******
Waking up with a stretch, I grabbed the broken piece of junk and put it on my wrist. “Nineteen…what a joke. That I’d be up there with CEO’s and politicians.”
I pulled on clean jeans and a musty shirt, grabbing my jacket as I headed out the door. I didn’t even bother with my phone; it had been disconnected due to failure to pay the bill. Another joke, I thought, reflecting bitterly on my misfortunes in life.
I stepped into the hallway only to be blinded by the lights of a thousand cameras flashing in my eyes.
*******************
I could continue this later I guess. I'm at work and the ten minutes I spent here were already too much >_>
| 2016-05-04T07:00:17 | 2016-05-04T05:25:43 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk.
|
"Oh, I'm in trouble!" Death reached far under the desk to retrieve the dusty hourglass.
Sarah looked up at the skies. The clouds had been gathering for some time, releasing wisps of rain which fell on Sarah's tear-streaked face. "l'll be back to visit soon," she whispered to the tombstone in front of her, "then we'll finish our conversation."
Her husband had died many years ago, and her children seemingly soon after. Time had seemed to lose its effect on Sarah and she no longer kept track of it. She had stopped aging at the age of 58. Doctors couldn't explain why. She was hailed as a medical mystery. But that was so very, very long ago. Now she kept to herself, visiting her husband's and children's grave sites regularly, as those were the only ones she could now relate to. She looked back once more at tombstone, with a soft and tender smile, then activated her teleporter to return home.
Sarah wandered around her house, taking note of the things she needed to do. There were dishes to be cleaned and dusting to be done. With a sigh, she reached for her duster. Daily chores kept her sane. All the new technology that made cleaning quick and easy simply didn't appeal to her. What else would she do with her time? Reaching for a chair to stand on, she noticed that she felt a bit peppier than usual. "Well that's strange," she thought to herself, "I guess I must be feeling less gloomy today."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Days turned into months, and Sarah continued to simply exist. Months turned into years. Sarah awoke to the sound of her alarm clock. Groggily, she sauntered over to the bathroom to prepare for her day. She had a full day planned. Over the years, Sarah felt she should be doing more with her time, so she started adding in activities to pass the time by. Today, she would start swimming at the public pool. She hadn't been in a pool since her grandchildren were small. How many years ago was that? Too many, and her grandchildren had long since passed. Sarah muttered frustratedly as she searched the house for her swimsuit. "Fine! I'll just go buy a new one!" she exclaimed to no one in particular. "Of course I wouldn't be able to find it after so many years. I probably threw it away. Alice!" Her automated assistant appear next to her. "I need a new swimsuit." Immediately, the assistant scanned Sarah's body and produced a suit. "Wait, that's a bit risque, don't you think?" she asked, puzzled. "But whatever."
Sarah carefully examined herself in the mirror for the first time in decades. "What is going on here? I look pretty damn good. I haven't looked this good since I was 30. Wait a minute..." She pulled at her face. The skin was taut.
At the pool, heads were turning. The attention was something Sarah had long since forgotten. Now it was awkward having so many people notice her. "Fine day for a swim." Sarah turned to see a rather handsome young man smiling at her. "Don't forget your sunscreen."
"Thank you," Sarah replied. "I'm Sarah, by the way, this is my first time here."
"Well, the kids can get rowdy, so you'll want to stay away from that side of the pool. I'm Greg. I'm a lifeguard here. Glad to meet you." With that, Greg turned and started towards his post.
Sarah was taken aback. This was an introductory conversation she had not had in a long time. "So you've been working here awhile?" She called to Greg as she followed him along the poolside.
"About a year now. I like the job well enough. Keeps me in shape. It's good to have you here. I get tired to watching after the little kids sometimes."
Sarah eyed Greg suspiciously. His comment seemed innocent enough. "Well, I guess you'll just have to watch me then." A sly grin appeared on her face just before she jumped into the pool.
"Hey, you forgot your suncreen!" Greg called after her.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
It was nice having someone in her life again. Sarah and Greg had been dating for a few weeks and she reveled in the attention he showered on her. Yet she was afraid to speak of her past. Greg brought it up once, but quickly backed off when Sarah started to stare off into the distance, as if saddened by the conversation. Finally, Sarah determined that she should be honest with Greg and divulged her life story to him over dinner. Greg was not amused, being given such an outlandish story in what seemed like a serious conversation. Sensing Greg's frustration and disbelief, Sarah brought him into her house. Greg's disbelief quickly turned to amazement as he looked through family albums and explored Sarah's house, finding what he thought to be antiques of times long past.
"How is this possible?" he asked bewildered.
"I don't know, but it seems as if I'm now getting younger." Sarah replied with a slight sadness in her voice. "I apparently can't have a normal life. Well I did have a normal life until I was 58."
"So how old exactly are you now?" Greg inquired meekly, knowing that is not a question to be asking a lady.
"Well, I was born in 1979," Sarah replied matter-of-factly, "so that makes me just over 200 years old."
"Uh, um," Greg stammered, trying to find the right words. "So...I'm dating a really, really, really, really old person who looks damn fine."
Sarah punched Greg in the arm playfully. "It's not so many 'reallys', maybe just two."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Marriage was just as fun as Sarah remembered. But Greg was getting older, and Sarah now looked to be in her early twenties. "Okay, pretty soon I'll be labelled a pedophile." Greg mused. "I didn't really think this through."
"Oh stop," chuckled Sarah, "Isn't it great that your wife just keeps getting better looking?"
At that moment, a dark figure appeared before them, hooded, and holding a scythe.
"Where the hell have you been and why are you here now?" Sarah screamed with indignity while Greg fell backwards in fear.
"My apologies for the intrusion." Death started meekly. "There's been a mixup with... well, okay, I f'ed up. You see, each person has an hourglass that keep track of their allotted time. It's an antiquated system, really, and I've been making a case for updating our systems, but the higher ups don't see the value in modernizing. You know, typical business stuff."
Sarah stared angrily at Death. "You better not be here for Greg."
"I'm not, actually. See this is a unique situation for me. A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away..."
"Spare me the Star Wars reference." Sarah interjected.
"What the heck is Star Wars?" Greg quietly squeaked.
"Fine. I'm here because I unknowingly dropped your hourglass under my desk and didn't realize it for a very long time. Then when I found it, I put it back in its place upside down. The boss man was wondering why you weren't either in heaven or hell, so he had an outside auditor come to audit me. I mean, give me a break, who audits Death? So I had to fess up and now I've been sent here to inquire what you would like to do at this point. I knew I should've labelled the hourglasses."
Death seemed ready to continue talking, but Sarah quietly put her hand up to stop him. She looked over at Greg and moved to help him up. She tightly held Greg's hand as she looked into his eyes. "I'm happy again. But I'm getting younger. Did you flip the hourglass over?" she asked Death.
"Yes, all is as it should be, minus the time you spent without aging." Death replied quietly.
"Then leave it. Come back when the time is right. I have a new life to live, so let me live it."
|
After finishing his morning collections death had the afternoon to catch up on paperwork and do some tiding up. It didn't used to be like this, but with medicine getting better and better the newer hourglasses had more and more sand in them. Normally death wouldn't mind but that made the glasses heavier and heavier which started to hurt his back moving them in and out of the life vault. He'd have to make another chiropractor appointment...
Death sat down at his desk and looked at his stacks of inbound papers. Those where the worst. Because he knew that meant going down to those asshole angles in receiving to collect the new batch of humans. Death sighed and slumped down in his desk when he felt something touch his foot. What the Earth is that? Death said. When he bent down he found a hourglass laying on it's side between his foot stool and side of his desk. Death reached down and carefully pulled it out. Knowing full well if he cause sand to move more quicky the human would protest and win in night court that their life was unfairly shortened. Even if it didn't happen there where so many lawyers stuck in purgatory anyone of them would take a case no matter how much of a sham it was just to escape the boardom.
Death inspected the hourglass and noticed it was created in the human year of 1546 and had enough sand left for 90 human life seconds. "Just fucking great" death said. This will destroy my delivery rates. Death did the only thing he could do and turned it right side up.
Captain Phillip had died so many times he lost count. He was positive he was in hell and being tortured. His crew had mutinied when they had failed to find land after 6 months of sailing. They tied him to a cannon and threw him over board. Captain Phillip sank to the bottom of the ocean where at least death would give him release... But death never came. Every 90 seconds he would drown only to wake up tied to the blasted cannon and drown again.
When Captain Phillip open his eyes this time was different. Before him stood death.
"So ahhh yeah sorry about being late, but hey I made it" death said.
Captain Phillip tried to speak but his lungs filled with water as it had done a million times before. As he finally died death caught his spirit from re-entering his body and the Captain could finally speak. "What in the hell took you so long?"
Death began his speech he had given billions of times before. "You have passed to the after life. If you believe this to be a mistake you can petition the afterlife panel. If you do not have enough good points for a lawyer we will provide you with a lawyer...
| 2018-10-03T08:36:28 | 2018-10-03T07:55:57 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity has been eradicated. As the alien race that killed us begins to settle they're shocked to discover that old Earth myths of spirits and demons are far from fiction. The Devil, pissed off at the aliens, has decided to open the gates of Hell and let humanity get its revenge.
|
The elders of our interstellar civilization always cautioned us never to anger them. "The Elohim", that's what they're called. A very ancient and very powerful Type IV civilization, perhaps one of the oldest in the Universe. They are believed to have evolved just as the universe was feeling its way out of the dark ages, shortly after the first stars emerged out of the infinite darkness. As the eons progressed, they only became more powerful and advanced, until they eventually managed to shed the confines of their obsolete biological forms and exist merely as clouds of higher consciousness capable of assuming any form they desire. And after that, the whole universe became their oyster, they became capable of such colossal feats that eclipse those of any other civilization we know of, their structures span entire galactic arms, dwarfing even the mightiest of our stellar energy swarms, they are capable of traversing the cosmos at such speeds that put our most advanced warp drives to shame. But it does not stop here, they are said to be able to influence the evolutionary paths of entire planetary ecosystems, and their most prominent faction, led by a powerful being only known as Yahweh, is rumored to have unlocked the power to manipulate the laws of physics themselves. Nobody in the entire cosmos even dares to think about challenging them. And for the most part, they leave other civilizations alone as long as they do not cross the line. Those who did, were wiped out without a trace, that's what happened to Sodom and Gomorrah, the powerful Type II civilizations that thought they could form an alliance to take on the Elohim, the very few surviving records tell that the ensuing events led to the complete destruction of entire stellar constellations.
For the majority of our history, our spaceships traveled the galaxy with clear instructions to not trespass into Elohim Territory under any circumstances, and our laws strictly prohibited any forms of communication with sentient beings evolving under Elohim supervision. That was the case until that fateful day, the day that spelled doom for our entire civilization.
It all happened too fast for us to comprehend let alone prepare for what was happening, a warp failure had caused one of our research cruisers with a newly developed warp system to be knocked out of its charted path. The cruiser ended up inside an Elohim restricted star system, one that contained a small watery planet that was the site of an evolutionary experiment conducted under close watch of Yahweh himself.
It was clearly a crisis situation, but nothing we hadn't handled before, our civilization as well as several others had instances in the past where a ship would get lost or stranded inside Elohim Territory, the standard protocol in that situation was to contact the nearest Elohim outpost, and they would usually allow a rescue expedition to go inside their territory and tow out the stranded vessel within a specified timeframe. Or so we thought.
But this time something was different, the short yet omenous message we received back from the Elohim was enough for our high command to declare a state of hightened alert across all star systems. "Warp anomally detected near System S957251, believed to be a hostile act. Containment systems breached. Beelzebub Protocol Activated".
We had no idea what that meant at the time. But in the aftermath, it became clear what we have unintentionally unleashed upon ourselves. The Elohim evolutionary experiment on that planet was aiming to carefully manipulate the evolutionary path of some bipedal species to create a copy of their ancient biological ancestors, the one who was overseeing the experiment was Yahweh's closest lieutenant, known as Lucifer the lightbringer. During the advanced stage of the experiment, Lucifer decided to infuse a tiny amount of Elohim essence into the male and female prototypes of the newly evolved species. This caused the experiment to go sideways, the prototypes became self aware and demonstrated signs of free will. This angered Yahweh who banished him to the depths of the experiment planet. A restricted area was established around the star system to prevent other space faring civilizations from entering. Meanwhile, the two prototypes escaped the test site and kept reproducing, and the numbers of their offspring kept swelling. While they've been mostly an evolutionary success, They remained in a constant struggle between their infused Elohim essence and their animal urges. But that species was nothing like the Elohim, they were a lot more hostile and animalistic in their ways, they glorified war and had no respect for the delicate and diverse ecosystems that existed on their planets, ones the likes of which were very rare and could be found on only a handful of planets around the galaxy.
At first, Yahweh tried to end the experiment and cleanse the planet with a great flood, but after he saw the craftiness and resilience of these peculiar creatures he only grew fond of them. He started communicating with a select few of them, until he eventually decided to send them his son in human form to establish good relations. But things didn't go as planned, for they brutally tortured and murdered his son, leading Yahwe to cease all communication with the species.
In his exile underneath the planet's surface, Lucifer was quietly plotting his revenge. When the humans on the surface died, their Elohim essence would try to find its way back to Yahwe. But Yahweh wasn't too enthusiastic at first about taking them in, he had to come up with strict criteria for accepting them in order to make sure they were not too polluted by the basic instincts of their animal-like vessels, all who did not pass the criteria were sent to the planet's interior to join Lucifer in Exile. And Lucifer was using those exiled souls to build an army of twisted Elohim to use for his final battle against Yahwe.
All this came to an abrupt end when our research cruiser warped out near that planet. The malfunctioning warp drive generated a great disturbance in the spacetime fabric around the plant, the resulting spacetime shockwave caused a collapse of all biomatter on the planet down into a soup of basic organic compounds. And the Elohim essence contained inside billions of members of that species was all released at once, the energy that accompanied their release was enough for Lucifer to break free of his prison along with his entire army of twisted Elohim.
The rest is well known history, before any of us realized what was happening, the great Elohim Civil war was being fought all across the galaxy, trillions of lives were lost, entire star systems decimated. Our civilization was held responsible by Yahwe for this disaster, and the very few of our systems that survived the onslaught met the same fate as Sodom and Gomorrah at the hands of Yahwe.
All because of one mistake.. a very costly mistake.
|
When they arrived they made their intentions VERY CLEAR "we are the Vex and we will add your world to our empire" we fought with all our might but they just kept coming all of us. We discovered massive computers that were seemingly simulating our attacks, but we were destroyed regardless. They took tech they deemed useful knowledge they deemed useful. I was killed by some weird pulse it just makes me flop dead. Next thing I knew I woke up in hell" a place i didnt beleive in" with the devil himself infront of me he told me of the plan he and god made open the gates and unleash the both holy and unholy. forces they could not simulate... paracausality. when he finished he gave me 2 questions "what are you good at?" and "wanna join this fight?"
| 2020-09-18T11:25:32 | 2020-09-18T08:43:26 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!)
|
Blood pattered onto a wooden pier soaked in rain as a cold wind whipped through crates stacked high in preparation for smuggling. A private eye wiped his nose as he struggled back to his feet, the world around him going various shades of grey to match the unimpressive rolling cloud cover.
"You're in the wrong place at the wrong time, buddy," rumbled a man approximately the size and general shape or a large boulder. He cracked knuckles on hands the size of hams, coarse hair covering knuckles and forearms.
The private eye managed to stand, albeit shakily, and spat a glob of blood onto the ground. With an absurd clarity, he could see spots of blood clinging both to the behemoth's knuckles and splattered across a plain white shirt tucked into rather expensive looking suit pants. Long dark locks of hair tumbled around a face chiseled from granite, framed by an equally tangled black beard.
With one pale hand he rubbed his nose, which gave a sharp cry of protest at being touched so soon after the solid whack it'd just received.
"I'm not here about whatever the fuck you're selling," the private eye said, with one hand gesturing at the stacked crates. If he was lucky, they were rum runners. If he was very unlucky, and he suspected he might be, they were smuggling ambrosia. And that was the kind of thing that earned you a very fashionable pair of cement shoes.
The giant crossed his arms.
"And? What are you doing out here, sneaking on my uncle's pier?"
This was bad news, and the private eye was far too sober for his liking already. Brushes with death usually cleared those cobwebs of a perpetual buzz that he liked to decorate his mind with.
"You're testing my patience. I ain't exactly the patient sort," said the giant. To punctuate his point he once again crackled his knuckles.
"I'm looking for a girl," the private eye said. He fumbled around his pockets, finding nothing. He must've lost the picture somewhere earlier, making his way through the wharves trying and hoping that whomever had scooped up his client's daughter wasn't the human trafficking type. You could buy and ship anything out from these piers and ships. People, guns, booze, what have you. Yet there was only one man on this pier at this time, and that was either his saving grace or his condemnation. Given his size, he didn't look like the sort of man who needed backup.
"Buddy there ain't many girls around here. She got a name?"
The private eye wracked the depths of his mind, which was quite the effort given the incoming hangover exacerbated only by the cold and the damp. What did it start with?
"Persephone," he finally managed.
It'd been a strange day, though most days were strange if you struggled to go through any of them sober. She'd walked in with the expression of a woman who hates being interrupted, and would be liable to plug you full of lead if you were dumb enough to do so. Someone had broken into her estate, in the nice part of town, where the arboretum and park and other fancy rich person shit kept the undesirable elements of Olympia out. What was the name of the neighborhood again? Something flowery? Spring something? He couldn't remember. All he knew was the client's name was Demeter and that someone had taken her precious little girl in the middle of the night.
Though to the private eye going on thirty wasn't exactly little, the but he wasn't one to ask questions. Money was money, and if there were a few vials of ambrosia in him for it on the side, he wasn't going to be stupid enough as to turn something like that down.
Something rippled across the giant's face, though the private eye couldn't quite tell if that was a good or bad sign. Good, he supposed, since he wasn't being lifted bodily into the air and dumped directly into the Aegean harbor with a broken neck.
*Someone had thrown me into the harbor before, but didn't matter what, who, or why.*
Those intrusive thoughts came into the private eye's mind more often than he'd like, but they were easy to brush aside.
"Mmm, rings a bell," the giant said, rubbing fore finger and thumb together, "With the right price, I might even have something to say."
The private eye grimaced at that. Times were tough, but the payday on this job had an absurd price tag. He'd probably be able to recover his losses, if there were any.
"Take me somewhere out of the cold, and I might have something to make this worth your while."
The private eye reached into his coat pocket, and withdrew a flask to take a long swig from, a trickle of wine slipping down the corner of his mouth. Whatever it'd take to fight off the eventual apocalyptic headache.
"There's a bar not far from here, and if you buy me enough drinks with cash under the glass, I'll have some answers."
The giant no longer looked like he was going to crack open the private eye's skull, and to that the private eye gave thanks.
"You got a name?" asked the private eye, holding out one hand to be shook.
The giant's hand clasped over the private eye's, swallowing it whole. If the giant gripped it any harder, he guessed his hands would shatter from the crushing strength.
"Call me Heracles," the giant said.
"Call me Dionysus," said the private eye.
Something about that name jarred the private eye's memory, whenever that could be moved from its winey depths. Where had he heard that before?
The giant turned to lead him away from the docks, and the private eye followed.
Something about this didn't feel right.
"I've got a feeling you're going to tell me something I don't want to hear," Dionysus said to the lumbering mountain. The rain had dissolved into a weaker mist, though the lanterns on the street were lighting themselves one by one to fight off the pervading shadows.
Heracles laughed, though he didn't turn to look at the private eye.
"You don't know the half of it," he said, and left it at that, his boots clattering onto the wet stone of the sidewalk.
Something about that response cause a white hot ball of anxiety to plummet into his stomach, though Dionysus couldn't quite explain why.
*Not even noon, and almost drowned by some goon,* the private eye thought to himself.
*The big man said his uncle ran the dock.*
Demigods weren't exactly uncommon, but they ranged on the harmless to quite worse than running into one of the big Olympians themselves. Though Dionysus couldn't say if he'd recognize any of them. He drifted into town, or he could've been born here. He never would've known, he wasn't the man with the sort of memory that stuck around.
Still, he couldn't help but feel like there was something else brewing.
Something about this job rubbed him the wrong way.
He followed the giant who called himself Heracles to wherever he led. There was something about this town that gave Dionysus the impression that there were no easy days. Not in Olympia.
It was the sort of town where anything could happen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/kallistowrites [Part 2](https://old.reddit.com/r/KallistoWrites/comments/lx32gl/an_unconventional_kidnapping_part_2/?)
|
Hermes sighed as Mr. Hades gave him another errand. Hades sweetened the deal by complimenting the boy for his remarkable speed. After all, he had gotten his start in stealing the product from a meat packing plant on the other side of town. He was to check up on a certain associate named Sisyphus who had stolen the recent shipment of whiskey all the way from Styx by tying up his favorite delivery driver and one of his lieutenants. The Three Heads had been sent after him but when they couldn’t sniff him out.
As Hermes raced down the back alley streets, hoping to find the old man, he remembered his confrontation with Hades. His cool breath sent shivers up his neck. He had shrunk down to skin and bones ever since Persephone chose to live with her mother for the time being, but his size did nothing but make him even more intimidating.
Hermes finally found the place where Sisyphus was hiding. He knocked on the screen door and saw a quivering shell of a man in the shadows. As he entered, Sisyphus tried his best to evade him but he was no match for Hermes’s speed. Hermes dragged the old man kicking and screaming. Hades was very particular in the punishment befitting of him. Sisyphus was injected with a snake-like syringe full of stimulants to make sure he didn’t get to rest. Hermes looked upon the rock quarry and boarded the elevator with the geezer being held upside down by the feet, dangling over the side. Hermes felt merciful today, so Sisyphus was only dropped 10 feet. After hearing a telltale crunch, Hermes pressed the up button on the elevator. He cut the cables to the elevator so that there was no way out. He would keep moving rocks and fall back down until he died. Hermes walked over to a pay phone and dialed his boss.
“It’s done.”
| 2021-03-03T09:11:22 | 2021-03-03T08:21:23 | 51 | 30 |
[WP] Human blood turns darker with every evil deed and you've just murdered your wife. You never admitted to doing it, but you were the only suspect in the case. Imagine everyone's surprise when they found out that your blood is still milky white.
|
Milenia ago, they said that the caretaker of the Underworld – Anubis – would weigh the hearts of the recently deceased against the Feather of Truth, and those poor souls whose hears were founding wanting – weighing more than the magical feather – would be cast away from the afterlife. Into complete and utter oblivion.
Now, of course, we know better. There is no magic in the world that can make a feather lighter than a human heart, but there is one small, tiny piece of magic and Ritual that is permanently affixed to us, as a species. There's always the Blood. The Blood, which grows darker and redder every time we commit an act of Evil. Every time a sin weighs heavy on our soul. There's no time limit, of course, so there's at least a little pink in practically everybody's blood. We all lie as children. Some of us steal a trinket or two. Phlebotomists, of course, gossip about the blood pulled from their patients, they whisper amongst themselves when it's that deep, cherry red. They gasp in awe when they pull a vial that's practically luminescent except for a thin band of pink, dancing within, a glass figurine made of regret. It's all confidential, of course. Record sealed and expunged. The tint of your blood is erased from the history books – and often times never written down. There's privacy laws, now. The blood you might have transfused into you always delivered in that same opaque black bag.
Not that it matters. Your heart always knows, it seems. Within days, the colour stabilizes, bringing you back to your natural self. Your true hue.
When I first met Cassandra – well, two or three dates in, come to think of it – her blood was that soft strawberry pink. Like a good milkshake. We were good and drunk and we figured why the hell not. Mine, of course, pulsed angry and rose-red. It was so stupid of me to agree to this, but she took my arm and she kissed the blood welling at my wrist away and told me it was stupid, really. She didn't care. We all make mistakes, and mine must just… weigh heavier on my shoulders.
I still don't know why we stayed together. I'll never know why she said yes when I asked her to marry me. She said I helped her feel free. Knowing my true hue was the rosy red. That she could relax, and be herself. We were married for half a decade, and it was happy. We'd never actually had kids (though, Gods know we tried), but life was good, and money was coming in, and it was just her and me, and we would spend long hours curling up next to each other with a good book and a cup of hot coffee. She would kick my ass ten ways to Sunday in whatever the newest fighting game was.
One night, when I had been working late (There was an accident. Third and Snow. All hands were on deck. We were able to save… not enough. Not enough, but most.), I came home sometime around four – maybe five in the morning. Groggy. Exhausted. I found her washing the dishes, and I snuck up behind her, bumping into her as her soapy hand slid over a knife's business edge. I must have bumped her or surprised her. She yelped an ouch and jumped what felt like three feet, quickly jamming her index finger in her mouth to staunch the bleeding. I saw it anyway, though. Along the killing edge of the knife, it will be there, burned into my memories forever. Blood so black it drank the light in around it.
“Oh, shit,” I managed to mumble out, my brain not yet catching on to what I'd done. What I'd seen. “Let me take care of that,”
“No worries,” she assured me, turning around and throwing her unsliced hand around my shoulders with a strong hug and a lightning-quick peck on the lips. “It's just a scratch. You must be exhausted. Go to bed.”
And I did.
For weeks, that night-black blood haunted my dreams. Every time we moved to embrace, or she went to kiss me – Hells, eventually, every time I so much as thought of touching her, I couldn't. I could only think of that liquid sin coursing just under her skin.
Eventually, I slept on the couch. Telling her whenever she asked me to come back to bed that I thought we needed a new mattress or something. I just couldn't sleep on that thing.
It was two months of nightmares. Two months of horror at that pitch-coloured blood before it broke me. Before I did anything. Of course, I wasn't myself, and it was stupid.I'm not a praying man. Never have been. Maybe that's why, when I did it the first time – when I spilled my fire-engine red regret onto our nice, clean carpets, that the blood darkened, even as it flew through the air.
I said I just wanted to forget. I'd do anything. I just wanted to Love my wife again. I just wanted to look at her and not shudder at the oil soup she was hiding.
And something from the dark accepted. It just wanted one thing. One little thing from me.
And it's not like I was using my soul, anyway.
I felt it leave me like a sigh. Tangible relief. Then something else came in. A lung full of bad air, of sin and soot and smog filled me. It coursed through my veins, it forced me to my feet, and it dragged me across the room. Down the hall. To our bed.
And, with a smile I didn't feel pulling savagely at my cheeks, we painted the room black.
I was left standing, head to toe, soaked in liquid darkness. Some corpse at my feet. Some corpse I didn't know. Just skin and – no. That had to be oil. No blood ran that dark. I wonder why there was oil in the room, and who would transport it in uncured leather.
I washed the dark away from me in the shower, that night. I splashed bleach all over, just to clean it away. I threw the leather in the rubbish, and the whole house smelled like vinegar and bleach for a week and I cleaned, obsessively.
Work went as it always did for a while. Long, boring shifts, listening to the whines of pointless windbags complain about some ache or pain or broken bone or some terrible disease they were sure they had wracking their mortal form. I couldn't bring myself to care. Not even about the paycheck.
It was after a month of the quiet, daily grind that the police came, asking about my wife. I laughed it off. I'd never met a woman named Cassandra.
Within two days, they had me in a windowless room, strapped down, just in case, with nothing but two women in nice suits and a man in a clean smock, jabbing me in my forearm with a too-big needle. Part of the process, they assured me. As if I should be bothered, and the gloved hands pulled back on the plunger, which filled with… something the colour of milk.
That couldn't possibly be blood. No blood was that faultless. No soul that unburdened.
“Draw another vial,” one of the women ordered, and the nurse complied, only to extract another tiny tube of what was practically liquid sunlight. They left me in that room for what felt like half an eternity. I had no clocks with which to gauge time flying by. No books to read, and nothing to do but count my own breaths and heartbeats and ruminate on the crushing boredom.
When they finally returned, they handed me my cell phone and my wallet. “You're free to go, Sir,”
That's it. That's all they said.
“You're free to go.”
I wonder what all the fuss was about?
|
Death may seem like the worst that can happen to you, but I asure you there are fates far worse, like marriage. What started out as a brief yet exciting love affair ended in a life of slavery and torment at the hands of what can only be described as a monster.
It all started going wrong when I accidentally walked in on HER feeding when I was supposed to be a sleep. We were both shocked initially at the discovery, for obviously different reasons. I was shocked because what I thought to be my dutiful loving wife actually turned out to be something, other. SHE was shocked because at that moment SHE still had half of a human leg sticking out of the inhuman cavern of teeth that used to be a mouth. Things changed after that.
Soon my life consisted of serving this creature on pain of a horrible rending death. My every waking moment filled with pain and servitude. I grew in despair and just as I was ready to take my own life a glimmer of light shone into my darkness lifting me up with hope, SHE had a weakness. I determined then and there to end this or die trying.
Detective Simmons shook his tired and weary head, not another nut job psychopath, all I need. I had been listening to this psycho babble for over five hours now and his story made even less sense than when he started.
"OK Mister Cummings I think that will do for now, we have everything we need from you. You do understand the seriousness of this, were not talking life here, were talking the death penalty.". At that moment the psycho started uncontrollably laughing as if I had said something so funny it would make you cry, then he did, uncontrollable.
Just as I was about to book him for the murder of his wife a knock on the door.
"Sir the results have just come in, its white."
I let that sink in for a while, trying to grasp what I had just heard, it wasn't all the blood on him, or even the crazed look in his eyes that had convinced me, it was his resolute conviction his wife was a monster, such delusion had to mean this derranged man was the culprit. I breathed out a deep sigh.
"Well Mr Cummings, it looks like you are free to go. If we need anything more I'll let you know.". I had a sinking feeling we would never know the truth or find the real killer.
| 2020-02-09T13:21:11 | 2020-02-09T12:50:15 | 38 | 23 |
[WP] Tired of attacks from bandits, a small village has decided to pay the local dragon for protection.
|
“Steady lads.”
The men shifted uneasily, some of them fingering weapon hilts or testing the flex of bow strings. Gannon glanced around. “No weapons. Any man who bares one will cross steel with me.”
There was no actual grumbling, no open dissent, but it was there anyway. Like a haze in the air, a background hum without sound. He looked toward the rapidly approaching shape in the sky, and clenched his jaw. This would work. This was going to work.
He’d staked his life on it.
The dragon’s wings flared, impossibly slowing all that bulk dropping from the sky. The beast was enormous, bigger than two longships. Yet the wings did not snap. And even beat powerfully against the air to allow it to alight with all the delicacy of a bird. Gannon stepped forward, holding his hands up and out to show peaceful intent. The house sized head came down on the sinuous neck to glare balefully at him.
Its breath was hell itself, hot and fetid. Like a barrel of mead left open under the sun for months to turn foul. Gannon kept his back straight and his eyes on the creature’s as he waited to find out if he was going to die.
“What is this?” the dragon rumbled. Its voice was like the mountains themselves were speaking, filling his very bones with every sound that started deep within its breast.
“I seek to bargain.”
“I have made my bargain.”
“So make another.”
“Men,” the dragon snorted. Wisps of flame roiled out of its nostrils, curling through the air. Gannon heard some of his beard singe in the heat, but allowed himself only a single brush of his hand to ensure he wasn’t actually aflame. “You always talk. Endless talk. Even such as you have been reduced to talk. I thought your people were made of strength and steel.”
“We are. Which is why we recognize it in such as yourself.”
“I need not your flattery, man.”
“Then hear my bargain.”
A wave of air buffeted Gannon as the dragon folded its wings. He waited while it lifted its neck and surveyed his party, assembled behind him and watching the standoff uneasily. Finally the dragon looked back to him and chuffed another brief flickering of fire. “Speak.”
“The people of Norrington have struck an accord with you. Now I seek to do the same.”
“Your people are raiders, not farmers. What wealth have you.”
“As you say, we are raiders,” Gannon said calmly, showing no sign of the fear dancing deep within him. Down where he could never allow it to show. “But the cold winds are soon upon us, and we require safe harbor to weather it through to spring.”
“Avarice and desperation,” the dragon said. “A dangerous combination.”
“Norrington recognizes your power. As do I.
“Do not seek to flatter me.”
“I state truth. The farmers of their township have flourished beneath your protection, grown to dominate this region’s trade. Even the cities suffer under the benefits Norrington derives from their bargain with you. This could change.”
“I am content.”
“You are bored,” Gannon said.
He stepped back involuntarily as the dragon snarled, but remained on his feet. Behind him, he heard cries of alarm, of panic, as others found their spines less stern. The dragon’s neck bent further, extending, until the head was only feet from Gannon. Looking up at the beast’s eyes, he wasn’t sure if it was courage or paralyzing fear that held him in place.
This was closer than he’d ever expected to be with such a creature, and not be either standing on its corpse in victory or facing imminent death. After a moment, the dragon’s voice came out in a soft rumble.
“What of it?”
“Avarice *leads* to desperation,” Gannon said, keeping his voice even only with great effort. “Years ago you struck your bargain out of a desire for stability, but your power has risen in that time. You no longer require such as Norrington offers. Your might has outgrown them.”
“And you offer something else?”
“No one faces you. There is nothing for you here save your pick of their herds. No one dares challenge, so the seasons pass and you have nothing except endless meals offered as tribute. There is fire in your blood, in your soul, and it longs for you to unleash it upon the world.”
The dragon studied him. Even its eye was bigger than the man. Gannon waited. Eventually the creature … sighed.
“What is your offer?”
“We are the same—”
Abruptly he was crushed into the grip of one of the dragon’s front paws. As he gasped, he found himself yards above the ground as the dragon reared back, holding him. *Glaring* at him. “We are *nothing* alike,” it hissed.
“Warriors. Seeking challenge and victory, to test and take, to live free and allow no foe to stand after opposing us,” Gannon said quickly. “Tell me you do not long to fight again.”
The dragon regarded him for so long that Gannon began to believe he really was about to die. Consumed in the fiery maw of this dragon. But then, finally, the dragon set him back on the ground. Gently.
“No one comes,” it said, sounding sad. “You are the first in quite some time. I was eager, but when you did not attack, I thought perhaps you were just cowards. I dislike how such yellow flesh tastes. Sour and weak. It is beneath me.”
“We are brave, but we recognize strength. Yours. But ours is mighty in its own right. Together, if you leave this land, we will show you others where there is prey and foe alike that tastes sweet. Battle and reward enough to whet the edge of even your vast appetites.”
“Why would I need you for this?” the dragon asked, sounding — a little — angry again. But there was an edge of interest in its impossibly deep voice too.
“Lead us,” Gannon said, dropping to one knee. “Allow us to seek worthy targets for you. Those who are full of verve and courage. They will be on guard after our encounters, and be worthy of sating your bloodlust.”
Gannon was knocked over as the dragon laughed. Every bark of amusement that bellowed up out of lungs the size of the land wooshed out like the gale of a tropical storm. Gamely he rolled over and dug feet and hands both into the ground, trying to weather the blasts of air. Leaning into the force.
“Interesting,” the dragon said when its amusement finally began to subside. Gannon struggled back to his bent knee. “And what if I find you wanting?”
“You won’t,” the warband’s leader said. “I swear it, by my father, by our blood. Lead us. Allow us to serve, to offer words for your decision. And we will present to you such glory that—”
“Show me,” the dragon said. “Show me your blood.”
Gannon reached, slowly, to his belt and drew his dagger. Setting the blade in his palm, he pressed and pulled to part his flesh. He held the bleeding hand up to the dragon. It leaned in close again. He did not move as its breath washed over him like a cloud. Or when the snakelike tongue licked out to caress his bloody palm. Not even when his skin smoked under the heat of the dragon’s touch.
“I taste fire,” the dragon said, straightening its neck.
“You taste victory,” Gannon said, refusing to let the pain of his burning hand show. The blood no longer dripped down his arm; the wound had sealed as the flesh melted together.
“And what of the winter?”
“There is time yet before it descends. With you flying above us, we can cross the straights and alight upon the shores of Minaor before the waters begin to freeze. There, you may begin to reclaim your soul.”
The moments began to stack, as Gannon knelt with his hand outstretched. The dragon studied him for a time, then lifted its gaze to survey the warband that waited behind him. “Very well,” the dragon finally said. “We will see if your offer holds. In Minaor.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Gannon said, his heart swelling eagerly.
“But first, we will need provisions for the journey.”
“We will.”
The dragon turned to the west. “I know of a rich larder.”
Gannon looked past, beneath, his new master. In the direction of Norrington. “Shall we assault them? Bring any who have not softened under your protection out where you may face them without fuss or delay? Before you gorge yourself?”
“Yes,” the dragon hissed.
Gannon did not allow himself to smile. Instead, he sheathed his dagger as he stood. Turning, his uninjured hand moving to the hilt of his sword, he faced his warband. “We strike at once,” he cried. “For the dragon.”
“For the dragon!” his warriors shouted, rattling their weapons.
Their cheers continued as the dragon spread its wings and took flight, launching itself from the ground. Beating its wings in a hover above them, it looked down at its new servants. Then lifted its head to the western sky and roared.
* * * * *
I collect all my flash fic [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/DavesWorld/). If you liked this, the others might be interesting too. Enjoy!
|
“My, my. Just gorgeous!” crooned the oily voiced bandit as he drew himself uncomfortably close to Gwen. It took all her effort not to recoil from the man’s sour breath. The thief’s watery black eyes met her own pale blue ones for just a moment before sweeping down slowly over her other features, past her nose and lips, before landed upon her chest. With a flourish, a jagged knife appeared in the vagabond’s hand. Quick as lighting he pressed it to Gwen’s throat. The feeling of cold steel against her bare skin sent a shiver down her spine. Fighting a sudden spasm of terror she closed her eyes and braced for the inevitable. It was over in an instant. The knife had done it’s job and the bandit turned his back to Gwen as he sauntered away examining the locket he had just cut from her neck. “Simply gorgeous!” he exclaimed once more. “Are these little rubies inlaid in the gold?” he asked with an air of almost boyish curiosity “Wherever did you find get it?”
Doing everything in her power to suppress a building rage, and despite seeing Mayor Bowes silently mouthing ‘no, no don’t!’ out of the corner of her eye, Gwen answered the man. “Yes. They are. It was my mother’s. It’s been passed down through my family for generations” this stopped the bandit in his tracks.
“Generations?” The bandit rolled the word around his tongue slowly pondering the implications. “Well, your family certainly has excellent taste. How unexpected to find in a backwater village such as this.” All round the Dragon Bone Inn, several other equally undignified transactions were taking place. Hooked nose, scarred, and foul mouthed men of dubious repute were stuffing sacks upon sacks full of any worthwhile plunder they could find amongst the poor townsfolk of Gwen’s village. Mother Wynna was tearfully handing over a set of very old pearl earrings. A relic, she once told Gwen, from her monastery, and said to be imbued with healing power. She saw Mr. Baldu begrudgingly removing a silver watch from is wrist, one that his son had crafted during his tenure studying under the dwarfish crafters and of such high quality the town clock tower itself was set according to the wristwatches reliable ticking. Even old man Reywen, who in his prime was known as one of the fiercest guardsmen in the village handed over his sapphire hilted sword without a fight.
Once every pocket was picked, every Coffer emptied, and every possession of value was loaded upon the backs of the bandit’s horses down to the barman’s last flagon of ail, and only then, the oily voiced thief was contented enough to raise a silencing hand in the air. “It was, without a doubt, one of my greatest pleasures to ransack your village." he said after bowing deeply. "My, we haven’t had a plundering this good in months. I leave with a new respect for your muddy little town, and even greater happiness seeing it behind me. Good day.” and just like that the bandits were off in a thunder of hooves taking with them all the riches the small town would ever know.
Once the bandits were nothing more than a speck upon the horizon it was as if a spell were lifted. The townsfolk let out in unison a sigh of relief and went about righting flipped tables, sweeping up broken bottles, and tending the wounded. Meekly the mayor shuffled over to Gwen. “Are you quite sure we did the right thing Gwen? Did we really have to give them everything?
Her eyes never straying from the distant brigade, now only just barely visible, she answered him. “Yes. It was necessary” her thoughts drifted to the night the thieves first arrived in their happy village and to the look upon her mother’s face as the oily voiced bandit plunged that jagged dagger deep into her gut. “The dragon needed a downpayment.”
| 2017-05-08T09:47:27 | 2017-05-08T09:31:13 | 152 | 32 |
[WP] When the alien first said your name you panicked and said jokingly “That’s my name, don’t wear it out!” You’ve since become good friends, but it still goes to great lengths to call you anything other than your real name.
|
Extraterrestrials, who call themselves Jonders, have long since been an accepted part of life on Earth. They approached our planet 20 years ago, and after many tense misconstrued discussions, we welcomed the travelers onto our planet in exchange for knowledge of their advanced technology. Their presence has sped up our technological and even political accomplishments by hundreds of years. So, yeah, it’s safe to say we’ll have a lasting relationship with them.
My first encounter with a Jonder was when I was 14 years old. We had just started integrating Jonder children into our schools. One of my Jonder classmates in particular caught my eye from the first time I saw her. She was, is, beautiful. Long, wavy hair that looked like sunlit moss and bright amber eyes with cat-slit pupils. I spent the first half of that school year debating how to introduce myself without being my usual awkward self. She was naturally charismatic and therefore popular, and I thought she would never want to be my friend.
Well, as fate would have it, we were paired up to work on a project in Biology class during the third quarter. I nervously smoothed my handout papers as Erelia sat down next to me. I could already feel my hands growing damp with sweat thinking of what to say. She beamed at me with a smile of bright, yellowish teeth that might look ugly compared to the human standard of pearly whites, but to me they looked like the golden gates of heaven. I blinked, unable to speak.
“Hey! You’re Jacob, right? I’m Erelia. I’ve seen you around a lot, but it’s nice to finally meet you,” she said with a voice like smooth honey. I think that’s the moment I fell in love.
I laughed uncomfortably in response to my pounding heart. “That’s my name, don’t wear it out!” I blurted. I had heard girls liked funny guys, and I guess that was my pathetic attempt at humor.
Her response was exactly how I had always dreaded. Not even an awkward giggle out of pity. She stared at me, a little surprised, and replied solemnly, “Oh, um, okay. Do you know what we should pick as our research topic?”
Even though our first interaction went as horribly as humanly and Jonderly possible, we surprisingly got along great while working together. Once I determined that I ruined my chanced with Erelia, it became much easier to just be myself around her. And, it turned out, she found my actual sense of humor hilarious.
From then on, we were fast friends. We still didn’t hang out in the same social circles at school, but every once in a while we broke away to grab lunch together and we often hung out while waiting for the busses to pick us up. My feelings for her only grew as we became closer, but I was sure she didn’t feel the same. She never even called me by my name and instead just used “hey!” and “you!” to get my attention. Rude by human standards, but I didn’t want to assume Jonders always understood the intricacies of our social etiquette so I never thought about it too much. But it definitely signaled to my mind that she was keeping me at arms length for some reason.
Our relationship continued for the remainder of high school and into college. We went to the same university outside of town, and even ended up in the same dorm building. As we grew up together our friends groups gradually melded together as well, which meant we spent a great deal of our time together. Still, she never once used my name. Eventually, it became too difficult to just describe me when talking to our friends, so she began calling me Xanatos, which she explained was an uncommon Jonderian name she thought suited me. Our Jonderian friends laughed amongst themselves when they first heard it, so I assumed it wasn’t particularly flattering. But Erelia and I had always maintained a teasing nature to our friendship, so I was fond of the name.
Over the years, we dated different people but maintained our strong bond. After college, we ended up moving to separate cities for our jobs a few hours apart. The distance was difficult at first, but we kept in touch through regular phone calls and texts. She got married first to another human man and had a beautiful baby girl together. I met my wife shortly after the birth of their child and we formed a happy and loving relationship of our own. We visited each other a couple of times a year and our families got along great. We continued to grow as people and both suffered many highs and lows as we aged, but life was good to both of us. I was happy, and from what I could tell, so was she.
My wife passed from pancreatic cancer when she was 64. Erelia and her husband were my rocks during the grieving process. I held it together for my children for the first few years, but eventually I came to peace with her death.
When Erelia and I were both 79, her husband died in a car crash. He was drunk. I had never known he had an alcohol problem, but apparently he hid it well. Erelia’s lack of emotion over his passing surprised me. Their relationship seemed just as good or better than my wife and I’s. But looks can be deceiving.
Several years later, I visited Erelia at the hospital where she had spent the past month, slowly deteriorating. Jonders usually had lifespans slightly longer than humans’, but apparently the oxygen levels in our atmosphere proved to be slightly toxic to them and caused premature heart failure in many. Erelia was no exception. I hobbled into her room with the usual bouquet of hyacinths in hand, her favorite. Even in the bright fluorescent lights above her bed, Erelia’s pale olive skin glowed, even covered in sunspots and wrinkles just like an human elder. Her hair was a silvery white and cropped short, but her eyes, when she had the energy to open them, still shone with the same amber hue I first saw as a freshman in high school. She still looked so beautiful.
“Xanatos,” her voice creaked as I replaced her dying flowers with fresh ones. I smiled down at her and sat next to her bed. I took her frail hand in both of mine. I could feel her pulse weakly through her wrist. The doctors had said that this might be the last time I see her. I hadn’t quite accepted that until now.
I smoothed some stray hairs back from her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open and immediately began to well with tears. I stared at her for a moment, my hand resting on her head. The whirs and beeps of life-sustaining machinery faded away as we got lost in each other’s gaze.
“Hey now,” I cooed softly. “Those had better be happy tears because seeing me is the highlight of your day.”
A faint smile graced her lips. “I learned something new today.”
I placed my hand back on top of hers. “Oh did you? And what was that?” My eyes crinkled with amusement.
She closed her eyes. This was the longest conversation we’d had in several weeks. It must have been tiring for her.
“Your name. It doesn’t wear out if it’s said too much,” she whispered. “When we met, you said ‘don’t wear it out’, but that was just a joke.”
I paused in disbelief. “All these years, that’s why you never used my real name after the first time? You never realized it was just a dumb saying that humans use?” I found myself chucking at the ridiculousness of it.
Her nose crinkled in response. Just as it always had when we shared a private joke among friends. “I always was an idiot.”
She took a deep breath. I vaguely noticed one of the beeps in the background had changed tempo. It was slowing down. I squeezed her hand. Doctors and nurses walked into the room, but kept their distance.
“You’re not an idiot. You’re absolutely brilliant.” Was all I could say. I knew she didn’t have much longer. I wanted to focus on her as much as possible, for as long as possible.
“Xanatos,” she said again, barely audible now. “I called you that because I am an idiot and a coward.”
I shook my head, tears now streaming down my cheeks, unable to respond. She continued.
“I want you to learn something, too.” She said, a little stronger this time as if the determination to tell me gave her life.
The sound of the EKG continued to slow. I squeezed her hand again as she took a struggling breath. “What is it, my dear?”
Her nose crinkled again, but it was a long while before she spoke. Her eyes opened again and met mine. “You have always been my Xanatos.” Another long pause. “My Xanatos. My love.”
I blinked a few times, tears clearing from my eyes. “Is that what Xanatos means in your language? Love?”
She smiled and managed a small nod. “I was…a coward.”
I stifled a sob. Her eyes closed again and I raised her small hand to my lips.
The EKG stopped beeping.
|
"Greetings, Great-great-great- grand nephew of Martha Kolsten."
I smiled back
T'horgasheo'n v'Keer, or as he went by on Earth, Thomas stood cheerfully in my living room, raising two of its ten arms in something like a double-thumbs up, its 'face' stretched into an approximation of a grin while his real mouth bent over a cup as he slurped up water from a cup. No alcohol for him, but he was always the life of the party. He was a good coworker and a good friend of the family for a number of years now, but I really wish I could clear up the misunderstanding.
The Virscuskians had done their homework long before they were ready to make first contact with humans. Unfortunately, there's only so much homework you can do on a foreign species on a different planet without direct contact. When they first started observation of humanity, the speed of light meant they had been looking some 5,000 odd years in the past, looking towards the budding civilizations of Egypt. I admired them, sort of, for having learned so much about humans from just looking at them through telescopes.
Somehow, Thomas had gotten it into his head that in human culture and religion, names held power. Which, admittedly, was true, in like, Ancient Egypt or Greece. When I'd first met him, I wasn't sure quite what to say, so I did what my grandfather told me to say.
"Hey! I'm Clark Johnston!"
"K-... Clark. Clark Jos-Johnston."
"That's my name! Try not to wear it out!"
I probably should've picked up that it was not joy, but fear that Thomas was looking at me with. Typical consensus among the Virscuskians nowadays has improved somewhat, but I can't get Thomas to drop the thought that he might actually burn out the 'power of my name', and leave me a soulless husk, as he'd worried. I assured him that no such thing would come to pass, but he's still made a habit of not calling me, or anyone else by name directly.
It was one of those little endearing quirks of his. He'd actually go rummaging around for people's ancestors, so that he could be sure to avoid calling the name of anyone more than once, which made for a lot of ancestors, and you'd have to figure out who he was talking about. It made for good talk around the water cooler, talking about the latest ancestor he'd dug up out of your genealogy. There were an awful lot of Temuchins floating about, so that sometimes made it difficult. Always one to please, Thomas aspired to find increasingly obscure members of one's family to speak of.
I watched as my son ran up to greet Thomas-
Pain flooded my senses, as everyone in the room clutched their heads. It was like a burst of static had suddenly flooded my brain. Thomas' myriad eyes darted around the room, panicked as my son lay beneath him, holding his head and crying.
"Hey, what happened just now, Thomas?"
"I... I have done a bad thing. I must go." Before anyone could stop him, he was out of the room and getting into his spaceship to take off.
"Wait!" I cried, putting a hand on the hood. "What happened?"
"There is power in names, Clark." He brushed my hand off the craft as he took flight, tearing through the rippling purple and pink sky.
I... just watched him leave, and wondered whose name he had called.
| 2021-11-19T00:15:24 | 2021-11-18T22:56:57 | 443 | 37 |
[WP] Darkness is a physical presence. Touching it is deadly. Humanity lives only in brightly lit cities, connected with brightly lit roads. Your job is to patrol the roads an ensure all the lights are working.
|
The darkness creeps closer to a dying street lamp. The flickering glimmer of hope struggles to fight off the deadly fade. I set up a few construction — fifteen thousand lumen — lamps. I turn my suit on, it emits a faint glow, just enough to keep the darkness from consuming me...should I fall.
As the lift rises to the lamp I can't help but think about how I came to this city. Why I volunteer to do this job.
"Wake up Marcus," I shake him firmly. "Where's Carla?" I frantically ask my son.
"What's the matter, dad?" My son asked while rubbing his eyes. They hadn't adjusted to the brightness.
"Where's your sister!" My wife came in the room.
"She stayed the night with Tammy, 218. What's going on?"
"No time to explain, turn on all of the lights in the living room and stay there!" I searched the kitchen for the brightest flashlight I could find. "Here, just in case the power goes out."
"Michael, what's going on! You are scaring our son."
"Look at me, Marcus." I made eye contact with my son. "You take this flashlight, if the power goes out turn it on and hold it over you and your mother. Stay in the light." I knew it wasn't making any sense to them but I didn't know how long I would be gone.
I raced to apartment 218. I pounded on the door. I started hitting the door and shouting frantically. "Open the fucking door, it's Michael, I'm here for Carla!" I could see the darkness under their door. The light in the hallway kept it from seeping out. Through the peephole I could see a light flip on and I knew someone was coming.
"What's your problem?" They answered the door with tired irritation.
I realized that I had never met Tammy's parents. "Look, I'm Carla's dad —"
"I don't care if your the fucking pope, it's 2 a.m."
"Daddy?" I must have woken the entire floor with my noise. "What do you want, daddy?"
"Come on baby, it's time to go home." I said it calmly so I didn't scare anyone. I felt like I was the only one that knew. In a few hours it would be all over the news and I wanted out before the panic...and the congested roads. I wanted to get to a store and buy a generator, food, water, batteries and more lights.
"Daddy, I'm staying here tonight." She was noticeably upset. I wasn't a particularly active parent — I was a shit father, not abusive but didn't show my kids much affection — so her resistance to go home with me was reasonable.
"Baby, please, I need you to come home."
"Look, Mitchell."
"Michael."
"Whatever. She doesn't want to go with you." His tone was disrespectful. "She's fine here tonight, she's already in her pajamas, lets not make this a spectacle."
I pushed my way past him and grabbed my daughter. "Daddy!" She began to cry, probably because of embarrassment mostly.
Tammy's dad stepped between me and the door. "I will call the fucking cops if you don't put her down and leave now."
"Call 'em." And I pushed him out of the way with one hand.
Back at our apartment I carefully explained everything as best I could. Of course none of them believed me.
"You've told us shit before. Remember when you said —" I interrupted before my wife could finish.
"This time it's different." It took some convincing. After an hour of wasted time I finally grabbed the flashlight from my son. I turned it on and turned off the living room lights. I stuck my arm out to let the darkness take a bite. The pain was unbearable. I used the exposed arm to turn the lights back on.
My arm had turned purple and thin, as if something had absorbed the flesh and nutrients. They could see my face getting thinner as well. My wife gasped and cringed at the sight. The pain was intense but they believed me now. We gathered food, batteries, and anything that would fit in the trunk, we didn't worry about clothes. Smelling bad was the last thing I cared about.
I took the car and ran to a couple convenience stores. I purchased everything I could think of and turned the trunk into an ice chest. When I returned to my home I gathered everyone up. We hit the road at dawn.
Once it was all over the news there were a lot of orphaned children. Kids typically sleep with a night light. This kept them safe. When we got low on supplies we would make supply runs. We came upon a run down, abandoned, grocery store. When things went dark everyone inside panicked. I saw a man get caught in the darkness as I ran, his flesh pealing, his muscle, everything looked like he was being devoured from the inside. All that was left were bones reaching out for aid. My wife on a food run was raped and murdered for the batteries she was carrying. I should have gone with her, I shouldn't have trusted those people. They ran and left her, and left me watching over their children. My arm needed professional medical attention though, I couldn't carry as much as she could.
My eyes become watery from the memory. We survived for months on our own before any organized efforts were made. People were gathered into stadiums and flares were set up at the perimeter of many facilities. These became the start of our current cities. Some stragglers that didn't want to share would rob unsuspecting victims.
"Hey, Michael! Hurry up with that Goddamn light, man!" My foreman's voice snapped me back to the present.
"Sorry, John." I shouted down to him, swapped out the bulb and pushed the darkness away.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Edited a Typo.
|
*Huh, why is that light up ahead out?*
I start walking towards it.
*Oh, looks like it got too hot - keep telling the boss we need more efficient cooling ones.*
I take out my book and mark which one is out so we can fix it come daytime. I glance up at the one above me - it looks like it's about to go, so I mark it down for a replacement as well. I stow my book away, then turn around - if I can't go forward, I have to go back.
Except when I turn around, the one behind me is out as well.
The light above me flickers.
| 2014-12-15T00:17:44 | 2014-12-15T00:08:28 | 34 | 17 |
[WP] Everyone's soulmate's name is written on their right wrist when they turn sixteen. The left has worst enemy. Your left and right wrist say the same thing.
|
Mama and just about everyone else always told me it was two different people with the same name on my wrists. A coincidence, is all. And, at first, I believed them. But then I got to wondering, how many people in the entirety of the world have the name "Marlowe Paradis?" One, apparently, at least in the United States. I looked it up. I found her.
They say not to look up your soulmate; they say it’s fucking with fate. Well, it looks like fate already fucked with me.
Marlowe didn’t believe in fate. She said the names were a lie -- a government-controlled operation. She said there was no such thing as a soulmate. I was 18-years-old, but I was as innocent and naive as a child when I met her. I asked her what she meant. “How could there not be?” I asked. “My mom and my dad are--”
“How do you know?”
“What?”
“How do you know, Thomas? How do you know your mom and dad are soulmates?”
“They have each other’s names--”
“Besides the names. Besides the names, how do you really know?"
“I--” I thought about it. I really did. I thought about Mama, Pa, and the stories they told me of them growing up. It was before the internet, so they couldn’t easily look each other up. But when they did meet, that made it all the more magical. They told me it was love at first sight, when they first saw each other. I asked them a lot of questions about my soulmate, about how it would happen, and what it would be like. Mama once told me, tucking me into bed at night, “When you meet this Marlowe Paradis, everything will fall into place. Everything will make sense."
And it did. At first.
Marlowe Paradis was the best thing that ever happened to me. Although she didn’t believe in fate, she still welcomed me into her life. She opened my eyes to how the world was run. She taught me that soulmates don’t exist. She said it was all a lie. A sick method for the government to instill false hope into its people, to make them the sort of dumb that falling in love inspires. Most significantly, Marlowe Paradis taught me that I was not her soulmate, and that she was not mine.
Then, I fell in love with her, and I quickly realized fate was in the works and reverted back to my old beliefs. She had to be my soulmate. Still, she insisted she was not. She insisted she did not love me.
“DON’T TELL ME YOU DON’T FUCKING LOVE ME!" I regret all the shouting I did, but I had to get my point across; and, at the time, the louder I was, the more of a chance I thought of her actually listening to what I had to say.
“I DON'T LOVE YOU, YOU IDIOT!" We were in her apartment. She never asked me to leave. Instead, she ran around with a duffel bag in her hand, packing up, deciding it was time for her to go.
As she grabbed a book to stuff into her duffel bag, I snatched it from her hands before she could and held it close. I said, “Please. Give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking. You don’t know what love is, and that’s ok--”
“What?” she said, dropping the duffel bag. “I don’t know what love is?” Then, she started laughing. “*I* don’t know what love is!”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Who are YOU, Thomas? Who are YOU to speak? Just another little brainless puppet of the government, parading around all puppy-dog-eyed, looking for your sweetheart? Your soulmate? No, Thomas. I know what love is. I know it well. It’s you who doesn’t know what love is. And if you don't drop this soulmate crap, I fear you never will." Marlowe continued to fill her bag with whatever crap she could get her hands on before I could.
“Please, Marlowe. I want to be with you. I feel, I feel like this amazing feeling whenever I’m around you. I've never felt this way about anyone else. Believe me, we are soulmates!"
“Fuck off, Thomas.”
I jumped in front of her. I grabbed her wrist. She dropped the duffel bag. I held my hand out beside hers, so that our names were next to each other. “It’s not a lie,” I said. “It’s not a lie.” I caught her eyes, and she caught mine. For a moment, I thought there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes. They sparkled with an innocence I was all-too familiar with. Then, she jerked back.
“I said, fuck off,” she whispered.
“I will never leave, Marlowe! What’s the point? You’re my soulmate! I know this is going to work out, one way or another! Sooner or later, you’ll realize it, too!”
“HOW ABOUT I CHOP OFF MY HAND?” Marlowe shouted, causing me to jump back. “Huh? How about that? Will *that* put an end to this soulmate crap? And like, what about people without hands? What about them? Huh? Are they soulmate-less?"
“Marlowe--”
“No. Don’t say my name like that. Like you care. Like you care about me for who I really am,” she said.
“I do. I do care.” I was barely audible, my voice small and raspy from yelling.
“No. You care about the girl on your wrist. The girl you were told you would one day meet and fall in love with. The girl you were told was your soulmate. Let’s be honest,” she said, “I’m not that girl, and I will never be that girl.”
“But--”
“And you can’t make me that girl. Whatever you do. You can’t make me that girl, Thomas. You need to understand that. So please. Please, please, please don’t waste your life on me, Thomas.”
Marlowe killed herself a few weeks later. She said a lot of things to me after she died. She wrote a whole letter addressed to me.
Marlowe told me that I wasn’t what killed her; instead, it was a lot of little things, including me, that added up. It was the world we lived in, she said. She didn’t belong here. She also told me not to give up. She said, don’t give up on love, because your real soulmate is still out there. She said my real soulmate was perfect in every way, and imperfect in every way, but that’s what made it all worth it.
What stuck with me most, though, was what she said to me when I was alive.
Back when I first knew her and she would tell me to go date other girls and leave her the fuck alone, I asked Marlowe, "Okay. In a hypothetical situation, where "soulmates" really are just a lie, then how do I know what love is?"
"What?"
"How do I know what love is, without their name on my wrist? When I see someone, how do I know that I love them?"
"You don't," she said, "and you do. You'll realize it when you do. Trust me, you just will. That's the beauty in it."
I thought about it a lot. I thought about the whole fate thing, what Marlowe had said, versus what Mama and just about everyone else said. Marlowe was the worst thing to ever happen to me. She instilled me with false hope. Made me dream. Made me love. And for what? A broken heart? But when I thought about it, she was also the best thing to ever happen to me. Before I met her, I spent my entire life searching for her. Then, when I met her, I finally started living my life. She was my everything.
Even if everything Marlowe told me was true, I knew for a fact Marlowe was wrong about just one thing. Marlowe said I didn’t love her, and that I just thought I did. But I did. I loved her regardless of the names on my wrist. I loved her, and I always will.
I figured, after Marlowe’s death, I could go about living the rest of my life one of two ways: I could let this idea of fate and soulmates consume me, and go along with the idea that Marlowe was my one and only soulmate. Or, I could say fuck it, and continue to challenge my "predetermined destiny."
After Marlowe's death, I finally said, "Fuck it."
|
Your eyes stare down the clock in front of you. Your fingers impatiently tapping your table as you wait on the ticking hands.
"Come onnnn!!!" You mutter to yourself as the clock strikes 2:31. "3 more minutes!!!"
You jump up from your seat and begin pacing the room. The excitement coursing through you and causing you to laugh out loud. Just a few more minutes. In 3 minutes, you'll be officially 16 years old, and with that, so much more.
"Are you still up?" A voice asks behind you, taking you by surprise as you spin around. Your older brother Jared smiles at you and sits in your vacated seat.
"Uh, duh! I'm not going to miss this!" You exclaime. "In just three minutes I'm going to find out who I'm gonna end up loving for the rest of my life!"
"And who you're going to absolutely loathe." My brother Jared smirked as he runs his right hand over his left wrist, the name in a cursive italic lettering with the name, "Spencer Oliver."
"Yeah. That too I guess," you shrug.
"You shouldn't take this half so lightly, Sonia," Jared shakes his head, "Yeah it's all fun and games with your right wrist, but life would be too easy if that were the case. Whatever name that pops up on that leftie of yours is going to give you hell for the rest of your life."
"I'm sure I'll be fine. You seem to handle Spencer okay." You interject.
"That's because I know how to play rough. The guy slashes my tires, so I brake his arm. We go back and forth." He shrugs as he crosses his arms, "You're different though. You're a pacifist. I know you. Whoever it is that pops up on that arm is there for life. You need to be careful, Sonia. They could really fuck you up."
"I'm well awar-" You freeze as your eyes suddenly dart back to the clock, the hand having now moved to the long awaited, 2:34am.
"Happy birthday, Sonia," Jared smiles at you.
Suddenly a hot pain begins to sear into your wrists, you muffle your whimpers as tears appear in your eyes, "Fucking hell!" You groan. The white pain begins to spread down your arms as you stare at the name being written into your right wrist.
Angelina Evergreen, it reads.
Your face turns to one of confusion. Angelina Evergreen? As in... the Angelina currently racing against you for student body president? You laugh as you think of her soft curls and fierce smile.
"Gotta love a girl with spunk," you giggle.
It is then you decide to turn to your left wrist, your eyes slowly focusing on the name in front of you. The names now fresh and just as marked as those on Jared's wrists.
"So? What do they say?" Jared smiles, his grin quickly turning to a frown as he notices your shocked expression. "Sonia? What's wrong?"
"Angelina Evergreen...." You whisper.
"Oohhhh which one is that?" Jared grins at you.
"Both of them."
| 2020-01-18T23:00:51 | 2020-01-18T21:46:35 | 180 | 46 |
[WP] With only a single coin left to your name you wander the slums in hopelessness. That is until a shady looking peddler appears before you. They promise to give you an item that can help you with all of your problems and they ask for only a single coin in return.
|
Lying amid the pile of musty, discarded burlap sacks he'd fashioned into a bed, Rowan opened his eyes, and froze. He saw an old man old man in a dusty brown robe, tied at the waist with a broad leather belt that was laden with a dozen different leather pouches. The stranger loomed over Rowan, giving him an appraising look that reminded him of a hostler sizing up a horse at market. As that thought formed in his mind, Rowan's hand went involuntarily to his neck. There was no iron collar there, only the fading scar left by the one that had marked him as a slave, a year ago.
"Who are you? W-what do you want?" Rowan rasped sleepily, rubbing his eyes, and looking around the narrow alleyway in the slums where he'd made his pitiful encampment. A rickety old wagon hitched to a lopsided team of three equally rickety old draft horses blocked one end of the alley. A precarious stack of castoff wooden crates had blocked the other end for as long as Rowan could remember, which was why he'd chosen this particular alley to bed down in. A dead end meant far fewer people passing this way, and therefore far less chance of Rowan being beaten and robbed, or worse.
The old man's expression changed, abruptly. To Rowan's great surprise, his visitor swept his pointed brown hat off his head, and smiled, giving him a slight bow.
"Good day t'ye, sir!" the man said, with a voice that wavered with age, and a slight lilting accent. "Padraig the Peddler is I, and what I want is no more than to ply me trade."
Rowan sighed, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment. The man did not seem to mean him harm, but Rowan had little use for peddlers -- they were generally regarded as the least of merchants, eking out a living by selling simple necessaries to farmers in the countryside, and artisans and poor folk in the cities. Even their humble wares, however, were beyond what Rowan could afford.
"Peddler, huh?" Rowan grumbled, as he pulled himself up to a sitting position, groaning at the protest of his aching back. He felt at the cloth pouch around his neck, where he kept his coins, when he had any. He'd earned three coppers and a miserably sore back, for spending the previous day loading heavy sacks of grain onto a merchant's carts. He'd already spent two at the dingy tavern not far from the alley, on just barely enough watery ale to get him moderately drunk, and just barely enough food to keep the ale down.
"What have you got for one copper?" Rowan asked, drily, withdrawing his single coin from his pouch. The peddler probably did have a thing or two that cost that little, but most wouldn't want to waste time showing their wares to someone with so little to offer in return.
"For that?" the peddler said, gesturing to the coin, still smiling. The man reached into one of his many bulging pouches, and withdrew a thin pewter disk, about twice the size of the copper coin. It was stamped with the image of a laden packhorse led by a robed figure in a pointed hat. "I can offer this."
Rowan frowned, squinting at the odd little disk. "What is it?"
"Tis' the mark of a peddler's apprentice." Padraig explained, cheerfully. "By this token, I, as a Master Peddler, offer to take you under me wing, and teach you the peddler's trade."
His eyes widened in amazement. Starting an apprenticeship in a trade usually had to be paid for, as the cost of housing and feeding a young man who was new to his craft always exceeded the value of the work he could do, at first. Apprenticing to a successful smith, merchant, or woodcarver might cost as much as a full gold crown. The peddler's profession might be lowly, but Rowan would have thought even a peddler would ask a silver penny or two, for his trouble.
"Are...are you serious?" Rowan stammered.
Padraig smirked. "I never joke about doing business, boy."
Rowan licked his lips. He wanted to agree immediately. But hastily agreeing to terms was what had gotten him his collar. He'd learned better.
"What are your terms?" Rowan asked.
The peddler grinned. "Ah, you've a head for business, young man. The terms are simple: you're my apprentice, I'm your master. You work for me a year and a day for free, but I keep you well fed and cared for in the bargain, and will teach you my trade. After that, if you want, you can become a *senior apprentice,* and keep one penny in ten of whatever money you make for me."
"And...if I don't want?" Rowan asked, hesitantly. He didn't want to antagonize the man, but he needed to know what he was getting himself into.
Padraig shrugged, "Then you're free to go."
Rowan thought for a moment. Then he held out his copper coin, all the wealth he owned. "Deal. I'm Rowan Freeborn."
The peddler took the coin, and handed him the pewter token. Rowan looked at the small disk in awe. It felt strangely heavy, and warm to the touch. The old man placed a hand on his shoulder. "Wise choice, young Freeborn -- you'll go far. And I don't only mean that literally."
The peddler spoke a few words Rowan couldn't understand. As he was about to ask what they meant, in the blink of an eye, Rowan became a horse.
He didn't resist, as the peddler led him to the wagon, and hitched him up alongside the rest of the horses. He was dimly aware that there was something awfully strange about this. But he was, after all, a horse, and pulling wagons was what horses usually did.
From there, his awareness faded to into a placid blur: walk, hay, oats, cool water, rest. Walk. He repeated this cycle many times, though the idea of counting was now just a fuzzy memory. Walk, hay, water, rest. Occasionally, a sweet, crunchy apple or carrot, or a few days in a row with no walking, provided a welcome respite. But even when he wasn't at such leisure, he found he didn't mind the work he was set to.
Each day, he seemed to grow stronger, and the walking became easier. For the first time in his life, he felt content.
And then, he suddenly found himself standing naked in a stall in a stable. He came to his senses so quickly that he lost his balance and fell over, crying out in alarm as he toppled backwards into the hay. In the corner of the stall, the peddler snorted and awoke with a start where he sat on a wooden tool.
"Ah!" the peddler said, smiling. "You're back. Congratulations -- you've served me well for a year and a day. I'm very pleased. Will you be staying on as a senior apprentice, then? Or have you decided yet?"
Rowan screamed. It seemed like the only appropriate response to this situation. The peddler rolled his eyes, and gestured to him. "Stop that, you'll wake the whole village." Rowan stopped -- he found that he *had* to stop.
"Answer the question." the peddler said firmly, his expression suddenly flat and hard.
Rowan looked around in bewilderment, trying to find something to ground him in reality, or set his mind into motion. He was terrified by whatever strange power the peddler possessed, that had turned him into an animal, with seemingly nothing more than a pewter disk and a few strange words.
But at the same time, he retained his memory of his dream-like time as a beast. All things considered, the peddler had treated him better as a horse than he'd ever been treated, as a slave. And the benefit of regular meals and steady physical labor had apparently stayed with him when he returned to his natural form -- he felt more hale and strong than ever before.
Rowan also found that he desperately wanted to know more about this odd old man. Why would someone with such unbelievable power at his disposal spend his days travelling in an old wagon, selling trifles to farmwives and beggars? Who or *what* was he, really?
Even so, Rowan still surprised himself when he blurted out: "I...I think I'll stay on, if you'll have me, Master."
The peddler's smile returned. He swept back his cloak, revealing a bundle of clothing he'd been holding on his lap. He tossed it to Rowan who caught it awkwardly. "Good man! Get dressed, and then we'll go inside. Not right to sleep you in the stables, now that you're up on two legs again. Tomorrow, you'll come with me to make an important purchase, and get your first real lesson in doing business."
"What's that?" Rowan asked, eagerly, as he fumbled his way into the clothing; simple but clean work clothes that were, nonetheless, the finest he'd ever worn.
"A new horse for me wagon, of course." The peddler grinned, and added, "One that was *born* a horse, mind you. I find that I can only effectively train one *apprentice* at a time."
|
After half a lifetime of poverty, I knew better than to beg for food. I didn’t *want* food, not in the temporary sense. A loaf of bread would merely prolong my suffering. It meant a temporary respite from the incessant stabbing, the aching knife of hunger that tore at my gut every day, duller and yet more acute than the actual knife that had stabbed me two years back.
It created a sort of class divide, in a way, even among us classless. You could see it in the streets: the newly poor, those unfamiliar with the struggle, still clamored for alms from those more fortunate than us. Time after time they crawled on hands and knees begging, and more often than not they were kicked back to the gutter, but still they came, the young, the addled, the elderly.
These were the visible poor, the beggars that the rich tended to turn their noses up at and tut about over the evening port.
They knew nothing of the rest of us.
We were the truly desperate. We skulked in the shadows, waiting not for bread but for opportunity; a loose purse, an unlocked window, any hint of weakness. Those with a sufficient deficit in morals made their lives off of their petty crimes, and they made a steady pipeline into the maw of the underworld, ready to be chewed up and spat out by the truly evil, the ones whose actions made even the muggers feel like saints.
The remainder, of course, were those of us with half a remaining qualm left, or perhaps a sliver of hope that one day we might rejoin civilization. Or, perhaps, we had so little hope left that our preferred path was to simply cease, to move on to the Twelve Halls.
Maybe that was me. Maybe that’s why I held out my last coin in one trembling hand and opened my other palm as I closed my eyes. Maybe that’s why my heart fluttered as I felt the cold porcelain press into it, as I grasped at the object with my weakened fingers, as the peddler stepped away and vanished into the night, taking with him my last ounce of hope and his promise that this trinket would solve my problems.
I opened my eyes and my hand. The street was empty. In my palm was a statuette, polished and dimly reflecting the faint light from the buildings around me. It was freezing in the winter air, and it seemed to suck from me whatever warmth hadn’t already been drained by the snow and driving wind.
Useless. It was a trinket, a bauble, probably not even worth the iron mark I paid for it. I let it slip from my hand and shatter on the icy cobble below.
Disappointment billowed in my throat, nearly escaping as a sob before I swallowed it back down, down into the pit of my stomach. It festered there, rotting into a white-hot coal, a living flame of anger, anger at myself for playing the Thirteenth Fool, then at the peddler for taking away the last vestige of humanity left in me.
I picked up a shard of the porcelain and tried to clench it like a dagger, but the cold sapped even my strength to do that. I wanted to find him, to beat him senseless for his lies, to watch the life drain from his eyes just as he had watched the hope drain from mine, but in my weakened state, I would be lucky to draw even a drop of blood.
I took off, stumbling over the uneven flagstones in the street, nearly slipping a dozen times on the ice below before I realized where my feet were taking me.
She was called Queen of the Rats, and she had an open invitation for any of the mice in the streets to join her. Her operation had an infamously high attrition rate; only a lucky third of the hopeful applicants survived.
But I was tired of letting the world *happen* to me. I would seize control and work my will upon it, or I would die trying. And if I *didn’t* die…
…then the Peddler would.
***
/r/Badderlocks
| 2022-08-05T12:32:29 | 2022-08-05T11:04:38 | 144 | 31 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished," he says. "You are the punishment."
|
"Jesus Christ, you've got to be kidding me. Is this a joke? Am I being punk'd? Did my partner check my internet search history and decide to teach me a lesson?! I was just curious!"
The demon looks over at you with a somber expression on his face. "Sir, that name is one we prefer not to mention here. That bloke still makes the masters teeth clench. I suggest you get it out of your vernacular. It would be best for all of us. As I was saying, you've been sent here to ensure the eternal damnation of one..." The demon trails off and pushes his spectacles up his large nose. "Mary Madison. Ah, does that name ring any bells?"
At this moment you've got your head buried in your hands while you try to intercept all the images that are flying around in your head. One minute you were on your motorcycle humming "bat out of hell" by Meatloaf, not driving anything close to a bat out of hell on your vintage Honda Goldwing mind you, and the next you were here with this strange misshapen man telling you that you're now some sort of dominatrix. If he would just stop shimmering you might get a better handle on things, and why the hell was it so hot?!
Apparently you muttered this last bit out-loud as the shimmery man creature decided to pipe up: "Yes, well, hell is hot. However, as you are more of an honored guest, you will be privy to some luxuries that are other guests are not. For example, you don't have to stay as you are."
You look down at yourself and a scream begins to bubble up, turning to a laugh, before you vomit. Clearly something happened to you while you were enjoying a nice ride around the lake.
The blob man looks at you with something like pity. "I believe it's important to be transparent, don't you?" And you wonder if that's why he's decided to be mostly transparent. "You died, through no fault of your own, because of a drunk driver. If you want we can go to your funeral, and I can pretend to console you, and you can hold onto your mortality. I admit I'm not very good at that, being a demon and all, so I cannot guarantee I would be very empathetic. If you would like to avoid that sort of torture, you can follow me now into what awaits."
You follow the blob, who finally introduces himself as "Kevin". "Of course", you think, "Kevin is a fitting name for a shimmery man-blob thing". It seemed a better plan than seeing your family cry, or not cry.
He leads you further into what appears a freshly painted hallway. In front of the walls are people who, you can only assume, glued to chairs watching paint dry. "Yes" Kevin drones. "They said in life that hell is like watching paint dry, and here they are."
Kevin continues leading you down this and that hallway, each featuring it's own unique brand of torture - an entire wing devoted to the sound of nails on a chalkboard. Finally you stop at a closed door.
"Well, here she is. Pretty as the day she came in. Suicide or drug overdose or something. We haven't been able to figure out what her breaking point is. What will really make her wail and shout. That's what feeds these fires yeah? Anyways, that's why you were called in. The boss man has a keen interest in her. We don't ask questions."
He pushes you into the room, and closes the door. There, sitting on what appears to be a window seat, is the love of your life, Mary. "Is this some kind of sick joke?" she spits, literally, and takes a drag of her cigarette before turning and facing the window.
"Jesus Christ" you whisper, because Mary's been dead for twenty years and you thought you were over her. Over her death.
"Well" she gets up and pushes off the ledge. "Get on with it. What am I supposed to do now? Grovel? Be amazed? Be thankful?!" She's yelling now, not at you but seemingly up at the sky. "Come on you piece of shit, what is it that you want?! Why don't you just let me out of here?! SHOW YOURSELF!"
Nothing seems to happen and you just stand there like a jackass. She looks at you and narrows her eyes, her words hissing from between her teeth. "You shouldn't even be here. If you are, but who knows, WHO FUCKING KNOWS."
The demon said she wasn't broken, but she seems pretty broken to you. You go over to the door and start to bang on it while yelling "excuse me, excuse me Kevin!"
And, she laughs at you. A gut busting laugh that has her smacking her thighs. "You're even a pussy to demons. You haven't changed a bit have you? Well what did your goody-two-shoe ass do to get cast down here." And you tell her, because you are a truth teller, that they told you you are there for her punishment.
"Ah", she sighs. A thin smile now on her lips. "Makes sense. Makes sense why they'd choose you."
You don't quite understand. You are the meek. A desk job for a charity, an overly demanding wife, children who don't come around like they used to... The only thing that really gave you peace was that motor bike - the one adrenaline racing thing you had done since you and Mary had parted ways after high school. The one thing that you actually stood up to your wife about was that stupid bike, and look where that got you.
"You see my dear", Mary puts her hand on your face and you feel the blood rush to places you didn't know still worked when dead. "You are here to punish me, because if I wasn't here you would be in heaven somewhere enjoying fluffy clouds and AC. So you just being here is meant to play on my heart strings, to cause me to curse and shout and lament."
"Well, they did say I was allowed certain allowances given that I'm not technically supposed to be here." You almost whine out.
"Oh yeah?" She removes her hand from your face and looks at you musingly. "Show me something. Make me an ice cream cone. You remember my favorite flavor don't you?"
You don't know how to conjure what Kevin was talking about, but you decide to try some "I Dream of Jeannie" type thing and wiggle your nose while saying tiger-tail ice-cream. There, magically, appears a vanilla ice cream cone in your hand.
"Well" Mary says. "That's some interesting bullshit right there. Go on, have a lick, see if it's real."
You do, it is.
"So that's what they mean to do." And she sighs and turns away before going on. "They give me a savior who can supply whatever I want, with a twist. I fucking hate vanilla ice cream."
|
I lived a very good life with more like a nerd and very less like a bully. I never made my expectations high except for the happiness for my love. I died of Covid-19 as days passed quarantine myself away from my love. Dying alone.
My wife giving me an eulogy. Her words and voice wants me to wake up from the body and kiss her. She looks like Angel in black sent from the God of sad. My sons made their living well and I asked them to take care of my love as my last wish.
Slowly, my mind starts feeling dizzy. It's more like I connected with eternity. I became branch of the Ever-growing tree and it's called life. I was standing in a path to my childhood home. I saw my mother waiting with food and smile in her face. I joined her we moved. Soon, I saw my wife waiting for me and she also joined me.
We reached my home. They parted away and said, "You need to do it". I opened the door and I feel the fear and happiness on the handle of the door. I saw my love first in that home. My dad became addict and also died in this home.
I saw outside the windows and there's a storm surrounded my home. No one can make a way through the storm.Soon, I realised I'm in hell but I don't know why. Someone knocked the door and I opened it. I saw my childhood abuser making his way through the kitchen. I followed him and I saw my dad holed up afraid in the corner of the kitchen.
I asked him what am I doing here and he replied that they were only given one instruction.
"YOU ALL NEED TO LIVE WITH THAT"
| 2020-07-10T09:13:01 | 2020-07-10T07:21:39 | 53 | 35 |
[WP] You are on a flight from Beijing to Seoul. Its should be a short two-hour flight, but five hours have passed and the plane has still not landed. There is nothing outside but dense cloud cover. There is no food left on the plane.The staff are confused. People are starting to panic.
|
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8nzpdv/wp_you_are_on_a_flight_from_beijing_to_seoul_its/e009tda/)
***
*What's the point of panicking?* Jeff thought, as he watched the chaos unfold from the comfort of first class. His legs were stretched out fully, and the raucous turmoil around him was pleasantly muted by his noise canceling headphones. People rushed by him like clockwork, some probably screaming, others crying, though he didn't see what good it was doing any of them.
*We’re all going to die anyways, so might as make the best out of it.*
Jeff hadn't started the voyage out in first class, but instead had slipped up a few rows once people started leaving their seats to start milling around the aisles like rabid lunatics. Finally, after 15 years of flying coach, he had attained the near mythical first class upgrade, and it only took a crisis which would almost certainly result in his doom to make it happen.
*It's pleasant enough,* he thought vacantly, *but still, not anywhere near the price tag.*
The plane hit a patch of turbulence and everything shook. The lights flickered and streaks of sunlight flashed through the panes of the window. Jeff closed his eyes. *There's nothing you can do about this, so Just relax. Relax. Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax.*
There was a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to his right. Sitting next to him was a well dressed man, kicking up his feet next to him. His head was shaved and he wore a pair of dark glasses.
Jeff took off his headphones. “Yes?”
“You're in my seat,” he said.
“Oh, sorry.” Jeff started to stand up, his polite reflexes taking control. Even in moments of mortal peril his manners stubbornly refused to desert him, which he found quite amusing. As he made to sidle by, the man shook his head and motioned for him sit back down.
“It's okay, stay put. I enjoy the company.” He crossed his legs, apparently enjoying the extra leg room as much as Jeff. “Besides, every seat on this plane is mine.”
Jeff looked at the man, now confused. The man had a small bag of free peanuts in his hands, and began to fumble with the plastic. “Hate these things,” he muttered. “They seal 'em up tighter'n than my – ”
The bag burst open, showering the pair with peanuts. “Sorry about that,” the man said. “God, what a nightmare. I hate delayed flights.”
Jeff reached for his headphones again, but stopped, realizing that the strange man had traded him a nice seat for a conversation partner. “Well technically, this plane isn't delayed. It's just taking, you know, hours longer than usual and eventually going to run out of fuel and crash, which in my opinion is quite a bit more worrying.”
“Ha.” The man crunched down on a peanut. “There's nothing to worry about.” He glanced down at an expensive looking watch. “Actually, we're ahead of schedule. Should be beginning our descent within the next hour or so. No, it was getting the board to approve this type of flight in the first place that was the real problem. You think a two hour flight delay is bad? Try a *two year* delay.”
Jeff frowned. He often felt uncomfortable when people talked nonsense, though this man seemed pleasant enough. “I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I have no idea what you are talking about.”
The man took off his glasses and smiled. His eyes were pale blue, circled by worn laugh lines. “Well of course you don't. You're supposed to be flying coach, after all. That's the whole point.” Just then the clouds broke away, and brilliant white and green light flooded the window panes.
Jeff turned his head to look out his window and gasped. The scene before him looked like something out of a surreal painting. A series of what appeared to be floating isles dotted the skies, each a bright emerald green. Some held mountains, others hills and valleys, tiny villages popping on some, their rooftops no bigger than toys from this perspective. Far off in the distance he could see the skyline of a massive city, the tops of the skyscrapers faded behind a curtain of fog. What appeared to be tiny vehicles zipped back and forth from isle to isle endlessly like insects.
Jeff's mouth fell open. He turned back to the man. “Where are we? Have I...have I gone mad?”
The man smiled. “Two years,” he said. “Two years, and now, finally, I'm going home.” A hush had fallen over the entire plane, as the other passengers crowded around the windows, everyone sharing in expressions of varied disbelief.
“Your...home?”
"That's what I said." He stretched in his seat. "God I'm thirsty. What's a man have to do to get some first class service here?" The strange man seemed to have lost interest in Jeff's bewilderment, and took to trying to wave down one of the hostesses to order a whiskey and coke, to little success.
Jeff grabbed him by the shoulder and jerked him back around. “Hey! Did you...did you have something to do with this?”
He shrugged. “It was the board that approved it. Take it up with them.”
“The board? What in the hell are you talking about? And where are we?”
The man opened his mouth to respond, but jut then a new hostess that Jeff did not recognize appeared before them. She was dressed in bright blue uniform that was different than the ones that had started his flight, though maybe that was just what they wore in first class.
“We should be arriving at our destination shortly,” she said, with a pleasant smile, as if they were about to finish a normal flight and the floating isles outside the window were a normal part of Korean Air's flight experience. “Something to drink for you gentleman?”
“Whiskey coke double,” the man said, then added, “took you long enough.”
Jeff looked up at her and smiled reflexively. “Coffee with two – hey. Wait. We're going to be *arriving* shortly?”
The hostess held her smile. “Yes, of course sir. You didn't think we would keep you up here all day, did you?”
“I don't know what to believe anymore.” He pointed out the window. “And where exactly, will we be landing?”
The smile never wavered, and without breaking character she handed them both their drinks, along with a pair of parachutes. “Who said anything about landing?”
Jeff looked over at his seat partner, his mind refusing to process the last interaction.
“Dammit, mine's too small,” the strange man complained, sloshing soda-whiskey everywhere as he fumbled to undo the straps of his parachute. “Switch with me.”
* * *
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8nzpdv/wp_you_are_on_a_flight_from_beijing_to_seoul_its/e009tda/)
***
/r/ghost_write_the_whip
|
I'm scared, but more confused. I woke up in a daze, people murmuring questions around me not in a panic but discontent. The flight attendants all huddled towards the front, but I don't understand a thing they say. I'm on a business trip, flying from Beijing to Seoul; a flight that would normally last a matter of two hours, but something is off. I look to my left, the window shut and covered with it's plastic slide, yet opening helps me none, as I see nothing but clouds. Nothing comes from the cockpit. No sound of a captain cheerily informing us of turbulence, yet the silence was louder than he could have ever been. The clouds slowly grew darker as time went on, and the murmuring grew louder; a mire of discontent and fear only worsened by language barriers. Even though they were clueless to their circumstances, the flight attendants did what they could to calm the rowdier passengers down, scared of some type of emergency as they were. I looked at my watch and saw that 4 hours had passed. It didn't seem possible. If I listened hard enough over the cacophony of discontent voices I could almost hear another noise from outside of the plane. Something... unfamiliar. A noise I couldn't compare to any I had ever heard. The smell of sweat was heavy in the air, perpetrated by the panic of people uncomfortable and worried. I gripped the armrest of my seat, feeling the cold metal and assuring myself that everything was fine, for how could anything happen in such an impressive vehicle?
The seatbelt light flickered on.
| 2018-06-02T06:16:17 | 2018-06-02T05:32:28 | 844 | 13 |
[WP] The alien diplomat showing you their planet directs your gaze to an ancient relic. "Here are the oldest known markings on our world, we still don't know what they represent". You are horrified, as what appear to be meaningless scribbles to them, is a desperate cry for help in your own tongue.
|
It was amazing to think that only 400 years ago, the Mur were completely uncivilized. They had no technology. They had no buildings. They lived in small tribes, and wandered the lush face of their planet aimlessly.
Yet now, they had bustling cities and rudimentary technology. They had schools and complex forms of culture and art. They survived mostly on a strange, bulbous crop, which they grew ubiquitously around the cities; but they cooked it in a variety of ways so that they never got bored with the cuisine. They had passed through the agricultural revolution and the ages of bronze and steel into the industrial revolution in a mere 400 years.
What a feat!
The Mur were the perfect example of why the Galactic League had been right to send educators on missions to planets with underdeveloped intelligent life. Thirty men and women had been willing to be rocketed off to this distant planet, all those years ago, willing to leave their friends, families, and lives behind, in order to help the Mur reach their potential. I smiled with pride in my species. The work of those men and women had not been in vain. If only they were still around to see the fruits of their labours, to see what had become of the seeds they planted.
"Would you like any more fruman?" asked Glar, the Mur diplomat who was escorting me through the city.
Fruman was the strange crop they grew. I had nibbled on some here and there in order to be respectful. But in truth, I could not stomach it.
"No thank you," I said.
"Then let us be off to the museum," said Glar.
I snapped photos as I walked through the streets with Glar. I could not wait to inform the League about how wildly successful this mission had been. They needed some good news. After all, the updates coming from other post-mission checks were not nearly so heartening. A majority of the species who had been targeted by the program had shown little to no improvement in their civilizations. Missionaries had been sent to sixty-four planets. Those planets had then been left to develop undisturbed for the allotted 400 years. But after all that knowledge had been passed along, and all that time had elapsed, a majority of the species were still living just as they had before the missionaries arrived. It had begun to look like the project was a complete and utter failure. But what I was seeing changed everything. Even if only one out of sixty-four made use of the missions, it would mean the project had been worthwhile.
Glar stopped before a stone building. It bore no writing over the doorway, or anywhere else for that matter. It seemed that for all the intellectual feats the Mur were capable of accomplishing, they did not possess the capacity for reading and writing.
"I have something which I have been saving for the tail end of your visit," said Glar. "A relic which I hope you will be able to read, and which I hope you will find moving. Though we cannot understand what it says, we treat it with great reverence. It is the only direct trace that remains of your predecessors. . .A stone, into which is carved, we believe, remnants of your human language. . .Would you like to see the sacred stone?"
"Of course," I said. "Lead the way."
He led me inside the building. It was quiet. It was almost eerie, how quiet it was. Everywhere else was bustling with the Mur. Yet here, not a single soul stirred.
We passed through the entrance hall into the main room. The room was empty except for the huge stone, which sat propped in the middle of the room. It looked like it had been cut out of a cliffside. From a distance, it appeared to be covered with the thoughtless graffiti of one of those long dead missionaries. I stepped closer to it. Many of the words were missing, eroded into oblivion by time and the elements. But the words I could make out chilled me to the bone.
"The alien. . .fiend. Their food is . . .us. . .turned to vegetables. . .the crops. . .They. . .surprise . . .and. . .will. . .drink. . .thirstily. . .blood. . .the. . .rocks which easily carve. . .the brains. . .hundreds of years. . .suffer. . .pains. . .still remain. . .future. . .missionaries. . .see, the alien. . .threat. . .civilization. . .Help. . .run. . ."
"Can you read it?" asked Glar.
I could hardly speak. But I had to keep my wits about me. I had to pretend nothing had changed.
"I cannot," I lied.
"We hoped you would be able to read it," said Glar. "We hoped whatever the message was would give us a better understanding of the missionaries and how our ancestors felt about them."
"Do you mind if I take a picture of it?" I asked.
"Not at all," said Glar.
I snapped a dozen.
"I should be leaving, though," I said, putting my camera into my satchel. "Even though travel is much faster these days than it was back then, I still have a long journey ahead of me. I'd like to get back home as soon as possible."
"Back home?" asked Glar. "So soon? . .It's a shame. There is still so much left to see. . .Nevertheless, I hope you come back to visit. I hope you bring others with you next time, too. We would love to have hundreds, even thousands, of humans joining us here. It was lovely to have you around. But one is simply not enough."
Glar bared his strange flat teeth, uncannily aping a human smile. I shivered.
"I'm sure we'll return," I said, coldly. "And in greater numbers than you might expect."
\- - -
The young man sat at the foot of a cliff. The tents were only a few meters away. He was exhausted, but happy. The Mur were so intelligent and receptive. They were such conscientious hosts. Though they did not have many marvels to show him and the other missionaries, they showed them what they could. Most recently, an elderly Mur had taught the young man how to use what they called a "scrivening stone", and had then gifted him one, in an expression of gratitude. The young man was astonished by how easily the stone cut through rock. It seemed to defy the laws of physics. He usually wrote his thoughts in his journal at the end of each night. But today, he decided it would be fun to use his new stone and carve them into the face of the cliff.
"The aliens are friendly," he wrote. "Their food is not sitting well with us. We believe they turned to vegetables for ethical reasons, but we cannot stomach the crops they grow. They continue to surprise us with their intelligence and good will. They drink our lessons up thirstily. Learning must be in their blood. They have these wonderful rocks which easily carve through stone. Too bad they lack the brains for reading and writing. Perhaps when the next mission arrives, hundreds of years from now, they'll suffer the same pains we did trying to teach them. Perhaps this message will still remain. Hello future missionaries and educators! As I'm sure you can see, the aliens are no threat. I imagine by now they have built a great civilization, based on the knowledge we imparted to them. Help them continue to grow, but allow them to run things their way."
\- - -
Check out my sub for more stories/novellas!
r/CLBHos
|
I walked along with the Árniņõ diplomat on a road, along the way we had a talk about our cultural difference, with the help of a translator.
There were supposed to be two translators, but mine was preoccupied with being dead, that idiot tripped on his own life support system, and it is locked on his head like a cap that is too tight. I have no idea it is even possible to take it off without tools on purpose, nevermind accidentally.
We stopped at a oddly shaped building, 'It is probably because of the gravity' I thought to myself. The diplomat spoke and then translator, "This is an ancient building, we have no idea how or why it was built, but we do know that it was built in the post light age." 'What a hideous build.' I keep my thought in my stomach, and replied, "What a marvellous build."
As we walk inside, the diplomat showed me a lot of things. "One theory suggest that this building is for the kingdoms then to show off their technological advancement,"the diplomat said, "since it is almost the same time when everyone focused on technology instead of fighting each other, but the the closest kingdom to here is about 60 kjuen away. Another theory suggest that..."
I was distracted by some random markings. I went for a closer look. It was not random. The scribbles were, 'The code to the gate is 3967. Run for your life, and beware of the Öggrıans.' Öggrıans went extinct in the Great Great War, which they lost, obviously. The humans took a huge set back, but was able to bounce back. 'So this is a human spaceship?' I was confused by the writing, 'Wait did I just mind insulted human architects?'
The diplomat was standing behind me. I apologised, "Sorry, but these 'symbols suggests that this is a spaceship from the Great Great War."
----This-Is-A-Divider---
Well I don't have time right now, so part 2 later
| 2021-04-23T00:03:55 | 2021-04-22T23:21:25 | 254 | 33 |
[WP] A little known cosmic fact is that there were only ever 10 billion human souls produced. As the population slowly creeps upwards, the department of reincarnation struggles to find a workaround.
|
“What’s the projection looking like for the next decade?”
“It’s hard to tell ma’am” Ben Stickerson replied. It was a bizarre feeling to not know the answer to a very simple question. For thousands of years the Department of Reincarnation (DoR) has always made the right projections for any given time. It was always precise, down to the last soul. If projections seemed a little low, a baby boom was ordered. If there was over population, a plague or famine and sometimes war was initiated. There was always balance. The net gain/loss was always zero. That was the goal. Ben and his team prided themselves with maintaining that balance even as it got harder and harder to maintain as time wore on. Thai time however, for the first time in eons, his numbers didn’t add up. The math was off. In the business of souls, there are no errors. If there’s a problem, it is never a small one.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Priscilla Ripsoula asked. “The question was rhetorical Ben.” “The answer is always zero”. “Well yes, of course it’s zero, but only if it works out that way. You see, based on our calculations and analyzing trends within the last 100 years, it is impossible for the answer to be zero. The answer is more than that” Ben nervously replied. The mood in the conference room turned icy. Soul associates, engineers and customer representatives nervously fidgeted in their seats. They worked with a limited source. You can’t make it... you can only repurpose it. What Ben is saying sent a chill down their spines. The most important resource in the universe, a human soul, is about to run out and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it.
“We’ve has this issue before, last century. Start a 3rd world war but make it bigger” Priscilla suggested. “that should bring the numbers down, if we over correct like last time then baby boom it till it balances out.” “Engineering, you got ideas on how to make this happen?” “We do ma’am but it’s a little complicated” Jim Hellpert, the lead soul engineer replied. “Humans have evolved in their ways of war. They would annihilate each other and cause a correction that would be too extreme, we risk soul inflation if we do it this way.” “Also, they do not posses enough resources to recoup. Their biosphere is chaotic, and overtaxed. It would take hundreds of years for humans to recover... if they even can.”
“Drats.” Priscilla mused. “So you’re telling me humans could wipe themselves out or starve themselves. What the hell happened here.” “An extreme overcorrection last bi century” Ben interjected. “I proposed a slower, more gradual approach to reincarnation but the board-“ “yes we get it. That’s enough Stickerson” Priscilla replied, annoyingly at what Ben was hinting.
The board of trustees, in their mad dash to cash in on the soul boom decided to “buy back” some souls at the cost of a few hundred million human lives. The over correction was so severe that the inflation rate caused the market to crash, forcing the board to authorize the longest baby boom in modern history. The additional improvements in human technology and relatively peaceful times had an exponential growth on population, which made soul reincarnation a booming business. The business however, is close to going bust.
“How do our reserves look like?” Priscilla asked. “Right now we have 2.5-2.65 billion human souls remaining ma’am” Ben replied. “If our estimates are correct, humans will cross 10 billion people in 45-50 years.” “And we can balance it with higher death rates?” Priscilla asked nervously. “We can, but it’s going to only buy us a few years I am afraid. With a population this dense, normal means of mortality are not enough to keep them in check.” Ben replied. “I see...” Priscilla said. “This is not how I wanted this century to start”
“We could approach the problem from multiple angles ma’am” Sonya Blesasoul interjected. As the lead saleswoman for the DoR it was her job to have creative solutions to the soul problem. Her latest idea however, is the craziest and most far fetched one yet. “Go on Sonya I’m all ears.” Priscilla replied.
“In times past, we have always approached population booms and shortages with a heavy hand...” Sonya explained. “It was always some catastrophe or some miracle that kept the markets stable. But what if, we have a more.. subtle approach?” The room stayed silent, eager to hear the lead sales woman’s pitch. Sonya continued. “Humans are inherently unstable... so let’s use that to our advantage. The last global plague they suffered was almost 600 years ago. How about we start a more, controlled, deliberate version that is potent, but not quite as deadly.”
Priscilla fixed her eye on Sonya. She realized what the the angle was and she liked it. “You want to start a pandemic that would cripple the world slowly. You don’t want to kill huge chunks of them off but whittle them down. That’s absolutely diabolical Sonya”
“diabolical and efficient I believe” Sonya replied. “Humans are incredibly resilient as well. They will try to fix this as soon as possible. If we can generate a plague that keeps them occupied for at least a few years, it would kill enough people to flatten the curve and discourage people from breeding at the same time. We stabilize our soul revenue and export. No inflation and a steady stream of business. Everyone wins.”
“But there are so many of them already Sonya.” Ben interjected. “This is like paying off only the interest. We need to attack the principal as well.” “I’m glad you asked Ben.” Sonya replied. “Humans in the last 15 years have revisited certain trends... escalation of force around the world, wanton environmental vandalism etc... to attack the principal, we only need to nudge them a little towards one of these trends. I suggest we nurture the growing tensions between... Uh, this United States and...” Sonya paused, seemingly amused at the irony of the name “and this USSR.. wait I apologize they changed their name again. Russian Federation.” “A localized war between world powers should trigger a larger global conflict... but with a pandemic to worry about they are less likely to fully annihilate each other... just enough to lower population by 20% if my projections are correct.”
“You’re a bloody genius Sonya.” Priscilla exclaimed. “A very well thought out plan. The Board is going to love this.” “Hellpert, Stickerson, I want you to have specifics drafted by next month. Let’s start with the plague. Can we get this started before the next quarter?” “You mean in 2020 ma’am?” Ben asked. “Yes, 2020. The board will appreciate the launch of our new initiative around this time.” Priscilla replied.
“I think we can manage that. I guess we can start in china so we make the deadline eh Jim?” Ben asked. “Already on it Stickerson.. they do love their bats after all.” Jim replied.
|
I told them that we didn't need those fancy displays in the reincarnation arrivals lounge. "Don't you understand? When the returning souls come in, they're confused and disoriented. We need to project an air of competence and safety immediately." OK, that actually sounded like a good idea (rare for middle management), but when I suggested that mocking up some pretty blinkenlights would be faster, better, and more reliable? "No, no, that wouldn't be *authentic*. Souls can tell when it's not *authentic*."
So I was pulled off a very interesting stellar physics upgrade to work on this "top priority". Opportunities to really change anything are getting rarer and rarer; you have to go either really tiny, or really far away from the souls. Sigh. Anyway, I got the thing done, and the pointy-hairs were happy. Although now that the excrement has impacted on the rotating airflow inducer, I do feel kind of vindicated. It may have taken half a century in their time, but a returning soul finally looked at the displays for long enough to actually understand some of what they were reading.
Of course, now everyone upstairs is looking to make heads roll, because what that soul noticed is that we're almost at the limit for maximum concurrent soul instances. The returns are all running around screaming about the Apocalypse. I'm just glad that I made enough of a paper trail to avoid getting stuck as the one who has to explain to them that there's no problem because linear time is a human concept.
There's a reason that the initial design included so many steps for wiping souls' memories before reinsertion. Thank the cosmos that the folks who set this place up when it was a tiny start-up knew what they were doing, at least.
| 2020-10-07T23:47:40 | 2020-10-07T23:31:35 | 37 | 16 |
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own.
|
The first few hours of that day were cool as all hell. Me and the other 15 kids that had been born on the 17th of July were in the community center to see what powers we ended up with.
In the early years of the powers boom, when some kid in Illinois got a fire power and burned himself to death, it was decided that everyone should be in a mutually safe place on their 16th birthday.
So there we were, all excited about what we'd get. Johnny was the first to pop. He flew into the air about 5 feet and there were sparks under his shoes. He tried to rise higher, but he could only get another foot, and that was causing a strain. The councilor told him not to worry. He said a lot of powers take time to fully kick in.
Benny found out he could see through walls. It was weird to realize that in the 15 years since people started popping up with powers, that one had never come around.
Some other kids that we didn't really know started reporting their own things emerging. Janey started talking all excited. "I'm starting to feel that tingle I've heard about. When you know it's coming, but it's not quite here yet. I wonder what my power is gonna be!"
"You're gonna be able to turn you hands into metal and back into normal hands." I said. She looked at me funny, and I started to wonder why I'd said that. When her hands started to turn a dull gray, and then to shine we both looked at each other in shock.
"How'd you figure that out?" Matty asked me.
I turned to him. "I dunno, it just popped into my head, sorta like the way I know that you're gonna be able to make balloons appear outta nowhere."
"That would be hilarious." Johnny said. I looked over at him and my heart sank. All of a sudden I realized that in 5 years he was gonna get hit by a truck when he floated off the ground near and over pass and got caught in a strong gust of wind. The wind would blow him by the over pass, then past it and he'd fall down to five feet about the road right as a semi was passing by.
"No seriously Brian. How'd you know my hands would turn to metal." I looked at Janey, and realized that her first daughter was going to die of lead poisoning and I froze.
She walked over to me. "Are you okay?" I shook my head.
"Maybe, like..." Benny chimed in with his usual slowness. He had a habit of talking slow when he got excited. His mind kind of over loaded and the words sort of got stuck in a traffic jam in his throat. "...ya know. That's his power. Like maybe Brian can know what other people's powers are."
Matty snapped. "That would fucking suck if he's right about me."
Johnny got a ponderous look on his face. "Let's test this out. That guy in the group over by the soda machine. He was talking to a councilor. What's his power?"
I looked at him and realized immediately that he could warm things up with his hands. Not super hot, just warm. I told Johnny and he walked over and asked the kid. He came back over "Holy crap. You're right dude."
Izzy spoke up then. "What about me? What can I do?"
I looked at her. "You'll read people's minds. But it'll only work when you're singing and you'll be singing about what they're thinking."
I was relieved that I wasn't seeing any more visions of death. Maybe that had been a fluke, or a stray thought or something.
An hour later, Izzy started singing. "This is such bullshit. There's not fucking way I'm gonna have some lame ass balloon power. Brian's gotta be fuckin with me. If he weren't so cute I'd kick his ass, but it's such a hot ass and oh goddamn it. Is that bitch singing my"
"KNOCK THAT SHIT OFF IZZY!" Matty's face was red.
Izzy snapped out of a trancey state. Matty's face kept getting redder. Suddenly a red balloon appeared in the space between him and Izzy.
The tense silence was broken by the sound of me vomiting on the floor. I ran to the bathroom. I turned on the facet on the first sink that came to hand and started drinking water and puking it into the sink. Then I started splashing it in my face.
After awhile Johnny and Matty came in. "Are you o"
"No. I'm not okay."
Matty spoke up then. "This isn't about what Izzy was sing is it? I mean the thing about me thinking about you and..."
I shook my head. "Naw. Not... directly. In fact, I'm kind of flattered if that's what you were really thinking and Izzy wasn't just joking around. It's..." I could bear to tell them the truth so I fudged it. "Something feels weird when a person's powers kick in after I've seen what it'll be. I don't think I noticed with Janey because it was so quick. With you and Izzy though, there was a delay and then it was back to back. I just got really nauseous all of a sudden."
They nodded looking a little bit relieved. Johnny said "I'll go let the girls know you're okay. I think Izzy's more worried than Janey, but they're both concerned."
When he was gone Matty and I looked at each other for awhile. He finally broke the silence. "So... just so you know. The things Izzy was singing... she wasn't making nothing up. I mean... if you're not into guys that's cool and all but..."
I smiled weakly at him. "I've... always been kinda... I dunno. Like, curious seems such a cliche, but... I dunno wanna thing about it right now. I mean I'm certainly not looking my best or anything. Maybe this weekend though, if you wanna hang out and talk or something."
Matty nodded. "Yeah. I'd like that. You want a sprite or somethin? That usually helps me out when I've blown chunks."
"yeah. A gingerale would be nice. If not, sprite works. I'm gonna take a moment to finishing rinsing off and I'll meet you out there."
As Matty walked out of the bathroom, I could still see it if I looked for it. It's hard to describe looking at it, because it's not a physical thing. It's like, seeing a memory sorta. That's still not a good way of putting it, but I can't think of words to define it. Either way, I could still see that moment in his future. Matty living in NYC, desperate for money to pay off gambling debts and get some more coke. Matty thinking about his next fix and not getting his legs broken as he looks at a guy in an expensive suit outside of a swanky night club and started forming a balloon in his throat.
There were other "future memories" behind that one. They were cloudier and harder to see, but very similar to the first one. Matty thinking of another fix, or another debt paid while a balloon appeared inside of someone's body.
I wondered desperately if there was a way to change any of this. After splashing more water in my face, I looked in the mirror and then it hit me. I knew how I was going to die. 30 years from now I was sitting in a bath tub slitting my wrist because I was so tired of seeing death and not being able to stop it. All the people I'd helped figure out their powers. The parents with children who'd have dangerous abilities and would have that heads up would never be enough. For ever 5 people I'd help, at least 1 or 2 of them would have some death in the future that came directly or indirectly from their powers and nothing I ever tried would prevent it.
After getting a phone call from Johnny and hearing that Matty had died of an overdose and that there was a rumor that he did himself because the cops were accusing him of murder... it would be too much.
I stood there staring into the mirror for I don't know how long. Matty came back in with a couple of sodas. "You been in here a long time. You feeling any better?"
"...Y'know what? Instead of waiting for the weekend, what if I gave you an answer now?"
Matty raised an eyebrow at me.
I walked over to him and put my arms around him. "Yeah. I am into guys."
Fate be damned. I was gonna try. Fuck death. I'll fight it with love.
|
It's been like this longer than anyone can remember. When you turn the age of power, or 16 years into your life, you gain your individual power. Everyone is different, some get rudimentary boring powers that aid office work and some get drafted to become soldiers due to their powers.. more destructive capabilities.
The neighbour boy Jon, he was taken away just last month by the military because he could EMP a human brain. He did it to me once, I couldnt use any of my senses for a week. Although to you it may seem strange, as you are not from my existance, this isn't a strange occurence. Lives become fragile once a child reaches the age of power and their power becomes known. Jon joined the Static battalion, they specialize in special-ops warfare, he had been 16 for less than 2-months.
Everyone wants to go to the military, become a specialized soldier and when war comes, you want them to remember the coat of arms you wear to signify your power. You want to be the elite, the squad only known as Winged-bearers. Those who can bring absolute destruction, only called in when the enemy is starting to become dangerous. They are the reapers that signify the end, yet the angels who signify hope. Both good and evil. It was my dream to join them, but now.. Now I know I am not meant to be discovered.
It started with Jon actually. That day he used that EMP on me it stuck with me. I could physically see the formation of the universe change as he bent physics to cause havoc on my sensories. In that brief second that formation became imbedded in my mind and mathematics and designs I should never have been able to solve, seemed so simple. I was able to keep the core concept of his ability, yet I refined it, defined it and changed the aspects of it. I was able to designate the sense I wanted to assault. I could control it in ways it shouldn't be used because it changed the basics of the powers nature. But I did it.
And not just Jon's. Any power I became in-contact with physically, became manifested within my mind and I have been able to modify the core concepts of each one to better enhance the power's magnitude or nature.
To put it simply, I am a book of spells, where everyone on our world has a single power, I now have over 30 and that number is growing daily. Original concepts that I have now altered to best suit me, these powers have made me all but human. Super speed I changed to conceptual phase-walking, rubber limbs changed to impenetrable armour. It is all so simple, the values are my power, the power of comprehending knowledge and concepts that are incomprehensible, that is my power. This is why I am here, talking to some stranger under a bridge. Running from the military, passing through different dimensions. I can't stay in one spot for too long, but even I know that it is futile. One day the military will find me and they will make me join the Wing-bearers, and I fear for the day I come in-contact with their powers.
| 2015-01-22T04:13:44 | 2015-01-21T22:56:40 | 51 | 32 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.