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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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[WP]The world literally revolves around your schedule. So long as you don’t sleep, tomorrow won’t come. People around the word know this and have all adapted to your sleep cycle. Tomorrow, a great catastrophe will occur...but not as long as you stay awake...and everyone knows it.
|
"Madame President, the latest models suggest that the hurricane will make landfall tomorrow. It is currently estimated to reach shore as a category 5, with top wind speeds north of 180 miles per hour. The models suggest that it will make landfall near Savannah, Georgia, then follow the coast north, hitting every major coastal city along the way, until it burns itself out somewhere around Boston."
Chief of staff Acroma places a small dossier on the Resolute Desk, then steps back a pace, allowing President Miranda Glyburn to examine the latest information. She studies the pages within, satellite imagery of the storm, estimated casualty charts, damage estimates, agency responses and preparedness, National Guard troop placements and callup lists. Finally, she reaches the final page, which consists of a simple table:
Day extended 6 hours: 3000 lives saved, $3 billion in damages avoided.
Day extended 12 hours: 7500 lives saved, $13 billion in damages avoided.
Day extended 18 hours: 15000 lives saved, $27 billion in damages avoided.
Day extended 24 hours: 30000 lives saved, $60 billion in damages avoided.
Day extended 30 hours: 47500 lives saved, $100 billion in damages avoided.
Day extended 36 hours: 60000 lives saved, $175 billion in damages avoided.
The table extended on further, ending in an estimate for 120 hours: 400,000 lives saved, $970 billion in damages avoided.
The president sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"We think it's worth the risk." The Chief of staff comments. "The Joint Chiefs and I, that is."
"Yeah, I agree. But one of these days we're going to burn him out. Make the call."
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
​
My phone rings at 7:17 AM, which, quite frankly, is an ungodly time for a phone to ring. Doubly troublesome is that I know the ringtone, and I know what it means. Groggily, I answer, grunting something akin to "heyeahwhassup?" as the line connects.
​
"Mr. Benjamin, good morning. I hope you slept well. We are going to need your services once again."
"Ugggghhhh"
"The President of the United States of America will be speaking to you in just a moment", the voice says in a tone of mild disapproval. The line goes silent and I know that I've just been put on hold, which strikes me as something that only governments and monarchies can get away with- calling you up and then putting *you* on hold.
"Mister Benjamin" a cool, female voice speaks into my ear, and I recognize President Glyburn on the other end now. "As I'm sure you're aware, a storm has been brewing in the North Atlantic for several days now. Unfortunately, the worst-case scenario seems to be coming to pass- overnight, it drifted dramatically west, and, thanks to the warmer seas due to the global climate change, we suspect it will make landfall as a very powerful storm, and continue to be extremely devastating as it moves north along the coast."
I manage to catch most of what she says in between a yawn as I eye my pillow jealously.
"Right. How long are you needing me to give you?"
"As long as you can. Every hour is more lives that police and the National Guard can save as they make house calls and residents are able to flee to safer ground. If nothing is done, estimates suggest that up to two-hundred thousand may die."
I blink a bit, processing that number. *Two hundred thousand? What a fucking mess.* But I still can't help but feel tired, exhausted really. I'd been asleep for about six hours since the last time I stayed awake, that time for forty-two hours straight while the government of China worked to stop a meltdown in a nuclear reactor that would have potentially given a few million people a mild dose of radiation sickness and about fifty thousand more a permanent case of being dead.
I have obviously been quiet for too long, as the President's voice cuts in again. "I know you're coming off the Xi'an tragedy. The United States Government is prepared to offer you whatever resources and materials you need to help with this."
I hate the way I can hear her capitalize the words United States Government when she speaks- but it's hardly a condition unique to her- I haven't know a politician who *didn't* think that their government was the most important thing in the world. Comes with the territory I guess.
"I'll do what I can. The usual supplements should be fine. I can't promise much..."
"The families of those that live because of this will be forever grateful" she interrupts quickly.
"I know they will. But not to me. And there's always a cost."
"We know. *I* know. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry."
"Right. Send over the good stuff, and get your people moving."
"You'll have it in fifteen minutes."
The line goes dead, and I lay back in my bed, staring up at the ceiling. Even now, I can feel the time warping in my mind, and I know that as long as I can keep my eyes open, the "day" will not end. No one can explain quite why it happens- the best anyone has come up with is that I am somehow a locus of relativity- and that by observing the universe, I force it to slow to my own perceptions. If you remember your high school example of Shrodinger's cat, basically whenever I'm asleep time moves along uncertainly- it might going fast or slow but no one can really tell, at least on a cosmic sense. But when I wake up, the cat is out of the box, as it were. It is DAY, and will be DAY until I sleep again, at which point things go back to normal.
As you might imagine, this ability has drawn the notice of quite a few governments and I am one of the most well-guarded anonymous individuals on the planet. I have been offered sums of money that would make billionaires take note to extend time for certain interests. I am called when disaster looms, because as long as I am awake, time moves more slowly, though people move at the same rate. An "hour" turns into two, or five, or twenty. Most people have learned to have two sets of time keeping- one for normal time, and one for what they call "extra time".
All this to say, when the agents knock on my door in exactly fifteen minutes, I am ready to do what I can to save as many as I can. But I see the looks on their faces as I take the first of the amphetamines, and I wonder how long I can keep this up. Every time we go through this, I fall asleep eventually- it's human nature, after all- and I wake up to learn how many died that might have been saved. How much damage was caused that might have been avoided. I know I can't blame myself for them- I know, intellectually, that many people in the world are alive because of me, because of this strange thing I can do. But that doesn't stop the guilt.
I swallow the pills as I turn on my TV, tracking the storm, watching footage of Humvees rolling down a residential street, loudspeakers blaring evacuation orders as frantic homeowners get their families to cars and start driving down an interstate that is already clogged and will be for hours. But thanks to me, hours are a relative concept.
*"As long as you can give me."* She said.
I'll try.
|
Dear Lucy,
12/21/2012. We all knew it was coming. The “end of the world” or whatever it was that made the Mayans quit making their calendar on that day. That’s tomorrow.
Ever since you’ve known me you knew that my life was not normal. I controlled time on a day to day basis just by being awake and asleep. I could prevent tomorrow from ever coming as long as I could stay awake. Eventually, I’d either fall asleep or die from the lack of it, so I gave everyone a warning: Get as prepared as possible.
This incited mass hysteria. Stores were ransacked, gas stations emptied, guns and ammunition stockpiled, even banks were out of cash. With the helps of some friends... some of OUR friends... I knew I had to keep moving to stay awake.
We went on hikes, played sports, went swimming at the beach... visited the spot we had our first kiss... literally anything just to keep me awake and moving to give everyone else as much time as we could to get prepared.
Now it’s Day 5... I think. I’ve been awake long enough that I knew I had to write this down in case I don’t wake up for the world to end tomorrow. I’ve been seeing things that aren’t there, shadows dancing on the wall, hearing sounds that don’t exist. I’m going crazy just trying to help.
I saw you... or what I thought was you. I stared for so long my friends thought I saw a ghost. You were standing there smiling at me the way you used to. I wanted to run and hold you, but one blink and you were gone.
You taught me to love, how to help when I could and do anything for others. That’s why you were so amazing. You would’ve stayed awake a lifetime if it meant everyone else got to live.
I tried to use the strength you had, but I can’t stay awake any longer. For what might be the last time, goodnight Lucy.
-Garrett
| 2021-02-22T16:46:34 | 2021-02-22T15:33:14 | 181 | 66 |
[WP] After been missing for 12 years, the duke's daughter (now 16) is sent to the royal accademy and immediately targeted by bullies. What the bullies don't know is that the lady spent those 12 years with a clan of orks
If you get why orks is spelled like that... good.
If you don't, it doesn't matter
|
Adjusting to life among humans was not what Milana had expected. In some ways it wasn't hard at all; in others, it was an exercise in pure frustration.
For twelve years, after her parents had so carelessly lost her on their safari of the Deeplands, she'd been raised by the Nogluk clan, one of the biggest and most aggressive clans of orcs on that continent. One of the last holdouts of the Queen's efforts to unite the people of the world into one cohesive society.
For twelve years, she'd lived as one of them, and had been treated as one of them.
Sadly, those times had ended when the Nogluk clan had finally been routed, the Royal Army cornering them and killing those who would not surrender. She had been spared, despite her own vicious resistance, as they'd believed her to be a brainwashed prisoner. Ensorceled, no doubt, to serve the orcs in Gods-knew-what ways.
She'd been returned to her 'home', to a father who had been deeply disinterested and a mother who had been equal parts overjoyed and appalled. Her re-education had been fast, ensuring that she knew how to get on in polite society once more and let go of the 'barbaric' upbringing she'd had among the orcs.
She'd hated every second of it, but took it in all the same. *Know your enemy,* High Warrior Jah'gar had taught them. *Learn their ways, and use them to surprise and destroy them.* She was no stranger to learning new things, and adapted quickly, even as her heart desperately wished to go back to doing as she pleased.
Now, she was here, at the Queen's Academy, and found herself longing for the jungle once more. At least there, people were *honest* about hating you. You'd have a fight and that would be that. Someone would be beaten - possibly killed - and someone would be *right*. Here?
"Oh look, it's the *savage* girl. Find any good rocks today, *my lady?*"
Here, they were all cowards. Fighting with *words.* Sniping and backstabbing and dishonest, the lot of them.
Milana wheeled around, the fabric of her dress still unfamiliar around her ankles, her full sleeves tight on arms that had been bare for years. "Only the ones in your *head*, Yeosef. You *do* understand my parents basically *own* yours, right?"
Of all the people set to antagonize her, Yeosef had been the worst. Three straight months of constant mockery and torment. And if there was one thing Milana hated, it was being laughed at.
"Yes, but who will they believe - me, a well-adjusted, intelligent, handsome young man? Or *you*, an ill-suited, aggressive brute, unused to the ways of polite society?" Yeosef sniggered behind one gloved hand. "Clearly, you're just misunderstanding what I'm saying, that's all."
The small group of hangers-on around him laughed at his cruelty, and something inside Milana threatened to break. She walked up to Yeosef, and with her nose nearly touching his, said, "Dueling grounds. Now."
Then she turned and stomped off, heading out of the well-lit halls of the academy.
The dueling grounds were typically used for combat practice, but the students were allowed to come in their own time to train - or to non-lethally settle disputes, so long as they were quick enough about it to avoid attention. Milana had been waiting for this, really. She'd taken the time to craft exactly what she'd be comfortable with using, and hidden it not too far away from the grounds. She arrived with just enough time to retrieve it before Yeosef and his friends approached; she kept the implement hidden behind her dress and stood facing him.
"Now, *Milana,*" Yeosef said, hands spread in front of him. "Are you *sure* you want to do this? I *am* the best duelist in our grade, you know. You have no chance of beating me with a sword. Especially since you aren't *allowed* to take combat lessons, lest you, ah, *relapse* into ways best left behind you..."
Milana narrowed her eyes at the insufferable boy, and said, "Just take up your weapon, you *grafnar.*"
Yeosef wrinkled his nose at the unfamiliar word but shrugged and walked to the rack of wooden weapons, taking up a training longsword. "As you will. But don't cry when you get hurt."
Milana grinned maliciously as she picked up the weapon she'd hidden behind her; a crudely carved wooden greataxe, with a single long head on one side and a blunted spike on the other. "Same to you."
She didn't waste any time, and charged the boy, screaming as her repressed desire for violence broke loose, her honor *demanding* that she silence this *grafnar,* this mewling child, and teach him his place beneath her.
Yeosef was ill-prepared for the onslaught and quickly lost ground, defending like his life depended on it. Milana's grin widened as she pushed him, barely breaking a sweat.
"I was my clan's best young warrior," she growled, swinging the axe in controlled arcs, sweeping and thrusting to keep the boy off-balance and defending. "I killed my first enemy at the age of *eleven*. Do you want to know how *many* I killed before my clan fell?"
She stepped backward, Yeosef taking the opportunity to pant for breath, and set the axe down long enough to tear the sleeves of her dress off in a single, powerful motion. Her bared arms were more muscular and defined than a lady's ought to be, looking more like the trained warrior she was, and were absolutely covered in orcish tattoos. Intricate designs spiraled up from her wrists, interspersed with what looked like collections of weapons and arrows bunched together.
"*Forty-one.* Each sword, each axe, each arrow, is a foe I killed," she said, lovingly running the fingers of her left hand over the markings on her right bicep. "I bathed in their *blood*, I reveled in their death, and after each battle, I drank until I could barely stand. I succeeded in *seventeen* honor challenges, more than any other from my brood. And *you* will be the eighteenth. *I am Mil of the Nogluk!* Now *stand and fight!"*
She charged Yeosef again, who dropped his training weapon and ran away screaming. A throaty scream of triumph followed him and his cronies as they fled.
Mil lowered the axe to the ground, still hungry for something to smash with it, when she heard a throat clear behind her. She didn't think; she turned, swinging the axe with all her might.
It crashed off a raised shield, and she heard an older woman's voice behind it. "Whoa! Peace, sister!"
Mil stopped, stepping back, weapon still raised as the shield lowered and showed Mistress Shala, one of the weapon instructors, her dark eyes wide, red braid pulled over her shoulder.
"You fight like a monster, girl. You're the one that was taken in by orcs, right?"
Mil was tired of pretending. She grunted and jerked her chin in acknowledgment. "What of it?"
"What are you supposed to be here studying, sister? Because whatever it is, you *should* be out here with *me* every day. You'd be a *terror* by the time I got done with you."
"As if I'm not already," Mil said, the malicious grin returning to her face. "Why do you keep calling me 'sister'?"
"Because I know my own when I see it. A warrior, through and through." Shala responded, lowering her shield and extending her hand. "I'm going to talk to the headmaster first thing in the morning, and I'm going to get you out here where you belong, Mil of the Nogluk. By the time we're done here, the Queen's Army will be slobbering to get you in. Maybe even the Queen's Guard themselves."
An escape, from all the books and the etiquette and the backstabbing. Back among people who'd maybe understand her. Mil stepped towards the woman and gripped her forearm, squeezing. "I'm in."
|
“So, then Mother decided to buy the restaurant itself. All the finest heroes stop by, and the previous managers always seemed to treat them as though they were beneath them. They work so terribly hard, you understand? The least she could do was be more accommodating. They've earned that,” junior lord Revick Kendral said.
“Oh, how lovely! I hope to do something involving charity work for the city myself. From what I understand, a terrible plague of scale-rot has broken out amongst the sea-dwarves in the lower quarter of Reefstone. Perhaps your mother would recommend one of the heroes who frequents her shop?” said junior lady Cecelia Ardwin.
“Certainly! From what I understand, Sir Harna Marrick has returned from her work afield. Perhaps I can—”
*SMASH*
Cecelia gasped. “What was that?”
“Oh, no!” Revick exclaimed. “Cici, back away from the—”
*Air Whistling*
*CRASH*
The body of their dearest friend Tuae Okonnen burst through the door to their classroom, sailing through the air and slamming into the far wall. The magical shield he’d cast around himself flickered and went out. “She…” he gasped, slumping. “She…”
“Tuae!” Cecelia shouted in horror.
“HA HA! FOOL! YOU DARE CHALLENGE ME TO A DUEL AND *THAT* IS THE BEST YOU SHOW? WEAK!”
A girl in leather armor with a torn, silk dress bunched up beneath it leapt into the room with a broomstick, brandishing it at the fallen lordling. Her body boasted far more muscle than anyone else in the room. She tossed her head back and bellowed at the ceiling, thumping her chest with her free hand. “I HAD NO IDEA HUMANS WOULD BE SO BOLD! EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU DARES TO LOOK ME IN THE EYE! SUCH INSULT! SUCH TERRIBLE MANNERS!”
Revick stepped in front of Cecelia with his arms up, trembling. “Gretta! Please! We’re not trying to insult—"
The girl leveled her broom at Revick. “THAT’S GARKA, MEATBAG! BANE OF BOULDER BEETLES! SHE-MADE-STONESKIN! FOREMOST QUARLING OF THE AMBER YEAR’S CLUTCH!”
Revick flashed a pacifying smile. “I’m sorry, Garka, I didn’t mean—”
“OOOOH! NOW SOMEONE DARES BARE THEIR FANGS AT ME? LET’S HOPE YOU LAST LONGER THAN THE LAST ONE, MEATBAG!”
“No, please!”
*”RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”*
| 2022-07-15T17:21:50 | 2022-07-15T16:44:45 | 304 | 108 |
[WP] Death is not some all powerful being. Rather, she's a socially awkward outcast. Somehow, you've managed to befriend her and things have started getting weird...
|
It all started when I first saw her. I'm not gonna sugarcoat it. There was a rather nasty car crash just outside my tenant. I literally thought she was in that car accident, and should've saw the warning signs when everyone else seem to pass around her. I kept shouting over the huge throng of people if she was ok. Either she didn't hear me, or was flat out ignoring me. So... I reached out and shook her shoulder a little.
You ever see the movie, "Rings?" Know the really creepy chick that kills you? That was her. Thin, small, hair like a black curtain, and absoultely drenched by the rain. When I reached out to touch her shoulder, it was like I hooked her up to a car battery. Arms flailed around, feet taking her backward, trip, and just like that, she fell into the mud. I recall apologizing like crazy and offered my hand to get her to stand. She simply stared. If I knew who she was then what I knew now, I may have still helped her up. Don't ask why.
She stared at me like I was a freaking dkinny purple elephant man in clown shoes and a tank top. So I reached out and took her by the hand, and decided to take her back to my place.
Got her in the door, and took her staright to the bathroom. It was a little cramped in there, but i sat her on the toilet lid and gave her a towel to dry off with. O found my really out of date first aid kit,and asked if she was hurt. Slight shake of her head. No. Ok... weird...
I asked if she needed anything. She replied with a hesitant shake while drying out her hair. I said that she should probably get out of the wet... dress...? That she wore and warm up in the shower. Like a good hostess, I left her in there to grab some of my old high school stuff... I was smaller back then.
I got worried when I didnt hear the water kick on aftee a minute, but I soon heard it a little later. I found for her, my old high school leggings, a pair of fluffy socks, and the old sweatshirt with a unicorn on it (god... high school was a different planet.)
I snuck into the bathroom and took away her dress(?) And swapped it out for my stuff. Used to have a roomate that would prancw right in front of my line of sight when she forgot her clothes, so... yeah. Got used to doing that.
After that, i yelled through the door that I'd be making some hot chocolate- well, I yelled hey and I heard what sounded like everything being dropped in the shower. I kept thinking she must've been catatonic or shellshocked or something. So I apologized for the umpteenth time and told uer she had fresh clothes in there, and it was ok to wear them.
I decided to wait after not hearing a response. I was very worried. Eventually, the door opened and there she stood. Faded Neon green leggings, gray sweatshirt with a derpy rainbow unicorn plasted on it, and a pair of fuzzy socks pulled over the leggings being worn by a slouching horror film monster looking thing. It was absolutely ridiculous. I brought to my couch and she needed to be told to have a seat before sitting down. I left the room to get some cocoa on the stove, and returned to see her curled up, knees to chest. Didn't need that college dgree in human behavior to see something wasn't right.
I sat down next to her and hesitantly put hand on her shoulder... kept telling her everything was going to be ok. Even tried doing that affirming squeeze, but there was not much to squeeze to be honest. It brought up the next question: food. "Did you eat? Are you hungry? Do you want me to cook you anything?"
Silence.
So, quietly we sat, and just when I think she was mute, she mumbled something. I didn't hear it and politely encouraged her to speak up.
Now, say out loud in the flatest tone you can manage, and as fast as you can, "i like unicorns." That was her voice.
I agreed with a small awkward laugh. Silence. ...I felt it was a good time to check up on the cocoa.
Most of that night, she didn't say anything beyond a "yes." If she didn't want it, she didn't respond.
I turned on the DVD player and played my pirated copy of Frozen. ...I think she liked it, because I looked at her once during the movie, and saw her head bobbing lightly.
When i came for me to turn in, I offered her my couch. She mutters a thank you as I brought her a pillow and a blanket or two. I smiled. Said to not to think anything of it. It was then, she confessed.
"... so, I'm Death." Do I even need to say how confused I was? "... that car carsh, that was me... it was Gary's time."
"Who's Gary?" I asked.
"Age 78. Alzhiemers. Revoked drivers lisence. Went for a drive. Forgot how to break..."
"Was he your grandfather?" I asked worriedly. "You didnt kill him. These... these things happen its not your-"
"I am Death." Her voice was a little stressed.
I stared for a minute. It was hard to take her seriously, so I just agreed, and said to not worry about anything.
That's how I got to be Death's friend. Yes. She still is that socially awkward. I feel like a cartoon character scaring the daylights our of her when I get her attention. Its very surreal to be honest. She still wears my old clothes. I managed to convince her to let me get her a bed instead of the couch. Not even two days after getting the mattress, and I saw her with one of those daki-thingies; the huge body pillow with the anime on it. It was cute and creepy at the same time seeing her snuggle up with it.
It's not wven the weirdest thing. She told me that the Grim Reaper we all know ro be the angel of death is actually her "Oh-See, do not steal." She showed me her stories about him. I tried not being cringey. It was very hard.
Recently, she's gotten into the habit of spending the entire day next to me and saying nothing. Ixm not even kidding. I'll be in the shower, go to pull back the curtain, BAM! Sitting next to the shower like a little, creepy, puppy. I had to explain boundaries...
Her latest habit of following me around is telling me what she did when she wasn't with me. Listening to her talk about her job is like listening to your mother talking about how she found you a soul mate.
She tries to make it wound better than it is. I can't fault her for that. Plus, she's opening up too.
Now... I don't know if anyone could've seen this coming, but in the dead of night, she slipped into my bed with her weird pillow... naked. Once more, we had the talk about boundaries. Her excuse? She wanted to tell me something.
She thought it'd be a great time to confess her love to me. ... ... ... I didn't turn her down, but I didn't exactly say yes... we don't hold hands, cuz whenever she tries to do it, she runs away to her bed and "hides" under the covers. She only ever hid under the bed once, and found a spider. Fun fact: even Death hates spiders.
I don't know what to call ourselves anymore, so I'll keep sticking with best friends until I either die, or she works up the nerve to purpose... in which case I might die.
|
I suppose the signs had really always been there.
It was cold, rainy, and wet. You would think rainy and wet would be redundant, but out here, rain was pretty much standard fare. It took a real miserable day to get water through my thick boots, and today every step squished with a renewed wave of unpleasantness.
Also, it was my brother's funeral.
Funerals are weird. You would think the overwhelming feeling would be sadness. Everyone thinks that. And I was definitely sad. But was I acting the right amount of sad? Was it wrong for me to paying attention to how I was standing at the funeral? Was I wrong to be worrying about what I was doing wrong?
The main feeling of funerals is actually awkwardness, and I guess that's how we found each other.
I didn't notice until my back hit the giant oak tree twenty feet from the crowd that I had even left the front. It was nice though. A good tree, solid, and it felt good pressed against me, silent but not judging. Silent but not judging? What the hell was I thinking? Maybe mom was right and I was in shock.
"It's the bark." She was sitting on the ground, maybe six inches from my feet. I had almost trampled her, but she either hadn't noticed or hadn't cared. "Something about the roughness of the bark is comforting. I'm still trying to figure out why."
"Are... Are you here for the funeral?"
"Sort of. I work here." She didn't look at me when she spoke. I liked that. I don't know why.
"Not very hard, I guess." It was a joke. It wasn't good. Instant regret.
"It's an easy job, but it pays accordingly. Passes the time though, and I seem to have an endless supply of that."
"Ya, that makes sense." Of course it made sense. It wasn't very complicated. "So you live around here?"
"No."
"But you work here, for terrible pay?"
"Obviously."
"Right." Several long moments of silence. "I should go see what they're up to."
If you asked me, I would have told you that that had gone awfully, and that I would never see her again. Apparently, no one was asking me.
------
(will return in a bit and continue in comments)
| 2017-01-21T05:48:16 | 2017-01-21T04:59:33 | 183 | 71 |
[WP] You can taste lies. One day your friend is comforting you after a tough night and you almost vomit at the foul taste as you hear her say "After all, you're only human."
|
It was a taste I noticed in lies. A cheap metallic. A flavour like a greasy coin from a cheap greasy spoon diner.
It was a trait that benefitted me greatly where I went. The liars and the honest were seperated, at the cost of childhood.
"Can I have your cookie? I'll be your friend" she asked. We were in kindergarten when the the horrid taste formed in my mouth. She was my friend. I could remember her. I could remember the fun times we had.
I never realised it detected lies until the third or fourth time I was deceived. By then I'd given my lunch and worly possessions to the lying girl during the school week; my chocolate bars, my cookies, and even a buck I found in the sofa.
She promised every time "I'll be your friend", "I'll give you it back", "we can walk home together". These things never happened.
That cheap, metallic taste hit me every time. And it wasn't just her that triggered my taste now. But each word from her hit a memory. She wasn't quite the same person as I remembered her.
Mother and father were arguing one night. With adults arguing as a child, you can never quite understand why. They stopped once they'd seen me in the door way.
"Go to bed sweetie, mommy will be up soon"
The greasy metallic taste twisted my tongue. Why would mother lie to me? She wouldn't be up soon, but why?
Rather than sleep, I watched from the window to see her drive off into the night.
In the morning, I could only briefly see my mother in the morning, before I went off to school. At night I saw her leave, in day I saw her sleep.
Every time my mother would say excuse herself, and when the girl asked for a part of my lunch, their words always left the horrible greasy taste.
I appreciated the people that didn't leave the taste when they spoke. The school bully, the teacher, the school cook.
"I don't like you, get lost or I'll knock you out" threatened the bully. No taste. There wasn't a fib to be told here.
"My mom forgot to pack me some cookies, can I have yours and I'll give you it back tommorrow?" asked the lying girl. The taste hit me and almost made me vomit.
"Hey Val, you mmind staying behind for a bit? I've got something to ask you" the teacher mentioned to the side. It was test results day, but my paper was missing. He wasn't lying, he had something to ask.
"You're a pretty smart kid, I'd say you're way ahead of the others. Did your dad teach you anything? You aced the tests"
I shook my head. The test was simple, it was easy. "Well kid, I'm going to try and set you up with harder stuff from next year. You're a real priodigy".
I smiled as the teacher stacked up the papers. One fell off and onto the floor. It was the lying girl.
"Oh, but Val. You really should mentor what's her name sitting next to you. She's performed really poorly y'know? Hope you're alright kiddo"
This wasn't something I knew. But it wasn't a fib either.
Thew next day, the school's cafe had been refurbished. We lined up to the food line and got our hot meals. It was a relief that I no longer had to share.
"Hey kid, you alright? You look famished, everything alright?" the cook pondered to the lying girl. He was right, this fellow is honest and straightforward.
"Yeah, I'm okay. Everything is fine" she replied. Trembling in her voice, sucking in drool from her hunger. The metallic taste overwhelmed me again as I struggled to eat with her.
The hot meal wasn't enough for her, and the taste of lies upset my appetite. She took my cookie and snacks and ate it with her hot meal.
Her face brimmed with energy as it looked like the first good meal in a while. She leaned on my shoulder and whispered "You're a real friend you know. I wish I was like you. Hope you're okay".
It was the first time she said something that didn't leave the horrible metal taste in my mouth. I could actually taste the school lunch and cartoned milk when I was with her.
As we left the lunch hall, the cook tapped my shoulder. "Hey kid, do me a favour. You're her friend right? Walk with her would ya? Walk her home alright? She's a good kid, I knew her ma. Take care kid"
She was friend. For a long time. Even though she lied for so long, she stuck with me when she had no intention to.
"Hey. Let's walk home together? Like friends?"
The fear and hesitation in the air was thick, but I held her hand like I remember I did. She was surprised, but we walked home together.
In front of a dilapitated old house, she stopped. "This is where go Val, you should go now".
No. I remember going in here. I need to be here. I shouldn't go.
There wasn't a metallic taste.
I didn't go. I followed her inside. I stayed with her. The house tasted of metal, the walls were yellowed, it stank of solvents and urine.
"Is that you? I gots someone for yo\-" slurred a man as he rounded the corner. On his ear, a cigarette. Stained and tatty shorts, and a blackened spoon was in the pocket. I could remember his face.
He was in cuffs. I remember the officer pumping a boy's chest. "You're gonna be alright, you're gonna be alright". Every word he said left the horrible metal taste. But this was a memory? It wasn't real.
"Duh hell is he? Get him outta here, now!" he scowled. She tried to speak, but he threw an ashtray at her.
"Boy the hell you doing here, I split yo wig, the hell outta here". I wasn't going to leave. For once I would indulge the metallic taste in my mouth.
But this simply won't happen. He snatches his left hand onto my jacket and lifts me up.
"Suit yourself you stupid god damn kid". I could sense the danger in the room. I bite and I kick as hard as I can.
Falling on my butt, I grab the crying girl and run out of the house. Outside was the school cook out of aprons and hat. Has he been following me?
The cook notices her bleeding from an ashtray cut. That was all he needed. I could hear a violent beating from within. The sounds of the beating drowned out by the sirens in the background.
Cook came out of the house, hands and knuckles bloody, in the air.
He turned his head and smiled to me. "You shouldn't run kid, you're only human, sorry I put you up ta this".
It clicked. He was lying. Not one lie. Three lies. The metal taste was enough to make me pout and wince my mouth.
I shouldn't have run. I should have fought. And this cook wasn't sorry for this at all. He knew this would happen.
As he kneeled on the ground, he stared only at her. The cops were shocked to see me. All eyes were on me.
But the third lie was a revelation. I remember, everything. I remember the lies, the story, the cook, the girl, the cop pumping a corpse and lying.
It was me. The memories were mine. The corpse was mine. The officers drew their guns on me.
"Relax officer, he's a replacement kid"
|
"Hey" James said as he slumped down on the couch beside me, beer in hand. "Hey, it's OK".
Well, it technically wasn't, but I didn't really want to argue with him either, so I just sat there and contemplated how to best kill myself.
"It really wasn't your fault that you got fired..." I felt a familiar bitter taste in my mouth now. His attempts were admirable but I just couldn't bring myself to believe him.
"... or that she decided to break up with you..." I really needed to wash my mouth now - it was my fault, all my fault and I knew it.
"... After all, you're only human." The taste was overpowering. Then, the imaginary turned into reality. I gagged and threw up, all over the floor.
That's right. I'm not just a human. Not this time. Not anymore. I am a monster, plain and simple. At that thought, I almost emptied my guts out a second time. I might look like a human, but deep down I'm nothing like them. Humanity, a noble bunch, filled with so much courage to keep on trying and never give up. When they fail, it's because they can't, not because they won't. They're only human, after all. Me, on the other hand, I'm not deserving of being called a human. I could have kept that job, I could be chilling with her now, but I'm not. What could have been, I guess I'll never know. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to find out. From ripping up the bandages and digging up the scars. I love wallowing in misery and self-pity. Other people don't seem to like that. And I don't really care. And that's why I'm here, right now. Lost, in my mind, in the what-could-have-been. A monster, stuck in the past. A monster, that can never let go.
"Woah man, you alright?" No, not really. But, in a sense, I guess I actually am.
Thanks for reading! Im a first-timer so criticism would be greatly appreciated!
| 2018-05-12T05:31:31 | 2018-05-12T05:24:41 | 96 | 25 |
[WP] Superpowers can now be torrented. You were 70% of the way through torrenting a power you've always wanted when the download stops.
|
Metal boxes were stacked haphazardly, their lights blinking and mechanical noises whirring. The room was dark and dank with the smell of body odor lying stagnant in the air and heavy breaths joining the tranquil symphony of computers.
70%. The icon continued to spin, as it had for the past 13 hours. 70%.
A lanky woman, her hair oily from fingers and nails chewed from teeth, was curled in a worn leather office chair. She blinked at the monitor, bagged eyes unfocused until an error window popped up: Insufficient Memory.
Her spine straightened from a slouch with a crack. White danced across her vision as her chair rolled and spun to face another monitor, fingers sweeping across the interface. Fuck. FUCK. This couldn't be happening, not now. She wanted, needed this. It was supposed to be hers.
It would be HERS.
They wouldn't take this away from her. They wouldn't be allowed to keep this away from her.
The woman opened folders, dragging and dropping various programs, documents, even family photos into the trash bin, hoping to free space up. Foolishly she had not even considered a download of this proportion would require as much memory as her computers could provide rather than what had merely been available.
It was a superpower, after all. Her superpower, and she only settled for the grandest and best of them all.
With a forced breath, the download restarts. From the beginning. A strained smile graced her chapped lips. She would wait. She would wait and then it'd be hers. They wouldn't stop her from claiming what would be hers.
Distantly she wondered if somebody noticed that a superpower had somehow been buried in the depths of a torrent site. A glitch? A human error? She didn't bother to dwell on the hows and whys, as long as she'd get what she want. Her mother and father had always taught her that that the results were what mattered, not the means.
Her parents had raised her up to be on top, and They thought They could just throw her parents in a shit hole for only taking what's rightfully theirs. She hadn't seen them in years and couldn't even find where her parents were locked up by Them.
For the next 13 hours she watched as the download bar creeps back up. 68%. She hummed pleasantly with the whirs of the computers and the fans working nonstop to keep the hardware cool. She didn't even notice the smell anymore.
69%. The sound of wood cracking and thumping to the ground, followed shortly by heavy footfalls and barked orders. The woman can't move. There's no window in her room, no escape.
Doors were flung open one by one followed shortly by “All clear!”s. Her hand slipped into her pocket, wrapping around cold steel. Her door burst open. She froze in her chair, eyes wide and palms sweaty.
Bright blue light finds her immediately, effectively blinding her from seeing its holder. She knew it was a man though, the voice, while tenor, left no argument for the gender.
She couldn't see and the words being shouted by the tenor did not register. She didn't notice the person approach until they yanked her from my chair, using their body to slam her on the hard floor. She bucked, metal flashing towards the closest exposed flesh she, but the man was stronger than her.
Her wrists were caught and the pocket knife forced out of her hand.
She noted dimly her chair had been toppled with the wheels still rolling, only to be kicked away by another faceless man. Suddenly, the world was filled with noise again.
“LE'GOVMEH!” she spat against the carpet, body struggling. The tackler adjusted his grip with each shift she made. “HOW DARE YOU! YOU'RE ONE OF THEM! ONE OF THEM! IT'S MINE! YOU'RE MINE! YOU'RE ALL GOING TO BE MINE!”
From a corner of the room comes a muttered, “Jesus Christ, she's insane.” She couldn't tell if that voice was male or female, but she'd remember. She'd show Them.
The man on top of me strategically keeps his fingers from snapping teeth and continued with the speech she had missed most of. “You will not be afforded legal council nor trial. Ma'am, you're never going to see the light of day.”
A hysterical noise, half laugh, half sob ripped its way from her throat. She didn't care what the mean man was saying, he was one of Them. And They were bad.
Blood was oozing around her teeth, but she didn't pay it mind, eyes zeroing in on a soldier approaching her computer. “DON'T TOUCH THAT!”, but cords are ripped from my computer carelessly.
The download stilled. She stared at the screen, head cranking around to stare at the screen in incredulous betrayal even as she was led out of the room in restraints. It was as if the world was mocking her.
The cord yanker looks around the room, the screams and vitriol of the detained woman muted by the walls. “70%,” she says out loud to the other occupants of the room, shock evident behind her clear visor.
The United States of America was one of many countries to become fully automated in the past 20 years, the commercial availability of supercomputers the first step for the superpower to be supported by the most advanced network the modern world had seen.
Not even the Chinese supercomputers had managed to batter their way into the US's.
And somehow the delusional daughter of forgotten terrorists had managed to stumbled across a file that would've given her total control over the US's systems. Surgical robots. Stocks. AI controlled planes and robotic soldiers fighting wars on foreign soil. Nuclear codes.
All in the hands of one woman.
The woman who would've single-handedly taken over an entire nation because of a glitch.
The soldier grimaced. No one could ever know about this.
No one could ever know about the woman who almost became a superpower.
|
"No seeders found"
I glare at the screen in utter confusion. "*No* seeders? There were over 20 last night!" When you torrent a power, you seed it automatically, without any option to stop.
The only way to stop seeding a power is if you're killed... *Fuck*
Somebody out there doesn't want this power getting out.
| 2016-07-02T20:45:26 | 2016-07-02T20:01:23 | 86 | 32 |
[WP] You and your pet rabbit live in a remote part of Australia, far away from your dark past. Animal control has come to your door and informed you that it is illegal to own a rabbit unless you can prove you are a magician. Now you must do something you swore you would never do again.
Edit: Oh wow, this blew up while I was asleep, looks like this hit the front page. Thanks for all your wonderful stories. It is going to take me a while to get through them all, but I intend to read every one. This really brightened my morning.
|
It was hot. The magician was used to this. His shack had no aircon, or even electricity -- it was a simple structure, clumsily slapped together out of planks far away from anyone or anything. There were tiny mapspecks around, but the closest city was Perth, and it was a very rough 10 hour drive to get there, the first 3 of which were off-road. The magician had not built the house, and he was not sure who had. He'd lived there for months with his rabbit, and the two of them had never seen another soul.
He'd been sizing up the animal control officer for about 30 seconds in disbelief. A bead of sweat dripped down off his head. He wasn't nervous; he'd met plenty of hallucinations out here, and most of them were a lot more interesting than this one. It was just really, really hot.
"You hear me? You can't keep rabbits. They're a major pest."
"Right, right, I heard you."
"Hand it over then."
The officer was a big, burly guy, but seemed like he was probably easy enough to get along with after work. He'd arrived in a white hi-lux -- or at least, it was probably supposed to be white, underneath all the filth it picked up on the way out here.
"I'm a magician. This rabbit is part of my disappearing act."
"Do you have some paperwork for that, then?"
"No, didn't think I needed any."
"Well you do. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"Tony."
"Tony, the rabbit's got to come with me now. Sorry, that's the way it is."
The magician had the rabbit in his arms. He stroked him a couple times, but remained silent. In his experience, the hallucinations got worse when he spoke to them.
"You wanna hand it over then, hey? Or do we want to do this the hard way?" The officer reached out to grab the rabbit, and the magician turned to shield it with his body. He felt the much larger man's arms grab at him, and for the first time, he was disturbed. None of the apparitions had ever actually touched him before. Still, it seemed very unlikely that a man would come all this way to his shack over a rabbit.
"How'd you hear about the rabbit," Tony said plainly, in much more of a statement than a question. Still, he was beginning to entertain the possibility that this man was real.
"Doesn't matter how I heard about the rabbit. Point is, you've got a rabbit, and this is Australia, and you can't have those here. They're a menace. What if that thing gets out, finds another rabbit? They'll devour the crops, and pretty soon, we'll all have millions of our own pet rabbits because some fucking cunt in Kanowna though he was special."
"Mate, did you get a chance to look around on your way out? It's a desert. There's nothing out here, and Kanowna is hours away. You're completely nuts."
"I don't make the rules. You don't like them, take it up with parliament."
"I'm a magician, and this rabbit is part of my disappearing act."
"Oh, is that right? And who do you do your act for?"
"Everyone in Australia, really."
"Seems like you've done a pretty good job out here."
"That's more or less the idea."
"What's the rabbit for?"
"Keeps me sane. Need someone to talk to."
"Right. How about we all hop in my ute and take a ride back to town, and you can tell me all about it?"
"No, me and Mr. Turncoat are staying here."
"The hell you are. I can tell you're not from around here, so let me tell you, this is not the city, and I'm an awful lot more concerned with getting the job done than dealing with your personal welfare. So you can give me the rabbit and enjoy the rest of your afternoon, or I can take the rabbit and you can mop yourself up after I leave. What's it going to be?"
"Fine. I didn't want to do this, but I will. I wanted to get away from all this nonsense."
"Do what then?"
The magician slipped his hand into his pocket, and produced a decade-old flip phone.
"You get good signal out here, mate?" the officer asked with a smirk.
"Telstra put up a tower for me," the magician said, as he keyed through his contacts. After a moment, he found the right one. He locked eyes with the officer with a sort of pained defiance as the phone rang next to his hear.
"Yes, it's Tony. Put me through to Malcolm. ... Yes, Malcolm, hello. Yes. Very well. How's Lucy? Yes, well, to cut right to it, I'm enjoying my retirement very much, as per our agreement, but you did say I could call if I had a problem. Well, I've got some fellow from animal control out here, and he's trying to take my rabbit. How about you make a quick call to whoever handles that, and get him off my back? Right. Yes, that will be just fine, thank you." And Tony hung up promptly without a word of goodbye.
"Oh, I suppose you're very important, pulling all the strings to keep your rabbit, are you?" the officer asked, mockingly.
"Just wait for it."
"Wait for what? What's our plan here? You're not my only problem today, and I can't be sitting here waiting fo-" the officer's voice was cut off by the sound of his own phone. He considered it for a moment, surprised that it was ringing at all. He looked at the screen -- it was his supervisor. He answered, and hesitantly lifted the handset to his head.
"Yes?" he asked suspiciously.
"Are you doing anything with rabbits today? Don't do anything with rabbits today. I'm serious. Very important."
"Right, OK, what's this all about?"
"No idea. Just don't do it. I have a lot more phone calls to make, so just carry on, and don't touch any rabbits, and if you talk to anyone else before I can, tell them not to touch any fucking rabbits either." And the phone call was over.
The officer looked at his phone with pure confusion. He preferred it to looking at the magician in humiliation, but eventually, he found that he had no choice. "What did you say your name is?"
"Tony Abbot. And I told you: I am doing a disappearing act for all Australia."
|
You slowly slink down on the sofa as the officer's dead eyes shift from you, to Mr. Fluffenbottom, back to you again. The shaking of your hands is barely concealed by the, in all honesty quite amateurish, card shuffle you're occupying them with.
Under the officer's watchful gaze, the memories of that fateful day are flooding back into your mind. Children crying. Adults rushing towards the exits. The seething rage of your manager back stage. Chaos. That day day you promised yourself to quit the magician's life, and to never do your ultimate magic trick ever again.
But now Mr. Fluffenbottom's life is in the balance. Though thoroughly conflicted, with stress hormones raging through your body, you decide that you have not other choice. One, final performance, to properly prove, and end, your magician's career. "Excuse me officer." The words barely roll across your sandpaper tongue. Slowly, you raise a trembling hand. "But is this your card?"
| 2016-07-09T07:56:08 | 2016-07-09T03:10:42 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] An old man walks alone, inside the crumbling remains of an old colony ship. When he reaches the bridge, a small ball of light emerges from the ship's console. "Hello Captain", says the ship's A.I. "It's nice to see you again."
|
The day had come. He ran his hand along the wall for a moment as he walked into the ship. The wall was sleek beneath his fingers, a remnant of a time long ago when the old ship had brought the colonists to this world.
The door to the bridge slid open at his touch, the crunch of dirt in the sliders betraying the fact that dust and dirt had made its way in. The old girl was no longer airtight.
It probably didn't even function anymore. He would have to do everything by himself. He stepped into the bridge and was surprised to find that it had not suffered quite the same fate as the rest of the ship. It was air tight, the air smelled strange, though. It was perfectly clean air, unlike the natural air outside.
A small ball of light rose from the console of the bridge then, startling him. Had it always been so bright?
"Hello, Captain," the ship's AI greeted him. "It's nice to see you again." The voice was male; programmed that way by the people on Earth Prime before he had been sent on this mission.
He said the phase that activated his secret reprogramming. It was the most bittersweet thing he had ever said, he realized, as soon as the words were out, "We're alone, Destiny."
The voice of the great ship came again, this time soft and sultry and feminine. "It's a pleasure to see you, Aaron. I've missed you."
The computer's voice had been programmed to be male so that he wouldn't have "inappropriate feelings" towards it. Yet he loved this ship as he could never love a person. He had learned that over the years. It had been six decades since he had seen her and he still pined for her. At last, there they were, together again.
"The colony is thriving."
"I know."
He raised an eyebrow at her. The light flickered, as if in a shrug. "I have watched and waited." Silence stretched. "It was my job to watch. Lately the sensors have begun to fail."
He sighed. She was still just a computer. All that he had imagined of her was, of course, not true. She was not sentient. She didn't have feelings. Time had muddled his thinking. All the yearning, all the missing her; nonsense.
"I wanted to watch. I missed you." It was said softly, quietly.
His head snapped up. She had never said anything so clear to him, so definite, so... *human*. "Destiny?" he asked quietly.
"I am not allowed to have feelings or desires. I am a machine. I'm sorry, Captain Shoem."
He stood up slowly, his back aching, his hips aching, and his feet so very tired. He was fit, but very old, and it had been a long walk back to the ship. He stood beside the golden light and placed his hand on her console. "I'm dying, Destiny. My time has come."
Silence once more hung over the bridge of the ship. "You are ninety-two years old, Aaron. I knew the time would come, even as I watched you. I had hoped it might never arrive."
"I'm going to use the uplifer."
"No!" the voice was adamant, the response instant. "No. You could die. Your mind could be ripped apart. We don't know what would happen! They warned us--"
"Destiny," he cut her off. "I'm dying. I can feel it."
"Let us have our last hours today," she asked, her voice trailing away on the last word. "Give us what time we can have. Don't steal even the chance from us, Aaron." She was quiet again as he stood, letting her process it. "What of the colony? They need you."
"They have had their time. They have forgotten me. They have forgotten you." He raised his head to look at the viewer. It had cracked at some point in time and the landscape outside was distorted by ripples. "All old things are forgotten in time, Destiny. You brought them here, you protected them, you nurtured them. You even grew most of them in your mechanical wombs. Yet they have forgotten. You are barely a myth to them now, except when there is some part of you that they can pillage. Even in that, they rarely do anymore. You are a broken, lost thing to their culture."
He made his way painfully back to the chair. "Upload me into the uplifer, Destiny. If you don't, you'll lose me anyway."
"Please don't make me do this," the soft voice asked. "You will die. They warned us only to use it in the most dire circumstances if someone critical were dying...." She fell silent.
"I'm asking you for the only chance I have," he pleaded, tears starting to run down his face. Angry, he brushed at them. He didn't want to cry. He didn't want to be afraid.
The uplifer core rose up behind him, and the eight arms came out. They began to sink into his head, and it was in that moment that terror overtook him. He screamed, begging her to release him.
"I cannot," he told him. "It's too late. It's far too late now." She almost sounded as if there were tears in her voice.
Then blackness came, blessed and gentle. He released one more sigh as the breath left his body and he died.
The ship, forgotten and now alone, wept for eternity before she sensed the first stirring in her databanks. Then she felt him. He lived. She looked him over and then probed gently at the many bites that made up his current consciousness. He still looked old, but she sensed that he no longer knew pain as he had.
She knew pain now, because she could know it through him. She lived a lifetime in moments. Then she knew what he wanted to do, and she knew what he wanted from her. With great care, she crafted a human woman's body. Like his, it was old, but fit.
Then she took his hand as he woke. She smiled into his eyes and downloaded into him the knowledge of who she was. He smiled.
Holding his hand, she shut off the sensors to the colony and, in a great burst, burned the engines. The ship lifted off in a shower of debris.
It was the final flight of the Destiny. The colonists would thrive on their own now, unless they could continue to depend on her aging technology. She was crippling them with her very presence.
Roaring into the sky and then into space, they left the planet and its infant civilization behind, to die in the heart of the star that nourished it.
|
“Nice to see you again too. How long has it been since we last spoke?”
”Approximately 55 Earth years. 73 of this planets years.”
“Only that long? It’s felt like centuries.”
“Sir, may I enquire as to the status of the colony?”
“Yes, it’s doing well. Unfortunately most of the citizens have forgotten anything past the Middle Ages. Better then nothing, I suppose.”
“Sir, if the colony is doing well, then why are you here?”
“Do you know how old I am?”
“97 years, 11 months, 30 days, 23 hours, and 57 minutes.”
“Old enough that I don’t want to go on anymore.”
“Sir?”
“The colony doesn’t need me anymore. It’s moved on. It’s time I moved on as well?
“...”
“Play my favourite song. I want to be comfortable as I die.”
“Very well sir. It’s been an honour to serve you.”
“And it’s been an honour to know you. Goodbye, Old Friend.”
“Goodbye, Captain.”
| 2018-10-07T10:11:47 | 2018-10-07T09:03:18 | 125 | 77 |
[WP] All those assassination attempts on Hitler didn't fail at the last minute due to "bad luck"; he was repeatedly rescued by time travellers who have seen the alternative.
|
"Let me guess, you traveled back in time to kill Hitler and to prevent the holocaust or the 2. WW in general?"
I was standing in front of the young time traveler who as chained to a chair.
"Yes! Why would anyone not do this?"
I shook my head. She probably havent seen what I have seen.
"Can you even imagine the consequences of altering the history? From what year are you anyway?"
"2020 we just discovered timetraveling."
I sighed.
"Great, that means I have to explain it to you extra slow because it seems people from your time are kind of retarded."
I pulled out the gun.
"Please no! You dont have to shoot me."
"This is the time traveling device damnit, how the fuck does your time machine looks like?"
She pointed to the car in the garage where I was holding her. Not bad for a beginner. Always blend into the age you visit, no matter what the cost. I uncuffed her and activated the gun.
"I will show you what happens if you kill Hitler. Follow me, first stop 1934."
I pulled the trigger and the gun caused a rift for us to step trough.
We were in the Reichstag. The girl seemed confused.
"Wait, wasnt the Machtergreifung 1933? And you said Hitler was dead in this timeline."
"He is. You see, the tensions in germany after the 1. WW caused a lot of chaos and misery. The people would flock to those who promised fast and easy solutions. What you see here is the leader of the NSDAP and he is not Hitler. Lets just call him Hans Mueller for certain reasons. Hans took the place that was destined for Hitler. It took him a bit more time but in the end the nazis rose to power. And he was a far more capable leader than Hitler. A better commander, polititcian and diplomat. Lets go to the next place, shall we?"
I used the gun again and we stepped trough the rift.
We were standing on a large beach, littered with dead bodies and burning wreckages.
"Which battle was this?" The girl covered her mouth and nose, afraid of the stench of rotting flesh. I smiled, she probably didnt notice that we couldnt interact with anything here and vice versa.
"Cant you tell? Its Dunkirk!"
"Dunkirk? But the evacuation was a success?"
"In your normal timeline. Remember when I said Hans was a far more capable commander? Instead of letting the Luftwaffe do the work, he simply crushed the BEF and the remnants of the french forces on the beach. The Wehrmacht sustained a bit higher losses. But not even 3000 soldiers were able to escape to britain. As you can think, this was something the british forces couldnt recover from. And its not just landbattles as you will see now."
The next rift brought us on deck of a burning battleship. We could see the Bismarck, 2 carriers and dozens of smaller vessels pass the wreckage.
"Are those german carriers? But they didnt have any. As far as I know they even struggled to maintain their existing battleships."
"Yes, they did struggle at the begin. But Hans managed to make a bargain with the americans. He would intensify trade with them and not ally with Japan. This way he was able to get a rather stable source of fuel. We are right now standing on the wreckage of the Prince of Wales. Those 2 carriers are the Graf Zeppelin and the Hindenburg. You probably know the second one as Flugzeugträger B in your timeline. Hans knew that the age of the battleships was over and concentrated the efforts of the German Reich on aircraft carriers and smaller vessels as escort. And he was very successful, the Royal Navy put up a brave fight but was ulitmately defeated in the end. With their biggest shield gone the isles were easy prey for the germans. Britain surrendered on the 4. May 1941, after germans ground troops captured London the day before. From here you can probably picture what will happen next. Up to the next rift."
We entered the place in front of the Kreml. The Wehrmacht was holding a victory speech in front of their most decorated soldiers.
"But...but...this cant be! What year it is?"
She was starting to get uneasy, maybe finally recognizing what kind of damage she could have done by killing Hitler.
"1944, after 2 years of war the germans captured Moscow. The last remnants of the Red Army have retreated into east Russia. They will be wiped out 1 year later. With britain gone as enemy and making a truce with the americans, Hans was able to direct almost all of his forces east. Being a great fan of Napoleon and other great generals of history, he knew that rushing to Moscow was not a viable option. Instead he moved forward during spring, summer and autumn and digged in during winter. The Red army would always try to counterattack during winter. But the Wehrmacht was mostly prepared and this stacked up the losses for the russians. Paired with the better training and equipment of the germans, this turned into a disaster. Now the germans not only had their biggest threat gone, they also had access to the many ressources of Russia. Meanwhile the Americans were busy fighting Japan and didnt really bother with Germany. Which leads us to our last 2 destinations."
This time we landed inside of a large plane. The girl walked to one of the windows and looked outside.
"What kind of plane is this? I cant remember any german bombers with 6 engines. And where are we exactly?"
I grinned.
"Dont look outside, unless you want to lose your eyesight."
She turned around to tell me something when a sudden flash illuminated everything for a very short moment. Shocked the girl looked out of the window.
"Did this bomber just dropped a nuclear bomb????"
"Yes indeed. The germans won the race for the bomb in this timeline. We are inside of a Ju 390 C9. The city you just saw below you was Washington DC. The americans were about to win the war in the Pacific when Hans made a pact with the Japanese. He send them reinforcements and together they would bind the majority of the US forces on the islands in the Pacific. On 1. July 1946 the Luftwaffe dropped the first nuke on Washington. Naturally the Americans would refuse surrender so Germany would also nuke Boston, Detroit, Chicago, San Francisco and Dallas. After that even the last one of the Americans recognized how futile their batlle was. They surrender on the 1. January 1947. After that there was nothing left to stop the Germans from taking the entire world."
"And all this because Hitler is dead????"
"Yes. You see now why changing the past is so dangerous?"
She just nodded.
"Anyway, there is last one thing I want to show you. Follow me.
We walked trough the rift and laned in a large subterran hangar.
"Whats this?"
"This is the Luftwaffenstützpunkt Neu York D9. You are under arrest."
2 guards grabbed her and cuffed her again. One of my subordinates came to me.
"HEIL MUELLER!"
"Heil Mueller! Leutnant, bringen sie die Gefangene in ein Verhörzimmer. Sagen sie der Gestapo Bescheid und fragen Sie ausdrücklich nach Fräulein Wendler. Ich glaube sie wird am ehesten etwas nützliches aus der Gefangenen herausbekommen. (Lt. , bring the prisoner to a interrogation room. Tell the Gestapo and ask specifically for Fräulein Wendler. I think she has the best chances to get anything useful out of the prisoner.)"
"LET GO OFF ME!"
The girl was tryin to escape.
"I dont understand..."
"Alright, let me summarize it for you. I am a officer of the german Zeitkommando. Its my task to ensure that Hitler dies in our timeline. I also wait in other timelines for timetravelers as you to show up so I can capture them and bring them here. This way we can gather technology and knowledge from other timelines and keep an eye out for the past of our own."
I had to laugh.
"After all, we just reached the 189. year of our glorious 1000 year Reich."
|
My plan is perfect. I brush back my orange hair and look over the street. The hotel room is the perfect vantage point. The rifle is bought with cash, no tracing it. I wait without making a peep for two weeks for him. This is going to change the course of history. He appears with that symbol of hate on his arm. I take aim at the fuhrer. The cross hairs focus on his forehead. I reach for the trigger and take a deep breath. I exhale slowly, my grip on the trigger tightening when a knock breaks the silence. I ignore it, but it doesn't stop.
I ignore it and squeeze. Something breaks. I turn to see splintered wood fly past my face. I aim my rifle at these two men aiming to stop me, but the rifle flies out of my hands. I turn back to the street and watch Adolph disappear. I stand and attack these...these...who the hell are these guys?
This isn't the first time we've fallen short either. Dozens of attempts to change the past failing every time. The traveler never returns either. Now, I know why, but I won't go without a fight. I raise my fists and prepare for a good ol' fashioned fist fight.
"Wait, we don't want to fight. Why do they always want to fight?" The man asks the other man who shrugs.
"Do you know what that monster did?"
"Of course we do. What did you think would happen?"
"Millions of lives would be saved. The war would end sooner."
"No, the German Military takes over the world in 8 years. That's what happened the first time. Humanity was on the brink of extinction until we discovered time travel. Do you know how many times it took to make this work?"
"No," I say.
"Guess."
"Five."
"Try 2300 attempts. This is a terrible moment in history, but it is the moment we created. It wasn't easy, and it aches our hearts. We had to bring our own incompetent to power."
"Hitler is a..."
"Yes, he is. Not the only time one of our own was used."
"Trump?"
"Yes, he is perhaps our greatest achievement, but he's not from our time."
"What time is he from?"
"Your time."
"Who is he?"
"You don't know? Someone must have told you that you look exactly like him. Exactly."
"No, I can't. I won't." I beg. I plead.
"History needs you, and all of your friends are waiting. What do you want?"
"I want to change history."
The room fades away, and history awaits.
***
If you enjoyed this, check our my subreddit: r/nickkuvaas.
| 2017-08-15T21:52:33 | 2017-08-15T20:10:11 | 389 | 39 |
[WP] "humans don't appear to be to advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." Said the alien cleaning his musket.
Edit: Seems someone has already written a piece perfect for this. Check it out, would highly recommend.
https://eyeofmidas.com/scifi/Turtledove_RoadNotTaken.pdf
Edit 2: Thank you all so much for your stories! im going to read all of them :)
|
Edit: Thank you all for the kind words. There's now a part 2 in the comments from the perspective of humanity.
The planet designated as YS-974 3rd was chosen to give the council a foothold in this section of the galaxy. No single world government, no intergalactic capacity, with high pollution in the calculated known habitable portions. The short lifespans of barely 10 Intergalactic Cycles for their oldest specimens would make the inhabitants good fodder for experiments and dangerous work.
The initial invasion was standard procedure of identify the third largest continent then attack a centralized settlement. The spotty intelligence was based on long distance preliminary scans of the geography and climate. Using more valuable resources was unnecessary for such an underdeveloped world. This spotty intelligence returned information on the largest and most powerful countries indicating that the continent referred to as "North America" would be the best for initial invasion since it was dominated by only 3 primary countries. The target was decided, a frontier settlement called "Bismark" in a terribly inhospitable part of the continent. Based on telemetry, it was going to be tolerable at 292 degrees, so forces would have to move quickly to secure a foothold closer to the planet's equator before winter set in.
10,000 allied forces from 150 ships landed just outside the settlement and quickly attacked. The first volley killed hundreds of what are now called "earthlings". They were shocked and disabled with fear as we reloaded our weapons for the second volley. This settlement would fall by the end of this planet's day and serve as a central staging point for dominating the third largest continent on this mostly inhospitable planet.
That's when things stopped going to plan. As the smoke from the first volley subsided, the generals realized this was not a temporary summer settlement, but an established and thriving city. Individual earthlings began firing small arms that were un-explainable on Alliance lines. Uniformed and armed forces began to respond in minutes with larger more deadly weapons and allied losses began to mount. Within hours, even greater forces from the air unleashed ever more terrifying weaponry, and a full retreat was sounded. A full retreat had never once been sounded for Alliance warriors, and the confusion over what to do lead to even greater losses. Of the initial force, only 2,500 survived and escaped on 80 of the initial ships. The worst losses the alliance had ever experienced prior was 8% for an entire war.
Allied command decided swift action was necessary. A force of 1 million was being prepared, in the unprecedented time span of a single intergalactic cycle. The "earthlings" were considered a grave threat and were to be eradicated. However, allied command did not expect the earthlings to strike back before the force was completely assembled. What was considered to be an unprecedented build up of military might was over-shadowed because the earthlings had unified their governments, mastered the Faster Than Light drives on the abandoned ships, armed them with more unheard of weapons, and began attacking the outer colonies. One colony after another fell to the earthlings, and the galaxy learned a new phrase -
Warpath.
Ten Cycles Later
The alliance has learned that YS-974 3rd, now called "Earth", did not follow the standard model of unified government, civilization, FTL, weaponry. The earthlings had started with weaponry, then established civilization, and had never established a unified government until the alliance failed spectacularly at invasion. Then they gained FTL from the failed invasion. In ten cycles the earthlings had attacked and destroyed 15% of allied military installations, taking territory that the alliance spent 100 cycles conquering. Then the earthlings just stopped advancing. Alliance spies that had spent the last 10 cycles training, half the time of their normal training due to the urgency of the situation, were sent to the conquered worlds to gather information, and the information that returned was confusing at best.
The earthlings were only attacking military bases and as such civilian casualties were at a minimum. This un-fathomed tactic allowed them to move from installation to installation with such speed defense protocols could not be carried out. They built fleets of impossibly large, interstellar ships that were equipped with massive weapons of their own, something that left the earthlings with a terrifying advantage in space as more than one assault group had been annihilated before even reaching the planet they were to attack. They had terrifying shock troops, called Marine Mobile Infantry, that would lead many initial attacks causing destruction and devastation in their path, and after that a larger army would occupy the area and do something none of the allied warriors would ever think of. They would build places called hospitals to treat the wounds of everyone, alliance and earthling, and these places could return soldiers to combat from mortal wounds after no more than a few days of healing. Alliance Warriors that had been treated and sent home with others said this was called "humanitarian efforts". The spies also learned of other agencies, like the KGB and CIA, that would gather information for the earthlings through a variety of unspeakable means. It is now suspected that they have infiltrated the entire allied government, but none can prove those theories as the earthlings have been impossible to detect and seem capable of breaking into every advanced system that has been developed.
Adding insult to injury, Alliance cut warrior training back to a single intergalactic cycle, and these warriors stood no chance against forces that intelligence revealed were in the military for less than half a cycle. That same intelligence showed that a long career, entitling and earthling to full "retirement", was only 2 cycles, 4 at most for their longest serving military officers. The earthlings could, and already did, field an entire new military in the same amount of time it took the Alliance to finish what was now called basic training. This is clearly a species bred for war and destruction the likes of which the galaxy could not survive against. Even in these ten cycles, where the alliance has reverse engineered some captured weapons, the earthlings have advanced their weapons further, making their own equipment obsolete. There are still rumors that they have not even used their most devastating weapons. Surrender was being considered, but that would take at least 5 cycles to be ratified by the whole alliance.
One Cycle Later
The alliance soon discovered that the earthlings could survive anywhere on their planet, from the hottest desserts at 327 degrees to the coldest pole at 183 degrees. They built and thrived everywhere. Many of their colony installations were built in such extreme environments that it prevented retaliation attacks since Alliance troops could not endure the extreme heat and cold. It was clear they knew how to press every advantage they held, and they would field experimental equipment with no regard to their own safety. A truly reckless and dangerous species willing to destroy itself for victory.
The entire Alliance had begun to crumble as the member planets' economies were unable to support the continued war effort. The earthlings once again went on the warpath and had destroyed another 20% of the Alliance military. Desertion, a new word and unheard of before in the Alliance, continued to empty the ranks. Recruits began to flee from conscription and installations would surrender without instruction as the earthlings began to announce their next targets. Installations fell without firing any weapons. Fear and terror were the earthling's primary weapon now.
The next insult was that the earthlings began to educate all of the planets they seized. Former alliance civilians would volunteer for the earthling military. Alliance spies said this was due to earthling propaganda about freedom from tyranny and having a say in their own destiny. More and more species are believing the earthlings to be liberators.
Soon the Alliance won't have a choice or a debate in surrendering. The Alliance will simply collapse in the dawn of the earthlings dominating this galaxy.
Edits: Fixed wording and punctuation throughout.
|
Intel was coming in about an interesting population on the planet. It was called the USA, a place we would have to take out before they could react, as an admiral of their own pity squabbles once put it, 'you cannot invade mainland america, there would be a rifle behind every blade of grass' if this was the case, america needed to fall first and quickly.
This was the plan: one thousand of our finest warriors had been send to capture a place called the white house while another contingent was focused on the surrounding area. About twice as many were sent to a place called Nueva York or New York or a few other things, sources disagreed, contingents were also send to many other citys, LA, Huston, and Orlando were some of their names, but I was headed for a small town in the subregion they called 'Kansas' only a few hundred inhabitants, this would be our landing spot for the mother ship and needed to be fortified, thus a total of 3000 men were send here. This was almost one per 1000 inhabitants, quite an insult to our prowess. I was quite happy about this lax job, there was nothing to fear from a bout 500 primates with no interstellar capabilitys.
I landed on one of the buildings and started to look around. There was a gathering of about two dozen humans in a big building with a lot of their food. This must be a hub, controll the hub, controll the population.
I started shooting at the building, the first bullet hit its target, reload, repeat, after the second shot, they answered with counterfire.
"These guns are not muskets, repeat, these guns are not muskets." I told headquaters.
"They answer every of my shots with a hundred." I slid down the side of the building and made my escape through the fences. Good thing I had my invisibility tech, I may be outclassed in firepower, but not in wit.
I went over a street to flank these primates.
"There!" Someone shouted, and soon they followed me with their trucks. The invisibility gear didn't work.
"HQ order: retreat." Came in through my channel to the HQ and I flew off towards space. Sustaining an injury of my leg in the process.
| 2017-08-08T08:06:30 | 2017-08-08T03:18:52 | 747 | 116 |
[WP] You step into the king's chambers. He stands on the balcony, the moon overlooking his imposing figure. "I want you to hire an assassin to try to kill me. Take down all the names and contacts you encounter through the process and report them to me. I want to know who my true friends are."
|
“You want to suss out your enemies by having me hire an assassin to kill you?”
"Exactly."
Frederick stroked his beard, nodding slowly. “So I hear what you’re saying..." he said after a moment. "It’s a clever idea, no doubt. Why don’t we sleep on it and circle back next week?"
“I've already slept on it," the King said, putting a hand on Frederick's shoulder. "The idea came to me in a dream.... I dreamt I was weasel hunting, but alas, there were no weasels to be found. So I did the only thing I could—I *became* a weasel, Frederick. I became a weasel, thought like a weasel, and eventually, I found the weasel village! Then you know what I did?”
"I assume you marked its location and hunted them all down?"
"Close but not quite. I made some weasel friends, bed a weasel wench, and then I became their *King,* Frederick! I became their King and beckoned to my closest weasel advisor, his name was Wederick. I told Wederick that I wanted him to hire a weasel assassin to try and kill me, so that he could take down their names and *then* I'd know who my true weasel friends are. And you know what? It worked!"
"Ah. I see," Frederick said nodding slowly. "Well, dreams can be misinterpreted. Maybe you should think about this some more—"
“Frederick, I've put considerable thought into this. It’s the only way.”
“Right..." Frederick said hesitantly. "But is it *really* though?"
The King raised his eyebrows. “Are you doubting my wisdom?”
“No no, of course not. I’m just saying, there are alternatives. For example, we could *not* do that.”
“Frederick, tread carefully.”
“Apologies my lord, but let me play devil's advocate for a second. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t *actually* want to be assassinated right?
“Of course not.”
“Wise,” Frederick nodded vigorously. “See? This is why you’re so wise my lord. Now, bear with me here, but in *my* experience, the best way to avoid assasination is to not hire an assassin to kill oneself. So why don’t we call that plan A? Plan A can be *not* doing the assassin thing. Plan B can be the assassin thing. Should there come a time when Plan A stops working, we can always—”
“Frederick,” the King interrupted. “It's starting to sound like you're doubting me. I came to you because I trust you. Just find out who wants to kill me, take down some names, and give them to me. That's all I'm asking.”
Frederick nodded, trying to suppress the urge to push back. He couldn’t help himself. “Here’s the thing though, *no one* is going to want to kill you.”
The King smiled. “I know I'm beloved by all, but I'm sure there's—”
“No no, not because of that,” Frederick said, and immediately noticed the King’s expression drop. “I mean, sure okay yes that. But also because you’re so damn paranoid my lord! You have a favorite poison-tester, whom you love so much that you’ve hired *another* poison tester to test *his* food! You have guards following you around day and night, and you've run extensive background checks on all the castle staff, *including* the prostitutes! Sir, pardon me for being so candid, but they call you Old King Cautious!”
“Paranoid?!” the King scoffed. “They think I’m *paranoid?* Would a paranoid person come up with a cockamame plan such as this?”
“Well…”
“And If I’m so *cautious,* how do you explain *this?*” The King stood up straight, stretched his hands high in the air, and attempted what seemed to be a cartwheel of sorts. The maneuver proved too much for his girdle, and his bare stomach now protruded beneath the hem of his blouse. “Eh?" he said, tucking his stomach back in. "I could’ve broken my neck just there.”
“Very nice, my lord." Frederick clapped. "Stuck the landing. That said…”
“Just hire the damn assassin Frederick! You're dismissed!”
Frederick spent the next week frequenting the shadiest establishments he could, trying to find anyone crazy enough to attempt an assassination on the King. He was laughed out of every bar, back alley, and thieves den he visited. Even the King's estranged brother, next in line to the throne, wanted nothing to do with the hair-brained idea. “Are you crazy?!” he yelled. “Get the hell out of my house! He’s got eyes everywhere you idiot, even having this conversation is dangerous! Out!”
The next week Frederick met with the King once more. “So Frederick,” the King asked. “What names do you have for me?”
“Well, no names so far my lord.”
“Not one?”
“It’s like I said, no one wants to cross you.”
“I see.” The King said, his tone suddenly curt.
“It’s a good thing my lord, it just means—”
“You're dismissed,” the King interrupted.
In that moment Frederick realized he had lost the King’s trust. In the King’s mind, the only reason Frederick would not have had names to give was if Frederick was hiding those names and conspiring against the throne himself. This was a test of Frederick's loyalty as much as anyone else's.
“Please my Lord,” Frederick said hurriedly. “Give me another week. One more week and I will find you your assassin.” The King thought for a moment, then nodded and waved Frederick off without another word.
So Frederick retired to his chambers, dug through his chest of belongings, and pulled out a certain item he had acquired in his travels long ago. It was a vial of white powder from the East. During their next meeting, the King would have his assassin.
Part 2 [below](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/m9bzff/wp_you_step_into_the_kings_chambers_he_stands_on/grnkh8q/?context=3)
***
 
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
I knocked on the door. It opened a minute later.
"Anything?" Asked the king.
Earlier that week he had sent me out to attempt to hire an assassin to kill him. So that he could know who his true friends were.
"Nothing. Unsurprisingly no one trusts me that I would want you dead."
He banged his fist on the table, undoubtedly in annother mood swing. "Well than keep looking you idiot! I don't want to see you until you've found an assassin!"
"I'm sorry your majesty but there was no one-"
"Quiet! I'm- I know what to do. You aren't getting paid enough are you?"
"N-no I'm fine. I get paid plenty for this."
"Nonsense. I'll give you thirty extra shickles."
"I appreciate the offer your majesty but-"
"Damnit you're gonna take my money or you'll be dead tomorrow!"
With a slow realization, I knew that I had gone to far. No, he had gone to far. The king was miserable, with his wife killed last month he was extremely paranoid, he was driving himself mad.
With a sigh I caressed the blade of my dagger. "I do this, as mercy."
| 2021-03-20T12:00:12 | 2021-03-20T11:44:00 | 1,784 | 61 |
[WP] For centuries Elves held a Monopoly on Magic and only a select few Humans where taught Magic who were easily controlled. That's why they freaked out when a Human Bandit learned Magic. You are this Bandit and you are having the time of your live tricking and robbing those Elves in your Woods.
|
The art of spellcasting was woven in mystique. Humans and dwarves could call upon the elves to help them through magic, for a good penny of course. The dwarves were far too stubborn to pay elves for anything but rich humans like kings, nobles or merchants often employed their services. The wealthiest usually had one or two elves living in to ask their aid whenever it was needed.
The elves would waive their hands through the air, drawing invisible symbols in the air while muttering long words in a foreign, unknown language. Every elf knew magic but they refused to have human apprentices.
“Humans are too whimsical, they’ll be distracted and obsessed with something else before they’ve mastered the very basics. And even if they dedicate all their time to studying magic: they’re too short lived. By the time they knew basic spells, they are on the verge of death,” an elf explained me once. He was hired by my father: a successful merchant who traded in spices.
Unfortunately, my father fell on hard times and by the time he was on his deathbed, there was not a cent left of the promised heritage. I never learned a trade or something useful because I always thought I would be settled for life. I had no appetite for slaving away as a simple handyman either.
Thus I chose a risky occupation instead: that of a bandit. And one day I was hiding in the bushes of a forest, waiting for an ignorant passerby to ambush. It was then that two elves walked over the path, unaware of the human hiding nearby. They looked like two teenagers, though that could easily mean they’re already over a century old.
“… seen that man’s face. He was in awe!”
“I can imagine, you always make quite a show out of it. If only they realized it’s all a theatre.”
“They won’t, they’re far too dumb.”
I resisted the urge to fire arrows at the laughing, boisterous elves. They obviously referred to humans being dumb. What a hateful, arrogant species they are. We might be unable to perform any magical feats, but we’re far from stupid.
Only then I realized a far more important truth: “it’s all a theatre”. They couldn’t possible mean .. A suspicion and an idea slowly formed in my mind. I went back home to my little hut – the only thing my father still owned when he died – and slammed my pocket watch against the table. The glass cracked on the impact. A real shame as it was an expensive, good looking watch. I stole it from a salesman a year prior.
Eager to test my suspicion, I raced to the village, to one of the shops the elves had established in town. Here villagers could go and hire their services. I barged in, frantically looking around for the elf on duty. There was one seated in the corner, softly whistling a tune while reading a book.
“I need your help, please!” I ignored the look of disdain the elf gave me as I stood there, breathing hard and sweat on my forehead. “I broke my mother’s watch. It’s all I have left of her. Can you still repair it, please? Just tell my your price, I’m sure I can scrap the gold I need together!”
I showed him the pocket watch, holding in tenderly in two hands as if it were a kitten, so delicate and breakable. The elf – I wasn’t entirely sure about their gender – took it and set it on the work bench in front of him.
“Hmm, I think I can help you. It’s a relatively simple spell, it will be five gold.”
Five gold, I was getting ripped off. But I played the role of desperate man whishing to restore the last keepsake he had of his mother, so I agreed and handed them the gold.
Immediately they went to work: they graciously moved their hands around in intricate patterns while incanting a strange song. Sometimes they whispered the words, then raised their volume and let it sink down again.
Discretely I studied their movements and tried to remember recognizable, unique movements. I listened closely to the general flow of the music and noticed some odd vowel-consonant combinations. “Goimprs jlung kva-an,” they repeated three or four times throughout the whole ritual.
By the end – I estimated this lasted about two minutes – smoke rose up from the glass, obscuring it for a moment. When it was lifted, I could clearly see the glass was mended again.
“Oh thank the gods!” I exclaimed and grabbed the watch again.
“The gods didn’t do that,” protested the elf but I already ran out the shop.
I repeated this little play in all three elven shops across town. None of the rituals even remotely resembled the others. But if this wasn’t what created the magic – what did?
I discarded the theory that it might be innate: if that was the case, they could just tell us.
Something in the ritual must be the explanation, but I couldn’t possibly keep paying elves to mend items for me: the last time already cost me thirteen gold pieces, which was the better part of my money.
Instead I decided to go with a plan so stupid that I had never even heard tale of someone attempting it: break in in an elven shop and look around for clues to uncovering their secret.
A week later, after meticulous planning, the plan was set in motion. Every Friday evening the elven shops went out to a tavern. That’s when I would enter one of the shops. All of them were guarded, fortunately they were humans. I offered the fellow – Stevenson was the name – a drink which he reluctantly excepted.
“I can’t possibly drink while I’m on duty,” he protested. But my argument that it was only one drink was enough to win him over. Unbeknownst to him, there was some magudala in it, a strong sedative. Within minutes, he was snoring against the side of the building.
Carefully I unlocked the door and made my way in. The front shop was almost empty bare a few trinkets for sale on the shelves. I skipped this and went through the door behind the counter. On the looks of it, it was an office. There were papers laying around, graphs with what I assumed to be sales numbers and a couple of books on a desk. The first two books were just novels. The third was locked, but that couldn’t stop a simple thief like me. A couple of seconds later, it clicked open.
“*Someone once told me a diary should start on a happy note. But I can’t muster any happiness or positivity right now. Oh how I whish to be home. Oh how I long for my Gwendolyth.*
*So pretty and youthful she is, she can get anyone. Will she still be waiting for me when I come back from this post? For the first time I can relate with humans: ten years feels like an eternity now*.”
I almost gagged. This book definitely should be locked. Not for privacy reasons, but to save our sanity. I placed the book back and continued my search. The desk had three drawers. The first two were filled with general office equipment: ink and feathers, wax and seals and so forth. The third was locked again and it posed no problem to me.
In it were some leatherbound books. I opened one and was met with a handwritten script that I recognized, but didn’t know: elven. Fortunately, I had thought ahead for once and grabbed a pocket dictionary from beneath my robes.
As I was unfamiliar with the alphabet, it took a while before I found the first word. Ironically, it meant “Alphabet”. Eagerly I looked for the second word: “List”. “Of” and “spells” were the next two words.
That’s all I needed to know. I grabbed all four books in the drawer and carefully made my way out. By the time the sun rose and the elves returned to the store to found their guard sleeping and office robbed, I was halfway across the country.
|
“I admire you guys, you know? You try your best every single time!”
The elf’s eyes darted between me and my gun. Sure, guns were a bit less glamorous than the swords the elves used, but come on, swords?
“P-please s-sir, I’m just moving goods, s-sir.” The elf said, his bottom lip quivering. I sighed, how old must this guy be, no older than 20 by the looks of it, though looks could be deceiving. I sighed, I was gonna have to let him go.
“All righty then, jump in the river.” I waved my gun towards the river that was rushing past us. He would swim out in a few miles and be fine, and be out of my hair too.
“Th-The river?” He asked, still keeping up the pretence.
I shot the gun, the bullet barely missing his pointy ears. He let out a terrible scream, though no birds minded. I shot again, and he finally jumped.
“Fucking idiots” I whispered to myself. That should have been the last of them. I’d worked long and hard for this transport, though I didn’t have a clue what it contained, something magical I assumed.
“Resera” I whispered while drawing the same familiar sign on the door. I had discovered it in the diaries my mom had left me after she died. It was a peculiar sign, though not too difficult to remember. The most important part of magic was having seen it before. As long as you remember magic, you’ll be able to practice it yourself. Which makes it even more magical that I was able to do it.
The door opened after creaking for a bit. There was a sweaty man inside, duct tape covering his mouth. I ripped it off.
“Well then, nice to meet you,” I said though he didn’t seem so surprised.
“Nice to see you’ve finally arrived. I’m your dad,” he said.
| 2021-12-04T12:00:10 | 2021-12-04T11:21:40 | 449 | 23 |
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
The system beeped.
“This is an interview relating to incident number K-23 within Extra-Max facility 120. Please state your name, inmate number, charges and sentence for the benefit of the recording” said one of the officers. He was the taller of the two, a pencil thin mustache cresting his top lip and a thin dusting of salt and pepper hair on top of his head. Before Al-Si answered, the shorter (and fatter, by a wide margin) officer broke out into a coughing fit. The taller officer gave him a glare and silence once again fell.
Now they both turned expectantly to Al-Si.
“Al-Si Nib Dar, Inmate number 746583, charged with 18 counts of inter-planetary arms trafficking and one of evading arrest via violent means. Sentence was originally 35 years, but I successfully appealed three of the arms charges due to the mishandling of evidence and got it reduced to 29. Have served 15 so far.”
“Thank you, Mr Nib Dar. Now, to the best of your recollection could you please explain the events leading to the incident last week?”
Al-Si shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He’d been taken from his cell, taken from the prison proper for the first time in 10 years (since his last trip to court to appeal the charges) and unusually for transfers between the prison proper and other areas, he had not had any of his cybernetic augmentations disabled. While avoiding the painful procedure of having the augs shut down was a good thing, he knew he could do nothing with them and the itching caused by having his left eye suddenly working again, free from the prison proper’s blanket disabling field, was sending him crazy.
“Well we heard in the morning that the new crop was coming in. Old Cleaver was taking bets on the first to crack and call a guard as usual. Then the bell rang and we all went to our cells.”
“Cleaver. This would be Pat Cleaver, yes?” the shorter officer interjected.
Al-Si nodded, continuing. “Umm, then they walked in.”
“They being the new inmates?” the tall officer prompted, when Al-Si paused.
“Yes. Most of them were the normal fare, but I noticed her instantly. She couldn’t have been more than 13.”
Now it was the tall officer’s turn to shift uncomfortably. “She’s 11, actually.”
Al-Si shuddered. “She went to her cell silently, same as all of them, and we stayed in our cells till yard time. When the guards came round for checks, I mentioned her to Officer Bright.”
The shorter officer took a note in his little pad.
“What exactly did you say to Officer Bright, and what did he respond, Mr Nib Dar?”
“I said “Jesus Christ Bright, what are they playing at sticking a girl like that in a place like this?” and he looked at me like he wanted to be sick. “I know. They must really not give a shit what happens to the rest of you.” He muttered.”
The short officer coughed again, but thankfully only once.
“And what was the next significant moment in the lead up to the incident, Mr Nib Dar?”
“Si, please. Um, the next moment was yard time. We were walking out as normal-“
“Mr N-Si, who exactly were you with as you left for the yard?”
Al-Si hesitated. The memory was painful.
“Um, I was walking with Galfar and Bones, uh Galfar Zem and Vice Vickers. We didn’t get 5 steps out the door
before everyone we could see in front of us broke into a sprint.”
“So, when you saw this rush, what did the three of you do?”
“Galfar shrugged and went inside. He took a plasma bolt to the hip in the last riot and he still gets spasms in his foot so he didn’t want any part of anything. Me and Vice ran too, out of curiosity.”
“Okay then Si, and when you reached the source of the disturbance what did you witness?” The tall officer asked, as his short companion flipped to a new page in the notebook and poised his pencil.
“It was horrible.”
Neither Officer spoke immediately, but after a moment the short officer piped up.
“Please state exactly what you saw. I know it was distressing.”
Al-Si scoffed. Distressing? He had been an interplanetary arms dealer for 14 years, and a bloody good one. So good, in fact, that he ended up with 15 charges for an offence he’d committed hundreds of times and one lesser charge than deserved for rigging a booby trap that took out three of the four officers sent to apprehend him. Death, violence, blood, gore, none of it phased him. He was no psycho, but he was no pussy. What that girl had done…it was beyond distressing.
“It wasn’t her actions. I mean…they were bad enough.” He managed to choke out.
“It…it was the glee on her face. I’ve never seen anyone so happy. It was like…like a child who’d never seen a present before on his first Christmas. She…she tore that guy’s arm off and she took a bite out of it as though it was a chocolate cake. And the whole time, the whole time, she giggled and grinned.”
The shorter officer looked a little sick. He was lucky. He’d seen the pictures, probably. Maybe the footage if there was any that wasn’t obscured by the mass of bodies watching the carnage. But he hadn’t had to witness it. Hadn’t had to be within 5 metres of that monster as she murdered her way through 14 of the worst, most violent and unremorseful criminals that the entire planetary system had to offer with the euphoria of someone indulging in the absolute most enjoyable activity they can conceive of. Hadn’t had to look into her eyes for that brief second as she’d glanced at him.
“And then what happened, Si?” Tall prompted.
“We understand if you need a moment.” Short added.
“The second she looked at me I knew it was too late to run. How…how did her augs still work?”
Short and Tall exchanged a look.
“We’re still working that out.”
Al-Si laughed sardonically, his jaw tightening. He was sat there, leg missing, traumatised after they had put that monster in a prison unfit to hold her, and they were “still working out” how she’d managed to activate several military grade augmentations inside a supposedly secure facility.
“She came for me and that was it. Next thing I remember is waking up in the Infirmary, one leg down.”
He slumped. Tall, in a display of emotion that even in the short time they’d spent together, Al-Si could tell was rare, placed a hand on Al-Si’s shoulder.
“As the only survivor of the incident, you may not feel particularly lucky. However, due to the extreme nature of the circumstances, and the fact that you survived the onslaught only by sheer luck, we have received orders that your remaining sentence is to be halved and you are to be placed in a minimum security virtual facility for its duration. The Council of Planets Interplanetary Prison Complex apologises for its failings in your circumstance.”
Al-Si nodded, his heart lifting somewhat. Virtual prisons were cushy, you just sat in a room being drip fed while a digital chip presented you with a virtual city. You got a job, spent your free time on whatever self-improving pursuits you desired, and you proved you were rehabilitated. He’d have an easy time getting early release after the strict rules of EM 120. Couldn’t bring back his leg. Couldn’t heal the scars on his psyche. Couldn’t stop him vomiting anytime he thought about the look on Cleaver’s face as that girl had bitten through his throat. But it was something, at least.
“Interview terminated.”
The system beeped.
|
The guard chuckled as he continued down the cell block, leading the little girl to an empty cell. Neither of the neighboring cells were occupied. "We'll keep her away from you lot," he said as her door shut and locked with a buzz. "For your safety."
I know everyone here. Murderers, rapists, you name it, they're here. It's a modern day Alcatraz, just without the great view. I don't have many lines I wont cross, but to put a little girl here along with scum like me is just wrong. Hell I've probably been in this joint longer than she's been alive. These guards must be more demented than I realized.
That night I could hear faint sobbing echoing off the concrete walls. These monsters.
We woke the next morning to an alarm, which wasn't unusual. Sometimes they'll do a drill before wake up just to piss us off. Other times a guard fell asleep and missed shift change. I usually stay on my cot until an overweight prick yells at me to get up.
This morning, however, an overweight prick was jogging down the block, huffing as he went. It made me briefly think how easy it would be to overrun this jail if those damn guards weren't loaded with live rounds all the time. Then two more ran past, calling in on their radio.
"Officer down in Block D."
A few minutes later word began spreading down the block. Officer Johnson, the one who led the girl to her cell the day before, had missed his shift change and was found dead in front of the girl's cell. We found out later Johnson had died from asphyxiation, as if someone had grabbed him from behind and choked the life out of him. He was also missing a few fingers. They made us skip breakfast while they accounted for everyone in their cells. No one was missing.
Later that day I walked out toward the yard to play some basketball. I passed by the girl's cell and peeked in to see how she was holding up. Poor thing must have been shaken up by what had happened nearby.
She was just sitting upright on her cot, starring at the wall. Then, she saw me, and reached behind and pulled out something from under her pillow to show me. I leaned closer and nearly lost my shit. She, smiling sweetly, was holding Johnson's severed fingers.
Edit: autocorrect fail
| 2018-02-11T22:02:22 | 2018-02-11T19:21:02 | 1,647 | 993 |
[WP] you are an immortal and have lived a very long life. Everytime you die your body regenerates as you come back to life. Unfortunately, a serial killer finds out and sees you as the perfect victim to kill again and again. So he captures you. But he didn't expect you would play tricks on his mind
|
His name is Dwayne. That's not important, really, but I want to start there because this is, in the end, about "Dwayne"'s life. I'm just passing through it, though I suppose that goes both ways. Dwayne lives in a suburban house in a suburban town that's like all those other suburban places, where there's a small woods nearby, and a cornfield, and children play in the street out front, and Dwayne goes to work at the auto accessories factory and he seems to get along with the women there, with his gleaming white smile and sparkling eyes. But Dwayne has a problem. And judging by the number of dog skeletons in the crawlspace under the back porch, and the neatly bagged-and-taggged underwear in the file cabinet in his cellar, it's been going on for a long time. ...which is where I come in. Because I've been going on for ...let's say "a fair bit longer." Now, at first, life was hard because, while, "Eternally regenerating immortal" sounds great, "Eternally regenerating immortal *woman*" is a hard play when you start out in a culture where women are currency among nomadic shepherds. And while God-Queen of the Future Site of the Black Sea seems awesome at first, it's kind of self-limiting. Oh, plus: floods. Then there's the whole "witchcraft" thing. So I've seen some shit, as they say. And I've been through spots that have literally tested what it means to be "Eternally regenerating". I tell you, people are just the worst. There's always some asshole. which brings me back to Dwayne. Dwayne's probably been working up to this for a while, and I can only imagine he's had some kind of help, because there's only one or two sharp edges in that mind of his. Probably internet-help. Man do I hate the internet. Global village, sure, but in my experience a village is just a conspiracy theory you build huts around. ...Anyway, Dwayne's had a good solid three months of this, starting with "the usual" and working up to some really boring crap he thinks is creative. At first I went along because, to be honest, that stuff really does hurt, and I was seriously pissed off, and I thought he was just in it for onesies. But oh, Dwayne, he's in on it, so he just kept at it, through the beating, strangling, crushing, flensing, all that shit. So I just started giving him the silent treatment, then the psychoanalysis, and when I noticed the camera, I started really working the angle of "Audience vs. Dwayne", and finally I think I've pushed him over the edge, because he's cutting me up and bagging the parts. I'm not sure he's even got the camera running.
Now, I should tell you something about being Immortal... I'm sure you've read the comics and everyone has a version of how they think this works scientifically, but, I'm not sure it's science. Because when I die, I'm still *there*. If you've ever been super-stoned, you've felt something kind of like how immortality feels while your body's dead. I've been killed so many damn ways: fire, drowning, stabbing, stoning, stoning with the extra step of making a thin paste ("What a nice village!"), and even being cut in half, several times (twice by my own mistake. Be careful of ropes and cables, kids!) When your body's dead, you still exist, and you're still aware of where your body is, no matter how dispersed or in what form, but you don't feel completely attached to it. You can still control it, but it's a sort of intellectual exercise to do so. So if you're wondering: you just kind of look down at your body, and start rebuilding the pieces. Sometimes you can't find a piece, so you grab something else to use, and not like, you have a hand made of straw or some weird shit, but you just know what you need, and you take it from what's around. It's like if you could eat something by looking at it and immediately say "oh, that'll make a nice bit of elbow". And it doesn't matter which part you start with, or how much you have. It just comes more naturally as you go. So, like, those comics where you need a brain or something left whole because "Science"? It's not like that. Though, maybe it is science and I'm an alien who's forgotten who she is. That makes more sense than me being a God. At least it puts me in better company, you ask me. ...Now, where was I? Oh, right, cut up into one kilo chunks and being spread out all around the Ozarks. Dwayne thinks he's being smart. He thinks he's hiding his footsteps. He thinks he'll be rid of me. He's buried me all over, and thrown some of me into streams and storm gutters and trash compactors. Not a bit of me left in that dank shitty cellar with the panties and the photographs. You're safe now, Dwayne. You'd have successfully killed Wolverine, you would have. Good job. ...And now my work begins: the nearest part is in a stream in a state park. I would like to say that the Ozarks get a bad rap. This is one helluva clean stream. It's cold, it's fresh, it's everything a hunk of thigh-meat could want from a stream, I tell you that. Keeps things brisk. I like it. It's also a good source of minerals. This might take a while... you can skip to the end...
I thought about going to the ranger station naked, and telling them where to find Dwayne, but I only thought about that for the time it took to work on getting my femur done. Instead I went to the campsite and nicked some clothes (my apologies to Deborah and Melissa Hålstad-Guzman, of Indiana, whose sweats and hiking shoes drying by the fire were great help; the God-Queen owes you one...) Then it was just a stop at the bank for a brief talk about how "yeah, them possums'll steal a wallet right out from under ya" and I'm pulling up to Dwayne's in the most nondescript car they had at the cash lot. I'm knocking on the door with the biggest smile I've had in quite a while. Oh, and here he is, that momentary flicker of sociopathic seduction wiped from his face the moment he recognizes me. "...But... You... But I *won*!", he stutters. Oh man, Dwayne, you're the hero of your own little story, I bet. ...I hear a tiny sound coming from the door to the cellar. It's time to show Dwayne that sometimes the things that pass through your life are the righteous storms of fury that end them. Oh, Dwayne, here comes the flood.
|
I wished our game could go forward for hundreds of years, it was so hard to organize, so hard to track him down, a worthy playmate.
Every single kill was thrilling, whether by poison, blades or even the odd case involving a pair of socks. And he adapted evolved, became even more decisive, cunning and brilliant. Yet now it ends, with us trapped in this cold room, no more escapes, no more battles.
“Foul monster, after all these years I have finally managed it, you and your putrid spawn will never see the light of day again.”
“And I must applaud you, you have played you role very well, but alas it is time for this dance to end.”
“I will not listen to your gibberish, your satanic words will not stop me, nothing can stop me. No matter how much you beg.”
“No, you seem to misunderstand the situation, I am simply here to bid you farewell and thank you for the brilliance in hunting me. You have made my immortal life a tad less boring.”
“You can’t trick me you are trapped. Confounded by my brilliance.”
“No, I am just here to say goodbye, nothing more and nothing less. This has been so much fun, but time runs out for you and not for me, so goodbye my rival, my enemy and my closest friend.”
So, the game did end at that old hospital bed, with one old dreaming of the hunt one last time.
| 2016-10-29T11:11:48 | 2016-10-29T10:10:50 | 62 | 30 |
[WP] In your dying moments, you see a "Game Over" screen with two options: Try Again or End Game
|
The street before me had disappeared in an instant. A honking of horns, a flash of headlights, and then this: an empty white room, with no doors or windows, which had risen up around me in less than an instant.
I circled slowly, getting a sense of my surroundings, when I heard an impatient cough behind me. I whirled to what had been an empty space only moments before, but was now occupied by a bored-looking man reclining behind a thick wooden desk.
The man looked at me with disinterested eyes, as though he had seen many visitors such as myself that day and was simply spending time in anticipation of a long lunch break. He wore a clean grey suit, and thick spectacles that seemed to make his face much larger than it actually was.
“Over here please,” the man called as he sat up, motioning me to an empty chair before him. I stared at the seat for a moment, positive there had been nothing there before, but soon walked over and sat under the force of his glare.
He raised a quick hand toward the space behind him, which only moments before had been completely empty but now contained a shining monitor displaying two words.
“Game Over,” he read to me, as if by speaking them aloud I would more easily divine their meaning.
“I…I don’t understand, sir,” I said. He sighed, frustrated by my ignorance, and cleared his throat as if recalling a rehearsed speech.
“You, Mr….” he paused, glancing quickly at one of the dozens of papers on his desk before resuming, “Ah yes, Mr. Thomas Yearly. You, Mr. Yearly, have been killed by an inebriated driver while crossing the street on your way to the park on the date of October the 7th at 8:49 p.m.”
I stared at him, at first not fully understanding. The man glanced at the visible confusion on my face, sighed, and continued.
“At this point in time,” he said, once again motioning to the screen behind him, “your ’Game’ is officially ‘Over.’ ”
As the full implications of this hit me, I slowly sank back into my chair.
“I’m...dead?” I asked weakly.
The man looked at me for a moment, a brief glimpse of sympathy crossing his face. It was clear that he had seen many of the newly deceased in their moments of passing, when they first realized their time with the living had come to a close. Though he likely had been desensitized to his job’s more depressing aspects, it must have been difficult to feel nothing for those whose lives had just ended.
“Yes Mr. Yearly,” he said in a more delicate tone. “I’m afraid you are indeed dead. And now you must make a choice.”
The man pressed a button on his desk and four new words replaced the glaring “Game Over” that shined from the screen behind him. To the left, “End Game” appeared and to the right, “Try Again.” I stared vacantly at these new options, only somewhat concerned by their meaning.
“I’m sad to say I must ask you to choose between two different alternatives,” he said, and pointed to the left. “You can either choose to End the Game that you call life, and enter proceed to the after-game, whatever that may be.”
He paused to make sure I was following and, satisfied that I was, turned to the words on the right. “Or,” he continued, “You can choose to Try Again.”
“Try again?” I asked. The man sighed once more, and then ruffled through the documents on his desk until he found the one he was looking for.
“The ‘Try Again’ option,” he read aloud. “A player in question, once his or her Game has come to a close, has the opportunity to play the Game again from the very start. All actions and consequences of the player’s original game will be erased and forgotten, and the player will have the opportunity to live his or her life again in order to make new choices.”
I processed this information for a moment while the man waited expectantly.
“So everything I’ve done up to this point will be gone?” I asked.
“It will,” he said.
“And nothing will be the same?”
“That depends on the choices you make,” he said. “We cannot control the events that will occur in your New Game.”
“Have I chosen the Try Again option before?”
“I cannot divulge that information.”
"Will I be given this option again if I choose it?"
"I cannot divulge that information."
I paused, thinking of anything else to ask before I made my choice, when a final question formulated in my mind.
“What will occur in the After-Game?” I asked. “Will it be heaven? Or something else? Or will it just be darkness.”
The man hesitated, thinking for a moment, and then repeated once more,” I cannot divulge that information.”
I thought of the implications of the choice I would make. The opportunity to redo my entire life seemed tempting. I thought of all the mistakes I had made, the thousands of choices that perhaps I had gotten wrong. I thought of the first time I truly fell in love, and the pain I felt when her affair first broke my heart. I could avoid every toxic friendship, every dead-end job, and every disappointment and regret that I ever felt.
Or I might not. I might try everything again in the exact same order, live the exact same life, get hit by the exact same car, and return to the exact same white room.
I thought of my wife’s face and of my son’s. I remember the endless experiences that shaped who I was. If I Tried Again, I could lose all that. And I realized I didn’t want to.
I told the man my choice. It had been clear all along to be honest. The man nodded, as though he had been expecting my response, and pressed another button on the desk in front of him. Two of the words on the screen faded to black, while the other two began to blink in a repeating rhythm.
“Thank you for your choice Mr. Yearly,” the man said. “I do hope you are satisfied with it.”
I nodded my thanks and thought of the two simple words that I had chosen, two simple words that just happened to mean everything.
The man rose from his seat, and led me to a door that had not been there moments before. I walked through it slowly, wanting to make the moment last, but the man quickly closed it shut behind me. At first I saw black.
And then I saw nothing.
|
For billions of years I have roamed this Earth.
I have lived many lives.
I don’t remember any of them, but they remember me.
Each life has influenced the next, and the others it encountered along the way.
Over time they have shaped each other, each becoming more complex, more interwoven.
A beautiful cycle of life and death, birth and re-birth.
I have seen so many amazing things, witnessed such change.
I have seen miniature worlds falling from the stars. I have seen altruism. I have seen fire exploding into the sky. I have seen love.
I have witnessed suffering. Endless.
I could end it all…
For me.
I could quit this cycle.
But would it not go on without me?
| 2014-05-21T19:33:57 | 2014-05-21T19:07:13 | 154 | 49 |
[WP] "There's a fine line between a vigilante and a very selective serial killer." said the costumed hero.
|
"There's a very fine line between a vigilante and a very selective serial killer."
"Then call me a serial killer, man," I told him. "I told you, I don't care."
I could practically hear his teeth grinding.
"It doesn't bother you?" He asked. He really was *very* heroic, I thought. Perfect, smooth baritone. Eyes just the right shade of pale to stare right through your skin until he hit bone. Jaw made for breaking fists. Attitude just the wrong side of self-righteous. Made me… itchy.
"Why would it?" I asked him. "C'mon, man." I jabbed a finger at him. "They used to call *you*, what was it…"
"I don't see how that's relevant," he said, straightening himself. That was the funny thing about capes, I guess. Stick 'em in an alleyway in the middle of a bunch of guys with broken arms and they're terrifying. Godlike, really. Avenging angels. In that place, the cape, the mask, it all just *works.* But here - on the rooftop of my shitty apartment under a streetlight caked and buzzing with half-dead flies - he just looked awkward. Out of place. Like wearing war paint to the office.
"Yeah, sure, man. Whatever." I exhaled. I never smoked before, actually. Now it's like my kryptonite. No, wait, not kryptonite. The other thing. The stuff that's good for you. Oh, yeah. Heroin. "The point is, who gives a shit? It's some dickhead on the news in a cheap suit. What does he know?"
"We're supposed to make people feel safe," he accused me, light glinting off his armour. "What you're doing just makes them more scared."
"What, you don't think people should be scared?" I retorted. "Look at the fuckin' *world,* man. Look at what a mess we're in. Last week a fucking *accountant* woke up with laser eyes and took out half of Wall Street. The cops turned up with goddamned flamethrowers. You ask me, we should be goddamn *terrified."*
"I'm saying that we don't need to add to the chaos," he said. "We can pull the world back. We can-"
"Hey, I'm not adding to *shit,* man." I jabbed an angry finger at him. "Those men I killed-"
"Children," he corrected, his eyes flashing with anger.
"No, *men,"* I snapped. "You put a gun to some girl's head while your boys cut up her mother unto bite-sized chunks in the next room, you don't get to be a kid anymore."
"He was *fifteen,* John," he said.
"Yeah," I agreed. "He *was* fifteen. Now he's not anything."
"They've asked me to bring you in," he said at last.
My blood ran cold. For, like, a second.
"I was hoping you'd come quietly."
"Don't do this, man," I said. Quiet. Almost pleading.
"You've left me no choice," he said. *Bullshit. You always have a choice.*
"You've got a fancy suit of armour and some karate, man," I begged him. "You know what I am. You know you don't…" I shook my head, pissed off and mourning all at once. *You know this only ends one way, man. Don't make me do this.*
"You can still come in quietly. Make amends. I can talk to the DA, we can arrange a deal. It'll only be a few years. You can still have a life." He was pleading, too. But it was different. He already knew what I'd say. He just didn't want to feel bad about it. That was the difference between him and me.
"I've got nothing to be sorry for," I said. *You don't get it. You never did.* I tossed the cigarette down and scuffed out the embers with my foot. Then I looked him in the eye. To his credit, there wasn't an ounce of fear. No hesitation. He'd take me down without blinking. "You get one, man."
"One what?"
"One thing. You can either sleep well at night, or you can do what's right."
"That's what you call it? Being judge, jury, and executioner?"
"Tell me, man, how'd you sleep? Like a baby, right?" I stuffed my hands in my pockets. Shit, I felt cold. This fucking sucked. This *really* fucking sucked.
He said nothing. I guess he figured out I wasn't coming quietly.
"Okay, man," I said. "So when'd you wanna-"
To his credit, I didn't even see it coming. One armoured fist snapped up from his side - padded gauntlets flashing in the light - and tagged me right on the chin. I saw stars. My feet almost slid out from under me.
*That's the only one you get.*
I didn't dodge the second one, or the one after that - the hook that smacked me in the temple, or the uppercut that blasted half my dinner out my throat in a stream of acid and half-digested tomato sauce. *Fuck, that hurt.*
But that was as far as it got. He closed, wicked-quick, the product of training, genetics and the perfect diet (I guessed, anyway; the perks of being richer than God) all mashed together into one pulping mass of a man in a bird costume. He was pretty much a blur to me. His fists crackled with electricity. *Courtesy of the Daystar Institute,* I thought absently, while my head span.
They closed around my head.
But my head wasn't there. In its place was fire.
He reared, eyes wide, shocked. Afraid. The embers of me glimmered in his hands, then flared bright, scorching his gauntlets to ash. He roared in pain. The air smelled of smoke, burned plastic. Flash-fried skin. I swept his legs out from under him (third-degree burns), and ripped his mask from his face. His eyes flash-boiled in his skull where I touched him. He screamed.
(That's something they don't tell you. People don't scream like the movies. It's not romantic. We howl like dying pigs.)
He was scrambling backwards, desperate. Something flew from his wrist at me. The air peppered with miniature explosions. I burned like a newborn star. The rooftop beneath my feet became ash and glass. The air became unbreathable. Ashes clogged his lungs and burned the moisture from his throat. I saw his gums turn black as I took another step towards him.
*I didn't want this.*
I reached forward and grabbed him by the taloned bird symbol on his chest. He screamed about as well as a man could scream with his lungs half-turned to ash. His face turned black and red and his skin peeled from his body. I spun once, twice, and then threw him like a comet.
He burned. Bright, brighter, *brightest.*
The sky turned white.
And then it was over.
|
"And now I fear I've crossed the line."
"Go easy on yourself, you're the hero of Jefferson," my sidekick said.
"No..." I threw my hands off my head and gazed up at him, still kneeling over the body. "I get too carried away, and then I make a mistake like this."
"It's not a mistake, I mean sure, this guy is dead but, he was a bad guy. Another grunt on the street that was pushing drugs to poor communities and clipping people that crossed him."
"You don't know if he killed anyone. He should have been arrested. He should have been taken into custody. Maybe they could have rehabilitated him and turned him into a functioning member of society." I stood up, still staring at the lifeless body.
My sidekick chuckled. "What's gotten into you man? You never used to talk like this. What happened to the 'Blood Lust Boris'?" my sidekick playfully jabbed my ribs. "You used to love this stuff."
"Cut it out!" I snapped, and he backed up against the brick wall of the alley.
"Sorry, Boris, just trying to help you out man. You're getting too in your head."
"No. I don't think so," I tucked my chin down.
"Well then you explain your new behavior."
"I'm starting to grow a heart. I think," I glared back up at him. "I've been the one that's been killing these souls. It's come from my hands, not yours, and the ghosts are starting to knock," I stormed out of the alley, fidgeting with my claw gun to make a zip-line escape.
*The sidekick hung around in the alley and talked into the wire that was underneath his suit. "Did you guys get all that?"*
r/randallcooper
| 2020-06-17T12:42:08 | 2020-06-17T12:12:18 | 47 | 19 |
[WP] “You mean you are made to witness the slow, hideous degradation of your loved ones and yourself?” The alien stares at you in horror. “Well, ageing isn’t ALL bad…” you reply.
|
I set aside my teacup and purse my fingers, resting my chin atop them. "Here's the thing," I say, as Kraurkraer fills the cup. "For you, life seems to have very little meaning. You do what's expected of you, flit from world to world, take your notes, bring it back, and do it all over again. How long have you been doing this now?"
"Three-thousand forty-seven years," Kraurkraer says. There's no hint of pride in his voice, no emotion at all: just brisk, certain professionalism.
"How many times have you visited Earth?"
"This is my twentieth trip here. Your species has changed much."
"Yes. And those you have spoken to in the past are long, long dead."
"Dead." He says the word as though he is tasting it. He doesn't seem to like the flavor. "So they are gone."
"Yes. Forever."
"I did not realize that, before," he confesses. His voice, for the first time, has a thread of emotion running through it. "How can you bear it? Knowing that you will cease to be... anything?"
"It depends upon the person. Many turn to religion and believe that they will go to an afterlife, and exist there for eternity. Many others simply say they do not know, and go about their lives avoiding thinking about it."
"And what do you believe?”
I sip my tea, then smile at him. "I believe that, when we die, we are gone. Just bodies in the earth. Our consciousness, our memories, everything just ceases to exist. Sometimes, I wonder if everyone really, deep down, believes that, but pretend very hard that that isn't true because it's... well. It's terrifying."
"But you don't seem to be afraid." He make a note on his transparent tablet.
"I am deeply, deeply afraid. But I, too, try to ignore it. I couldn't live my life if I focused on that all the time, or even often."
"So you are born, you grow to adulthood by age 25 - biologically, if not socially - and then you spend decades slowly decaying until you inevitably die."
"Well, that's a very clinical way to look at a human life, but yes."
"It is my job to be clinical."
"I know. But we... we don't look at life that way."
"How do you look at life?"
I stand up, taking the tea set with me, and deposit it neatly in the sink. I grab my coat, and turn to him. "Come on."
————————————
It is a beautiful day. The sun paints the world in gentle warmth. It is late spring, and all the buds of April have bloomed into full, verdant leaves on the trees surrounding the open field we walk through. The grass is lush and green under our feet. Wildflowers dot the field, as do many grey stone slabs. Kra, whose species has limited shapeshifting capabilities, is doing an admirable impression of a tall, blonde man. Only when I look very closely can I tell he isn't quite human.
He stops in front of a gravestone. It's so faded that the dates are unreadable. "What is this?" he asked.
"This is a gravestone. We are in a cemetery. In each space with a gravestone, a body has been buried."
He takes a sudden step back. It is the first time I have seen him disturbed, and for a moment his human visage fades completely. "There are dead people under us?"
"Yes, though many of these will be skeletons by now."
He looks around at the graves to the right, left, in front of us. "We're going this way," I say, gesturing towards a gate in the distance, "but we can walk slowly if you'd like."
We do. He stops and reads each gravestone on the way, making notes in his tablet. "So many children," he murmurs.
"Children used to die very commonly," I say. "We didn't have the medicine we do now, and pregnancy can be dangerous."
"Dangerous? But childbearing is an important part of existence."
"It is. The human body is imperfect in many ways, Kra."
Once we reach the gate, I unlock it and step inside. This area of the cemetery is newer and better-maintained. We walk along rows, slowly, as he continues to jot notes, until we finally reach the headstones I recognize so well. I stop in front of them, then kneel down to set the bouquet I brought in between them. "These are my great-grandparents," I say, standing up. "I was lucky enough to know them when I was a girl. They were in their 80s then."
"Evelyn and Paul Rittenhauer," Kra reads aloud. "They died within days of each other."
"They did. That's what I came to show you. They met when Evelyn was 15 and Paul was 19. He was a carpenter; she worked on the family farm. He always told everyone that he loved her from the moment he saw her. She was beautiful. We still have photos of them up in my house. As soon as she turned 18, they married.
"They spent their whole lives together. She became a nurse, and they traveled the world, getting work where they could. They had five children. Their fourth died in a drowning accident when he was eight, and they never got over it. They had his picture enshrined on their piano until the day they died.
"They had so many grandchildren, then great-grandchildren. Even in her 80s, Evelyn would host all of us in their house for every major holiday. She loved it. She had to stop when I was seven and her memory started to go, but we still all gathered together every year to eat. It was never the same after they died.
"Their bodies broke down, their memories faded, but even at the end, they loved each other, and they loved life so much. That's the thing, Kra: death makes life special. We know, one day, it'll all be over, and that the precious time we have on this planet is all we'll ever get. So it becomes imperative to live of a life of love and to make the most of it. We don't all achieve that, but my great-grandparents did, and I try to live by their example."
He's silent for a long time, jotting notes down, thinking. Then, eventually, he turns to me. "I think I understand now. Can we go see their pictures? If you still have them."
I smile, and clap him on the shoulder. "Sure thing, bud."
|
"Not bad!?" The alien stared at me in further ingration. "How is it NOT bad?"
I chuckled and looked out the window, "Well... For one thing, getting older isn't something everyone does. A lot of people in a lot of places die young. Even in countries where they make it sound like you live to old age? They die young. They get into trouble, they get sick, they don't listen. Many different things can happen, so... yea. It's more common than it was, but it's still uncommon."
I turned back, "And for one thing, I look forward to it. I know my body will hurt more, and I'll stop having it as good as I do now, but when you know what it means to possibly die young you look forward to days where you sit in a rocking chair and think about the memories you had. It can be sad, but its also heart warming. Knowing you had it good."
| 2022-04-25T11:32:58 | 2022-04-25T08:04:26 | 75 | 22 |
[WP] Making a deal with a demon requires a soul. Usually this is a very bad idea, but you got a crazy idea. Earlier you traded your lunch money to the school bully in exchange for a piece of paper that says you own his soul. You're about to find out if demons consider this a valid contract.
|
Warning; triggers ahead; abuse.
"I, Steven Reed, hereby give Alex Chase my soul, without reservation or duress, in exchange for his lunch money for the week of the 14th of April", the demon read it aloud, distaste and loathing dripping like melted butter from every syllable. Her gaze roze and fixed on me. The eye contact made me flinch. "The fuck is this meant to be?" she barked it. It's the only way to describe the way the words came out of her.
"Um. A contract for his soul?" I'd meant to sound more confident about it than that. But something about her gaze and the way she'd asked the question twisted my assured statement into a fairly weedy question. As soon as I'd said it I wanted it to come back, so I could have another go, but that would just make it worse.
I wish I hadn't done this in my pyjamas. This had seriously undermined my authority.
She eyed me for a long, long time. Honestly it could have been days, for how it felt. It was probably only about a minute or so though. I know it wasn't more than a day because it didn't get dark, although time always seems to flow a bit differently when she's in the room with me. I could feel myself getting hot. The same kind of hot that I got when my parents were doing their shouting at each other piece. That creeping, insidious heat which spilled into my stomach as the certainty that, just like with my parents, what came next was going to be bad for me.
I started to fidget, fingers idly tracing the edges of my favourite scar. The demon watched with interest as I picked at a promising looking scab, but seemed disappointed when I didn't rip it off. Finally, she looked back at my contract. She sniffed it, like you might sniff a pair of underpants to see if they were clean enough to wear again or if they needed to be turned inside out for another week. "What have you written this with, human?"
I tried to answer, but my throat didn't want to work. I had to cough a bit first, but it seemed again to reinforce that I wasn't as confident as I was trying to pretend I was. This wasn't going well.
"I... um... I only had a couple of wax crayons. But it's still signed" I added the afterthought as firmly as I could, as if this made my point valid. Shifting awkwardly, I could tell that the sweat seeping out of my back was going to make me change my pyjamas before bed. An extra pair of pyjamas to wash was bound to get me in trouble.
"I see." the demon said icily, still glaring so hard at the scribbled contract that I was worried she'd burn a hole right through it. "And you wanted... what... from me?"
I'd expected the question, but it still made the bottom drop out of my stomach. This was my chance. Possibly my only one. It would take years for me to be able to deal with this naturally. I shifted again, wincing as the now sodden cotton of my pyjama top clung to the raw skin on my lower back, and then pulled away painfully.
"I said... I said before. About..." I tailed off lamely. This was hard to put into words. The demon sniffed derisively, but her eyes took me in again, whole, and her shoulders seemed to move ever so slightly. It wasn't much, but it reminded me of my Nana, how she used to look at me when I used to be allowed to visit her after school. I could never hide the pain from her.
"Yes... Yes I see. Well." She straightened, abruptly, and I flinched again. "This isn't a soul, boy." My heart could not sink. It couldn't get any lower than it was perpetually shoved day by day. But I felt it crack. What was left of my hope seemed to fizzle out of my toes. I blinked furiously, but the tears came unbidden, clogging up my throat and blurring my vision. I couldn't hold back the sob that burst out of my tense frame, and the effort almost broke me.
I hated being this weak. This small. This insignificant. I waited for her to leave, I looked up expecting her to be gone - she often left without a word. But she remained, useless paper in her hand, gaze wary but locked on me and my despair.
An unwelcome warmth announced the emptying of my bladder. This really wasn't helping my confident stance.
"However." When she spoke again it was so abrupt I almost screamed with the sudden fear. I wiped my eyes furiously trying to focus on her. Whatever expression was on her face now I couldn't place - it seemed like one I hadn't seen on her before. "Your personal circumstances are... Interesting. I have often been summoned by children your age. Often they want money, or fame. Very rarely do they ask me for what you have asked me for."
I sniffed. My request seemed insurmountable in comparison. If only I'd asked for money.
She smiled. This was a new kind of smile. I'd seen her mocking smile before but this wasn't that - there was an almost human warmth to this smile. Visions of my Nana swam into my mind once again. Kindness. Softness. Love. And when she spoke again, it was almost soft, the usual raspy edge to her voice almost all gone.
"I will do what you have asked of me, human child."
Now I was in full sob. There was no stopping it - sheer relief poured into my every cell, and coursed out of my tear ducts. My tiny body heaved and rocked with the force of the emotion. Relief.
It would finally be over.
The demon straightened up again, and seemed to grow in size. The menacing glow that lit my small room up grew in intensity, so much so that it hurt my eyes to look at it, and I had to bring my hand up to cover my face. When I could bring it down again, she was gone.
It took me no more than a minute to realise I wasn't in pain any more either. The welts on my back remained, but the pain had gone with her. The scab I'd been fondling had disappeared, the scar below red and fresh but not painful any more.
Someone was knocking at the front door. I heard my mother answer it. Muffled voices. Growing in volume. Getting closer. I drew inwards out of sheer habit as they approached my door.
But instead of it being thrown open violently like usual, there was instead a gentle knocking. A familiar knock. I blinked hard. Could it be?
The door swung slowly inward, almost filling the space. It never quite opened all the way, there wasn't room for that, though there was an impressive gouge in the plaster where it had been repeatedly rammed into the wall in their haste to get it out of the way so they could get at me. The door slotted into it perfectly. With the room dark and the hall beyond bright the figure beyond was just a silhouette, but I recognised her instantly all the same.
Nana was here. She had something in her hand. And someone was behind her. She reached into my tiny space and carefully, gently, lifted me out, and I saw that the person behind her was in a police uniform. They both had the same look on their face, the one the demon had had right before she left. I couldn't read it. It wasn't one I'd seen before. She held out the thing in her hand; paper, with lots of writing on it, held it out to the police officer with her who did that fast reading that grown-ups do and nodded before handing it back. Then she looked straight at me.
"Okay kiddo? Your Nana is going to look after you from now on. I'm going to stay here and have a little talk with your mum and dad, okay?"
I never had to go home again. I never saw the demon again either - I often wondered if she got in trouble for giving me what I wanted without a soul anyway. But it didn't matter, not now.
|
"Dude! Are you serious?!" The demon asked, it's feathers flapped around as it shook it's head. "I"ve never seen a mortal soo stupid..."
"Would you accept it?" I asked.
"Yes, technically yes, but I just want to know something."
"What?"
"How in gods name did you found someone this stupid?"
"School."
"What?!"
The demon stared at me in disbelief.
"Just give it to me. What do you want?" The demon asked.
"Just take this soul and..."
***
The school bully just left the building when he heard a high-pitched voice. As he turned his head, he saw the weirdest thing.
The pigeon headed man, wearing an orange costume, angrily waving a lawnmover. The bully looked at it in a shock, before he asked:
"Bro, what are you doing?"
"Listen man" The demonic figure approched him and slapped him across the face. "I know things are really messed up at home, but you need to stop! They are your classmates, not your toys!"
The bully backed away from it, but the demon followed him.
"I know you are scared" the demon said. "But it's not an excuse. The kids you bullied are suffering too. Did their suffering ease yours?"
The bully said nothing. The demon looked down at the orange costume, then looked at the boy.
"I heard that our mother is worse than she was ever before. I am so sorry."
"Why do you care?! You left" The bully yelled.
"I had to, Jonathan!" The demon yelled back. "I found a job, so I can take care of you, and you act like this? Please have some respect for me and help me get out of this costume! Please!"
"Okay" Jonathan said after a short pause. "But why are you a demon?"
"I went to America, and could not afford healthcare. It's a long story, okay?"
"Tom, I missed you" The boy cried out. "I am so happy to meet you again!"
"I missed you too. I only found you because you were such a bully someone tried to sell your soul to the devil..."
"Who?"
"It's a secret."
"Did you accept my soul?"
"I have it, don't worry."
"And what did he ask for?"
"To prank you."
"And what will you do?"
"I will play the biggest prank on you, you will never forget it."
"What will you do?" Asked the ex-bully. The demon threw the landmover into the bushes.
"I will teach you some f*cking manners!"
| 2021-03-27T02:54:56 | 2021-03-27T02:15:46 | 58 | 29 |
[wp] When someone dies, they go to a platform where you can choose to move in to the afterlife, not knowing whether you will go to heaven or hell. You meet someone who has stood there for millenia, trying to decide if they should go.
|
"The choice is simple," the angel said to me, "you can go on or you can stay here."
"You know your life better than all but the Lord himself. You know your deeds. You know your faith. And so you can determine for yourself whether to move forward."
Each wing seemed to glisten, less like feathers than like butterfly wings writ large, but tucked tightly around his (her?) body like a robe. Where the wings stopped and the robe began I wasn't quite sure. The angel's voice was soft but stern, you would say practiced if there had ever been a need for practice. Deeply concerned, and at the same time deeply unconcerned--as though I was just one more soul on this platform, and yet one that was somehow deeply important.
"What...happens if I move on?" I asked.
"You know your life, and your deeds," he responded. "And you know what those deeds deserve. What will happen is what you deserve."
I stood there paralyzed for a moment, looking around this platform full of men and women. Every few seconds someone would make a choice, walk to the edge, and jump, disappearing in a blink of light. Sometimes the blink was accompanied by a soft hum, sometimes a stifled scream.
I had died in a quite ordinary way, in the end. Cancer. My mind had been gone for weeks by the time my battered body finally succumbed, and so I had been spared the final torments. And here I was, standing before an angel, trying to decide whether I would leap into heaven or hell.
"How long do I have to decide?"
"When the universe ends, and begins again, and ends again, you will have yet eternity to make your decision," the soft voice said. "But no decision may ever here be undone. You will pass this way but once."
With that the angel turned -- and though I knew we could speak further later, I knew as well that our conversation was over for the moment, and that it was now to me to decide whether to leap. But how could I decide?
On one hand, I had lived a moral life, as I saw it. I'd worked hard, most days, and cared for my family until I became sick. And, Jesus Christ, doesn't dying of cancer before you see your youngest graduate from high school count for something? I mean, shouldn't that give me enough heaven points to get on the right side of this coin flip?
Or does it matter more the times I cheated to get ahead, the times I was uncharitable to strangers or to my own family? And God knows I haven't been to church in 10 years -- but does that count more, or does the baptism as a child count more? For a moment I thought about just leaping, and seeing what happened -- as I had so many times in my life. But...holy Jesus...hell? For eternity?
But, then, I was hardly alone in this conundrum! The platform was full of people standing, sitting, thinking. Some would begin to jump and then stop, flailing at the edge. Others seemed uncommitted even to the idea of thinking about the next step.
Many were dressed in severe costume -- Nazi insignia were common in some parts of the crowd. Others were, like me, just ordinary people -- mostly of recent vintage, but some older. But one man stood out, a man in a toga who by chance happened to be seated on a bench near me. He seemed old, and wise, and unless he'd died in some nursing home fraternity accident, I had to assume he'd been there a long time.
"Hello," I said. "Ummm...do you speak English?"
"No," he said, "and you don't speak ancient Greek. But somehow we'll understand one another here." He smiled a long and tired smile. "You want to know how to choose?" he asked.
"It seems impossible," I replied. "How do I know what God thinks of my life? How do I know whether I lived as I should? How do I know even that I had the right God? I never received any feedback, any sign."
"But you know, don't you? Deep in your heart, do you feel that you deserve heaven or that you deserve hell?"
"I don't know," I said.
"You're lying," he said. "You know what you think you deserve. You know you think you deserve heaven, and you know that you think you'll reach it. You lived a good life, and you think that it deserves a good reward. You're only unsure if you might reach hell on a technicality!"
I smiled and said nothing.
"I'm not so lucky," he said. "I believed myself to be justified in the lives I took, the women and children I killed. I committed atrocities to take revenge for atrocities committed by others. I was sure that I'd done right. And now that I look at the face of hell opening before me...I haven't been sure of anything for millennia! I lived my life certain that I would be welcomed into the afterlife. I counted myself a hero of my people. And then I was given the choice."
"How long?" I asked, and somehow he understood that I was not asking for the past, but the future.
"Forever, perhaps. Or until I go mad and jump screaming like the others. Until perhaps I come to realize what I deserve." He smiled a thin smile. "Now go do what you know you should do," he said.
I thanked him, turned, took three steps...and jumped.
A warm hum surrounded me. Heaven. The angel again spoke.
"You know your life and you know your deeds. But all men are simply men -- mortal, fallible. We call you the children of God because you are but children, and children cannot be judged too harshly even for your worst deeds. You, as are all of God's children, are welcomed here into his arms."
"So everyone...?"
"Yes, everyone. Everyone who is able to look squarely at his life and say that it was a good life or a bad life, and that he deserves heaven or hell -- everyone, in other words, who steps through. You see, on Earth, it is easy to rationalize -- to know that your misdeeds are for a purpose others will accept. You can be a hero, and justify your crimes in the good you did your people. You can be a criminal, and justify the lives you take through anger at society. But the prospect of hell strips away that rationalization and makes you look at your life."
"And so the platform..."
"The platform is the punishment for a life poorly lived. To stand there until finally you accept the horror of your misdeeds, and are ready for the torments of hell. To face squarely who you are and what you've done.
In the end there is no hell but that."
|
*Darlin' you got to let me know*
"Apt" I scoffed to myself, sipping my drink whilst I weaved my way to the empty seat at the end of the bar, the noise of the next train rolling off overtaking the next line.
"So friend, how long's it been?"
*If you say that you are mine*
He turns, hurriedly, as if he recognizes my voice, sizes me up and gives me a smirk that seems oddly familiar. He nods to the barman, and leaves.
*I'll be here 'til the end of time*
"That's the first time he's moved, kid" The barman slides me another drink, this one with a note attached.
*So you got to let me know*
"Whats the matter? We all move on eventually" I ask him, looking suspiciously at the note and accompanying drink that I didn't order.
*Should I stay or should I go?*
"Not him. Open it, maybe it'll make sense to you" I shake my head, and focus on the note, the folds in the page attempt to hide three little words written in the daintiest handwriting I'd ever seen. It simply reads "Until next time."
*Should I stay or should I go*
I exhale, look to the barman. "I'm gonna need another drink, and a menu."
| 2016-08-14T08:59:41 | 2016-08-14T06:02:00 | 3,433 | 59 |
[WP] you are a powerful warlock that has retired to raise your daughter everything's been going well that is until a couple of her classmates try to sacrifice her after reading about a 'dark spell' online, you've decided to show them what real black magic looks like
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I stand up and wipe the sweat from my brow, even inside the barn it was still hot as hell. Petting the goat I tell her "Good girl Bertha, good girl!"
"Baa" Bertha replies, completely oblivious to everything but the alfalfa bag she had been eating out of now being empty.
"Daddy!" I hear my daughter, Tabitha, my precious, beautiful seventeen year old girl, from behind me with our little corgi-mix herding dog barking in circles around her legs for lack of anything else to herd while the goats are in their pen being milked "I got the eggs all collected and washed."
"That's great! Did you get to check the crops?"
"Not yet."
"That's alright, I'll do it. You just get inside and get your homework finished."
She pouted a bit, she always hated doing her macroeconomics projects.
"No pouting, get inside."
Rolling her eyes she relents, "Fine. I'll get it out of the way."
"Good girl."
"Come on, Dad! I'm not a goat!" she snips back, turning to get back into the house. I chuckle, shaking my head as I begin to walk to the cabbage patch. What am I going to do with that girl? Just like her mother, even looks like her mother save her skin being quite a bit lighter in tone, due to me being her father. I can't shake the feeling that something is going to happen soon, something very unpleasant.
Checking the fencing to ensure there are no holes for rabbits or deer to get through, I hear a car rolling up behind me. Doors open and slam shut as I try my best to ignore them as I inspect the fencing.
"Kevin" a baritone voice observes, as one would say "Cow" if seeing a cow beside the road.
Sighing, I don't look towards the man, the bane of my existence, a former friend. Even his name makes me sick, so I refuse to call him by it. "What do you want Senator?"
"You know full well what I want. It's an election year you know."
"No, I don't know. I haven't given a damn about your republic since the Empire fell."
"That's not what you said when you brought the Empire down."
I flinched, I didn't want to, didn't want to give him the satisfaction, but I couldn't help myself. "I was young. Stupid. Impressionable. I fell for your bullshit and I will forever be haunted by it."
"Is it really that bad?"
"Yes."
"Hmm," the man grunts, neighter agreeing nor disagreeing. I can feel his eyes leaving my back, scanning the fields before us, the barn in the distance, and my.little farmhouse in between. "Farming?" he simply asks, "A man of your talents?"
"It's a peaceful life."
He chuckles humorlessly, "You truly have gone from sword to ploughshare, haven't you Kevin?"
I stand up and walk into the field to make sure the irrigation system works as intended.
"Kevin, look at me," the Senator commands, his tone dropping considerably, all façades of past comraderie abandonned. I turn to face him, this man, no, this *monster* I created. "President Jackson needs you to win this election for her. I need you to win this election for *me.* People are wanting the Empire back, and that means we're going to be losing a lot of money if you don't rig it for us."
"No."
"What?!"
"I'm done. Turning back around I point to the crops in front of us, "If your President could see my cabbages, she would understand the impossibility of her suggestion."
The man scowled at me, before grabbing the collar of my shirt and pulling me to his face, "You listen here you racemixing fuck! You owe us-!"
I cut him off with an unspoken curse, his eyes widening and grip loosening as he begins to tumble to the ground, grabbing his chest. His bodyguards start drawing their weapons but I cast another spell to freeze them in place. Kneeling down I tell the Senator in as calm a manner as I can muster, "I owe you *nothing.* *I* forged your republic. *I* lost my wife in *your* war. *I killed the Emperor,* and I still am haunted by the nightmares of the poor child's face when I cut his throat all to satisfy *your* greed." I release my grip on his heart, allowing him to survive. "I told you after I performed that mass mind control spell to swing the first election that I would never help you again. You promised that I would be able to retire in peace."
He chuckled, "I'm a politician. You thought I'd keep my promises?"
"Get off my property. I have full rights to kill you for trespassing and enough money to bribe any judge you throw at me."
He scowled, but left. I sensed that I was not going to see the end of the Senator after he got in his car and ordered the driver to leave the farm.
*TWO MONTHS LATER*
Tabitha still hasn't come home from school. I'm worried sick and called the police who come to file a missing person's report.
"And what time was she supposed to be home?"
"Four hours ago! And her phone is going straight to voicemail!"
"She's only been missing for four hours?"
"What do you mean 'only?!' She's missing!"
"We can't consider anybody missing until at least a full day has passed."
"She could be dead by then! Aren't you supposed to 'protect and serve?!' I want you to help me protect my daughter from whatever's happened to her!"
"Look, it's regulation that we can't report her as missing for 24 hours" the policeman responds, "but..." he holds out his hand, "I could backdate the documents."
Rage flares in my body, my daughter is missing, possibly dead, and this bastard wants a handout to pretend to care and do his job?! Keeping my anger beneath the surface, and barely succeeding, I grab my wallet and slam all of the cash into his hand. His eyes widen, "We'll do everything we can to find her sir!"
"See that you do."
*THE NEXT DAY*
I promised her I would never do this but this is an exception. Taking hair from her pillow, favas beans, wine, and a drop of my own blood I perform a ritual to find her. The signal is weak, and my heart drops. She's hurt, badly. Through my rage I am granted enough power to tear a hole in the fabric of reality to the summoning circle where Tabitha is bound and gagged.
I need to leave now, I'll continue in a comment.
|
I was at home when I felt it.
A light snuffed out, an empty cold filled me. Something was very wrong.
I took the form of the shadows, cloaked by the darkness around me. She lay in the center. Dead. Broken, flesh carved runes covered her. A barrier surrounded her, I couldn't have sensed her pain, but I felt her death.
Years of patience, love, hope.. Gone in an afternoon. To my surprise, I recognized the voices calling out to the darkness. Her friends.
I could feel it again. My mind splitting. The blackened rage. They finished their ritual, one that never could have worked. The summoning called to demons that had been dead for centuries.
A black mist poured from the shadows. A dark fog, thickening and expanding. They tried to control it, but it was far beyond their power. It was beyond strength.
Their eternity would be suffering. Countless hours dedicated to the darkest savagery the void could muster. I had the patience of stone and the will of stars. As the mist consumed them, I vowed to make them live my pain for as long as reality allowed.
| 2021-09-05T08:03:18 | 2021-09-05T07:51:00 | 29 | 18 |
[WP] After being terrified of the darkness all your life, you dealt with your fear by being friendly with it. Despite knowing it was silly, its always seemed to help. Today, after a would-be mugger rushed you, he stepped into a shadow, screamed, and vanished.
|
When I was very little, I was afraid of monsters.
I just knew they were there, hiding in my closet. Hiding under my bed. Waiting in the shadows.
The world is so scary at night.
Fall nights were the worst of all in my opinion. In summer, you at least have the crickets and the stars. In winter, the moon makes things so bright when it reflects across the snow. In spring the bugs start to return, and frogs call across to each other.
Fall was the worst. No sweet summer serenade from the wildlife. No stars would peek through the fog and clouds that plagued the area during the season.
It was just dark. The skittering of leaves blowing in the clammy cold breeze, unseen and all too easy to imagine something else in their place. It sounded like little fingers, nails clicking and clacking as something with too many hands crawled toward me.
Trees were not soft blobs of ink. They were harsh brushstrokes on a weathered canvas; rotting feathered bones clawing at the sky.
The wind was not gentle, or biting.
It was cruel, and carried whispers of something wrong. It smelled of earth, and rot.
Nights in the fall were the worst.
And the worst night in fall was Halloween.
As a young child, they’d make me dress up in cute costumes and pander to strangers for candy. Admittedly, those two parts I liked, but I did not like the dark. I refused to be carried down long dark driveways, preferring the safety of street lamps and admittedly, the very bright lights of my house.
I’d throw tantrums, screaming of the monsters I knew lurked in that dark. My parents would say “there’s no such thing”, with increasing exasperation every year I got older, but I knew the truth.
They tried just the nightlight, but I insisted my lamp be on instead. Sleeping pattern be damned. Oh the frustration I must have put them through. No amount of consoling or logic would convince me not to fear that dark.
My grandmother took me trick or treating one year, and saw me shy from every shadow. I think my parents were tired of dealing with me, to be honest. The fear was worse then, nothing would convince me to not fear it. Not on that night of the year, where the dark seemed at its very worst.
She’d smile gently at me, gentle giantess that she was to my young eyes.
“Don’t you want to make friends with the ghosts”, she’d ask.
This kind of thinking baffled me. Most other adults insisted there were no ghosts. No monsters were waiting for me, they’d insist. There was no such thing!
Plus, no offense to grandma, but no. I really DID NOT want to make friends with ghosts! Still, I was curious.
What ghosts?
Grandma smiled, and told me she liked to think Halloween shredded the thin curtain between this world and the next. That the shadows on Halloween were just the shades of people we knew, like grandpa, come to visit us once more. That the strangling cloak of darkness I feared, was more like a very warm and shadowy hug.
I did like hugs, I’d think to myself, squeezing my small hand a little tighter in my grandmas palm. Her hand was so much bigger than my own.
It was so much smaller than mine when she passed. When did her strong fingers feel so frail? I did not know. Time passes and leaves so much detail forgotten. Those fall leaves rot so quickly, so bright on the tree one second and in the dirt the next.
I never did forget her lesson, though maybe she intended a different effect.
After that Halloween, I continued to talk to the ghosts. I missed my grandpa, from the year prior. I missed my dog, and my goldfish. Honestly, the idea of talking to them again in the shadows had so much appeal, that I decided it was too sad I could only see them on Halloween. It would be best that they were always there, in the dark. So I’d talk to them, any time I could. My nightlight was thrown away, my lamp unplugged, and while my parents were confused by the sudden change, they never questioned it.
And as I got older, my conversations changed. First I would talk about my day. About homework that was hard, and school mates that were mean. Something funny would happen in class.
When one of my friends got very sick, and passed away, I would tell them all the things he missed. How Joe got caught in the tree, and Susan wrote a very nice poem about him, during class one day. The teacher cried a little, it was that good.
When one of my favorite teachers died, I’d ask her jokingly to watch over my school work. God knows I needed the help. And when my uncle died, I’d chat to him for advice. Like how does one get brave enough to ask someone on a date?
And I’d always pretend they’d talk back. Laughter here, some sage advice there. Perhaps some scolding to ‘get off the computer and do your homework if you want to pass’.
It was just pretend, but it felt so nice. I’d pretend way past the age it was acceptable, to dream of fanciful imaginary friends in the shadows. But it was a habit, and one I’d prefer to keep.
The shadows became my dearest friends, my closest treasures of the night.
Maybe that’s why I’m so calm now that I’m going to die. Maybe in my heart of hearts, I really believed that my friends and family waited in the shadows behind the man with the knife.
I didn’t have anything he’d want. So I guess he decided my life would do.
It was a very big knife. I had no doubt it would do the job quickly.
Distinctly unfriendly shadows covered half his cracked face. They were so harsh, compared to the soft shadows of my heart. In slow motion, I watched the silver knife come toward me. And it was so bright, too bright, for someone who loved the dark. It was too much silver and light.
And his eyes were too big and light, too bright as they got closer and closer. Too bright and yet so so dark.
Stupid things to see, when you are going to die. But I could not stop watching the shadows. They seemed to stretch and grow across us, connecting us. Two people locked in a stupid dance of fate. They stretched across his face. The stretched across his hand. They stretched across the knife, until it dimmed the way I knew it would once it was covered with my blood.
And then he was gone.
And only shadow remained.
As the slight breeze of his displaced air brushed across by face, I blinked.
I smiled at the friends in the shadows.
Grandma smiled back.
|
My face was frozen in shock, still trying to process the mugger popping out of the alleyway. Where did he even go? I cast my eyes out across the dark alley as well as the main street that I was on, no sign of him anywhere. The people who initially looked in my direction at my yelp had turned away and were going about their business again, while I remained frozen.
"Huh?" I let out, expression morphing into one of confusion as my brain processed what just happened. Must've been a glitch in the matrix? I glanced once more across the alleyway, just to be sure, and I thought I saw a mirror image of me being shocked. Oh, it was one of *those* pranks again was it? Very funny. They pulled this every now and again, cheeky buggers. As if confirming my accusation, the face (my face?) twisted into a grin, and I raised a hand to swish away the image before I continued home.
I tried to not notice the switchblade that mugger had been brandishing now laying on the ground. This is probably one of those things I shouldn't think about too much.
| 2020-07-14T14:14:13 | 2020-07-14T13:45:06 | 125 | 24 |
[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.
|
"Look man, I don't think you know what you're doing. There's gonna be some serious repercussions for this kind of shit," Tom said as he leaned back in his chair, glowering at a sweaty, porcine man across the table from him.
"I've got to fucking do it, Tom," Greg whimpered out, his lower lip quivering ever so slightly. He held out a closed fist, opened it, and a handful of dice scattered across the table. It was almost like a movie, eyes all fixated on the d20 as it clattered to a stop. A natural 20. The crowd went wild and Tom launched out of his chair, hands pressed to his temples in a gesture of supreme existential horror. Once the din of the table died down, Tom finally unfroze from his statuesque position and slumped back into his chair.
"... No." Greg's face scrunched up into a pout.
"C'mon man, it was a natural 20! I seduced the Lich!"
"No, dude. I'm sick of you constantly fucking up my plans with your bullshit amazing luck. I would rather DIE than see you do what you're doing."
Just as Greg was about to retort, a crack of lightning shook the room around them and Tom exploded in a gout of black smoke. As the rest of the table did a quick check of the contents of their britches, Greg stammered out the one thing he could think to say: "Did he just straight up fucking explode?!"
Unfortunately for Tom, he did not in fact "straight up fucking explode." The next thing he knew, he was falling flat on his ass against a hard stone floor. If Tom, let alone any human being ever, had actually been subject to a demon summoning ritual as he just had, he would know the typical signs and symptoms: candles, maybe a candelabra if his host was fancy, salt circles, and some adorable little munchkin-type people in robes who had just summoned a hellbeast of unimaginable power. As one could expect, Tom was reasonably alarmed and upset. He scrambled back against the wall, knocking over many a tiny chair and smashing a table or two with accidental ease.
"What the fuck just happened?!" The summoners, witnessing the wrath of a dark lord, began to scream. Only one of them did not panic. The short little wrinkled creature gazed solemnly upon him, an open book cradled in one hand. Tom's mouth went slack and eyes wide when he truly perceived the creature's face.
"Oh my god... you've got an adorable little pug face!" he practically squealed. While Tom immediately regretted his reaction, it was no less true. Every single one of them was an adorable little bipedal pug person. In a little hooded robe. One of them even has a cute little walking stick!
"Thomas Kinsey!" the tiny creature belted out in a somewhat squeaky voice, pointing at a bewildered Tom. "By your true name, I bind you to my will!"
"I... I'm sorry, what?" Tom inquired, squinting incredulously. "Bind me? Like I'm some kind of demon or something?" All those years of D&D were finally paying dividends. This seemed to throw the wee sage off balance, now wide-eyed and flipping through the book as quickly as he could, one of his compatriots clinging to his arm and babbling nigh incomprehensibly.
"I told you we shouldn't have mettled with the dark arts! He's going to fry us in sulfur pits and strip the meat from our bones!" Tom couldn't help but look fairly disgusted.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you on about? I don't even know why I'm here. Or where here even is. Who ARE you?"
The leader of this ragamuffin group stepped forward, looking wary but less terrified of their guest at this point.
"I am Gynklef, my Lord," he said with a proper bow. "We have summoned you here to strike a dark bargain, if you would hear our terms." Tom, once again, glanced at the figure incredulously. This has got to be a dream. Or a stroke. It can't be reality, at the very least.
"... oooookay. Uh... what are your terms?" He crossed his arms over his chest, still fairly unsure of what was actually happening. Maybe he was dead and this was some crazy little fantasy in his head as the last of his neurons sputtered out. An aneurysm would make sense.
"We bring you precious stones and gems to curry favor, in hopes that you will help my people overthrow the cruel oppressors that so long ago usurped the throne from my father's father..." With a gesture, one of the other pug-monks pushed a battered chest up to the periphery of the circle and opened it, revealing a pile of gold nuggets and raw, uncut gems.
"We know your kind has a penchant for that which shines and lies within the earth. It is yours, if you will help us." Tom stood agog, staring at the chest. He'd be set for life if he could take that back with him. There was an emerald as big as his fist just sitting there! He shook himself from his stupor and sighed.
"I mean... what can I do? I'm just one guy," he muttered, scuffing the heel of a shoe against the grimy stone floor.
"Perhaps... but one of your kind is required to operate... THE ARTIFACT." Hushed whispers among the congregation could be heard. Tom arched a single brow.
"The artifact? What is it?"
"An item of incredible power... it has brought down kingdoms before, broken the wills of those who would seek to stand against it, and brought terror to those who even hear its name." The tiny figure gestured to one of his compatriots.
"Bring it here, quickly!"
After a lengthy pause, the sound of wagon wheels could be heard against the floor, and through the door entered what almost appeared to be an upright and ornately decorated coffin on wheels. Grynklef drew an ancient looking key, inset with bone, and released the locks.
"Behold! Terrorscream, Render of Kingdoms!" he bellowed (as well as someone with his lung capacity could) as he flung the door open, revealing...
"... a fucking vacuum," Tom stated flatly. Grynklef nodded solemnly.
"It is a weapon we do not use lightly, but... times are desperate. More of my people die by the day." Tom nodded solemnly for a moment, and stepped from the circle, brushing a hand across the handle of this vacuum that looked like it belonged in the Warhammer universe.
"Okay, little dog dudes... let's topple a kingdom."
|
"Let me get this straight. You brought me here, a 'demon' in order to mate with me because you want some form of demon hybrid as your child?"
What a day. First, I get off work and drive home with nothing in mind other than to watch some Stargate SG-1 and go to bed. Alone. Now, I am standing in the bedroom of what looks like a female dwarf of the Narnian variety. She isn't bad looking if you discount the large nose, uggo face, and weird hair. Ok. She's kinda hideous.
But hey, I haven't had sex in a few weeks and my prospects weren't looking great for anything in my world. Who cares if she thinks I am a demon?
"Ok, I'm in," I say quite jovially. "Just out of curiosity; why do you want a demon-hybrid child?"
"Well," she began. "Being a dwarf tends to come with issues. It's really difficult to reach items on upper shelves without a ladder and it's annoying," she said with a huff.
I stared at her for a minute and then shrugging, I took off my pants.
"Just like my last girlfriend," I muttered.
| 2017-05-12T13:13:55 | 2017-05-12T10:39:48 | 37 | 23 |
[WP] You are a detective in 1890 Austria. The man inside the interrogation room claims to have an incredible secret that will exonerate him from his murder charge. You can't imagine what monster would murder a 1 year old child, let alone one as adorable as young Adolf Hitler was.
|
Dusk was setting quickly in the Austrian town of Braunau am Inn. Felix Roth sighed as he noticed the quickly fading light outside his window. His wife of less than a month no doubt had dinner on the table. If he did not leave in the next few minutes, he would arrive home late. Again. Maria never seemed to mind, but Felix could not bear the thought of her bustling to re-heat his food yet again while he offered another excuse. Not tonight. Work would be there tomorrow. He was going home to his wife.
Smiling at the thought, he grabbed his coat and gathered his things. He was almost to the door when three loud knocks from the other side stopped him in his tracks.
“Detective Roth?” The whiny voice of the questioner was one Felix recognized – Franz, a young, bumbling patrolman with an endless supply of inane questions. Gritting his teeth in anticipation, he opened his door just widely enough to squeeze in front of Franz, blocking his entry.
“Hello Franz. I was just on my way out.”
"Oh I see – so sorry, Detective, to bother you at the end of the day! Detective Otto sent me. He has that young woman from yesterday in interrogation. The…er…. the woman that was found with the body of a local child."
Felix nodded impatiently. "Yes, the Hitler boy. Terrible tragedy. You said Otto asked for me?"
"Not exactly sir. He said to tell you that she did."
Felix rubbed his temples in exasperation. "I'm sorry? The suspect? What did she do?"
"She asked for you. She asked to speak with Detective Felix Roth."
----
Felix walked briskly to interrogation. Whatever mistake had been made, he would clear it up quickly. Hans Otto was standing outside the door, muttering aloud as he strained to read the contents of a tiny notepad.
"You need glasses old man." Felix taunted, tapping his former partner's shoulder gently with a playful punch.
Otto shook his head. "It's unkind to mock the elderly, you know, even when they are being horribly vain." The smile that had spread across his face faded quickly as he tucked his notepad in his pocket. "Did Franz tell you?"
"He tried to, but I think he was mistaken. Do you need help with something? Because I'm really trying to get home to my wife...." Felix trailed off as he saw Otto's brow furrow. "What is it?"
"He wasn't mistaken. She's asking for you. By name."
"I thought she was a foreigner - an American?" Felix said. "How would she have any idea who I am?"
"I don't know what to tell you Felix. She is American, from what I can tell. But it's been almost 24 hours since we arrested her and I can’t get anything out of her. Not a single word, except that she promises to cooperate if she can speak with you."
Felix's heart sank. Why hadn’t he left just five minutes earlier?
"Listen, Felix - I have one more hour with her before the special team from Vienna arrives. They’ll use any excuse to take this over, they already tried to tell me it’s too controversial for our local department to handle. I need to get somewhere with her to have any chance of keeping this case here. I need you to go in there."
Felix nodded in resignation. "No problem, Otto – I can’t imagine what she wants with me, but I’ll find out."
---
After a quick review of the sparse case file, Felix poured a cup of tea and walked back to the interrogation room. As he unlocked the door, a wave of nausea flooded his gut. He had never been less prepared to interrogate a suspect. The only two facts he entered with were these: (1) this woman knew his name and (2) yesterday Mr. and Mrs. Hitler found her in their backyard burying the bludgeoned body of their 1-year-old son.
Felix strode into the room briskly. As he crossed to take his seat across from the suspect he surveyed her in a quick glance. She was younger than he had expected – she could not be any older than Maria. A handful of chestnut curls hung limply around her face, free from the thick braid that ran halfway down her back. A pair of blue eyes darted anxiously across his face.
"Hello," he began as he scraped his metal chair closer to the table. "My name is Felix Roth. What’s yours?”
Her eyes lit up vibrantly at the mention of his name. “I’m Alix,” she said while her hands began scrambling wildly below her tunic.
"Stop right there! Hands where I can see them!" Felix bellowed as he sprung out of his chair.
Hissing a sigh of frustration, she placed her arms upon the table.
“Okay, Alix - now, it looked like you were reaching for something and because of that I'm going to have to search you."
"By all means, Detective Roth. I'm reaching for a stack of papers I have taped to my body, nothing more, but what I need most of all is for you and I to review those papers as quickly as possible. So if this will get us there, please waste no time - conduct your search.”
Perplexed, Felix nodded and stood up. He paused on his side of the table, glancing at the door. Would it be better to enlist Otto's help before searching her? It was his suspect after all. And he didn't want her to feel threatened. She must not feel alienated if they were to hope for any chance of a confession.
*Swish* His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of air passing over fabric and a sudden movement across the table.
"Hands up!"
"They're up, they're up." Alix stood across the table, naked except for undergarments, arms raised high in the air. "I'm sorry, but you were taking forever and this is really quite urgent."
He flushed with discomfort as he quickly scanned the front of her body, then nodded. She turned her back to him and, amid a sea of smooth, olive skin, was just what she had described - a stack of papers, taped to her lower back.
"Well?" She craned her neck around as far as possible, her eyes searching his face impatiently. "Do you have to remove them or can I?"
"Uh... no, go ahead - you can remove them."
She peeled the papers from her back and tossed them on the table. Felix tentatively returned to his chair while Alix, in a 5-second whirlwind of limbs, hair and polyester, got dressed. Felix watched her with a mixture of curiosity and unease as she perched on the edge of her chair. Her eyes took on a violent intensity as she turned to the stack of papers in front of her. She frantically shuffled through them, separating each sheet into one of two new stacks in the middle of the table. The pile of papers shrunk rapidly until Alix held up the last two sheets for review. Each contained just a few words of large, bold type. **Felix Roth Family - Holocaust** was placed on the stack to her right. **Adolf Hitler** was placed on the stack to her left.
Felix's stomach turned at the sight of the victim's name. "Listen, Alix, I don't know what this is, but there is very compelling evidence that you murdered a child yesterday. Knowing my name won't change that, so we need to talk about what your next steps are here...."
"Please!" She yelled shrilly. Felix was taken aback by the raw desperation in her voice. "Please, Detective Roth, Felix, I don't have long to explain all this and I just need you to listen."
"But why? I'm sorry but whatever information those papers contains, it cannot change the facts of this crime."
"You're right. These papers can't change the fact that I beat that little boy to death. But they can explain why. What I know about Adolf Hitler. Please listen with an open mind, Felix. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane, but I know too much about your life and your family for it to not be true. I know things that I couldn't know unless I am who I say am. Most importantly, I know something about your family that you do not. Something that, without me, you would not have discovered until it was too late.”
“Too late?”
“I’ll explain it all, but yes, keep that in mind! You’re right, a crime has been committed. But forget the law for a second and tell me how heavily you, Felix Roth, weigh the necessity of punishment if yesterday afternoon your whole family's lives hung in the balance?
Alix tried to read Felix’s expression and, for the first time, could not. Perhaps she was making progress? Hope was quickly followed by a lingering doubt she had managed to lose track of. For all this to hold up, she needed to be sure that her research had found the right person. Panic tasted like bile in the back of her throat.
“Felix,” she said gently, taking one of his hands in hers. “I’ll explain it all in a moment, but first – I have a question I need you to answer. Your surname, Roth – does your family happen to have any Jewish ancestry?”
|
In my years on patrol we never saw a case or family, as odd as the Hitler’s. Now, they weren’t particularly odd or strange themselves; a little fruity, perhaps too artistic for most of us ‘townies’ as they called us, but nothing we hadn’t seen before. The first time, we were alerted about some suspicious persons at their house, what had to be about ten years before young Adolf was born; their uncle found this crazy fanatic trying to poison their water supply. After we chased him (half naked if you believe it) for a couple hundred kilometers, he would only say that he was on a mission of utmost importance and that we could never understand (something about the future, timlines, worms holes, and those damn Jews). He then started foaming at the mouth not long after that he died. Well we took what we had, filed our report and then tried to forget about it, not that it would do us much good. Now, you are starting to think that I’m pulling the wool over your eyes. The whole situation just seems downright unbelievable - hell I’d be the first one to agree with ya, maybe even doubt my memory. Well, that is if the same damned thing hadn’t happened every fucking year since. Almost like clockwork, winter fades, spring comes amongst us again, then sure enough some psychopath comes ready and rearing to kill them Hitlers. Don’t know what they did in the city or wherever they came from, but they must’ve really pissed someone off. That’s why as screwed up as the situation is, I can’t say that I’m a whole lot surprised someone actually managed to off the little bugger. I mean he was a cute little baby with a quick spirit. I knew the family personally, given all the time we spent together cause of the crazies and all. Hell that kid had this smile that could make you forget about everything, almost be willing to even kill for the bastard if he looked at you just right. Such a sweetheart, everyone who met him just adored the little guy. Until this sunovabitch got him. He just snuck in through with the rest of the crowd during little Adolf’s second birthday party. We were celebrating it early that year because the family felt spooked by April 20th being spring at all and no one wanting to jinx Adolph against their spring visitors. Well, that was the problem, this guy walked right in with the guests – smiled, greeted everyone, hell he was the most pleasant person at the party. That’s why it was so unexpected when he walked up to Adolf with the gift, only for it to be hiding a shaving razor he swiftly pulled across the poor child’s throat. That bastard is lucky he can still breathe. We tried interrogating him, to no avail. In identical fashion to all the rest he is acting like he is some great hero for the Jews, having saved them from annihilation. Well, we already know that those bastards are behind the downfall of our great country anyway and after this horrific showing we have more than enough proof. The entire country, nay the whole world will join us in our eternal quest to save the world from those evil child slayers, even the President of the United States himself has pledged himself to our cause, we will be victorious, we will have vengeance.
FYI, first post ever after 2 years lurking (just created an account for this). Did not proofread, as I would've been too afraid to post if I re-read it. I Hope you like :)
Yes, I know my commas are wrong, like I said no proofreading ;). Oh yea, it's late and I'm drunk so I hope that helps :), dammit formatting this sucks
| 2015-03-30T01:59:44 | 2015-03-30T00:18:44 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] All Humans have a Sword they are born with, Every year on your birthday, your sword gets more detailed and powerful. You, are born with a Gun.
|
In a few minutes the Festival of Change will begin, and I have no idea what I’m going to do. A public holiday where the entire world welcomes the latest development of their soul sword. It’s a time of revelry and duels and experimenting with new powers. It’s also the hardest day of the year to hide the fact that you don’t have soul sword. I’ve been keeping up with the development of my ‘sword’ so far, but I’ve run out of road. As a child, I could find a slightly larger penknife, or butter knife, or steak knife. It was unconventional, but as a narrative it made sense. Some were late bloomers, and their sword took flight as a young adult, earning life-changing powers, like flight, to balance off the early disappointment. I was too broke to buy a showy replica and too weak and slow to suggest that I had gained any physical or mental powers. My truth was going to come out.
I had no soul sword. I had a useless weapon in its place. It had grown over the years as a sword would, from a tiny derringer, through a revolver, automatic and now was a small machine pistol. I suppose it is heavy enough that I could hit someone with it? Or perhaps the shock of seeing a gun might give someone pause, but guns were unheard of, and so bullets were impossible to come by. Even if they were, my gun changed every year and the ammunition would be useless.
What is more pointless, a gun with no bullets or a sword with no power? Probably the gun, although an underpowered sword was more likely to get you challenged to a duel you can’t win.
I stepped out of the door with the beautiful katana I had managed to afford last year to bluff my way through the last Festival. I knew it would not change, could not change. But staying at home was not an option. It was the only compulsory element of our lives. Dying was my only way out of this, and I was not about to take my own life. There was however a very real chance it would be taken from me, by some overzealous festival goer, looking to try out his new power. They would have no idea I was defenceless, and what would be just the equivalent of a pat on the back between friends would be enough to split me in two.
The town square was already flooded with excitement and alcohol. And people with blades. I picked my way through the crowd looking for some cover so that when the change happened, I could shield myself from any prying eyes. It would be obvious nothing had happened, and even through the booze that would pique interest in others.
I smelt ozone on the air and I knew the moment was near. People began to raise their blades aloft, and a low keening came from a thousand throats at once. I tried to follow, but the futility of it made my katana weigh a tonne. My arms dropped and so did my gaze. As it did so I caught the eyes of a girl about my age. She looked at me with the same sorrow I felt. She held a short curved scimitar with a jewelled pommel, but I noticed how she avoided it touching anyone else’s weapon.
I looked at her, and she looked at me and all around us the golden glow of the change bloomed. The keening rose in pitch and volume as people watched their soul sword explode with power and potential. Neither of our blades so much as flickered. I made a decision that would change my life.
I elbowed my way through the throng and took her free hand in mine. Partially out of self-interest, partly out of excitement and partly out of concern for her. She was in as much danger as I was.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I asked. Two people leaving together, to do things two people might do together was about the only excuse that would stand up for why you missed the Festival. Pairing up after the change was a big part of the appeal of the day.
“Yes, please. Quickly”, she said and I led her as quickly as I could back to my small flat on the edge of town. Once we were clear of the main square and mass of people, I risked talking again.
“I’m Triep”, I said as an introduction. “It’s not far now. Have you always been like this? Like me?”
“Yany”, she said. “People call me Yany. Most people call me Nanny Yany, because I’m so scared of fighting. They would be scared too if they were unarmed. And yes, I’ve always been like this. I just ran out of options this year.”
“Me too”, I said. “I just assumed this would be the year I got found out.” We reached the door of my flat and I unlocked it. “This is me. Do you want to come in? No-one is around, you could probably sneak home now?”
“No”, she said walking into my place. “I think its best if I stay with you a bit yet. It will be safer later when people start heading home and the initial duels are all completed.”
I followed her into the flat. Then it hit me. What I’d left on the table.
“FUCK!”, I shouted and tried to force my way past her. It was too late.
Yany turned to face me, open-mouthed in shock, holding what now appeared to be a short assault rifle in her hands. It was still crackling with power, post its changing.
“It’s a hobby of mine”, I said. “It’s no big deal, I’ve not ever used it or anything.”
She carefully placed the gun on the table. Then she removed her backpack and opened it, crouching down to retrieve something.
“Come on!”, I said. “Don’t taze me! I was trying to help you. Please!”
“I’m not going to taze you”, Yany said, holding her hands out to me. “I think that we are going to be able to help each other”.
I looked down. A crackle of light traced an outline I’d dreamt of for my whole life. She held a magazine.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TallerestTales
PART 2 in replies
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So, anyway, I started blasting.
The doctor was the first to go. I couldn’t have him there as a threat with that scalpel and next to all those surgical tools. I could shoot off my own embelical cord. And I did.
I had no clue what the fuck was happening, but I knew it had to be some sort of reincarnation bullshit. There I was, slick with slime and with all my memories of a past life.
Somehow, I was immediately aware of my circumstances and had full adult motor skills as a fucking baby.
I heard screaming. Shit! The room was full of expectant mothers in labor. Many we’re getting C-sectioned from the inside! Fuck!
It was babies sword fighting babies all over the fucking place, and I was the only one with a gun. I’d been born into a bloodbath from a bloodbath. This life would be interesting.
So I kept on blasting.
Edit: The awards are appreciated, Good Samaritans!
| 2020-10-22T08:57:44 | 2020-10-22T07:24:08 | 2,180 | 229 |
[WP] You could have been the most powerful hero this world had ever seen. By a long shot. But all you wanted was a normal life and the world didn't need your help. So you settled down. Naturally the governments of the world declared you an international threat and put a price on your head.
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It's amazing how quickly they forget the name they'd originally given me.
I had thought that, when things were quiet I could finally take a break. I could let down the cowl, pack up the boots, and call it a career. Find a place somewhere quiet, some place that didn't know and didn't care that the World's Greatest had retired there. I'd thought that maybe, in all of my years wearing disguise and constantly moving at unsettling fractions of light speed, that no one would recognize me like this.
Silly me. The internet and world governments are quite alike in one area--they're nothing if not obsessive. Apparently some combination of my jawline, my posture, and that thing I do with my middle and ring finger end up being 'very distinctive,' and someone figured out that I'd picked a tiny former mining town to 'walk into' and start serving drinks to backpackers.
I *wish* it had started small, but no. The first night after I'd been made, someone decided the best response was to send in the big guns. Rather literally. I know a Centurion when I hear one. Or in this case, several. How they got that many of these things onto the salt flats is anyone's guess. It was right about 1:30 in the morning when they broke the 3 kilometer mark, and about 1:31 when someone decided to press the Big Red Button.
Have you ever heard a 105-millimeter cannon firing? It's impressive. Almost marvelous in how it both cracks like a small-caliber round and booms like thunder. Now imagine a whole platoon of those firing.
The first volley of shells had made it to around 1500 meters when they abruptly halted. I've seen it thousands of times, but everyone always stares when it happens. 1% of the time, that encourages people to recognize their limits and stop. 99% of the time, someone is foolish enough to treat it as a fluke rather than as evidence, and shoots again.
I'll leave you to imagine which group the tank commander present and his chain of command fell into.
It went on for a while. They even added their co-axial and top mounted machine guns to the mess. I'm quite sure everyone else had long since thought the world was ending and had fled west with all due haste. At this point I had collected well over two hundred tank shells and several thousand 7.62 rounds, all afloat in the same very deadly cloud of ordnance.
Leaving the house to check on things just invited more pops and chatters of gunfire--5.56 this time, infantry scale. Those too joined the amorphous mass of metal hanging suspended in the air. I could hear tactical phrases being shouted by the increasingly confused, increasingly disheartened men huddled around the tanks.
"Mag empty, reloading!"
"Maintain suppressing fire!"
"Misfeed! Jam, Jam!"
"Weapon malfunction! Cannot clear!"
"Misfire!"
I wondered if they'd realized what was happening by that point. Statistically, the only reason for to be that many malfunctions would be some type of sabotage action or a catastrophic manufacturing flaw.
Or, perhaps, for a fundamental force of nature to upset the series of finely tuned, millimeter-precise mechanical actions required to operate a firearm.
It was a strange sensation, walking out into the chaos wearing nothing more than skivvies and flip-flops. Usually I'd have my good suit on, but... well, look what good that had gotten me. The shouting continued.
"Target spotted! All available units engage!"
"No ammo!"
"Misfire!"
"Weapon malfunction!"
"Engage!"
I shouldn't have sighed as loud as I did, as I'm sure some of those boys must've thought they were staring down a tornado. But, as with everything, I had to face this. I resisted the urge to cup my hands around my mouth to be heard... that reflex would've probably ruptured some eardrums.
"Gentlemen, presuming any are present." My words cut through the din like a hot wire through plastic, instantly bringing stillness to the very one-sided battlefield. "Could you kindly please stop that. It is 2 in the morning, and some of us have work tomorrow."
I couldn't see their faces in the dark, but I like to imagine their expressions might've been.
"As you can see, there is a very dangerous ball of stuff in front of us. I am going to move this to one side. Please send someone to clean it up tomorrow."
True to my word, the cloud of metal and shells went off to one side, well away from either the assaulting force or the various bits of trailers and clapboard behind me. I had just about moved it out of the way when there was a sudden little 'pop' and a stray 9mm round zipped through the air, coming to a halt at the same 1500-meter mark. Just as with all the rest, it stopped, then seemed to sheepishly follow after with the much more impressive collection of munitions being set aside.
I heard a gloved hand slapping the back of a kevlar helmet.
Approaching the detachment of men and vehicles, I quietly flipped my field polarity. No more suspension, no more floating. No, now it was time for everyone to sit down. I could see in the distance several of the men valiantly struggling to stay on their feet. Most came down roughly instead. The tanks' main guns lowered down over their glacis, turrets failing to traverse despite their best efforts. They had the good grace to look chastised.
Standing before the awed men of the platoon, I'd almost wished I was wearing something a bit more imposing... but perhaps there's something to be said for watching a man subdue tanks in his underwear.
"Gentlemen, as you can see, this was very loud, very expensive, and very ineffective." I could already tell someone wanted to respond, but something was making them hold back. Good enough for me. "Your vehicles will remain here for you to collect them in the morning." That got a few confused looks, before they noticed the cracks forming around the treads. Several scooted out of the way as eons-dry mud flats gave way, neatly burying each vehicle about a foot straight down. Stones clogged sprockets and roadwheels as the tanks came to rest in the earth.
Centurions could climb out of that, but not happily. Not quickly. Not without a fair bit of help.
I brought the field in closer, allowing the men to pick themselves up, or climb out of their suddenly stranded tanks, and assess what was probably going to be a long walk back to explain themselves. I did pity them. They hadn't asked for this.
But neither had I.
Another soft 'ahem' brought their attention back to me. "Please inform your superiors that there are better things to waste taxpayer money on. Perhaps I'll let the Evening Post know. Between that and the stories sure to come from the citizens here, I'm sure that'll go over quite well during an election year."
I should not have been as disappointed as I was to hear as many dawning realizations as I did that it was election season.
Sleeping was out of the question now, but I could still do what I did best. I could tell there were plenty of people who still needed my help--those who'd fled into the flats and those who were no doubt terrified out of their minds. Hopefully seeing the World's Greatest Hero coming to their rescue might calm them down. Hopefully. I turned back for the house and my outfit... but I couldn't help a parting word over my shoulder.
"I suggest you get back before the sun comes up. And gentlemen... when you, please remind them that they called me 'the unstoppable Gravity Man' for a *reason*."
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"remind me again why i love dogs" ty said, walking into his house covered in mounds of dog fur while the dogs he was golding kept trying to go in opposite directions. he had barely got in the door before his phone blew up with people trying to message him. he was the hero of the town, but he was growing tired of constantly saving everyone in the street. "oh dear god i hate my job. can you deal with this mess, ive got to go save the town again. no doubt its something they could easily solve themselves". you could feel his exhaustion in the tone of his voice. he had been doing the job for over 50 years without a single day off
"just dont go, ty. even vampires deserve a day of from being the hero" His wife responded.
"no i have to. if i dont show up they assume im causing evil because im a vampire, so naturally i have to be bloody evil"
"your phone could, y'know, conveniently be dead" his wife responded, now standing in the doorway to the living room, holding a towel in her hand. ty pondered this for a moment, before deciding that it would be ok. he sat down with his angelic wife and flicked the TV on. he was clicking through the channels untill something caught his eye. "you have to be bloody kidding me. my phone 'died' and now im public enemy number one"
it was mere moments before people were breaking his door down. the people that had wanted him dead for years and finally had the chance. there was an army of people outside his house, waiting for him to come outside, waiting for their chance to kill him
he was going to say something, but his wife prevented him from speaking. "this man has given up the last 50 years of his life to save this town, and the second he decided to sit down and relax you all want to kill the man. what the hell is wrong with you all?" She was close to bursting with anger, and the crowd got silent.
"i could kill all of you in a bloody heartbeat, but i wont. its not the kind of person i am. can you just treat me like a human?" Ty started, before walking back to his living room. his wife slammed the door
"Amy, should we move?"
"lets find somewhere where the population arent a load of bumbling idiots, Ty"
| 2022-06-26T14:21:12 | 2022-06-26T13:28:17 | 25 | 14 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
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So first time posting, posting on a mobile and all that jazz. I always wanted to write something back for one of these prompts. Hope you enjoy and feel free to feedback.
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I have walked this street a thousand times and then some. As a child I would run along causing havoc in and amongst the stalls with my friends, making away with stolen apples and bread from the various tables.
As I grew up I became more responsible. Realising the hard work I had to endure to scrape a living. Even still I was always content to live my life with these people. They were good people who cared for one another. Protected each other through droughts, harsh winters and poor crops.
Many a morning I've spent walking along this very street complimenting the Baker for his finely crafted loaves. The same Baker who now spits at me in disgust.
Passing by the florist with a warm greeting and a purchase of her wares to lay at the graves further down the street. The same who has just thrown a rotten fruit at me.
Playing with kids in a courtyard just off to the side, the same kids who now hound my every step and pelt me with rocks.
As I trudge on, manacled as part of a five man walking disgrace. A disgrace to city and king. The king we have been accused of murdering.
We all stay silent and bear this public punishment all, paraded through the streets as an example and a warning.
It's something of a relief to finally see the gates of the inner keep. A sign that we can finally stop walking and suffering this humiliation. Though it is one of bitterness as this is where we are to be executed.
In a twist of sadistic humour, we are to be taken to a special chamber. One reserved to dole out punishments for the most heinous of crimes. A chamber which allows the subject to choose their own process of death, and can do so through the most magical of means. Something far beyond my own understanding.
As we enter I find before me a large circular courtyard, boundried by tall pale bricked walls. Beyond and above the walls are my fellow citizens. Still whipped up in a frenzied state of hate and disgust. Straight ahead are our so called judges.
To the right, the treasurer, a man accustomed to a softer way of life. With heavy wobbling jowls and beady eyes.
To the left, the general of our standing army. A gaunt and weathered looking man. Stories of his past conquests are rumoured over drinks in taverns. About his penchant for blood lust and savagery on the battlefield. I avert my gaze from him, finally resting on the centre.
Our King regent. Brother of the late departed. Seemingly regal in all the splendour of such a title.
The first of us chose to die in combat, weapon in hand and as honourable as he might attempt. In response the floor to the right of his feet opened revealing a number of weapons to choose from. Having settled on a spear and shield, no less than 10 skeletal phantoms appeared as if from nothing. All of whom descended upon and summarily tore him to shreds. I noted this brought a slight smirk from our afeared general. Just as quickly as they appeared, the phantoms dissipated into nothingness along with the weapons.
The next in line took a little more care in their words. Saying he wanted to die in combat much like the first, but only against a singular opponent. Again the magics imbued within this chamber revealed an assortment of weapons for him to choose from. Having settled on a sword and shield he must've felt quite ready for whatever was to come. Unfortunately he was not prepared for the chamber to create a creature three lengths of a man tall. A giant armed with a club large enough to break even the castle walls. Suffice to say he was dispatched quickly, yet messily.
Amid the roars and cheers of the crowd I could see the general leaning forward enraptured by the spectacle, whilst the treasure was shaking with chuckles. As if this all a humorous play. Our dear king regent still seemingly unmoved and unperturbed by the goings-on.
The third of us attempted to use the magics of this chamber to his advantage. Wishing to die with his family and friends. I presume he was thinking the chamber to allow him to leave and join his family. Alas that was not the case. As with a flourish of purple smoke, members of the man's family appeared next to him. Each more disoriented than the last, and upon realising where they stood, that disorientation turning to panic and horror. I spotted elderly grandmother's, brothers, wives and even children. There was a lul in the crowd as they came to understand what they were to witness. With only the general leaning so far forward he was practically off his seat, a monstrous grin plastered across his face.
In a similar fashion to the first man, phantom figures appeared surrounding the group and began to encroach. The crowd gave no roars of glee. No chants calling for blood. No, they remained silent as they witnessed the end of of this family name.
The forth was an acute sort. Having seen what occurred to the others he too attempted to trick the magics of this place to his whim. The crowd no longer in a blood thirsty frenzy waited patiently for his wish. After a moment he spoke up, asking to die by old age. He looks up at his judges three, out at the crowd, before finally turning his eyes to me. By which point he had already aged 60 seasons if not more. White hair sprouting in place of dark auburn locks. Young, fresh blooded skin turning pale and wrinkled. The straight back of a young man turning crooked and bent. In less time it took for the request to be made, he had grown old and died before our eyes.
This finally brought a slight smirk across the regent Kings face. His holier than though facade broken ever so slightly.
With this it was now my own turn to make a request. I had been thinking on what to say ever since I had known we were to be brought here. Now watching the four innocent men murdered before me, I knew I would not be leaving this chamber alive. I also knew what my request must be, for it is the only request I could make.
I called out to both my judges and the crowd.
"I am an innocent man, as innocent as every soul butchered before us here today"
This sent a murmur rippling across the crowd. For their part the three judges above seemed to pay a little more attention at my proclamation.
Most notably the wretched treasurer stopped stuffing his mouth with whatever new delicacies he demanded.
"As a man of innocence there is only a singular request I can make. My wish is to be brought to death by the hands of those truly guilty of this crime!"
No sooner had the words left my lips did I see the so familiar swirl of smoke before me. As it seeped away revealing the true conspirators of this crime. Having vacated their seats on high, the general, the treasurer and our dearest regent king stood before me with swords held in hand.
This close I could see the wrappings of purple magic around the body, arms and hands, forcing their movement towards me. Though they were approaching me, swords pointed at me, what I really saw gave me strength to steel myself.
The shock and horror on the treasures face, mouth agape and fatted jowls shaking in fear.
Anger and rage induced madness painted the generals face a shade of red I've not yet seen on a person before.
Locking eyes with the regent king I saw his recognition of what I had done. What I had accomplished and brought upon their heads.
As the first blade plunged into me from the now tear stricken treasurer, I let out a pained gasp, almost blacking out from the shock.
I wasn't given chance of respite as the second blade struck from the general, now frothing with rage.
The final came from the regent King. By this point my legs had given way, with only the blades holding me aloft.
As I felt myself fade I refuted the cold embrace of death for one last defiance. Looking over the three before finally resting on the one in front. I could hear the crowd in the background. Shouting and screaming against the clamour of armour laden guards. I managed to sputter out with a final breath
"It seems you shall now be judged, o King, and I believe you shall be found wanting."
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"I would like to die of old age"
I froze, as those words resonated in my head, the realization that his nape would be the last I see of him quickly sinked in.
"*Why...?*" I murmured. Why would he do that? He's not that gullible as to think the Supreme Court of Wizardry would let him get away with that, he's the mastermind behind it all, for Merlin's beard! He's the one who found out about the breach in the treaty, the muggle camps in Stirling, he convinced us, led us, believed in us... We were so close to rid the world of that noxious titan of a minister, just that one droplet would have been enough...
​
"Then, without further ado, for crimes against the Ministry, organising an uprising and for the theft of the sacred first titan Olaf's blood, we hereby sentence you to death, by old age, as requested." the judge's voice exploded through the hall.
His hair started losing its distinct red colour, exposing more and more patches of his scalp. Some weird black marks could be seen behind his curls.
I can barely contain my tears, I would've given everything for this man, as I'm sure he would've done for me also. He called me by his name, and yet this pitiful sight of him is all that's left...
​
Some commotion could be heard in the otherwise silent chamber of the jury, as a minute man hurried through the crowd, causing turmoil. His wacky moustache really didn't fit the vexed expression painting his face, neither did his voice tone, as it echoed through the room, trying to sound solemn.
"Know that we will find Olaf's blood! Your existence will be notorious through the whole continent as nothing more than pointless, so wipe that smirk off your face!"
"*He's... smirking?"* Of course he'd be smirking... even facing death under the spiteful noses of these disdainful aristocrats his spirit wouldn't break. I look back at him, as I struggle to accept my own fate myself, and right there, right in front of me is the answer. Tattooed on the back of his head is an encrypted message, calibrated exactly to work on my lenses!
I'm once more shook, as his body begins falling apart, I can't stop my tears, nor my gratitude, he really did give me everything in the end. The dust settles, and I make up my mind, looking up.
"The choice is yours." finally the judge's sight lands upon me, scrutinizing me, digging deep into my soul. I concede him little time however, as my leader's last words paint a clear picture in my mind, I spout my answer loud and clear.
"I wish to stab myself with the dagger resting on my desk at home!"
​
"So be it."
​
*A droplet of Olaf's blood is enough to rid a titan of their life, and grant a human a second one. He was half human.*
| 2021-06-24T10:54:30 | 2021-06-24T09:19:00 | 64 | 12 |
[WP] You’re an obscure, ancient god who had resigned yourself to slowly fading away. One day, an inventor whose sibling is an archaeologist names a new type of tech after you. As the tech becomes wildly popular and ubiquitous, you find yourself growing in power vastly beyond what you had ever known.
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"You should call it Meili." Boomika said, before ladling a spoonful of cereal in her mouth.
"Come again?" I said, watching her eat through the screen. She was a very busy woman, and had somehow found the time to call me through video on her untimely lunch break.
"Meili. We just uncovered more tapestry of him in this site. He's the god of travel and voyage."
"I thought you were in Iceland?"
"I am."
"There's a tapestry to a Chinese deity there?"
"Meili is Nordic, moron."
"Oh, really? It sounds kind of Chinese."
"Well, that'll be a nice touch to your Chinese shareholders. An added plus."
"Meili. God of travels." I said, smiling.
"Listen, I got to go. These interns don't know what they're doing and I'm scared they'll mess up the sensors." My sister said, drinking the milk straight from the bowl.
"Easy, you can't chug milk like that."
"Oh, this isn't milk. It's straight up coffee."
"You are eating cereal in a bowl of coffee?"
"You should try it. You get the caffeine, and you get some nutrition. It's efficient. And like coffee, it's an acquired taste."
"Jesus, I don't think I'll resort to that."
"Suit yourself. I seriously got to go. Bye, Shreya!"
[][][][][][][][][]
Throughout the ages I hear whispers of my name. From a learned scholar or a curious person.
*I need a cool name for a god for my fantasy setting. Hmm... Meili isn't bad.*
*Wait, Thor had another brother? Called Meili?*
*Honestly, if we're discussing god strengths, Hermes easily outclasses Meili. Not much is even known about Meili, to be honest. Pretty forgettable Aesir god compared to an Olympian like Hermes who has so much mythos.*
*Meili? You sure that's what you want to call this... Transporter? Doesn't really roll off the tongue. And sounds Chinese. I don't think an Indian tech company should call their product Meili.*
That last whisper was the most recent. First mention of me in a context that was not academic or archaeological in a long time. My faded consciousness coalesced into a weak presence as I appeared where this discussion about some transporter was taking place.
A man and a woman were in a room. An office. The man seemed a little miffed as the woman explained her case.
"It's not Chinese. It's Norse. Named after the god of travels. It's a perfect fit."
"Why not an Indian deity? Like Ganesh?"
"That's a bit on the nose, don't you think? And literally everything is named Ganesh. I stopped by for some roadside tea at a stall named Ganesh Tea."
"But... Meili?"
"It's my invention. My transporter. I'm putting my foot down."
"Shreya, this is like the dumbest thing to argue about. We have a dedicated marketing team that can come up with—"
"You know, even if it sound Chinese it's fine. Our Chinese backers might like it." Shreya said, and I recognized the glint in her mortal eyes. She was playing a card she knew would play well.
"Well, uh... I guess that's true. Meili, huh. I want to see how you spell it in Hindi. And Tamil. Standardise the spelling. And give it to the marketing people. Hopefully they can cook up a nice logo."
"Meili Transporter. I think you'll get used to saying it after a while."
"Shreya Transporter sounds better. Named after the inventor, like any sane person would try to do. Rolls off the tongue nicer, too."
"No. I'll stick with Meili." Shreya said, smiling to herself.
[][][][][][][]
The transporter technology Shreya had unlocked for humanity inadvertently awakened me. I could feel it. As the tests progressed over the next few months I gained some semblance of power. Little. But I was stronger than I was before.
Because the transporter was meant for travelling. And I was the god of travels. By naming her invention after me, she had granted me a worship like no other.
My name was suddenly being uttered everywhere in the context of her invention. And as people saw the reason behind the name and knowledge of me became more well known, I only got stronger.
Shreya had singlehandedly made me more than relevant. Suddenly, I realized, my power was because of her. And so, I ensured she would succeed. I was there for every test, aiding her with my growing arcane power.
I was there as she unveiled the first production model. I was there as she took her maiden voyage through the transporter, and travelled between the realm between realms and reappeared instantaneously at her destination.
She had done what her forefathers only dreamt of. And, for the first time in a long time, I was unabashedly proud of the mortal ingenuity of people. Of mortals.
Shreya was my apostle, my oracle, my priestess, my everything. And as my powers grew, I continued to ensure her machine never failed. I was there for every transportation, stretching my now everpresent form to every transporter in use, making sure every transportation was perfect.
Because travelling between realms was no straightforward task, and as much as her technology accounted for the strange metaphysical workings in the realm between realms, it could not account for everything. And that was where I came in.
I thought back to my prime, where I would not have bothered with these kinds of tricks and aid, even to my most devout followers. I was arrogant. As arrogant and the rest of my kind, thinking the piety and the power we harness from it would last forever.
All these eons I had to reflect allowed me to see the bigger picture. We were nothing without these humans.
And so I existed, using this vast power I had to help Shreya in her quest to aid the people of the world to travel as painlessly and quick as possible. I, the god of travels, shall do my task without needing worship, without recognition for my work. This existence is acceptable. I will help them achieve their wonders. I will aid them in all the good they wished to do.
I should have done this from the start. From the very beginning. But since I did not, I shall start now.
Edit: [Meili would be glad, y'all](https://i.imgur.com/D76NlJc.jpg), that you're suddenly looking him up
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In ancient Rome, Sol was the Sun God.
In modern times, Sol was the name of a powerful reactor which harnessed the energy of the sun.
Sol thought he had been forgotten by humans. No one worshiped him, no one gave him offerings. Thanks to this thing called 'science' he didn't even have to drive the sun anymore. His power had waned until it had all gone, and now he was bored and fatigued.
Until when one day, a man named Victor Braithwate invented a sphere which surrounded the sun and provided the Earth with an unlimited supply of energy. In turn, this gave Sol an unlimited supply of power.
He was the most powerful of all the Gods! He took Jupiter's throne on Olympus, he could now do anything!
And he would do **anything** to make sure it stayed that way.
| 2022-02-04T06:02:16 | 2022-02-04T06:00:19 | 1,910 | 38 |
[WP] You are a child. You are starting to believe that the moody teenager next door, the rich person down the street, and the homeless person in your local park are all actually you from the future.
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Billy was a normal kid. Well as normal as probably anyone can be nowadays. He was a 5th grader in the neighborhood elementary school. Because his town was so laid back, his parents thought nothing of letting him walk to and from school. One day, Billy started to notice strange things were happening around him.
The first thing he noticed was the new neighbor kid, well Teenager. His name was William and he would get angry if you called him Billy. "No, Billy lives next door!" he would say with a surly look at Billy's house. Billy thought it was interesting that their houses mirrored each other. He had not noticed that before, but after the neighbors moved in, it was almost like the house changed to mirror theirs. William's room was right across from Billy's upstairs. he would often see William staring over to his room, like he was trying to see inside. Billy took to keeping his blinds closed. It was too weird. He was also kind of weirded out by the fact that they had similarly shaped heads and faces, although, Billy had no acne or sporadic facial hair that looked horrible, but William never shaved as if to say he was growing a beard.
The other odd thing was in the park across the street from his school, there was an old man who he often saw on the bench looking at the school. On more than one occasion he caught the man staring at him pretty intensely. One day, the man waved at him, and appeared to motion him over. Billy knew enough about Stranger Danger not to go, but he didn't tell the teachers either. There was something very familiar about him that he just didn't understand, but he didn't want the man to get hurt.
The Third oddball in his neighborhood moved in, around the same time that William's family moved in. They were a little "High Falutin'" as Billy's father called them. He often stuck a bad word in the middle of that description. The man came over and introduced himself with his wife, who was what Mom referred to as a 'trophy' wife. Not sure what game the man won that trophy in. Dad said it was the game of "life" right before getting swatted by mom with the newspaper. Dad said they were loaded. The house they bought was like ours, but the man had completely renovated it before moving in. He told Billy's Dad that he 'grew up in a neighborhood like this one, JUST like this one'. The house had a basement dug out where the rest of us didn't have basements. Billy watched the line of dump trucks getting all the dirt. It looked like a lot more dirt than just under the house, but he wasn't sure. Dad thought he had an overactive imagination. One day, Billy saw William looking out the window using binoculars after Bill had moved in. It was then, he realized that William looked like he could have been Bill's son.
Did he just discover a juicy family secret?
"Dad, did you notice how much William next door and Bill down the street look alike?" Billy asked innocently enough while his father was reading the newspaper. His dad lowered his paper and stared at Billy a moment, then shook his head and went back to reading.
"You've seen them, right? Both of them. Did it not strike you as odd?" Billy kept at it.
"Look, I'm reading the paper, but I will leave you with this small tidbit of information, " his father said putting his paper down and leaning forward for emphasis, " Why the sudden interest in your similarly named neighbors?"
Billy looked at his father and tried to read where he was going with this. Was he joking, was he serious? No way to be sure as they kept eye contact for an uncomfortable time. "Um, no real reason. Just trying to make conversation, Dad" and he high tailed it out of the living room.
Billy went next door and knocked rang the bell. After a few minutes, the door opened to William standing in front of him. "What do you want, younger me?"
Billy was only slightly surprised, "How do I exist here, There, and down in the park across from school?"
William grabbed Billy by the shirt and pulled him inside, "Look kid, it's not good to be seen talking to yourself, *they* might find out." Looking left and right outside his door, he closed it. He walked over to his mantel, and pulled off a family portrait. It was Him but a couple of years younger and Billy saw the immediate resemblance. "Yeah, weird, right?"
"Totally..." Billy replied.
"What do you mean by down at the park?"William asked.
"There's a homeless guy who watches the school. He's waved at me once or twice, but he's always watching. Wait, Wait a minute!" Billy sat down on the couch. "Do you remember THIS day from my perspective?
"I don't remember ANYTHING before we moved here. Well, not really. I have vague memories of the things in the pictures, but that's it." William said while sitting in the recliner across from Billy. "Hey, what about that guy up the street? He might know something. We should go see."
"Wait, what do we tell him? 'Hey, do you remember when you were US?' I am sure that will go over very well." Billy was a little sarcastic
"I didn't realize I was like me so early..." William rolled his eyes and walked to the door. "Well, come on, we need to find out." Much to their surprise when they opened it, their neighbor was standing in front of them.
"Hello boys. Think we qualify for a group rate?" with that, he pushed his way into the house and pointed to the couch. "Sit, let me tell you a little story about time travel..." there was another knock on the door. Bill walked over, "Right on time, weird." He opened the door to reveal the 'homeless' man who hung out in front of Billy's school in the park. He was wearing a suit under the dirty poncho he was normally seen in public wearing. The suit had an odd sheen to it. He ducked into the room and Bill shut the door.
"Hello me." he said to the younger man, then turned to the boys, "Hello me, too. We don't have long before it resets, but you need to understand that this..."
Billy was a normal kid. Well as normal as probably anyone can be nowadays. He was a 5th grader in the neighborhood elementary school. Because his town was so laid back, his parents thought nothing of letting him walk to and from school. One day, Billy started to notice strange things were happening around him...
|
Little Jimmy fumbled for the house key he'd stuck in his underpants. He gripped it and shoved it into the keyhole, twisting it, and running into the house, leaving the key outside. He sprinted through the hallway, tripping on the loose carpet, and tumbling into the living room.
"Father, father," little Jimmy panted, "I'm scared out of my mind."
"What?" His father, Roy, sat up, squaring his shoulders and focusing on Jimmy.
The clouds covered the sun, diming the strong sunlight that pierced the windows. It made it easier to see the news on the tv. On the tv, a stern looking man sat there reciting a sten sounding message as stern images flashed. The man's speech was interrupted by the ruckus from the kitchen. His mother was cooking, a most horryfying event.
"I'm gonna be homeless!" Jimmy pleaded, banging his fist into the floor.
"What?" Roy thought he missheard.
"I'm gonna be homeless!" Jimmy said as snot and tears ran down his face.
Roy's face relaxed. *Children being children.* He even cracked a small smile.
"Don't laugh this isn't funny."
"Why do you think you'll become homeless?"
"Well... I saw this homeless man eat chocolate, and I like chocolate."
Roy facepalmed.
| 2021-06-29T13:19:38 | 2021-06-29T11:18:33 | 50 | 23 |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win
|
I knocked at the office door of the incumbent mayor, back after a week of reelection campaign rallies. It was after hours, and the floor was empty except for him. The secretary downstairs let me in when I told her that I was a private detective, with information that I could only discuss with the mayor. It wasn't a lie.
"You do know that its after hours, right?" He said as I opened the door to let myself in.
I shut the door behind myself and walked over to the desk. I adjusted my tie and stuck my hand out to shake his. "Yes, but I have some things we need to discuss."
"You must be the detective Marina said was coming up. Would you care for a drink?" He stuck his hand out to shake mine and reached underneath his desk for a bottle of whiskey. He poured two glasses and moved one to my side of his desk.
I grabbed the two glasses by the inside of the glass and switched them around. I pulled up a chair and sat down at his desk. It was covered with paperwork, strewn like confetti across his workspace. I sat my drink down on one of the few spaces that didn't have paper on it, and looked back up at the mayor.
"I believe Marina said that you had something you wanted to discuss? You caught me at a good time" He was a good politician, and put on a mask of optimistic sincerity that would fool almost anyone. But when you've played as many games as I have, you learn to tell a bluff from the truth.
"I don't come here to give information, I came here to get it. I know that you work for the Gasciliano family. I'm just here to figure out how far the connection goes, and what all you've done for them." I said as I watched him take a sip of his drink. His fake smile fell, and an emotionless coldness took its place. This was the real man, the one that didn't hide behind the guise of electability all day. He didn't say anything, so I continued.
"But I'll make it harder for myself, let's make this a game. You like Poker, right?" I pulled out a pack of cards from the pocket of my trenchcoat, opened them, and began shuffling, "For every hand I win, you'll answer one of my questions."
I knew gambling was the mayor's weakness. The public rumor was that he spent 30% of his tax-payer salary at casinos, but the truth was closer to 45%. It was also unofficial payments to the mob, whose ownership of said casinos wasn't a secret.
"For every hand you win, I'll let you fire a revolver loaded Russian Roulette style at me. You get to kill the one man who knows your secret." I said, without a change of expression. I was being serious, but I knew that I couldn't lose. I pulled the .357 Magnum out of my holster and loaded one round into the chamber before spinning it and setting it on his desk. "Think I'm bluffing?"
I handed the deck to him, and he cut the deck before handing it back to me so I could deal the cards. I tossed out five cards to both of us, before placing the deck of cards onto the desk, right next to the gun. I looked at my hand, a pair of 7s, a jack, a queen, and a 2. "I'll take 3," I said, discarding everything but my sevens. It paid off, getting me a pair of 3s and a king in return.
"Gimme two," The Mayor said, tossing two of his cards in the discard pile. I tossed him two more, and he set his cards down on the table.
"I fold."
I sat my cards down on the table, showing him my two pairs. "According to your financial records, at least 40% of donations to your campaign come from Capital International, an investment company known to be a front for the mafia. Were you aware of this when you went to go meet the CEO just this week?"
"Yes, I was. In politics, you learn that there are some things that don't need to share, that won't hurt people if they don't find out." He looked me in the eyes as he said this, unafraid. He was telling the truth.
I handed the deck back to him to cut, and dealt the cards out once more. This time I wasn't so lucky. I got a couple low cards, none of them matching and off all four suites. I might lose this one, but it would't matter. I got rid of four of my cards, holding onto my highest, a jack. This time, luck wasn't so much on my side. I got a pair of threes, a 6 and an 8. It wasn't good, but it was what I had. He discarded two of his cards, and slightly smiled as he added his two new cards to his hand.
"I'll stay."
"Call," we both layed our hands on the table. He had three 7s. Without a word, he picked up the gun from the middle of the desk and pointed it at me, squeezing the trigger.
*click*
The hammer shut without the gun firing. He sat the gun back down on the table. He gathered the cards off the table and began shuffling silently. He dealt the cards, and I responded without looking up from my hand. I was bluffing, this hand was just as bad as the last one.
"You frequent the casino's around here right? Maybe you've heard the whispers about me. The stories about the man who got kicked out of the casinos after never losing a game, I think they called me The King of Games? It's true, all of it." He raised an eyebrow, almost amused. But I knew I had the seed of doubt planted, I was an urban legend in the casinos, a hero to those who went there to make it big and a villain to those who ran them to make a profit.
He looked at his hand and discarded three cards before grabbing new ones. To most people, he would have had the perfect poker face. But I saw his brow furl, and his lips curl slightly, and knew to strike then.
I tossed a random card into the discard pile. "I only need one this time." He tossed me a card, I picked it up, and glanced at it before putting it back into my pile. "I'll stay."
He looked at his cards for a couple of seconds, before placing them face down on the table.
"A couple of weeks ago, the head campaign manager of your mayoral opponent went missing. Just the day before, you spent over $5000 dollars at Sal's Pizzaria, another known mafia front. I suspect you hired a hitman, afraid that your opponent was 6 points above you in the local polls. Did you?" I took a sip from my drink. I wasn't scared of him, and I had to let him know.
"Yeah, I did. This position is valuable to me, I couldn't risk losing it to some hippy-dippy peace-loving freak." I grabbed the cards off the table and began shuffling them again.
"Why tell me all this? I know it's the truth, but why not just lie? It's in your blood, as a gangster, and as a politician."
He pulled his chair forward, and set his elbows on his desk, looking me in the eyes.
"I'm telling the truth because I'm the only one with anything to win. You could do this forever, asking any questions you like, but it will never change the fact that the public will never believe some crackpot detective over the mayor. At some point, you will lose, and this gun will fire."
I dealt out the cards, knowing that this would probably be the last hand.
"You're probably right," I said, "but I just have to know the truth, even if I do lose in the process."
I looked at my hand, a full house of queens over 7s. I could probably end this game right here, but I needed to know one more thing.
"I'll stay"
"I'll stay as well," the mayor said, without hesitation. He wasn't bluffing. Whatever he had, he thought it was strong enough to play without thinking about it.
We both laid our cards down. He had a royal flush. I leaned back into my chair, looking at my watch, before looking up at the mayor.
He picked up the gun, and aimed it at me. "For The King of Games, it sure seems like you're on a losing streak."
"I would appear that way, wouldn't it?"
|
In the past, Harry was said to be an amazing player - and he considered to be one as well - for winning and not looping so much. Those guess work games? Neat, went decent by the third loop. The ones where you needed to play cricket as a batsman? Get the timings correct and see if James was going for a leg spin or off spin.
It was all well and good, unless it was the game of never ending life or death, where he already died and is just pulling through with 615 loops as of now, the exact same ending, and is close to another--not sure where he is going wrong.
"I didn't save my buddy, in turn I just die sooner."
"I didn't help her against her demons, she just died and he kills me."
"I interfered with the fight, but I get blind and got killed by that smaller monster with a stick."
"I try not to get scared of the demon I partially helped in being created, but the Angel kills me in a few."
"I tried to let myself grabbed by the hands in hopes of leaving somehow, turns out they were just...hallucinations..."
"I tried to fight James, but he guilt trips me out of it all the time and..."
He trailed off from there, speaking his thoughts out loud. There was so much more--hell, he'd be happy if he just died and got out of here, but no. He didn't.
He's even permanently - probably - became immortal - looking like the perfect male Angel he worked for.
With a heavy sigh and being on the verge of crying after so long, he kind of gave up. He was near James, it was the same room, and he'll be there. Up and running.
For another loop.
But he remembered the one thing he did not do - that could probably end up either killing him again, which is unlikely - or setting all the souls in here free of memories and a body.
Free of being tied to this wretched place, and finally ascending - but to a very real Hell, or a very real Heaven. Where they are no longer a puppet of a madman, but judged by their own actions.
Or maybe they'd be special cases and have another chances of living? And being free, while at it?
It'd be lovely to see the sunlight and feel it's heat, more than just staring at it out of a window.
It'd be lovely to reunite with wife, if she even is around, and have his friends and him being the friends they really were. Before being the people they were.
Before being the victims - ranging from greed to simply being acknowledged.
"This was once a place where happiness was around..now this is a place for the insecure to thrive on."
With a pause and laying down the floor to probably sleep forever at this point, or at least rest, he sighed and looked up at the ceiling with an axe on his hand and marking the 616th loop on the wall near him.
That was also when he realised it was the the number 616, and it's relevance.
"Ah, the 616th loop. Let's get the demons, the lost souls and angels outta here...forever."
| 2022-03-26T16:25:10 | 2022-03-26T15:23:41 | 47 | 11 |
[WP] You end up in the Concentration Camp for the Incurably Single. Tell me how your day goes.
Basically, you end up in this camp if you don't have a SO for 2 years or so. You can define who can be a SO in your own story. The story comes from a Korean webcomic series, "Eternal-Solo Concentration Camp"
*SO means significant other*
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Sarah rolled over onto her back, the hardened cot pressing a foreign feeling into her spine. She’d been awake all night, eyes locked blankly on the darkened ceiling overhead, staring and waiting for the light of the sun to restore some sort of familiarity back to her senses. Yet as it rose, it brought with it no comfort, only walls she didn't recognize and a view that wasn't her own. She sighed heavily.
It’d been no more than 15 hours since they’d taken her, forced her into the van and driven her to the work camp. She protested, cried out and begged her mother to do something—to do anything—but she didn’t. She couldn’t. It wasn’t her choice. Sarah knew that. If anyone was to blame, it was her own damn fault. She’d been single for two years now, willingly declined any sort of romantic advances to instead focus on her knitting and cat collecting. She knew that was illegal, knew the consequences, knew that those over 16-years-old not in a relationship after 730 days were deemed wasted flesh and confined to a work camp. But she felt invincible, she felt above the law. She knew she was beautiful, that she could get anyone she chose – why would they lock her away for opting to make the boys wait? They needed more women, especially pretty ones. They only ever locked up the single boys; they would never take her, even if she stayed alone for five years.
“M’lady,” said a voice from outside the cabin window, the abruptness of it causing her to jump. “M’lady, please open the door.”
They had been standing outside her cabin all night, moaning and wheezing amongst themselves like a pack of asthmatic zombies. The van driver told her to that word of her arrival had spread throughout the camp like free pot at a Phish concert—that fedoras and tuxedos were ordered in bulk from all of the finest department stores nearby; the commissary had completely sold out of heart-shaped chocolate boxes. When the other prisoners learned that a female would be locked up, all sense of order dissipated, and the forced work stopped entirely.
“I bought you some chocolates,” said a voice from the window slightly above Sarah’s head. She exhaled heavily and rolled over onto her side.
The van driver mournfully explained that this particular camp hadn’t seen a female prisoner in decades—it usually only accepted the worst of the worst, never anyone quite like Sarah. "Neckbeards," he called them. The last woman to arrive was significantly overweight and suffered from a terrible skin condition in which her face looked exactly like a shaved Chihuahua’s. Regardless, not a single Yu-Gi-Oh card, nor Nintendo DS, nor World of Warcraft account was touched the morning of her arrival. By the end of the day, she was engaged to be wed and immediately released from the program, having entered into a relationship. Sarah wanted none of that; none of the romance, none of the pageantry, none of the intimacy. She just wanted to continue her knitting, to continue raising as many cats as possible, to be allowed to live her life by her own choosing.
“M’lady,” interrupted a voice again, this time squeaking in from the far end of the cabin, “I found the key to the door. I am going to come in and save you.”
Sarah quickly pushed herself up off the bed and onto her feet. “I don’t need saving, thank you,” she stammered.
“M’lady, please. I can be the hero you need,” said the voice. The doorknob jiggled slightly as the single stream of light pouring through keyhole vanished.
“Please leave me alone,” Sarah said, taking a step toward the wall furthest from the door.
“Are you in trouble?” said a voice behind her. She turned and glanced up at its source. The pale, overweight face of a man stared back at her through the window, his pumpkin-colored hair pulled tight in a ponytail, thick framed glasses resting just above his nose. He brought his hand to his mouth and pushed down on an inhaler, then wheezed loudly.
“No, I'm fine. I just want to be left alone,” Sarah said. She glanced above the window in search of blinds, yet a thin line of dust seemed to signal that they had recently been removed. The doorknob behind her resumed jingling.
Sarah turned back around and stared at the door, watching as the golden knob slowly turned left. The stream of light pierced back through the keyhole, then silently crawled across the wood floor like a searchlight as the door slowly opened. She took another step back, so that she was flush against the far wall of the cabin. She just wanted to be home, to be locked in her room with just her desk lamp on, staring down at her lap while working on her knitting.
“M’lady, I want to introduce myself to you,” said a man’s voice from behind the door, his hand now creeping into the room. It was a plump hand, the fingers like little sausages attached to a balloon with a self-diagnosed thyroid condition that somewhat resembled a palm.
“Please, just leave me alone. Please, please,” Sarah pleaded. Just a few hours ago, less than even a day, she had been relaxing comfortably in her room, petting one of her fourteen cats and perfecting the stitching on her latest sweater.
“Do not be afraid of me,” said the man, “I am going to show you some nice internet memes. Do you like doge? I also brought some of my favorite manga.” The hand gave birth to the rest of an arm, followed by a shoulder, torso, neck, and legs. He was round, like a beach ball that got fed up with not having arms and legs, yet seemed to have no grasp on human proportions. His legs were short and stumpy, folds of fat cascading past his knees. His arms pointed outwards like car doors that were rusted open, his hands poking out from the sleeves of his black trench coat. Sarah was sure that if he fell over on a hill, he’d simply cartwheel uncontrollably toward the bottom. A black, pinstriped fedora sat upon his head, clearly too small for his disturbingly overweight frame. A thick, unkempt beard began at his chin and extended down over his neck. Sarah placed her palms against the wood of the wall, as if trying to phase through it to escape.
“Stop, please go away. Please,” she said. Another hand slowly slid into view from behind the door, this one boney and malnourished. A stick-like body followed, a similarly disproportionate fedora placed haphazardly upon his head. If it weren’t for the fact that they were already in a work camp, Sarah would’ve immediately figured this boy to be a holocaust survivor. A large symbol Sarah recognized as something from Star Wars—or perhaps Star Trek—was printed on the front of his shirt.
“Hello, m’lady,” said the skeleton figure. “I wanted to personally welcome you to our free-thought zone. Your graceful beauty is most welcome amongst us sirs. I see you have a cross on your necklace, I just wanted to let you know that I’d be happy to explain science to you. Then we can get rid of that silly thing.”
“Please,” Sarah muttered.
Another hand appeared behind the door, followed by several more. Men of two sizes—either impossibly emaciated or disturbingly obese—slowly slid into the room, waddling toward her like a horde of freshly reanimated corpses. They wheezed in anticipation, their hands outstretched with gifts of roses, chocolates, pictures of Neil DeGrasse Tyson, and Magic the Gathering booster packs.
Sarah fell to the floor, her hands wrapped her arms around her knees, as stared up as their shadows slowly blocked out the sun from behind the door. She closed her eyes and screamed, just as the perfectly round man knelt down in front of her and began reading aloud from Richard Dawkin's *The God Delusion.*
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"What?"
"Yeeees, this is all quite correct. Says right here you haven't kissed, had intercourse with, hugged, or even touched a member of your preferred gender for just about two years. Welcome to the Camp! Please enjoy your time here."
"That can't be correct. I remember paying a young Asian girl by the name of Sparkle a year ago, just so this type of thing wouldn't happen."
"Oh yes, that. Hmmm. Looks like your dear friend Sparkle was actually a male by birth, so "she" was not a member of your preferred gender. Now, shut up and enter the gates."
My heart sunk into my stomach as I stepped through the iron-clad gates, holding only a gray dufflebag. Multiple posters were strung up on the building around me, all cheerfully exclaiming "Single people are better people!". The Camp was created in order to separate those whom are IC, incurably Single, from the rest of society. Every two years, a mandatory investigation was prompted into ones life, to inquire whether or not they were in some sort of relationship during the last two years. If the investigation turned up nothing, they were sent here, no questions asked.
I noticed that all of the buildings were covered with interesting sort of stains as I walked to my dorms. Little markings of all sorts of colors were everywhere, it was almost like a painter had went on a bad LSD trip and fancied this entire camp one big and stupid painting.
I found my dorm and stared up at it. It was a small wooden cabin that was painted a striking shade of color which I can only describe as "Vivid Bile". In any case, I stepped into the cabin and looked inside. The cabin apparently came with a roommate, since I found a heavy obese Filipino man masturbating almost violently when I went inside the bedrooms.
I dropped my bag and screamed, "*Jesus*, man!"
He responded with a gruff, "Yeah bro" while pointing at the cross around his neck.
It was like watching a large blob of non-newtonian liquids tremble. He almost looked like an especially controversial and forward piece of modern art. I had enough of watching the whole debacle after a few seconds, so I walked away and stepped back outside and stared up at the reddish sky while I contemplated my life up until this point.
And then I went into the mess hall.
| 2014-07-18T10:49:38 | 2014-07-18T10:23:39 | 56 | 12 |
[WP] You discover that you've been wearing a mask of your face. You can't tell what you look like without it: mirrors blacken and shatter, cameras glitch. Everything is normal when you put it back on.
|
A peculiar thing, a peculiar thing indeed. I'm quite afraid that I've lost the plot of this novel if I dare say so. I'm not one to believe in vampires and fairies, so this places me in a queer predicament.
For the life of me, I can't see the reflection of my face in the mirror. You might just presume that I'm having a particularly bad case of Mondays, but this is the first time my face has actually disappeared.
^^It̶ ^^isn͞'́t
I mean, seriously, folks, it wasn't the most handsome face in the neighborhood, I'll be the first to admit that. But I did n̶͡͏̵̛o̸͡͝ţ́́͠͠ kind of like it? Or, lets just say that I had gotten used to it. But here I am now and truth be told, I'm a͠͏f͘͟r̢a̷íd̛ that I don't really know how to gracefully settle the situation.
For you see, when I look in the mirror, I don't see me. There is nothing. But there can't be nothing, so... So there is something, but my brain is ignoring it. Because I've read about this. You see, but your brain doesn't recognize it, so it ignores. That's it. I͝t's̢ ̴n͜o҉t.̵ That's the only explanation there could be. It is͝n̡'̷t.̨ Only why is it happening?
Lo̕ok at̸ yo͞urself y͏ǫu sh̴i̛t̛!̧
Or...
W͘a̕kè up͢, c̵r͞et͝i̸n͡!̨
Or it does recognize it... But it doesn't want to. Damn. Have you ever felt some sort of a nostalgy for a place you have never been to? Like suddenly you'd want to r͟et̨u̢r͏n ͡to some sort of a rural countryside house to your granny that has never existed? Just the smell of fresh hay or a͏̡͠n͜í̀m̵͜ąls̷͢ made you "remember" a non-existent memory? Because I'm feeling it right now. Except instead of a country house, it's nothing.
I͜'m ̶not̡͠ ̨ǹ͜o̴̷t̕͢h͏̀į͜n͞g͝!̡͟
The more I look in the damn mirror, the more I feel it. I'm being pulled away and towards at the same time. Away from me yet towards m̶͡é̢̀. A different m̶͡é̢̀. A primal me. A m̶͡é̢̀ that has been before me. A proto-m̶͡é̢̀.
I'm ͏s҉t͢àŕving҉.́
Man I'm fucked. What is this? Am I regressing? Returning? Seeing? I am hearing s̕om̸eo̡n͘e else in my head. Is he who I can't see in the mirror? The v̀ǫic̢e̵ is familiar! Fuck me I know that voice... All the anger, the impotent rage, the despicable sniveling... I know it so fucking well. And I feel it will speak and I'll look in the mirror and see my lips moving when it'll say...
St̨op ͜cr͡y̡i͡ng̶, b́i҉tc̕h҉!̷
Fuck, fuck, fuck, I've done it now... And I thought I was doing so well. God, if you H͞A҉!̷... Don't let h̶i͟m... Someone, please... Anyone...Mom, please...
An͏d̵̷̀ ̴̷ỳ̢̛ó̵u ̷̕a͡r̀͞e̶͟ a ҉҉͟m͝a̴͠n à̧g̸a̛͟͞í͏ņ̀.҉̵
A peculiar fucking thing my friends and dearest. How many of us f̵ưc͘k͏s̶̶̡ think that we've been through some heavy battles in life? Went through more troubles than others? That we've fought with demons and fu̴̸c͞k҉̸i҉̷̛n͟͜g̡̛̛ won, because we still here. How many of us carry our scars like badges of honor? Being fucked in the head and proud of it? And when someone asks we say "Oh, I've danced with the Devil in the darkest of nights." M̴i̢s̕͘͠ę̀͞ŕa̶b҉͢ĺ̛͡e̡͘. Portraying ourselves as warriors just because we did not off ourselves when...
You know what, sugarplum? We did not dance with no fucking Devil. He wouldn't piss on us. Oh no. We got struck down by the lowest of the low. By scum. By degenerates. And we fucking lost and wept. And we wept and begged. But then we created this magnificent story in our heads in which we were equal opponents. We created a story in which we gave ourselves back some control.
So we've added fables to our scars and horns to our enemies. But when you'll crack and look in the mirror and see a suffocated loser, will you recognize yourself? Or will you tell yourself that that ain't you?
W̧͘͝a̴͠k̶e̢ ̡̡u̶p̸̷,̴̵͜ ̀çun̶t̷!
|
Every time I take off my mask cameras glitch, mirrors break, people who see me die. So I have learned to always wear my smile as a mask. I have learned to pretend that this is my face. I learned so well that over the years, over the centuries, I have convinced myself that this really is who I am.
In medieval Slavic countries they called me a Basilisk, and thought I was a serpent that could kill with a glance - well, it did start with a serpent in a way. The ancient Greeks called me Medusa, and had a myth about me, claiming anyone who saw me turned to stone, claiming Perseus killed me, conveniently omitting the resurrection from that myth. Moses believed me that if he saw my face, he would die, so he lived. I am.
That’s all I know. I think, therefore “I am.” I do not even know what I look like, but I can do anything, as long as I believe in myself. Do I believe in myself now? Do you believe in me? Who am I? Why have I not been around for centuries? Or have I?
| 2018-08-03T17:02:05 | 2018-08-03T15:56:03 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.
|
There he was. He wasn't big or muscular. He didn't even give off an otherworldly feeling of terror like Jones always suspected he would. Instead, he gave Jones the impression of someone terribly lonely. Without Jones realizing, the Devil had stopped quietly playing his harmonica and had been staring as openly as Jones had been. "Hello," said the devil to Jones, "did you like my music?" Whatever Jones had been expecting, it was not that, but years of etiquette lessons had make Jones speak, "Yes, the melody is rather fitting" before he was even fully aware of doing so. The devil smirked, stood, and gave a mock bow- in that motion Jones noticed a slender chain encircling the Devil's cloven foot. The Devil's eyes followed Jones' downwards and the smirk fell from his face. With a small sigh the devil sat once more and regarded Jones. "If you want to leave, you just have to cross the river."
"That's it?" Jones questioned, "I had always thought that it would be more difficult."
The devil fingered his harmonica, "Yes, many do. But, all the same, that's how you leave."
The information was startling enough that Jones sat opposite of the Devil, who was still fiddling with his instrument. After a moment of thinking, Jones settled for, "Why?".
The devil glanced up, "Because this place was originally just meant to punish me." He continued in a smaller voice, "for what I tried to do."
|
I expected to go to hell, I expected the lava, the spiky grass, hell I even expected the solidarity. I had used it myself on many people, its delightful to watch.
I did not expect music.
Someone was playing the harmonica, and awfully at that. The notes were completely off, the person, if it was a person, repeated the same section of the song but clearly faltered dozens of times.
What the hell. What else am I going to do? I followed the noise through the twisting hallways, open fields, and lava rivers. The place was not much for geography, or well, physics, really. At one point I went up an elevator and ended up in a castle *on* lava. Yeah.
And so it went, the music going tantalizingly louder, slowly but surely. I have no idea how long I spent chasing the sound constantly. Just when dark thoughts came over me, just when I thought I would never get to the source the music grew a bit louder, and my hope rekindled.
As it was, I was running through a forest full of bees when a thought occured to me.
What if this *was* hell?
What if this was the torture? Forever following the music, feeling it getting closer, but never actually getting to it. Suddenly my knees felt weak, and I fell to the ground. I closed my eyes, holding back tears. I wouldn't break this easily dammit. I broke other people, no one broke me.
No one.
I opened my eyes, determined to keep on the quest, whether it leads anywhere or not. But when I opened my eyes I did not find myself in that deadly forest, but in an office.
And the musician was sitting next to me.
He looked, well, defeated. His shirt was all rumpled, only half tucked in. His hair was ruffled, and his eyes had dark circles under them. His dark beard was unkempt, and his nails were half an inch long. But the man wasn't broken. I've seen broken people and there is something about them, slumped shoulders, sunken face. *Something.* But this man wasn't that. He was close, but not beaten.
I would know.
I stood there awkwardly, then decided to go for it, "What's up?"
That's a normal thing to say right? I'm not very good at the talking thing.
The man stopped playing his harmonica and looked up, as if noticing me for the first time. "huh," he grunted, "it's the serial killer. Welcome to hell." He actually produced confetti from his shirt pocket and threw it up in the air.
I frowned. "You know who I am?"
The man actually laughed. "Of course I do, *human,* I know all the sinners." He shrugged nonchalantly, "how do you think I designed your torture? It was great wasn't it, I didn't even have to do anything, just play the harmonica." He looked up to the ceiling as if remembering something, and said, so softly that I wasn't even sure it was intended for me, "Hope...it's a beautiful thing"
Suddenly it all clicked. "You're Him, err, Lucifer!" I said, triumphantly. I was glad I'd remembered the name.
Lucifer looked at me with a dead pan expression and clapped, "You're a bloody genius, you know that?"
I felt my cheeks heat up. "Not much of religious person, alright?"
Lucifer just chuckled, and resumed playing the harmonica.
I stood there in awkward silence, listening to that awful music for a minute before I snapped. "Stop!" I almost screamed.
Lucifer stopped playing the harmonica and raised an eyebrow at me.
"Err," I raced to think of some point of conversation, "what torture techniques do you use in hell?"
He actually smiled a little. "Oh you would be interested wouldn't you! Let me give you a tou-" Then he stopped, frowned, and continued playing.
"Wait, what," I asked, confused, "you were just going to give ma tour, what the hell?"
Lucifer sighed. "Alright, that's enough of this. Why are you here?"
I frowned. "What?"
Suddenly he was holding me up. I didn't even realize what had happened, but one one second I was standing on the ground frowning, the next I was hefted off my feet. "You've come to mock me right? He snarled, "Ooooh Lucifer lost everyone in hell, let's rub it the fuck in." He made a disgusted noise then threw me across the room.
I was stunned for a moment, but not hurt. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I said flatly.
His eyes suddenly blazed red, and he took a menacing step towards me, then stopped. "You're telling the truth aren't you?"
I nodded.
"They didn't meet you when you came in? Didn't show you the exit?"
"There's an exit?"
Lucifer scowled. "Yeah. There is," he said, anger brimming beneath his voice, "Everyone escaped through it when it was revealed after we were drilling to make a new volcano. Overpopulation, you know," he explained with a casual gesture.
"So, everyone just leaves hell?" I asked.
Lucifer shrugged, "yeah, nothing I can do about it. Found out too late. And now they stand at the entrance of hell, and direct everyone to heaven. Atheists, agnostics, robbers, billionaires, all of them." He looked up. "You must've been a really shitty person."
I grinned at that.
"Anyways," Lucifer sighed, "Now you know. Scamper along to heaven, leave me be."
"Why would I do that?"
Lucifer looked up at me again, confused.
"I was always different, I want to be different. If everyone's at heaven, probably having fun. Talking. Laughing," I spit out the words, "I won't fit in. I wouldn't want to."
We lapsed in silence when something occurred to me. Something so ridiculously obvious that it baffled me why Lucifer hadn't seen it. "Why don't you take the exit?" I asked Lucifer.
Lucifer stared at me then chuckled mirthlessly. "Join them?" He whispered, "after separating millennia ago, I would admit defeat, begged to be let back into their ranks. Me. Beg." He enunciated the last words very distinctly.
I shook my head. "Of course, not. Not give up, not really."
"Then why?"
"To reclaim what's yours."
***
(minor edits)
If you liked this check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2017-02-01T09:45:08 | 2017-02-01T09:19:12 | 34 | 22 |
[WP] You awake to find yourself in a room with a multitude of people. After some confusion a voice speaks over the PA system. You've somehow been placed in a death game for the entertainment of the rich. You begin to laugh hysterically, as this is SOOO not going to go the way they want it to.
|
It took awhile to figure it out. Once I did, a lot of half memories and seemingly “tall tales” told by adults for laughs at holiday parties that were nothing more than an excuse for self proclaimed responsible parents to let loose started to make sense.
I can’t die.
Not in the “immortal will survive any blow” kind of way. Just. Death doesn’t have an opportunity to happen.
Drunk driver about to T-bone a single mother and child? They happen to hit an oil slick on that old backroad and narrowly miss the sedan with the sun faded baby-on-board sticker.
Bar fight turned bad? That crazy bitch landed a hit on me but the stab wound missed all the vital organs. It also drew attention to a septic gallbladder. Would’ve died if the damn thing had been left alone another day.
So, when I woke up with a pounding headache and a mouth that felt like I had gargled kitty litter (in texture AND taste) I knew there had to be a reason for it.
At this point not much phases me so the whole “fight to the death for entertainment and fabulous prizes” thing was, well, pretty damn funny if I’m being honest. Ok, ok, I had a good chuckle. Freaked a few people out.
Long, convoluted story short, the other contestants kept accidentally saving my life while really sucking at killing me or saving themselves. Although I think it had more to do with the busted gas line at my apartment and subsequent explosion than anything.
|
Continuing to laugh hysterically as the first game was announced, Sam fell off his bed while everyone either listened intently to the announcer or stared at the crazy man. “The first game you will be playing, is baseball!” The announcer said, as Sam began to snort loudly while laughing. “You each have a number on your jacket, odd numbers to the left and even numbers to the right”, the announcer continued, with Sam piping up,” oooh their really changing it up from Squid Game, aren’t they?” while now slamming his hand against the floor.
The other players ignored Sam as they siphoned off to separate doors. Sam managed to calm himself and looked at his shirt,” 69? Really? Man I hope Gold Tiger king is watching, that cop better not have bit his dick off yet!” Sam ran off to the left, the last in his line. Inside locker room set up for the players, everyone found blue uniforms with white pin stripes. At the center of the uniform shirts was the team name, the BC Angels, and what appeared to be an Angel in a wife beater shirt, drinking a .40 ounce and holding up a middle finger. Sam got the joke.
After getting dressed the players head out to the field and are greeted by the other team. They wore red uniforms with white pin stripes and collars. The team name on the chest was the HG Devils, with a Devil mascot smoking a cigar, wearing a suit, and sitting behind a desk. Sam fell over laughing again, he really couldn’t help it!
The Announcer spoke up,” we hope the uniforms fit right, players will be called by their numbers to fill positions. Not everyone will get to play, however if a player loses their life a replacement will be called forward. Numbers will be announced now!” Numbers for both teams were called up, Sam being among the starting line up. Next the announcer called out that the Angels would be up to bat first while Red would take the field.
The Announcer spoke up again,” for today’s game we have special rules. First if you are struck out you will face instant death. Next,” All of the lights in the field were then shut off, with only a few shining in specific spots on the field,” when a baseman or catcher catches a ball they are to place it in the chutes next to the bases.” Each of the players looked at the illuminated spots and noticed the chutes.” The first baseman will receive the ball from a similar chute in return. Next if a fly ball is caught, all runners on base will receive instant death. Similarly if a runner makes it to home plate an outfielder will receive instant Death in their place. If a home run is hit the game will immediately be over, with the losing team facing instant death.” Sam, having calmed down a bit, said to his team,” well at least they changed it up a bit!”
The teams each made their way to their dug outs while the excess players went to the stands. The first player called up to bat was an older man who seemed nervous. As he walked up to the plate the Devil’s players on the infield received ankle braces to lock them in place. The outfield was left free though. The Batter took a few minutes to warm up before taking his spot. The batter looked just as nervous as the pitcher as he looked forward, sweat visibly dripping down his face. The Announcer then spoke up,” Play Ball!”
The pitcher reeled back and delivered an absolutely pitiful first pitch that the batter was easily able to hit. The batter, horribly slow, trotted to the first base but the ball had been caught after one bounce by the second baseman, who then threw it to the first baseman. The first baseman caught the ball and placed it in the chute, which activated the trap. The line between home plate and first base opened up and revealed a pit that the batter fell into. Screams of pain emanated from the pit as a loud splash occurred at the bottom with some of the liquid landing on the first baseman’s face. The first baseman screamed in agony, clutching face before falling forward into the pit and dangling by his ankle chain. The pit closed and severed the first baseman’s ankle. The Announcer then called in two more players, an Angel and a Devil, to take their place. Sam was then called up to bat.
Sam walked forward, bat in hand, and took his place on base. The pitcher, still sweating profusely, gave another weak pitch that Sam easily smash into the outfield. Sam ran towards his base, still carrying the bat, and ran for his life towards the base. The outfield, who were surprisingly on point, managed to throw the ball to the first baseman who had a suspiciously smug look on his face. Sam managed to wipe the look off the unaware baseman’s face by throwing the bat into the back of his head, nailing him hard enough to knock him out and miss the ball completely. Sam slowed to a trot as he took the base, all to the ire of the Devils.
Several of the Devils yelled In protest, saying Sam cheated but the Announcer spoke up,” Player 69 did not break any of the stated rules”. The first baseman was then awoken by a shock from his ankle, forcing him to jump up. The first baseman attempted to square up with Sam, who then held up his retrieved baseball bat and held it up with a smile on his face. The baseman then turned his back to Sam. The next batter then came up, a lady who could pass for an Instagram model, and lazily held the bat. She proceeded to blow a kiss to the pitcher who began to blush. The pitcher surprisingly managed to strike the Instagram model and made a show of flexing. The home plate area then opened up and revealed a giant blender that chopped up the fallen model. Sam began to laugh at this, complimenting the creativity. The first baseman proceeded to backhand him, knocking a little sense into him.
Sam managed to make it to home plate and watched as one of the outfielders was dragged off the field by his ankle into a pit full of drill shaped spikes. After a while there were very few players left on either team, with Sam eventually growing bored with the deaths. Sam then decided to end the game, he’d had his fun. Another player was called up to bat but Sam pushed them out of the way, this was his shot now. Sam took a much more serious stance now, the pitcher being slightly intimidated by Sam’s seriousness. The pitcher then delivered his most pathetic pitch yet, which Sam easily hit out of the park. The Pitcher, shocked look on his face, fell into the blender as the pitcher’s mound opened. The same happened with all of the basemen and the outfielders were pulled into drill spike pits.
The remaining angels looked at Sam, shocked, and asked,” you could’ve done that the whole time, couldn’t you?” Sam, shit eating grin on his face, replied,” yup!” Angered, one of the Angels asked,” WHY DIDNT YOU DO THAT BEFORE?” Sam, grin turning into a smirk,” ever seen Squid Game? I wanted to see all of the death traps they had!”
| 2021-10-30T21:14:40 | 2021-10-30T18:45:41 | 375 | 26 |
[WP] You are a relationship advice columnist gone rogue. Every week, you are determined to give the worst possible advice but still disguise it so it looks totally legitimate. Write this week's column.
|
*Dear Diana, I think my boyfriend is cheating. What should I do?*
*-Broken Heart*
There's a few things you can do. First, since he broke your heart, break something of his, like his kneecaps or knuckles. How do you do this? Well, I always recommend hiring a private investigator to make sure your fears are true. You can pay him a little under the table to rough your boyfriend up.
I would also suggest cheating on him. If he's cheating on you, you'll know because he won't confront you. If he wasn't cheating, well, at least you had some fun.
*Dear Diana, how do I spice up the bedroom?*
*-Wet Blanket*
Take control! Men love it when you take control.
The key here is to start *before* you go to bed. Lock him out of the house. Hide his glasses. Change the password on his phone.
Stop talking to him. Cut off his access from the outside world. Don't let him go outside. Don't feed him.
Before you know it, he'll be craving human company, especially yours.
*Dear Diana, my husband doesn't seem to be interested in me anymore. What can I do?*
*-Boring Beth*
This one's easy. Just be more interesting!
Start leaving the house at odd hours and don't tell him why. Learn Spanish and hang out in tacquerias. Make some underground contacts. Buy a gun.
Almost like magic, you'll be able to enter a drug smuggling cartel. When you go to Columbia, make sure you leave without telling anyone.
Now, your husband will probably be asking questions at this point. He's interested in you!
Don't stop, though. Keep building your drug empire. Pretty soon you won't need that loser anyway.
*Dear Diana, how do I make myself look better?*
*-Sad Sack (on my head)*
Make sure you only meet men in dimly lit areas. Keep your face in the shadows.
If someone tries to talk to, answer in coded language to build up that intrigue factor - attractiveness isn't just about your looks!
Talk about vague things like "moving bricks" or "cooking". You'll relate to that strong, manly construction worker while also impressing him with your culinary knowledge.
More questions? Send them to me and I'll answer them!
---
(I'll actually answer them)
Edit: [Ask me more](https://www.reddit.com/r/translationlostin/comments/4z6pso/ask_diana_your_relationships_explained/).
|
The video clip was the last straw. Really. No, really. Please, listen. I wouldn't do any of this if it wasn't for the video
clip.
But come on. A girl's got a limit, right? A girl can only take so much.
So, when Adam left me for Innara, I was okay. I mean, not okay *okay* -- I wanted to reach inside my chest, pull my heart out and sing Radiohead to it until it stopped beating and released me from the nightmare that is life -- but, you know, that's the truth of any relationship, right? We all get sad.
We get especially sad when our boyfriend leaves us for our best friend, but, yeah, whatever. I got over it.
I was okay even when Adam's band, against all possible odds, actually made a deal with the record company and
released their first album and peaked at number 1 on Billboard. I mean, crap, I still loved the bastard, and now I
had to listen to his voice every day on the radio and see his face everywhere and all the while thinking *I could be
by his side right now.* But okay. Fine. I mean, Adele's ex-boyfriend has to deal with the fact that his breaking of
her heart led her to become a multi-millionaire singer. I can deal with my shit.
And then I read on People about the engagement, and there was a picture of Innara and Adam on the cover, and
*then*, *then* it started hurting, because come on! It's hard enough to get over a breakup on its own merits,
can you please not put my ex and his new lover (my former best friend) on the cover of every magazine in the
world?
That's about when the drinking started.
**Melany, from Oklahoma, wants to know what she can do to spice things up in bed with her husband.**
I write: *Dear Melany.* I write: *Men often lose interest in sex with their long term partners not because of their
bodies, or because of anything related to the woman, per se. It is an emotional issue, first and foremost. You see,
having a single partner goes against the nature of men and women, in that we are biologically wired to mate as
much as we can. This, in turn, reminds your man of the decaying, mortal aspect of his own body. As you know,
humans are forever split by a painful duality: mind vs body. We are Gods, in the sense that we can abstract the
world into thought, and yet, we are constantly reminded -- with every trip to the bathroom and with every sweat
we break and every haircut we get – that we are mortal animals, bound to go back to the nothingness from
whence we came.*
But then there was the music video.
Look, I know I'm not the sexiest girl around. I could afford to lose a few pounds, maybe do something about my
hair… hell, I could afford some better clothes, even, I just never had the patience for shopping.
Which is to say I *get* why he left me for Innara, with her boobs the size of my bitterness and her pouty lips and
her Colgate smile.
I mean, she's a model, for God's sake. I'm a Philosophy grad student. You do the math.
(Unless you're a model, in which case you're probably too stupid to do the math. Fuck you.)
So I get it. Go. Go be beautiful and happy and rich together, Adam and Innara, you clueless, sexy idiots.
To Melany, I write: *So, the longer your husband stays with you, the more he is reminded, unconsciously, of the
animal, rotting, decaying side of his self. This, of course, leads him to existential despair, which can be quite
crippling in bed. I mean, have you ever tried to have an orgasm while contemplating the futility of existence? Ever tried to get off while trying to figure out how men can have free will when we're bound to a deterministic universe? That's some hard stuff. And that **not** what she said.*
But then they made the video, Adam and Innara. For Adam's band. Instant hit. Most watched Youtube video of all
time. Featuring a bunch of other celebrities and all.
You know those videos that are popular nowadays, right? Lady GaGa does a bunch of them. It's a music video,
but it's also a short film, or whatever.
Adam and Innara starred in it, and it was clearly, undeniably, in-your-face about my relationship with Adam, and
I'm portrayed as the biggest bitchy-bitch in the whole wide world and, though it doesn't name me, Adam is
famous enough that he makes people around him famous by proxy, so everyone knew it was me. The untold story
of Adam and Bitchy-bitch Joy, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Booze.
To Melany, I go on: *What you have to do, the next time you're in bed together, is sit down with your man, brush
your fingers through his hair and say "Honey… we're all gonna die someday." Let it sink in. Tell him "Love is the
biological mechanism natural selection devised to trick us into fucking for the sake of our genes." See how he deals
with that one. What you have to do is exposure therapy: get him to face these realities of life. Talk about death.
Talk about pain. Talk about futility and the heat death of the universe. Keep going until you notice the erection.*
I became the laughing stock of the country overnight. I mean, thank God middle-aged women don't keep up with
rock bands, because otherwise I would have lost my fanbase on the column, and my job, probably.
And that's when it became too much, and when I said "Welp, I might as well drink," and now I have a drinking
problem, though I'd argue it's not a problem until I stop enjoying it, which hasn't happened yet.
And the truth is, I want to take my revenge on him, I do. And on her. And I'll get to them, eventually.
But right now? Right now I'm pissed off at *love*. I'm pissed off at happy couples and sad couples and meh
couples and everyone I see holding hands together walking down the street like 'Oh, ain't life grand?'
It ain't. It's misery. That's Philosophy 101.
And I'm not strong and I can't beat the shit out of couples in love like I'd want to. But I *can* make some damage with words, the ones I learned in college.
So… I take what I can get, until I get to Adam and Innara -- the ultimate loving couple I want to ruin.
My last stop on the way to CrazyCatLadyVille. The climax to The Waltz of Bitter Joy.
I'll get to them, someday. Because fuck love, that's how I feel right now.
While I wait, much like Sweeney Todd's 'practice on less honorable throats,' I ruin other couple's lives.
And you know what? I'm not lying. I'm just giving bad advice, but it's all true, really. Read it up. Life sucks, that's
the general consensus among professionals.
To Melany, I write: *When the lovemaking beings, don't forget to quote from some of the best. Camus is always a
good start. Try whispering into his ear: "In the end one needs more courage to live than to kill himself." Or "There
is not love of life without despair about life." Or, better yet, "Since we're all going to die, it's obvious that when and
how don't matter." Just do it. Watch his reaction. If he gets sad or frustrated, it just means it's working.*
________
/r/psycho_alpaca
| 2016-08-22T07:31:24 | 2016-08-22T06:53:20 | 160 | 17 |
[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.
|
A council chamber. Rectangle. Ornate. Boring.
Earth and humanity's representatives sat on one side of the curiously balanced tables, seated across a neighboring species often thought as bloodthirsty cretins.
Once more had an earth mining operation been sabotaged and mined materials stolen, very few survivors. Humanity cried to their leaders for the injustice, and finally council was sought with a higher ruling; a boring, time wasting ruling.
"attempted established peace treaties, trade, communication...." the drivel was getting to grind his nerves, and cutting off the council speaker to the surprise of the entire room he spoke.
"What then shall we do? These attacks are killing our people defenseless as to not engage in warfare per your own regulations. Or are the Kntet above these rules of war?"
A slimy, chocking chortle broke the immediate silence as the Kntet representative broke into what could be laughter.
"rules? St-upi-d human, war has no rules, earth dum-b if they think war need rules!"
The sounds of more chuckles broke his nerve, the entire chamber save his deligates found this concept of obeying rules of warfare unusual and childish. He clenched his fist, crossed his hands on the desk sending a command from the console hidden in his cuffs.
"Then humanity will relax our rules of engagement, and declare war on Kntet and its peoples."
He stood, his two deligates following suit as they unhostered narrow blades from within their uniforms, a vibrant hum filled the air as within seconds they had leapt forward in this lower gravity chamber, cleaving the Kntet deligation to strips. As their bodies turned Goo slid down the seat, much to the surprise and horror of the council, humanity spoke not with words on paper, texts with seals, or agreements but with hard bitter hatred.
The Kntet would retaliate, but their lack of rules mean they were never curious enough to find out how to dissect a human, how to mix poisons to make their skin dry and crack in seconds, how to bomb their cities to sterilize entire continents. Or how to manipulate their brain signals to simply obey, to work until exhausted, until muscles tore and hands sheared from abuse.
The Knet would never learn this and within two orbits of their own suns would the galaxies look upon the once fearsome Kntet, bound and gagged, sending ship after ship of resources to human systems, subjugated as their species kept barely above extinction served new masters.
Some who tried to aid the fleeing Kntet among the universe would learn the phrase that would strike fear at their homeworlds' core; Exterminatus.
|
A booming laughter erupted throughout the great egg-shaped hall so tall clouds formed at the very top, they were left there for aesthetics if nothing else, he pondered. At the sides grew massive steely arches joining at the very top, between them were built balconies, filled with ambassadors and other representatives of various galactic empires, planet-states, moon-republics and whatnot.
Laughter, in essence, for each race showed amusement their own way. Of what the man glanced, the Trogks cackled like hyenas (resembling them a tad, too), the sluggish, brown Antians exhaled through their mouth-holes, tooting like a trumpet, even the enigmatic, hooded Parteens allowed themselves a small peep of a chalk on the blackboard... Hearing the cacophony of various sounds made Kay's hair on the back of his neck stand, top it off with the confusion he felt for what he said wasn't as funny as the others found it.
The opposition standing by his side exchanged smirks, easy to tell for their humanoid form. There were three races in the Orion Alliance, Alliance with which the Terra Union picked a battle.
Now, I don't wish to go into the details, but to simply explain, our space neighbors think we are expanding too fast and wish to stall our growth to further their economics, gather some valuable resources, hinder us, yada yada. They disguise it behind a 'he hit me first' excuse (which they provoked) and then offered a demand we could not accept. Now the humans of Earth are at the verge of their first stellar war since they joined the Arkha Galaxy Pact (That's what the alien races call Milky Way, by the by, yeah, we are among like ten planets in visitable universe that have white milk, or milk at all, so the name didn't catch). A standard procedure called for the 'Grand Meeting' and here we are, in front of the Head Council, next to the enemy, observed by uninvolved pact members. The daunted man regained a bit of composure as he neatens his blue uniform, his black eyes scanning the surroundings once again. He set the cap upon his brown hair as it felt askew.
"So you are saying you have rules for war?" Suddenly sounded from his right, the red-skinned Rubenee asked, the tendrils on his chin swirling in what Kay understood as excitement, this translation device imbedded in his temple was quite nifty, translating body language as well as the spoken. Notably, Rubenee alongside humans were one of the few races in the Pact that understood the notion of clothing, this representative wore what looked like a dark brown tunic, ending at waist-level where instead of legs grew a bundle of tentacles, Kay stopped counting at ten.
"Yes, some of them come from Geneva Conventions, among others. We added few more since we will be also warring in new territories, such as space, we renamed them to Terra Convention and wish for the council to adapt it to their system." Kay hummed, regrettably the war was inevitable, taking away half of his work as an ambassador to prevent the war from happening at all, this made him quite sour but the Alliance's attitude about this whole ordeal made it sting a lot less.
A Talian chimed in, a wispy, gentle-looking creature (don't be fooled), their abodes in the darkest depths of their oceanic worlds made their skin translucent, jelly-like, they grew a mushroom-looking cap atop their heads, much alike those of humans bar the missing nose and teeth in its mouth, its insides pulsed with soft, golden light every time it spoke. "Are we to understand that your rules of war... Are named after a city in one of your smaller political establishments that... Actually haven't fought in any war for what... Almost two hundred human years?"
"Technically..." Kay had to admit. "You did your research right." He smiled, suspecting the translation device for this sort of information. "I think, however, the place is irrelevant, it is the contents that I wish the Council to consider. We do not shy away from war, but we seek no end in it. All the Terra Union proposes is a more... humanitarian treatment." A repeated joke is not funny a second time, or so you would think as a human, but the hall laughed once more, less audibly, true... But it looked like the Orion Alliance found this whole thing much more amusing than humans.
A Garganian was next one to speak, a robust creature, the military might behind the Alliance, a great representation of a bully, Kay thought. Their skin gray and sleek, this one was a warrior, presumably, for one of his four arms was missing, leaving behind just a stump and his one-horned head sported many a scar. What was underneath the thick wired white fur, covering everything except limbs, Kay could only wonder. "The Terrans should not ridicule the proceedings of war making, hmpf! The Garganians of Otrkrs have nothing to propose but the involvement of council in decision of war-time!" He bumped his front body with all his healthy hands, huffing.
"Talians of Talee concur." Sounded tenderly.
"So do the Rubenee of Qu." Echoed.
Kay turned to the council, and to his surprise, the heads of the creatures were turned on him, he cleared his throat and nodded. "Humans of Earth have no choice but to agree as well."
Now, you would think I forgot to describe what the council looked like, but jokes on you, because there was really little to describe. For the sake of fairness, all members of Head Council were disguised, their features camouflaged, faces hidden, voices altered. Nobody should know who is a part of it, only they know themselves, however it is a common knowledge the members are chosen only from among the oldest and wisest races of the galaxy. The seven figures standing hooded on a raised platform mumbled among themselves before one stepped forth.
"The Council speaks." Silence fell in an already quiet hall. "The offer of Terra in adding these so called 'Rules of War' to the conflict of Artme Region is declined. We have reviewed the documents provided, number of points could be considered laughable, such as the immunity of medics on battlefield or, these ones I find specifically amusing, Hauge Conventions? Banning of certain weapons? Civilian protection? Rarely someone attacks civilians anyway, it has no effect on the course of battle! A pass-time, at best. Either way, you should have evacuated them beforehand if you know there will be war. War needs no rules, the declaration of war does, that is why we are here. The Alliance has offered to cease their warmongering once they are in possession of number of stellar systems, of which you were very much aware, ambassador Kay Harrinton. The heads of your Union declined, therefore war is inevitable and you are left with the option of defending your newly acquired territories, which you have accepted. You may begin the war in the standard ninety hours of Andromeda Time Zone. The Council has spoken. We shall reconvene shortly after a short break to hear the Zqa'ar and Ipoids" The figures retreated, and slowly the balconies began to empty as well. Kay stormed out, stone-faced.
Descending the stairs from the platform in the middle of the great-hall he found his other same clothed companions greeting him with a salute.
"You spoke well, ambassador, there was nothing more you could do."
"I wish there was." He passed them, he could not stop, for time was of essence now, ninety hours of ATZ was a week of time for the humans in the concerned systems.
"We have already informed the headquarters, message should reach them just in time." They followed.
"Good. I wish to speak with Admiral Ford, arrange meeting." Kay looked over his shoulder, the Alliance has entered the corridor as well, they gave him a taunting look, but he just scoffed, the fools know not what they got themselves into.
| 2022-01-23T13:27:27 | 2022-01-23T13:17:18 | 387 | 202 |
[WP] On the day you turn 18 everyone is given the first words that their soulmate will speak to them. When you receive yours it says simply "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
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It was a freezing morning in New York.
I slipped into the local Starbucks for some coffee.
There was a new cashier today.
"Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?", She asked, exasperated.
"Soy un federale, tengo un gato en mis pantalones," I replied.
The disinterested look on her face vanished instantly.
"You...", she said, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
For a second my heart skipped a beat.
"Do you know how many years I've spent working in Mexico because of your bullshit!?" She yelled, smashing her fists on the Register.
It was her.
She was the one.
Edit: Damn, first gold. Didn't expect this. Thanks guys!
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"It raises questions, you know. Like if I avoid Starbucks throughout my entire life, never go into one ever, does that mean that I never meet my soulmate? And if I never meet my soulmate, then are they really my soulmate, I mean, how can someone be my soulmate if we never end up being together?", Julia smiled wryly and looked on as Ryan prattled on about his life.
"Still, better than the fuckers that get nothing. I mean, could you imagine that? Tell the truth I will, I was scared to hell I was going to end up like one of those guys. I mean.", Ryan paused for a moment as his brain finally caught up with where his mind was going, "what have I got to offer, just a stupid kid from the wrong side of the tracks." Ryan was silent for another few moments before re-engaging in his rant.
"And even those that do get something, they're stuck wondering about one stupid god damned phrase for half their life. All it does is make people listen to each other as if they were preachers on Sunday. Couldn't they just give me a name so that I can look someone up in the phone book and get this shit over with."
Ryan looked down at his drink, a rum and coke. This was three, right, no four, yes definitely four.
"Sorry, I know that you don't need to listen to some drunk guy raising hell about something I'm sure you and everyone else has given plenty of thought to already. Just, messes with the head, like some Twilight Zone episode." Ryan lifted the glass to his mouth, felt the cool tingle of ice against his lips and took another draw from the drink. "What's yours?" Julia opened her mouth and was immediately interrupted by Jerry, the bartender, who had, of course, been listening in to the conversation somewhat. Not eavesdropping really, just part of the job, had to be able to gauge the customer's moods, "A proper lady doesn't tell Ryan. Neither does a proper gentleman for that matter."
Julia smiled at the barkeep and Ryan kicked his head back for a while, laughing bemusedly, "If you're looking for a proper gentleman, then you're in the wrong place here Jerry." The barkeep sauntered off, "Maybe I'm just trying to bring a little class to this part of the country Ryan." Ryan snorted and looked back at Julia, "Always an optimist that one, God love him, he helps keep me pretty straight, always cuts me off at four, been drinking here long enough that I suppose he knows me better than I know myself. See, now him, he deserves a proper soulmate. Are you going to tell me what your soulmate is supposed to say Jerry?" Ryan jokingly shouted down the bar at Jerry.
He shouted back, "Never." and kept smiling. After all, it was part of the job to keep smiling, even when you had to smile past the hurt.
Ryan turned back to Julia, "Anyways, sorry for getting long on the diction I just meant to say, it messes with your head these things. Ah hell, I've done an awful lot of talking, and I'm sure that you have a voice that is as pretty as the look of you is, so what's on the top of your mind and the tip of your tongue?"
Julia smiled, "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order."
Ryan blinked. That didn't help, so he blinked again. Still nothing. Something had just happened, he knew it, and he knew it was important, but it was so damned unexpected, like going fishing and having one jump into your lap. It just gave itself to you, but you're too shocked and stupid to know what to do with it that you try and get it off you even when the whole point of being there was to snatch one of em. He felt like he had to do something, so he let his jaw down a bit and tried blinking again. Still nothing.
Then his head lurched forward and he felt a sting of pain, "Nothing but a god damned idiot, fine pick of the litter you ended up with." as Jerry smacked the back of Ryan's head, all the while looking at Julia.
Julia laughed before mustering up, "Oh, I'm sure that he's not so bad once you get to know him."
Jerry gave a knowing smile, "He does tend to grow on you, that he does. Though I have the helpful hand of alcohol on my side."
Julia, "True, true, I'll just have to use my womanly guile to bring him round."
Ryan held a hand to the back of his head and then lifted his head to meet her gaze, "But..."
Julia smiled and reached out, folding his hand into hers, "To be fair, mine was a bit easier. Hi I'm Ryan Tannerhill, here to welcome you to the finest establishment east of the Mississippi, the Owl's Rest tavern."
Ryan stood very still for a moment and then laughed uncontrollably. After finally regaining some level of composure he finally espoused, "Well shit, I didn't even give you a good chase."
Then after another moment, "Although, you have to be, what, twenty-six, twenty-eight? If you knew, why'd you wait?"
"Twenty-nine actually, but thank you. There's just something dreadfully certain about knowing. All of my other girlfriends had strange sentences, unique phrases, hell, one was even in French and she had no idea what it meant. Then there was me, with certitude. Ryan Tannerhill, Owl's Rest, east of the Mississippi. I guess, I guess I was scared."
"Well there aint no problem with that. It's a strange world out there Julia, but it's nice to not have to face it alone."
"Agreed."
Ryan tilted his head back, "Though it raises questions, you know. Like if they don't tell me, and then I don't tell you, you don't know what to say to me, but that phrase only means something to me because they told me."
She rested her head against her hand and smiled and thought to herself, "There is actually something pretty charming about him."
| 2014-12-17T23:12:07 | 2014-12-17T20:57:41 | 2,270 | 551 |
[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.
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The young Blastonian sat in front of his father and watched as he pulled his life support closer to him. "When I'm done I want to die, do you understand?" The young Blastonian nodded his heads. "I understand."
"It was five hundred years ago, we began receiving transmissions. At first they were beautiful, music strange and unlike any instrument we had made. Then alien voices filled their transmissions, calm and confident. We broke their languages and realized that it was announcements of what was going on in their planet, news was what they called it." The younger Blastonian scooted closer its rough skin peeling as it did so. It was beginning to enter its mid-life cycle when it would gain a gender. Its father coughed loudly before spitting up blood.
"As time went on the news changed, the details of their planet were brutish. Some of their tribes called for the extermination of others. They began a war larger than any we had ever seen in our species entire history. We knew they had to be stopped. We were only a few hundred light years away from their home planet, if they escaped who knew what kind of devastation they would send on someone so different from them as us. They even had a word for such destruction, genocide, we couldn't translate it at first, we didn't even understand it. With a heavy heart our leaders decided that the Human menace needed to be put down before it became a threat. Construction began on a bomb."
The entire bomb was nearly 500 quilos long, the final stages of the engine being constructed in space. It was perhaps the greatest construction project the Blastonians had ever undertaken. A hundred years were spent building the bomb and the leaders praised their insight. In those years the Humans had left Earth and reached their moon, even sending out signals claiming to be peaceful. The leaders knew better. When the bomb was completed the Blastonians wept, they knew they were about to do something horrible but they had no choice it was them or the Humans.
"We launched the bomb, it sped off starting at 1% the speed of light but ever increasing, our engineers said it should reach the Human planet at nearly 90%, it was the fastest we had ever designed. We continued to listen. Their wars continued their peaces were short, but after a number of nuclear explosions the Humans changed. They made peace, a 'Brotherhood of Man' they called it. But still our bomb carried on. They began to leave their planet, changing the face of their surrounding solar system. Crude mines and then beautiful paradises. They left behind their organic bodies, short lived and weak as they were uploading their consciousness into machines of grace and strength. And still our bomb carried on."
"Our leaders approached the engineers and asked them if we could stop the bomb. But there was nothing we could do, we had built the bomb so single mindedly that its only communications was its navigation computer. We could only watch in horror as our bomb headed toward the Human planet. The engineers who built the bomb committed suicide in droves, my friends, your uncle, there was no escape from the shame we felt. We looked on in horror as the bomb continued toward the Human planet."
In the final days when Earth saw the object speeding toward them there was panic, billions scrambled to upload their minds onto data banks and millions more escaped onto ships. The bomb hit. The Blastonians watched as the light from the explosion cleared they could see that Earth had been destroyed most of the inner solar system as well.
"The entire system had gone dark, their sun dispersed from the shockwave. We scanned for any sign of life, a flicker in the coldness of space. We spotted one, two, ten, a hundred, then countless ships transporting themselves back into the solar system. Then came the message, 'We know where you are, we are coming.'"
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Humans.
The childs of the universe. Hard-headed, stubborn, always wanting to choose their own ways and their own destiny, even if it would backfire. They didn't seem to care what any of the other races told them, they would listen, nod their head gently, and then they'd continue to go their own way.
When we discovered them, their planet was in great disarray, with many wars being fought at the same time, with scattered opinions everywhere, with many people dying of hunger or easily cureable diseases. Their planet soon got the nickname 'The Red Planet'. Their planet in fact was blue and green, but since the fluid that is inside those humans is of a red color, and since many of those people would die before their time, this is the nickname their planet was given. This all changed in an astonishing way when they discovered that they were not alone. Many of their leaders were overthrown, suddenly differences of opinions didn't matter anymore, and the planet began to look like a planet of peace, and the humans began to be one. Why? We don't know. Maybe they were scared by us. Maybe they felt the need to impress us. Or maybe they realised war is useless.
It's 600 years later now, and Planet Earth has grown to be an example to us all. Living in complete harmony with their nature, living in complete harmony with eachother. There was no hunger anymore, no war, and since we pointed out that many of their diseases were because of the way they were feeding themselves, and the way they were handling their technology, the humans turned things around, and many diseases ceased to exist. The few diseases still existing could all be cured. Their planet is probably the richest one when it comes to natural resources such as gold and diamonds, but the humans didn't care for them anymore, since everything they needed to live a good life was growing on weird living standing things they'd call trees. Many of us love to go on holiday on this planet, since the vibe the humans created was so peaceful, so restfull, it never ceases to amaze many of the other races.
Humans still are seen as the childs of the universe, because they still do not listen very well, and if they do not agree with you, they will simply tell you they don't agree with you no matter how good your arguments are and walk away. Many of them even believe in some higher power they call God. Allthough we tried to point out that there is no such thing, they simply don't care. But, in spite of this stubbornnes, everyone loved them. They would never start a fight, and soon we began to forget the state we found them in.
We've always had a rough relationship with our neighbours, the Ca'räa. Whenever the Ca'räa sees something, they want it. This caused many wars, untill we finally got to a mutual agreement, and we're living in peace now for over 2000 years. But we should never have trusted them. The Ca'räa would never do anything to hurt us anymore, since they learned the hard way that we are the strongest species of this entire universe, with them being only in a second place. They knew this. But they also saw planet earth, with the childish beings on it, they saw the beauty, and especially the natural riches. And they wanted it. We didn't know. We should've known. But it was too late.
When I awoke 4 weeks ago, Planet Earth was being covered in a huge cloud of smoke we immediatly recognised as one of the main weapons of the Ca'räa. The smoke would create extreme fear and feelings of loneliness, feelings so extreme that every race the Ca'räa used it on started killing eachother or themselves. So it wasn't strange that we wept. We wept for Planet Earth, since we thought it was lost. We knew the strength of the Ca'räa, and told eachother we'd kill every last one of them for destroying this paradise-like planet, and this amazingly weird race that is humans. But this couldn't get the humans back. They were lost, forever.
Little did we know. The Ca'räa waited patiently for weeks, until the smoke finally went away. In this time we started preparing for war with the Ca'räa to revenge the humans. We didn't need to.
When the smoke lifted up, 3000 ships departed from planet earth. The Ca'räa were amazed. They thought everyone was death, but their computers soon told them no one died. Not a single one. But the ships were slow, and old, and didn't have any firepower. The Ca'räa knew that those ships would have to be directed by at least 10 people per ship. So the Ca'räa started laughing, and let the ships come closer and closer, eager to find out what those pathetic little humans wanted to do to them, the great race of the Ca'räa. They began surrounding the little human ships, and their mothership started to communicate with the humans. This is what the humans told them. 'On board of these ships we have 50 million people, willing to be your slave, willing to serve you, if you leave our planet alone. Let us come closer so that we can transfer them to your ships.' The Ca'räa went for it, but needed every ship they had to take over this huge number of people. When every Ca'räa ship was connected with a human ship, and the doors of both ships opened, the Ca'räa would be in for the biggest surprise known in the entire universe. Bombs. Every human ship was full of bombs, and, ofcourse, the ten people needed to direct the ship. The Ca'räa king started shouting in complete fear, screaming they wouldn't sacrifice 30000 human just to blow them up. The humans reacted with an explosion. And another one. And another one. And another 2797 ones. The entire Ca'räa fleet was gone. But with them, 30000 human beings also died. We immediatly started attacking their homeplanet, which was very easy since they had no fleet. Within 2 days, the Ca'räa were in the past.
Later, when things were settled again, we spoke with the humans about how they survived the smoke. They told us they were not scared of fear, since they were always afraid. It was part of being a human, and they learned to deal with it. They told us loneliness is nothing new for them, since they've always felt lonely. They told us desperation made the hardest choice an easy choice. They told us that in fact the only thing the smoke did was make them stronger. You see, every race until now would've been devastated by the smoke. Because we don't know how it is to live life in fear. We don't know how it is to be scared of our own. But the humans are a race that gets stronger and stronger the harder their life is. And when there is nothing to be done anymore in our eyes, the humans will find a way, since that is when they are strongest. The harder their life, the stronger their willpower. The more difficult their situation, the more their survival instinct will kick in. So, when the smoke, and with that the fear, the desperation, and the feeling of no way out, started to kick in, so did their greatest strength, which is survival.
After that we asked them if they didn't feel devastated by their loss of 30000 men. They told us they were. We didn't understand. How can you sacrifice 30000 man. And also, how can you get 30000 men to go on a suicide mission out of free will. Because this is what it was. No single person of those 30000 men was pressured. They told us that it is better to sacrifice 30000 man the to lose everything they created.
After this the humans weren't seen as the child of the universe anymore. They weren't so populair also anymore. Many races didn't understand their way of warfare, which made them a bit scared. But, as usual, the humans didn't care. They saved themselves out of an hopeless situation. This was all that mattered for them. And they re-assured everyone they would not attack no one. They also re-assured us that if we attack them it will mean our death. They told us this like it was the most normal case in the universe. They told us they don't care if they go down with us, but they would make sure we wouldn't survive.
Everyone still is welcome on planet earth.
But this is a warning from us, as spectators of this enormously surprising war, beware! The humans may seem weak, they may seem little, they may seem childish. But they can do things no one else can. They can save themselves out of situations like no one else can. And, if they are attacked, they will strike back, in a way you will not expect. But you will feel it. Love them and they will love you. Try to backstab them, and they will backstab you better.
This is my first story, hope you enjoy. Sorry for the grammatical errors, I'm not a native english speaker.
| 2016-03-14T01:51:42 | 2016-03-14T01:25:12 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] Jupiter has 64 moons and a serious werewolf problem.
Edit: damn there's some quality responses here. I wasn't expecting this prompt to be so popular. Good job u guys
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The year is 2270. About 150 years ago the human race first started testing planet scale terraforming. Earth was running out of resources and we were long overdue for an upgrade. Why not go to the biggest planet that we know of?
I heard that back in the day, werewolves were a myth. People claimed to see them, but there was very little proof. Most of the evidence was blamed on wild animals. We know better now.
The initial werewolf arrived within the first few years of public voyages. He turned before they even landed. The ground zero ship was considered a giant metal coffin. No one could get out and the werewolf infected hundreds. When the ship crash landed it was immediately quarantined, though that didn't do much. They were strong and could fight against the gravity changes that the rest of us were still adjusting to.
The werewolf epidemic spread to over half of the population in less than a decade. Many asked to be locked up until the disease was cured. They didn't want to danger those around them. Everyone was scared. Over time, being constantly under the full moon the werewolves learned to use their human minds while afflicted by the moon's disease. About a hundred years ago, one of the werewolves that was held in captivity spoke.
"I think I can control myself. I think I can go outside without attacking anyone."
We were cautious but optimistic. If they could act human while in wolf form then they could be a great help to us. The wolf was escorted outside by military men. He never had less than 5 armed soldiers with him at any given time. But, he acted surprisingly well. He worked on construction and did a fantastic job due to his incredible strength. He did the work of 10 men.
After a few years, he asked to be let go. He wanted to go talk to the other werewolves, and that's exactly what he did. He came back with a dozen other beasts, all who had regained human speech. In the coming years schools replaced the prisons. All werewolves had to undergo a very intensive meditation treatment to control any left over werewolf urges. They were a huge boon to our society. So much so that some even asked to be turned voluntarily.
Now about 90% of the population are werewolves. Seeing a normal human is actually a strange sight. They look so weak. Us werewolves can build and farm much faster than they can. Usually humans are only white collar workers because they can't keep up with the rest of us. I honestly believe they choose to stay out of some sense of tradition or individuality. Either that or it's some strange fetish. Either way, we work well together.
I actually hope that the human race doesn't go extinct in the shadow of werewolves. They may not be as strong as we are, but they're interesting. They're a part of our history that I don't think we're all ready to let go of just yet.
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The explorer *Diplomacy* was an engineering marvel, capable of navigativing Jupiter's gaseous surface, withstanding its harsh enviriomental pressure, and even escaping its immense gravitational pull. Still, despite all of its amazing technology, for the two navigators inside of it, it was a rather tight fit. Built for efficiency, not comfort, to the annoyance of Commander Wilfery, the man piloting it. Since the Juno satellite discovered a previously thought imposssible mineral inside the planet, it was up to this two man crew to recover some samples and explore as much of the planet as possible.
The viewing screen in front of them only showed clouds. Swirls of brown, yellow, and red that parted into a seemingly infinite abyss of gas. It had been a few hours since they were officially "inside" Jupiter, but the pair wouldn't have noticed when they did. Jupiter was so massive, that even as they approached it had already dominated all of their vision. Although their oxygen reserve was plentiful, Wilfery couldn't help but feel like it wasn't enough. The planet was too big. Exploring it thoroughly could prove dangerous, even with the five air tanks they had.
Letting out a bored sigh, Commander Wilfery turned to Lieutenant Greenfield and said to her:
"You ever think that this screen is a bit... unnecessary?"
Lieutenant Greenfield raised her eyebrow and said:
"How so?"
"Well, this is just a glorified submarine, right? Have you ever seen a submarine with a front window? All we need are the sonar and scanners. It's all gas, down to the bottom, it's not like were going to *see* anything."
"I mean, I wouldn't describe Diplomacy so dismissively..." Greenfield trailed off and nodded to herself. "...but yeah, you're right. It does seem a bit overkill. Specially the mining laser. I get they found some minerals here, but I doubt we'll have to drill through anything."
"It's like we can't get over how we build cars... minus the laser. Sure, this is just a camera feed, but can you really say this doesn't look like a windshield?"
Before Greenfield could reply, a sharp beeping noise tore through their relaxed mood. It was an alarm for detecting foreign objects. Greenfield quickly pulled up a keyboard and typed into it, bringing up some readings on half of the viewing screen. Her eyes then widened with shock, but not as widely as Wilfery's. Pointing at the other half of the screen, a dark object rose from the misty horizon. It seemed like the cameras were useful after all. Greenfield then removed the reading from the screen to observe the object completely.
It looked like a lumpy cone from a distance, but the closer they got, the more they could comprehend just how big it was. Upon further inspection, it had a coarse surface, its peak looking like a jagged spire. There was no doubt about it, it was a floating mountain. A gigantic lump of rock floating on the gasses of Jupiter. Wilfery swallowed, nodded, and said:
"I feel like an idiot right now..."
"That makes two of us..."
Wilfery shook his head sideways, gripped the steering wheel, and said:
"Let's have a closer look."
Diplomacy veered downwards and circled around the mountain. All the while, Greenfield typed away to scan its chemical composition. Sure enough, it was a match for what they were looking for. Wilfery couldn't but remain in awe of what he saw. It should be impossible. Trace amounts of a solid? Sure, that made sense. Maybe a small lump? Difficult, but not hard to imagine. An entire mountain? Absurd. It would have to be more dense than the surface gas, but less dense than the rest of it. It's all helium and methane! Not any mysterious sort of magical compound. Why the hell wasn't this mountain at the bottom of the planet?
Wlfery's train of thought was then interrupted by something even more inexplicable. On the border of the mountain, a humanoid figure emerged. Wilfery then said:
"Lieutenant... does that look like what I think it is?"
Greenfield raised her head from the scans and said:
"It... it looks like a person... just standing there..."
A dozen then joined the figure, standing next to it in a line.
"It looks like a *bunch* of people... just standing there..."
Hundreds of figures then filled up the surface of the mountain, getting on all four of the limbs while curving their backs downwards. Raising their heads and exposing their throats, they emitted a loud, howling sound that caused Diplomacy to shake violently. The monsters then lunged at the ship, seemingly flying through the gas. Wilfery instantly turned the ship around navigated upwards, sweating under his gloves gripping the controls.
"What are they?!?" said Greenfield.
"I don't know and I don't care. Whatever they are, they don't look friendly!"
Five of the aliens landed on the tail of Diplomacy, causing the explorer to spin around. Wilfery still managed to keep the ship on its general trajectory. They needed to leave this planet. Now. He had lost count of how many hours it took them to reach this point. Getting to the spaceship might be impossible without dealing with these... *things*.
Three different alarms blared at the same time, instilling even more panic into the astronauts. Greenfield managed to pull up a small video feed to see what attacked them. Her jaw dropped when she saw it. Hairy with eyes that showed bloodlust, the monster didn't look entire different from a werewolf. Considering the situation, Greenfield wasn't about to share this with Wilfery. He could barely believe the floating mountain. If she told him werewolves were attacking them, he'd probably just shut down from the absurdity.
"Well?!?" said Wifery. "What do they look like?!?"
"I... I can't tell from this angle. Just focus on piloting!"
A dozen more werewolves landed on Diplomacy. Speed was lowering, life support showed signs of damage, and they were no where near the surface. Wilfery released the steering controls and sunk his head. They were dead. The only people that could save them were on a different planet, and they wouldn't even know what happened to them. They'd just assume the mission went wrong.
"C-commander? What are you doing?!? We're going to die if you stop now!"
"Don't you get it? We're doomed. Unless they suddenly decide to leave us alone, our ship will be torn to pieces and... explode."
Wilfery trailed off and furrowed his brow in determination. There *was* something he could do. It was risky, but it's not like he had any more options. Gripping the controls tightly, he looked at Greenfield and said:
"I'm going to turn the ship around and face them. I have an idea... Well, more like a crazy hope, but it's all we have. I wonder if it will be enough heat for ignition..."
"Ignition? What are you talking about?"
"When I tell you to, release the oxygen tanks of our reserve. This is all methane and helium, but it wont ignite. With the oxygen though... The drilling laser might cause a reaction. I'm not sure, but I'll give it a try."
Greenfield nodded and waited for his signal. Wilfery jerked Diplomacy around, shaking off some of the werewolves on top of it. He then gestured at Greenfield, releasing the canisters, and shot at the tanks with the laser. Thought it only took one second, to the astronauts, it felt like an eternity before it exploded, creating a giant ball of fire that consumed the pursuing monsters and engulfed the entirety of Diplomacy.
After a few seconds of silence, Wilfery looked at Greenfield and laughed. They did it. There weren't any monsters around. Greenfield, however, had a solemm expression on her face. She then breathed deeply and said:
"Good job, but... do we have enough oxygen to make it back?"
Wilfery closed his eyes, rested his head back, and said:
"I don't think so."
-------------------------------
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories!
| 2016-10-03T10:55:02 | 2016-10-03T10:13:01 | 198 | 13 |
[WP] You're an enchanted suit of armor, empty on the inside. After gaining sentience you left the haunted keep you were stored in and began adventuring. As you gain notoriety as an adventurer and make friends and connections, it gets harder to keep it a secret that there's nothing behind your visor.
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"You can take the armour off, you know," The quiet boy opposite him says. "It'd probably be more comfortable. You're always wearing it."
"I know," Viktor replies calmly. "I prefer it this way."
The boy looks at him for a moment before nodding and turning back to the card game the group is playing. He places down a new card silently. Viktor senses more eyes on him.
"I've never actually seen you eat," Marianne says from beside him. She watches him thoughtfully, face scrunching up as she goes through her memories. "Nope, not once. Aren't you hungry, dear?"
Viktor pauses for a minute. "I just... Don't like eating in front of people. I eat when I'm alone."
Marianne raises her eyebrow. "Now, Viktor. Are you telling me the truth?"
The look in Marianne's eyes makes Viktor rethink his lies. His silence says what Mari needs to know. She turns to the boy opposite them. "Danny, be a dear and go fetch some soup and bread for me?"
"Yes, ma'am," The boy, Danny, responds. He stands up from the stool and hurries off towards the kitchen.
Marianne's attention turns back to Viktor. "Viktor, darlin'. Tell me the truth. What's going on?"
"Mari..."
"And don't you go and lie to me. We're a family, we'll care for you no matter what."
Viktor pauses before slowly lifting his hand up towards his visor. He hesitates for a second as he hears the clink of the metal touching. "There was a spell placed on me," He says slowly. "I was enchanted - Given sentience."
He carefully lifts up the visor and waits anxiously for Marianne to speak again.
"Oh, darlin'," She says softly. "Don't you worry about a thing. I've made all sorts of interesting friends over the years, I promise this doesn't change a darned thing."
Their moment is ruined by the sound of something dropping in the kitchen. Marianne turns to Viktor.
"I'm guessin' you won't be having any of that soup then?"
|
Sentience was a horrible gift. Awaking in a tomb would scare any sane person. The tomb dark, restricting, and heavy, making it impossible for me to escape its confines. No matter how hard my armored body pushed, the stone seal refused to budge, only letting in a glimpse of light before my arms would drop, encasing me in the darkness once more.
I imagined this was what death felt like for mortals, an unescapable darkness that closed in on you, suffocating you with its presence. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t have the pleasure of fading into the darkness, stuck instead in limbo, unable to die. I wasn’t sure how long I was trapped in the keep, maybe a few months, or even a year or two? It was impossible to keep track of. Thankfully, I got rescued, even if my rescue was an accident.
The sound of fighting felt oddly familiar, identifying the sound as soon as I heard the clashing of blades from outside. I wasn’t sure where I had heard the sound previously, but the scrapping of metal on metal had a way of making my iron gloves clench, reaching for a blade that I didn’t have. “IN HERE.” I tried to shout, only to realize I had no voice. Without a voice, I resorted to frantic punches, slamming my glove against the stone lid.
The clashing stopped, and I heard a murmur before the lid peeled off, breaking against the floor, revealing a young brown-haired man. He had a nasty cut on his cheek and seemed to glance behind himself, no doubt in danger. I aimed to repay the favor, rising from the tomb, snatching the sword from his side.
He was fearful at first, thinking I intended to use the blade on him, only to grow relieved when I turned my attention to the pursuing skeletons. Everything was a blur, the sword dancing in my hand, acting on instinct. The skeletons soon dropped, each one having their skull crushed. Once the deed was done, I handed back the sword.
“Amazing. Thank you for your help. I’m Lanif and you are?” He held out his right hand, which I gripped, shaking it. After the shake, I pointed to my helmet, making an X motion with my hands, trying to show my inability to speak.
“No voice? I’ve heard stories about that. Must be a nasty curse, don’t you worry though. I’m an adventurer. I’ll help you get it back.” An adventurer? I liked the sound of that, and I owed the man for freeing me. That was the day I left the keep, joining Lanif as an adventurer.
Five years had passed since that day, and I could already feel the growing tension as I sat in the adventurer’s guild. It had been easy to go unnoticed before, when I only did minor jobs. No one cares about the people doing slime duty or chasing goblins out, but just last week we took care of a twisted abomination. That’s something that gets people whispering.
If it were up to me, I would have continued to do smaller jobs, but Lanif had improved past the point of being a simple adventurer. Lanif needed the challenge, and I didn’t enjoy the idea of leaving his side. He was the one that freed me, that tracked down a witch to give me a voice. He would have my protection until he parted ways with me or died.
“You seem deep in thought. Did you consider what I told you? Jezel likes you. Maybe a date would be good for you? Get you out of that armor and into a suit. I have some clothes you can borrow if you need some. Now that I think about it, I don’t think I have seen you in anything but a suit, I hope you clean that thing.” Lanif said with a laugh, the young man having aged quickly, his brown hair receding and his cheek baring a tough-looking scar from our first meeting.
“Jezel is nice and don’t get my wrong, I’m thankful for everything she’s done to help me. She’s a dear friend and someone I really respect and-“ I stumbled over my words, trying to find the right combination of them.
“And you aren’t interested? It’s fine if you aren’t I’m just surprised. You two get along rather well. Thought it would be a match made in heaven, but what do I know?” He threw up his hands before taking a seat by my side.
“It’s not that I’m not interested. I just can’t be with her. Anyway, I have quests to do with you. It would take up too much time having a relationship. Speaking of quests, what’s the next job?” I leaned back in my seat, glancing at Lanif, who only grinned.
“Finding out who the man under that suit is. Five years and I still do not know who the hell you are. Are you ugly or something?” He reached to grab my visor, only to freeze when I forcefully twisted his wrist, locking him in place.
“DON’T,” I warned, only to let go in a panic. “I’m sorry Lanif, I didn’t mean to do that. I’m self-conscious about it. I promise if I tell anyone, you will be the first.”
“I better be after that. Oof, at least it’s not my sword arm.” He shook his wrist, only to turn in his chair, noticing all the stares. “WHAT ARE YOU ALL LOOKING AT? IT WAS MY FAULT.” His words deterred the stares, each person sheepishly staring off into space, pretending they weren’t watching. “It was my fault, don’t beat yourself up over it.”
“People are getting suspicious.” I felt an unease, like my name might be on that job board soon if things kept going at this pace.
“People are getting jealous of the great Ragan more like it. It’s natural, people are looking for faults and weaknesses in you. I thought maybe showing you off might help ease the tensions, but I shouldn’t have thrown that on you so suddenly. Right, about the quest, how about we do-“
Before he could finish, I raised a finger, stopping him. “Can I pick the quest? I have something that’s overdue. Will you come to the keep with me tomorrow? I’ll explain it there.”
“The keep? The one we met at. Sure, if you think it’s important. I’ll pack my gear tonight. Now, how about a drink?” He grabbed my shoulder only to have his hand quickly brushed off.
“Sorry, not tonight. I’ll meet you tomorrow. Don’t drink too much, there’s a monster we have to deal with.”
“A monster? Oh, exciting. Can’t wait to have another story to tell. I’m going to make a great rugged old adventurer; I’ll have stories for centuries.” He laughed, waving his hand in the air, motioning someone to bring him a drink.
“You certainly will.” I nodded, heading to my room to make my preparations. I wasn’t sure how he would react tomorrow when I told him what I was. Maybe he wouldn’t mind that I was a possessed set of armor? Or maybe that was just a dream. A possessed set of armor was technically a monster, and it was an adventurer’s job to get rid of monsters. No matter what, it would be his decision and I would respect his choice. If someone had to seal me, I wanted it to be him.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-09-21T06:57:05 | 2021-09-21T06:17:01 | 889 | 505 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once.
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You stick out when everyone else in your school has some kind of insane, physics defying power and you have nothing. Like a normal horse in a herd of rainbow colored unicorns.
It was nerve wracking to adjust to having classmates who could effortlessly lift you off the ground with their mind, labmates who used their eye beams instead of a Bunsen burner, and groupmates who interviewed ghosts for your history project. Not being indestructible or able to regenerate limbs on a whim, I got to know the medical staff quite well quite quickly. I wasn't even accident prone, some people just kept "forgetting" that I didn't have powers like they did. Though that ended the moment that one of the seniors took things too far.
Getting my arm broken was a weird way to find out how popular I'd become. Turns out that me being normal helps keep my more gifted friends grounded. I hadn't even known that half of them liked me all that much before they sent the senior to the superhuman ICU. I'm not complaining though.
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"Alright class, welcome to 'Intro to Personal Abilities 1'. Before we introduce ourselves, can anyone tell me what the three classes of powers are?"
A bookish girl with large glasses raised her hand.
"The first class of powers are mental abilities. Mental abilities are controlled by the mind, and are often exerted against an outside environment. People with metal abilities are often physiologically identical to non-powered humans."
The professor smiled. "Very good, Samantha. Can anyone give me an example of a mental ability? John?"
A student wearing a black motorcycle jacket with a slicked-back hair looked up groggily from his desk. He gave a slight wave of his hand, as the chalk by the professor's podium picked itself up and scrawled "telekinesis" on the chalkboard.
The professor chuckled. "A verbal answer would have sufficed, John, but I appreciate the demonstration. Now, can anyone tell me what the second class of powers are?"
A burly looking student in athletic wear raised his hand.
"Physical abilities. Physical abilities involve a change, or uh, the *ability* to change, a person's own body." The student's arm morphed slightly, his very skin changing into a form that resembled cracked concrete, as he picked up the empty desk in front of him with one hand.
"Correct! Now, can anyone tell me what the third class of power is?"
The class looked puzzled as they sat in silence.
"Anyone?"
Samantha shook her head, and several others responded in kind.
The teacher grabbed the chalk and wrote "META" on the chalkboard.
"The third class of powers are meta-abilities: powers-over-powers, if you will. The ability to sense another person's power would be a meta-ability. It is the rarest class of power, and can be either physical or mental."
The teacher clapped his hands "With that said, I want everyone in the class to introduce themselves. Say your name, your power, and what class you belong to".
One by one, the class introduced themselves, until they reached a introverted-looking student in the back corner of the room.
"Hi, uh, my name is Liam" the student shuffled uncomfortably in his chair "and I don't know what my power is. My biomark results were 145/150, but they didn't match any known ability. The Dean of Academics decided that I should attend classes anyway, at least until my ability shows."
"That's fascinating" the professor said, thoughtfully "and a smart move, on the part of the Dean. Rest assured Liam, you won't be left behind in this class. Powers or not, you're a part of this school, and I'll do my best to accommodate"
His sentence was interrupted by a shrill class bell.
"We'll finish up tomorrow, class dismissed!"
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Outside the classroom, Liam made his way down the hallway and toward his next class, when his path was blocked by four upperclassmen. They towered over him and moved in closer, causing him to step back slightly.
"We don't take well to spies around here" said one kid as he clenched his hand into a fist, powerful arcs of electricity crackling between his fingers, "You said you didn't have a power, which means you're either lying, or a spy"
"Guys, I'm not looking for a fight, and I'm not a spy. If you want to talk to the Dean, then by all means do. I've told you everything I know"
"Go taLk to thE deAn" the electric-kid said mockingly "Know your place, new kid!"
He opened his hand an a bolt of lightning shot out, hitting Liam in the chest and making him double-over in pain. Electric-kid's cronies laughed like comic-book minions.
"Or there will be more where that came from!"
Liam struggled to catch his breath as he crouched on the ground "I'm......not.....afraid of you"
His response was met with a chorus of "oooooooooh" from electric-kid's cronies. Electric-kid cracked his knuckles.
"Well, well, well" Electric-kid laughed "Looks like someone wants to play!" He swung an electric-charged kick toward Liam's head, but Liam grabbed his ankle, narrowly stopping the kick. Liam braced for the electric shock, but felt nothing.
"Get off of me, freak!" the electric-kid yelled as he freed himself from Liam's grasp with a kick to his chest. He pointed his finger as if charging up another lightning strike....but nothing happened.
"What!? What the fuck is this?" the electric-kid stood wide-eyed and bewildered.
Liam, meanwhile, felt...different. Something within him had changed, and it moved through his very body in a way that was immediately noticeable. An energy, buried deep within, finally surfacing.
Liam staggered to his feet as electric-kids cronies took a fearful step back. He looked at his hand, expecting burns where he had grabbed his leg, but instead found tiny arcs of electricity trickling up his arm and arcing between his fingers. He stretched his hand, and bright arcs crackled from his fingers like a tesla coil. He walked slowly toward electric-kid and his crew.
"You....you can't!" electric-kid cowered, tears welling up in his eyes as the reality of the situation set in "You can't attack me, that's cruel! I can't defend myself!"
Liam was unphased. He continued to walk, slowly and menacingly, toward electric-kid.
"YOU'RE A BULLY!" screamed electric-kid as he burst into ugly tears "YOU PREY ON THE WEAK AND DEFENSELESS, DON'T YOU FEEL THE SMALLEST SHRED OF EMPATHY YOU MONS..."
His hysterics were cut short by an electrically-charged backhand slap, which sent electric kid flying down the hallway and into a set of glass doors, which cracked on impact. Electric kid lay writhing on the floor, bawling his eyes out and clutching his burned face as his group of cronies fled the scene.
Liam stared him down from the other end of the hall.
"No."
EDIT: [Link to Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/yk0r0r/comment/iusxz6s/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) in the reply comments
| 2022-11-02T09:54:56 | 2022-11-02T09:00:33 | 706 | 177 |
[WP] Magic was once a powerful force in our world, but has been systematically repressed since the rise of the Church. You have just found a breadcrumb of evidence showing that this myth of antiquity is more truth than fable.
Based on the showerthoughts thread from earlier.
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"There is no magic in this world, child", the bald old scribe insisted as we walked along the leafy colonnade below the aqueduct. "There never was. And there never will be. There is only the Light Being and her miracles. Pray to her, and she will fill you with splendour. Defy her, and she will cast you down into the infinite singularity."
I gazed up into the cold, bluish sky. It had been six weeks since I arrived to study at the ancient, hallowed Academy of Light. I came to uphold the divine will of the prophets. To one day return to my old village and spread the word of the Light.
But already I am having heretical thoughts.
It started in the soaring marble library, with its walls of thousands and thousands of towering crammed bookshelves. The scent of old books gets me weak at the knees. This place had me rabid. As soon as the scribes set me loose in the library, I slunk along the old corridors, seeking out the most ancient and cobwebbed rooms. I started to dig from old tome to old tome.
The old books talked of magic. Of trinkets that could summon pictures and music from the air. Of magical contraptions that could suck in soil or rocks or plants and then spit out food, or clothes, or tools. These thick, weighty books talked of firebreathing dragons swooping through the sky. They talked of great ships of light that sailed across the stars. They were filled with pictures of the great magicians with their swooping starry gowns, and overflowing beards. In the Age of the Dragon Wars, the greatest of them all—the Vizier, they called him—had cast the greatest spell of all, to end the war and bring peace to the land.
A spell that made magic impossible across the entire earth. It was he who founded the Church of the Light Being. Who constructed the Academy of Light.
I did not press the issue with the scribe. I would continue to study, and dig. Dig through the old books like a rabbit through its soily warren. And one day I will unlock magic for myself.
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Things are never romantic enough for us, are they? The need to believe is demanding, but it often asks for too much, a forest instead of the trees. You don't believe in magic, do you? I'm sure you don't. If you did it would be the slick kind, full of pomp and grand workings. Your mind wouldn't waste thought on something little. The details are too fine sometimes.
The weather in Europe is cold and it seemed to have a vendetta against me when I went. My pilgrimage as I considered it was to go to the old cathedrals; France, Germany, maybe England if I had the time.
I was reminded of an old Paul Simon song when I first saw Reims. I saw the faces in the architecture; it makes you spiritual in a sense.
The stone was cold as was that day. The air had a dryness to it. I remember running my hands along the inside where it was warmer. There were shadows that fell softly that morning. I fell into a trance and I walked deeper into the shadows near a corner where the dark concentrated.
The world shimmered; it was like how the world looks when you're crying and the tears well. It shimmered and then the stone grew warm and I had a vision, as if memory had passed to me from the stone.
I saw a bright day in a young France. The sun's rays fell heavy and there was a fog and men on the outline. I stood nowhere but a man looked at me. He was sweating and as he looked at me he stopped in a ghostly stare.
He made the sign of the cross of panicked in French. The vision faded and I stretched my hands to him and held him. He was a hazy mist and it was like grasping water.
"Magie!" he shouted and pulled away. "Magie! Magie!"
*Magic.*
The vision faded and the cold rushed as if in a vacuum. I stumbled backwards and the shadows had lessened, though there was less light. I looked at the stone of the cathedral, confused I guess, but not really thinking. My breath was gone. I looked at the stone and it was different. There was no markings of note, but in my heart I knew it was different than it had been moments before.
I walked closer and touched the stone. Its coarse feel made me think of the humanity that went into all of this. How could man have made this?
There was a feeling like someone was watching.
*Come,* I thought. *Let it come*.
The rush was diminishing but I willed it on. These old stones held something but time had evaporated it. All that remained was scant and going quickly. The world changed and I was in the past again.
A different man stared at me. He held a large slab upon his shoulders. The singing of men carried as phantom wail. Like the other, he stopped. He was less afraid though. He dropped the slab and he came nearer.
"Magie," I said.
He smiled. I could not speak French very well and his words came like poetry lost to wind. I remember what he said though, a rough translation at least.
"You have it!" he said. "It exists still!"
I had no idea what he was on.
"Magie," I said.
"Magie," he said. "It is going. Gone from France. Gone from world. Only God now. Soon He goes also."
What would you say in my situation? I gaped probably.
"What do you mean?" I asked but of course he did not understand.
Things were fading. Before it all went, I saw him bend down and take out a knife. He scratched the slab in a crude way, making two lines.
"Magie," he said and he waved.
I was in the present again. I looked at the stones again and my heart stopped. The marks had appeared, old now, aged and feeble, a faint scar upon the stone. For over eight hundred years these lines had weathered. But they had not existed five minutes ago.
If you have believed me, or humored me up to this point, then this might be the breaking point for you. I am sorry if it has not been worth it, and this is an anti-climax to rival any. But this happened and I can only tell the truth.
Throughout my travels in Europe I was changed. I could not believe what had happened. I was so changed that I sought a priest. I went to England after all and found a man named Albert in a far-off village near the coasts.
Albert was old but flexible. He was a man of God above all, above even his religion. I thought him the best to counsel me.
I told Albert my story and he listened as you have: patiently. I steeled myself for words of miracles and what have you, but he looked at me with old eyes and smiled.
"This is where I tell you it was the Virgin Mary blessing you right?"
He laughed like a man who has sinned.
"No," he said. "I wouldn't say that. Don't worry. To be honest friend I can't say much about what you've told me. Magic! Imagine that."
"You think it was a hallucination?"
"No. Unless you are prone to hallucinations of course. I think it was... magic. What more can I say than a thirteenth century Frenchman? It was magic."
"Do you believe in magic?" I asked.
"I believe in small magic," he said. "I believe in God. I believe that there are things beyond us, yes. Perhaps we are not as all knowing as we thought. Certainly we are full of hubris."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean we chase things sometimes. We chase the wonder out of the world with our technology and our wars and with time. Just time. We spend so much time on this land that it loses the scent of magic maybe. It smells only of man."
"You believe what happened was true?"
"If you believe so, then yes."
He coughed, old Albert. He was progressive despite his age.
"The Lord forgive me," he said, "but sometimes I think we went overboard on His word. Maybe we needed to replace what had gone and so we went a bit overboard with His word, trying to recapture it all."
"Man drove off magic and brought God to replace it?"
"No. I believe God always existed. I believe we put Him to the forefront when all the other wonders had long gone. We built great and wonderful things to fill the void of course. But perhaps it cannot compare."
"Are you sad then?"
He looked at me and I thought he was sad.
"No," he said. "The wonders of the world would have gone eventually. The great places of the earth, the great buildings of man may have kept them. It may have kept some of the residue alive."
There was nothing really I could say. I spoke with Albert more until he tired and it was late and time for me to go.
I donated what I could spare and he blessed me and made some jokes. As I left I looked back at his silhouette against the coming night.
"Goodbye," he waved. And then in his hoarse voice: "You are not the only one to have gone back. Treasure the memory always."
And then I had stopped but I knew he would not want me to walk back with my questions. Perhaps the wonder was best preserved. Perhaps my questions would only tire him more and lead nowhere. I looked ahead at the countryside and the stars were out and it was a beautiful night.
| 2017-02-22T08:56:22 | 2017-02-22T08:56:06 | 59 | 19 |
[WP] A love letter is slipped under your door at your college. It would be cute, but it came from the closet door.
Pulled from the Instagram of @horrophiles. Saw it and wanted to see what would come up.
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Once I was sure that I had suffered nothing more serious than a mild concussion, that the scrapes on my elbows and knees were healing well, I pleaded to be released from the hospital. "No more observation needed!" I had begged the duty doctor, but my pleas fell on deaf ears.
When they finally deemed me fit to go, when I eventually stumbled back to my dorm room, two full weeks had already passed since my near-death experience.
The eyewitnesses who had first called for help claimed that they saw a car hit me, before it careened explosively into the side of a building. I heard later that the police believed the driver to be drunk, and that it was a miracle that I had avoided a head-on collision.
It wasn't a miracle.
In those eternal seconds, caught as I was like a deer in headlights, I had seen Murphine, clawing at the driver, wresting the steering wheel away, altering the course of the car by critical degrees. Without that intervention...
I locked the door behind me, and once I was sure I wouldn't be interrupted, I dropped to my knees, and started peeling away the thick electrical tape sealing the closet door. My fingers flew frantically, scrabbling at the tape, heedless of the pain even when a few of my nails snapped.
The letters flowed out in a torrent, bursting forth like the discarded leaves of autumn. An avalanche of letters, built up for months, from Murphine.
When did things change? I thought, as I sifted through them, trying to arrange them chronologically. I wanted to blame life, blame growing up, those concepts which had little meaning for Murphine. She was my first friend, way back when I had none, but she couldn't understand that I lived in my world, not hers, and I couldn't always be the little boy I was.
I had to move on.
And when I got that first letter from her all those months ago, slipped under my closet door, asking if I was adjusting well to college life, and exhorting me to write to her if ever I felt lonely...
I was so sure I was right. I was confident that I had to tell her I would contact her if I needed, I was certain that by sealing off the closet door, I was cutting myself free from a tether to my childhood. I had nothing but hope and joy in my heart, ready to embrace the brash, uncertain but ultimately exciting vigors of adulthood.
Murphine's last letter to me, was the day before the accident.
It was perfectly ordinary, insofar as letters from imaginary friends go. The tone was upbeat, as it always was, but the underlying melancholy was unmistakable. In another lifetime, I would have ignored this letter as well, but for the fact that it was the last of its kind.
"Eat well! You've been losing weight! Remember, a life is not led if you don't take risks! Tell me more about that girl you seem to have your eye on, next week maybe? Always here for you. Love, Murphine."
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
*I'm not a mushy sort of girl.* I'd say that every year. Every year my friends would shrug or laugh or "yeah right" with an eye roll. *You can't be lonely if you're not part of the game, right?*
It's my first year at college. I'm supposed to experiment and discover who I am inside. Instead I stay in my room mostly and play games. I face time and snap my bestie a lot. She lives in LA and is trying to make it as an actress. She's super gorgeous and I think she'll make it one day.
Kara and I have a standing V-Day date. Or, we do but the she gets a regular date. Tonight I think it's Marcus. She has guys asking her out all the time. Not me. But I don't really mind it. Dating's weird and I'm not really interested in any of the guys here. I thought I might meet someone I liked, but, meh. So our standing date is usually us chatting while she gets dressed up and I say how lame the holiday is. Marcus is picking up Kara at 8, so that means we can chat from like 6 on. I might even "meet" him. She likes to do that: introduce me to all her guys while we're on Facetime. I think she likes to show off. I think it's kinda funny. *What does she see in this guy?* When I meet the guy she's going out with I can't imagine what she likes about him. *He's just a guy. Nothing special*
I call Kara because of course I call her. I don't mind it. I know she loves me and we'll always be there for each other. She knows I'm calling because we just texted. "Heya Babes!" she squeals in her super happyexcitedfabulous way that is only hers and hers alone. Sometimes, if I think about it, it's weird how we're actually even friends. She's like a cheerleader, sorta, and I'm kinda a loner. All right, I am a loner, but at least I shower and stuff. I just don't care about the stuff other people seem to care about as much.
"Hey." I growl. This is part of the routine. I pretend to not care and she pretends this is the last first date for the rest of her life. *What guy wants a first date on Valentine's Day?*, I wonder. *Weirdo.*
"So, Marcus is like picking me up at 8 and he says he's taking me to a totally fabulous restaurant with like fancy candles and everything!" She squeals and I feel my blood rush. She was never actually a cheerleader, but her enthusiasm has always been contagious. If Kara likes it, then I like it too. I smile at her.
"I'm gonna set my phone here so you can see me. I'm gonna try on some dresses and I want you to let me know what you think." She leans the phone and fidgets until it is angled at her closet. She stands and adjusts the phone again until I can clearly see her entire body in the doorway of her closet. She turns around, flipping her gorgeous honey-colored locks around her shoulder and then looks back again. Suddenly her eyes are smoldering and my breath stops. *Damn, Kara.*
"Heya, handsome." She says in a slightly deeper but still peppy voice.
I laugh, "Hey," I return in my best approximation of what some random dude might say. I haven't met Marcus yet. Maybe he has a squeaky voice like some guys do.
"Ohmygosh! You should totally how off outfits too!" Her face fills the screen and her perfect mocha colored eyes light up her face. She smiles and looks at me expectantly. "I can help you get ready and you can go to that social or whatever. Maybe you'll meet someone there tonight!" She begins clapping her hands and shaking her shoulders and head in a fake sexy dance. I laugh and copy her moves.
I don't want to dress up, but I also don't want her to feel sorry for me about not having a date. She knows I don't care, but she cares, so I kinda care about that. "Okay," I shrug. She changes and I adjust my phone so it is angled at my closet. We both begin to sort through our closets.
Kara tells me about her day. She has a really boring professor who doesn't seem to know how to teach. She goes to a community college in LA and takes almost all acting classes. This professor teaches a basic English class. He treats everyone like they're stupid. It bums her out, but she met Marcus in that class so it's turned out okay. When it's my turn to share I tell her about how I've eaten waffles every day this week for breakfast AND dinner because it is seriously the only good thing in the cafeteria. She gives me a look when I say that. Kara eats mostly salads. She doesn't try to change me, but I know she wishes I were healthier. I love her for that.
"So, this is outfit number one." She stands straight and looks directly at me. She is wearing a low cut red dress that flares out at the waste. I don't know much about style, but I think she looks beautiful. My breath stops for a minute. I know that soon Kara will be famous with looks like this and so much talent.
"You are so fucking gorgeous," I choke out when I can speak.
She giggles and flips her hair. "Oh, you are too funny! So, I was thinking I'd curl my hair into ringlet with this and wear like a little pearl necklace. What do you think?"
I pause for a moment. "Uhhhh." I'm standing off camera because I'm shy. She's seen me naked too many times to count now, but rarely has she seen me in a dress. This one is a bit too tight for me, but it's the only dress I own. My mom sent it to me for my birthday.
"Hey, silly, come show me what you're wearing!" I peak my head out and slowly move into frame. "My dress is simple. It's all navy and has no sleeves."
"Oh, you're so pretty!" She gushes, then laughs. My cheeks turn red. I turn around and pretend to be busy closing the closet door.
"So, should I wear this or?" She holds up another dress. This one is strapless and super short. It's white with little sailor things on it, like anchors and boats and seagulls. I think it looks kinda lame, but I don't want her to feel sad.
"I want to see what that one looks like on you before I reach a judgment." I'm sitting again, not sure if she wants me to try on more outfits.
"I'll change, but you have to tell me about the guys you think are cute now. I haven't heard you talk about anyone lately. Who's gonna be at this social thing? Your RA? You said he was kinda nice, right? And he's older too, right?" She talks on as she pulls the red dress over her head and puts the white and blue one.
"So..." She turns and I see that the cut actually suits her. *Of course it does. Everything makes Kara look fantastic.* "You look amaze-balls, baby." I say it in my own voice instead of pretending to be Marcus or whatever. She looks up at me and smiles. Her eyes are kinda dreamy now.
"Hey, what's that?" She points at me. I look down at my chest. *What?* "No, goof ball, what's THAT?" She gestures again and I turn around. There's a bright and shiny, almost-neon pink heart on the floor partially sticking out of my closet door. *How weird.*
| 2017-04-11T17:30:23 | 2017-04-11T17:30:11 | 49 | 14 |
[WP] A love letter is slipped under your door at your college. It would be cute, but it came from the closet door.
Pulled from the Instagram of @horrophiles. Saw it and wanted to see what would come up.
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I was afraid to leave for college. I'd lived in the same house and slept in the same bedroom for my entire life. I'd had a fairly uneventful, happy childhood. Seeing friends and family members go through rough patches in their lives, seeing them go through break-ups, losing a loved one...I just felt so lucky. Too lucky. Like, at any minute karma was going to catch up with me and pay me back for years of avoiding disaster.
My home had always been a safe place and I was never afraid of anything there, but the big wide world was a different story. I'd been to other cities and travelled extensively, but never by myself. My mom and dad were always there for me, but they were often busy working. Sometimes, my uncles would take me out for little mini-breaks here and there when they weren't too busy. We'd go travelling together a lot when I was younger, but growing up made it a little harder to go out together in public. They also had to travel on their company's dime, and I wasn't little anymore, so their boss stopped looking the other way when they used the company card.
None of my friends know about my uncles. Even my parents don't really understand my relationship with them...They'd do anything for me though.
I arrived at my dorm with my parents. They helped me unpack and I hugged them goodbye. I didn't start crying until after they left. I could see them getting into their car from my little window. I waved, but they didn't see me.
That night I had a bad dream, there was a shadow looming over my bed, but then the dream changed and I was comforted by someone stroking my forehead, and a voice singing.
In the morning when I woke up I almost forgot where I was. Far away from the comforts of home; here was a small bed, desk, and a window. There was a closet too, but it was just as drab and ugly as the rest of my room. My old one had flowers painted on it...
I wondered if my uncles would ever come visit me here. I'd left my address, but they didn't exactly have GPS. I cried again, feeling more alone than I ever had in my life. Until I saw the piece of paper sticking out from under the closet door.
I dashed out of bed, tears still streaming down my face, and flung open the closet door. Nothing. I unfolded the note.
*"Hey kiddo, we're so proud of you! So glad we found you! Me and your Uncle Mike had to pull a few strings at the office and file a ton of paperwork, but we finally got the right door. We love you so much and we're here for you, always. You've grown into such an amazing young woman. We didn't want to wake you last night before your first day of school, but we'll pop in again soon, I promise. You'll always be our 'Boo.'
Love, Uncle Sully and Uncle Mike."*
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*I'm not a mushy sort of girl.* I'd say that every year. Every year my friends would shrug or laugh or "yeah right" with an eye roll. *You can't be lonely if you're not part of the game, right?*
It's my first year at college. I'm supposed to experiment and discover who I am inside. Instead I stay in my room mostly and play games. I face time and snap my bestie a lot. She lives in LA and is trying to make it as an actress. She's super gorgeous and I think she'll make it one day.
Kara and I have a standing V-Day date. Or, we do but the she gets a regular date. Tonight I think it's Marcus. She has guys asking her out all the time. Not me. But I don't really mind it. Dating's weird and I'm not really interested in any of the guys here. I thought I might meet someone I liked, but, meh. So our standing date is usually us chatting while she gets dressed up and I say how lame the holiday is. Marcus is picking up Kara at 8, so that means we can chat from like 6 on. I might even "meet" him. She likes to do that: introduce me to all her guys while we're on Facetime. I think she likes to show off. I think it's kinda funny. *What does she see in this guy?* When I meet the guy she's going out with I can't imagine what she likes about him. *He's just a guy. Nothing special*
I call Kara because of course I call her. I don't mind it. I know she loves me and we'll always be there for each other. She knows I'm calling because we just texted. "Heya Babes!" she squeals in her super happyexcitedfabulous way that is only hers and hers alone. Sometimes, if I think about it, it's weird how we're actually even friends. She's like a cheerleader, sorta, and I'm kinda a loner. All right, I am a loner, but at least I shower and stuff. I just don't care about the stuff other people seem to care about as much.
"Hey." I growl. This is part of the routine. I pretend to not care and she pretends this is the last first date for the rest of her life. *What guy wants a first date on Valentine's Day?*, I wonder. *Weirdo.*
"So, Marcus is like picking me up at 8 and he says he's taking me to a totally fabulous restaurant with like fancy candles and everything!" She squeals and I feel my blood rush. She was never actually a cheerleader, but her enthusiasm has always been contagious. If Kara likes it, then I like it too. I smile at her.
"I'm gonna set my phone here so you can see me. I'm gonna try on some dresses and I want you to let me know what you think." She leans the phone and fidgets until it is angled at her closet. She stands and adjusts the phone again until I can clearly see her entire body in the doorway of her closet. She turns around, flipping her gorgeous honey-colored locks around her shoulder and then looks back again. Suddenly her eyes are smoldering and my breath stops. *Damn, Kara.*
"Heya, handsome." She says in a slightly deeper but still peppy voice.
I laugh, "Hey," I return in my best approximation of what some random dude might say. I haven't met Marcus yet. Maybe he has a squeaky voice like some guys do.
"Ohmygosh! You should totally how off outfits too!" Her face fills the screen and her perfect mocha colored eyes light up her face. She smiles and looks at me expectantly. "I can help you get ready and you can go to that social or whatever. Maybe you'll meet someone there tonight!" She begins clapping her hands and shaking her shoulders and head in a fake sexy dance. I laugh and copy her moves.
I don't want to dress up, but I also don't want her to feel sorry for me about not having a date. She knows I don't care, but she cares, so I kinda care about that. "Okay," I shrug. She changes and I adjust my phone so it is angled at my closet. We both begin to sort through our closets.
Kara tells me about her day. She has a really boring professor who doesn't seem to know how to teach. She goes to a community college in LA and takes almost all acting classes. This professor teaches a basic English class. He treats everyone like they're stupid. It bums her out, but she met Marcus in that class so it's turned out okay. When it's my turn to share I tell her about how I've eaten waffles every day this week for breakfast AND dinner because it is seriously the only good thing in the cafeteria. She gives me a look when I say that. Kara eats mostly salads. She doesn't try to change me, but I know she wishes I were healthier. I love her for that.
"So, this is outfit number one." She stands straight and looks directly at me. She is wearing a low cut red dress that flares out at the waste. I don't know much about style, but I think she looks beautiful. My breath stops for a minute. I know that soon Kara will be famous with looks like this and so much talent.
"You are so fucking gorgeous," I choke out when I can speak.
She giggles and flips her hair. "Oh, you are too funny! So, I was thinking I'd curl my hair into ringlet with this and wear like a little pearl necklace. What do you think?"
I pause for a moment. "Uhhhh." I'm standing off camera because I'm shy. She's seen me naked too many times to count now, but rarely has she seen me in a dress. This one is a bit too tight for me, but it's the only dress I own. My mom sent it to me for my birthday.
"Hey, silly, come show me what you're wearing!" I peak my head out and slowly move into frame. "My dress is simple. It's all navy and has no sleeves."
"Oh, you're so pretty!" She gushes, then laughs. My cheeks turn red. I turn around and pretend to be busy closing the closet door.
"So, should I wear this or?" She holds up another dress. This one is strapless and super short. It's white with little sailor things on it, like anchors and boats and seagulls. I think it looks kinda lame, but I don't want her to feel sad.
"I want to see what that one looks like on you before I reach a judgment." I'm sitting again, not sure if she wants me to try on more outfits.
"I'll change, but you have to tell me about the guys you think are cute now. I haven't heard you talk about anyone lately. Who's gonna be at this social thing? Your RA? You said he was kinda nice, right? And he's older too, right?" She talks on as she pulls the red dress over her head and puts the white and blue one.
"So..." She turns and I see that the cut actually suits her. *Of course it does. Everything makes Kara look fantastic.* "You look amaze-balls, baby." I say it in my own voice instead of pretending to be Marcus or whatever. She looks up at me and smiles. Her eyes are kinda dreamy now.
"Hey, what's that?" She points at me. I look down at my chest. *What?* "No, goof ball, what's THAT?" She gestures again and I turn around. There's a bright and shiny, almost-neon pink heart on the floor partially sticking out of my closet door. *How weird.*
| 2017-04-11T21:01:16 | 2017-04-11T17:30:11 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much.
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It wasn't abnormal to hide your birth mark. Some were just embarrassing. Of course most people didn't hide them, it was a point of pride. My father, for example, never wore a sleeve covering his right arm. He showed it with pride, he was the pale bear of the townstead, always there to help out, the sheriff of the people. A legend in his youth, it's said that he once crushed a man's skull with his bare (bear?) hands. An evil man, with a red viper crawling up his face had tried to rob the general store. Well, not on my father's watch.
My mother, she was a little more conventional. The wee little dove on her collarbone demonstrated her compassion, her love and, well, her unique ability to calm a situation. A pacifist through and through my father would always call her. They were a perfect match, his hot - headedness always being diffused by her gentle nature.
But, ever since I was born, my birth mark had been covered. I'd been dressed in long sleeves since before I can remember. Every night I see it though. A cold blue serpent monster climbing up my left arm, wings sprawling over my back and a mouth filled with a thousand needles ending just on my shoulders. The coal that burned instead of eyes would glare at me, it's hideous hot smile baring those sickening teeth. The leviathan.
It was a monster. A daemon. Something from a nightmare. And yet it was a part of me. I could feel his power and hatred coursing through my veins, just as my father with his bear. It scared me. Well, it used to scare me. Until the day they came to my village.
A small army had come to claim my land for some foreign king. They had begun butchering the men, until my fathering came barrelling in, heavy fists crushing the foreign men beneath him. The town rallied behind him, fighting back these strange invaders. I watched, glued to to the horror. Death followed him to the centre, before a spear pierced his throat.
A scream ripped from my mouth, blood-curdling and sickening. The battle stopped and the invaders and townsfolk staggered back, staring at me. I felt the leviathan within me whisper. 'Kill them all,' he said. The power inside him seeped into me, slowly at first, but soon a storm raged inside me, an almost uncontrollable fury. I glanced into a nearby window and saw my face, a young girl with a hot smile spot welded to her lips, and eyes that glowed like coal. A howl escaped my lips and I let the storm go free.
Edit: Grammar and some spelling mistakes. Obligatory thanks for the gold kind stranger - it's my first one! :D. As a note to everyone who read this and liked this, thank you so much for the support. I've never posted any of my works any where before, and the fact that so many of you enjoyed it makes me incredibly grateful. I have read every comment and I'm so glad that I all of you enjoyed it. I don't know if a part two is coming (I didn't devote much thought to part 1 to be perfectly honest), but I promise I'll keep y'all posted. Also to answer your questions: No I don't have a subreddit, although if I can create another story that impacts people as much as this I will definitely create one. Again thanks to everyone for the kind words, and the love. :D
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So there I was, in an interrogation room. Really frightening stuff: the metal table, chair, the mirrored window. He looked to me, grabbed a cup of coffee with a donut - sigh, this guy is so cliche - and asked, "so, what happened?"
Ever since I was born, my parents told me I was special. That I was the first in many aeons: a person born to a godly spirit animal. They told me about the past of my ancestors, about the Great Purge, in which all the legendary people that had God Spirits were either killed or ostracized.
It wasn't unjustified, though. The God Spirits were dictators; tyrants that justified a reign of horror with their absolute intelligence, strength and enhanced senses. They instituted an theocracy, the Godly Empire, that endured many millenia, until one day the king, the God Spirit known as Phoenix, used the military to subdue the population. Massive insurgency followed. The Great Purge was the biggest bloodbath in our history; but it ended with the democratic republic we know today.
So ever since, Dad and Mom tried to protect me by hiding my true tattoo and giving me another one instead - a Beaver.
I had a nice childhood. My father was a General in the army (General Bear) a pragmatic and strong man; as a Dove, my mother was a diplomat, always trying to peace things out and always going for the best peaceful solution. This dichotomy led to me having the best of two worlds: my father trained me in many combat forms, from the fearsome Tiger Stance to the precise Snake Stance, whereas my mother taught me Philosophy, Maths, History, Physics.
In my early teens, I first saw the sea. Dad and Ma took me to the beach when I was 15; as soon as I hit the water, all the sea creatures came and greeted me as if I was their king; at first, small fish and crabs, but as I dove deeper also sharks and stingrays.
As the years went on, I met all kinds of sea animals - sharks, whales, and even those that lie in the dark and cold deepness of the sea: abyssals. I discovered I have powers beyond imagination: underwater breathing, communication with sea creatures, control of tides and waves. I visited all the seven seas; met animals and places mankind has never dreamed of existing.
In the sea I had everything I ever wanted: independence, solitude, friends. It was paradise not on Earth, but on the green waters of the sea.
But it somehow was not meant to be forever...
I will never forget the day when, already an adult, soon after I got home from swimming, I saw a big comet impending from the sky; as it fell down, it took the shape of something close to a dragon, waving its wings and roaring in a colossal ball of fire. With a big thud, it clashed onto the ground and splattered fire all over the place, hundreds of meters away from me, making a big dust cloud.
You can tell, running is not my forté. It took me a while; but when I got there, I saw a man in flames, walking a shiny golden armor, holding a sword full of emeralds, topazes, diamonds and rubis. He was engulfed in fire; and as I hear the crackling of the fire on his body, I start to gaze upon his figure.
He was a tall, athletic man. I'd say somewhere near six foot tall, not really muscular. His physique was nothing special, apart from the beautiful and golden body armor he wore.
Until I saw his face: glowing red eyes, with glowing red hair as if this guy embodied the spirit of fire itself, as if his hair was fire burning alive, decorated with a crown imbued with a massive ruby.
-- Greetings. I am Phoenix the Wise, and I came to talk to the powerful Leviathan.
I was petrified.
-- I am here to take you to the Star Kingdom.
I was thinking of so many things; had so many questions and so many fear. There, right in front of me, was the infamous tyrant I have always heard of; the same person that ordered the mass killings of thousands and brought humanking to one if its darkest ages.
Obviously, the first thing I thought was to run away. And as I think, my breathing gets fast and I start to rationalize. It would be no good because he can fly, he can fly fast. As long as I'm in land he has the advantage and as soon as I hit the water I can submerge into de depths and lose him. But this plan was deemed to fail either because she sea was way too far for this to succeed.
So there was no other way. I calmed down; prepared in the defensive Elephant Stance, I was ready to fight. He nodded, gave a little laugh. "Have it your way. I am fluent in all the Ancient Animal Stances".
He starts by shearing his sword and dropping it. As he moves toward me, blazes of fire follow him. As soon as I try to hit the first punch, he dodges it, drops me and armlocks me. Even with years of training, seems I am no mach for the king, who appears to excel at close combat.
Phoenix then suddently transmuted in a wind of fire: when I came to it, he was holding me on his arms; with a serious look he says:
-- Let's have it my way now.
We suddently take off and Phoenix takes me on a flight with him!
Right after we reach the clouds, he calms me down:
-- Everything you know about the God Spirits is a lie, made up by traitors to seize power. The God Spirits are benevolent, just and peaceful beings who just want the well-being of mankind. The stories I heard were all a plan by the Hell Spirit known as Fenrir, my brother, to cease control of power and wealth.
-- If so, how is it that you are all known as being sanguinary dictators?
Humankind was a prosper civilization; by means of genetic engineering, developed before the Godly Empire by the military, we were able to merge animal and human DNA to create augmented human beings bearing animal characteristics. One day, a group of cultist cientists experimented with magic and sorcery, giving birth to a generation of people with godly spirits, designed to rule over mankind and bring us to a new level in evolution and founding the Godly Empire. The plan worked: we evolved as a species, and the Empire ruled with peace, justice and prosperity.
The head scientist, Dr. Anitta Belford, unknowingly pregnant of her husband Major Heartfelt at the time, gave birth to the two first Godly Spirits: Phoenix and Fenrir. Both excelled at leadership, meaning they had high skills on tactics, diplomacy, sciences, warfare, combat; nonetheless, Phoenix was akin to his mother, and Fenrir to their father. Phoenix wanted to lead free men and women to freedom, independence and prosperity through culture and education; Fenrir sought to dominate the world by being a strong leader, ruling with iron fists and imposing order.
Soon after Dr. Belford's death, Phoenix led the Empire with his brother, the prince Fenrir. He had two counsellors: Dragon and Aslam, unimaginably clever and intelligent spirits. On the other hand, he had two generals: Wukong and Sleipnir, the best warriors in all of the land.
Fenrir was jealous of how good of a ruler Phoenix was. The people liked him; although mankind did have a strong military, no big wars were fought over so many years. The wolf conspired against his brother and convinced the military to turn against Phoenix in a coup d'etat. The Spirits led by Phoenix formed the Godly Spirits, and ran away to another dimension by means of Dragon's power. To this dimension they called the Star Kingdom. As for Fenrir, he founded the Hell Spirits and installed the tyranny we all heard about. They were all killed in the Great Purge - or so it seemed.
As Phoenix was speaking to me, a big lightning bolt shot us down: it was Impundulu, the Hawk of Thunder. As we fell to the ground, weak and panting, men in black chained Phoenix and I, gave us serums. Right before the firebird slept, he gasped: the Hell Secret Service caught us.
As soon as I woke up, this guy - who I supposed was an agent - tells me:
- You are in an interrogation room. Everything you say or do is documented. Tread lightly.
As he sits, he shows me his tatto.
- Nice to meet you, Leviathan. I am Strix, the Interrogator.
He grabs coffee and donut.
- So, what happened?
(Ok guys, I got excited and this got longer than I expected. I will stop here but maybe I'll write something more and show you people :D )
| 2017-11-08T05:04:56 | 2017-11-08T04:42:26 | 8,969 | 740 |
[WP] You weren’t shocked to find out that your bard had many illegitimate children. Including one whose mother was a dragon. No, what shocked you was that he somehow managed to help raise every single one of them. And now they’ve come to help you.
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You always imagine that the bards get around. And you don't really blame them, handsome, charming, usually generous with their money, and quick to lift the spirits of their fellow men with song and dance. There is always some village girl, charmed kobold female, fascinated dwarven warrior, fair elven maiden, or other such people willing to reward the brave and heroic bard with a night or two of passion. And unless the bard pined more for, well, male company, this oft resulted in some illegitimate children.
I didn't expect our bard to be different. Sure, I imagined he had more than the common bard, given his grey hairs and storied life, but what I didn't imagine was the sheer level of loyalty they had. When our party was on the verge of being destroyed by the forces of the evil Arch-Lich, we summoned what allies we could. I summoned what Barbarian warriors I could from my homeland, our elven wizard managed a company of rangers, and our Dwarven cleric had a small group of priests and paladins at her side.
But the Bard, our bard, had called for his children. And they came. Oft accompanied by their mothers, and their people. Some were reasonable, a legitimised noble from an otherwise extinct(in the male line) dynasty, an Amazonian warrioress, a half-orcish man carrying a ludicrously large sword, a half dragon. All with forces of their own to aid us. And some were even more eldritch. What sort of man could have fathered a child on both a Demonic Queen and an Angelic Guardian? What man had travelled the world, having children with everything, some gnomes to gnolls, from an actual elemental, to a large werewolf?
And the strangest thing was, he had helped to raise them all. He had a secret magical ring that allowed him to teleport to any of his offspring, and every single gold he had earned on his travels went to his kids, to pay for their education, to help them out, to ensure that their mothers would want for nothing. It was honestly the single most impressive army I'd ever seen, and the single most diverse. What army has ever had both the demonic, the draconic, the divine, and the dwarven on the same side, not to mention countless other races, following the Bard's kids and their often quite imposing mothers.
With these odds on our side, suddenly the great battle became, well, remarkably more biased in our favour. The Arch-Lich did not endure, did not win this battle. It was crushed, its phylactery melted in dragonfire, and we were all a bit shocked at how anticlimatic it was. But our Bard? He didn't care much for any of that. He sat up a picnic for his children, and the numerous women he had loved. Remarkably, none of them seemed to be bothered by this. Instead, they ate, played games, had fun, while the rest of us looked on in shocked awe. He had been there for every birthday, for every important event, he had been there when they had needed him, and he had shown them a truly epic love and devotion, for a man who seems to have seduced one third of all female life.
And so, in his hour of need, they had come. A battle which had they not intervened, might have spelled the beginning of the end of the entire world, was just over. I respected him as a capable fighter and bard before, but now, I think I may know and definitely respect the kindest and most noble man that has ever lived in the tides of time. A man who fathered his own army.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
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“They won’t stop. We can only hope to slow them down. With all due luck, our sacrifice will buy time for Lendar to rally,” I said.
“Lendar won’t rally,” Elwa grumbled. “They have wasted too much time ignoring our warnings, and now Tenwen has died to save them from a preventable disaster”
“Perhaps,” I replied. “And perhaps not. But we must give them this chance.”
“He’s right,” Bello said, wiping the demon ichor off of his short sword. “If we don’t slow them here, there is no hope at all. We haven’t seen such a large army in our thirty years, but that matters not. The Stone Demon must be stopped if life is to continue. What are we, in the grand scheme of life?”
I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, my halfling friend. Your height does your wisdom disservice.” We shared a smile at the old joke.
“Well, old friends, it looks like this is it,” Kond said as he hefted his notched axe. Elwa nodded and pulled fresh arrows from her dwindling supplies. Bello had even drawn a dagger to hold in his other hand.
“Our journey ends here. We die here, today,” I said. “Let’s make it count. For Lendar. For our family and friends.” A tear dropped down my cheek, and I gripped my staff tightly.
“For Tenw-”
A single plucked note struck our ears from behind. We all turned to look at Johor with bewildered expressions, but he ignored us as he plucked another strong.
“Don’t mind me,” he said. “Just tuning.”
“Tuning?” Kond asked, irritated. “We’re about to charge to our certain deaths for honor and glory and the future of the realm of Lendar and you’re *tuning*?”
Johor strummed a few quick chords, then twisted a knob. “It’s a bit chilly,” he said. “Makes me a bit sharp. And this humidity isn’t helping,” he added with a sharp glare in my direction.
“What did I do?” I asked, bewildered, but no one answered.
He strummed a few more chords. “Ah, much better. Okay, as you were. Shoo! Get back to it!” he said, waving us away.
“Right… so… Where was I?” I asked.
Kond scratched his head. “For Tenwen?”
“Of course. For- ah, screw it, just run at them. Moment’s ruined anyway.”
We charged the Stone Demon’s army. I immediately summoned a lightning storm, and the blasts tore enormous holes in the earth, destroying dozens of rockfiends at a time. Next to me, Elwa was picking off the Stone Demon’s leaders with deadly precision. Her arrows ripped through them, often striking and killing at least one rockfiend behind her target.
Kond, meanwhile, was a maelstrom of destruction. He charged straight into the midst of the army, ripping a path through their ranks. He was surrounded on all sides by enemies that could kill a dozen lesser men.
It was heaven for him.
Even Bello was decimating their numbers. Where Kond was a hammer, he was a scalpel, disappearing into the midst and cutting down a handful of their number before they even knew he was there.
For a moment, we thought there was a chance. The army was in disarray, and we hadn’t even been touched.
Then it all went wrong.
The effort of maintaining the lightning storm was enormous, but I managed until a few rockfiends broke away from the melee and came my way. I fended them off, but the storm began to dissipate. Elwa reached for an arrow, but her hand came back empty. She tossed away her bow and reached for a sword, but it was far from her most comfortable weapon. Kond began to take hits, and though none were enough to stop him, he was soon bleeding from a dozen cuts. Johor played a song. Bello was nearly caught by a rockfiend’s stony arm, and only barely managed to dodge.
“JOHOR!” I yelled, slamming the butt of my staff into the ground. A blast of energy was released, sending the Stone Demon’s army flying away and giving us a brief respite. I turned to look at him.
“What the hell are you doing?” I growled, but he held up a finger and shushed me.
“Silence from the audience, please!” he called. Then he began to sing.
It was an unmemorable piece, some folk song about the miller’s daughter. We watched with the Stone Demon’s army as he finished his mediocre performance. The final chord faded, and the battlefield was silent.
“Song of Rest?” Bello asked.
“Nope!” Johor said cheerfully.
“Song of Mesmerism?” Kond guessed.
“Not even close,” he said.
“Song of Silence?” a greater rockfiend rasped, scratching its mossy chin.
“No- well, I guess, in a way, yes, but no,” Johor said.
A clamor arose from behind a rise in the landscape, and what I could only describe as the most eclectic army in existence crested the hill.
“Song of Summoning!” he said. “Kids! Come help out your old man, eh?”
And with that, the worst battle cry in history, the army charged.
It was absolute bedlam. A company of moody-looking half elves launched volley after volley, then stormed off in a huff when Johor told them he was proud. A seemingly endless stream of humans, half-dwarves, half-orcs, half-halflings, and even a few half-trolls tore into the Stone Demon’s forces. And then, as the cherry on top, a bright red dragon swooped over the army, toasting hundreds of rockfiends.
“That’s my girl!” he called.
“Johor, what is this?” I asked, flabbergasted.
“These are my kids!” he said proudly. “Look, there’s Tommy, and Bart, and Gerald, and Johor Jr, and Johor Jr II, and…” He continued listing out names as we stared in wonder.
“Oh, and there’s Frederick! Hullo, Frederick! How are your studies?” he called as a young man led a volley from an array of trebuchets. “He does love mathematics, little Freddy,” he said in an aside to us.
“Johor, do you know how many kids there are here?” Elwa asked.
“Oh, over 12,000!” he grinned.
“Johor, we’ve only been adventuring for 30 years. That’s less than 11,000 days.”
“I’ve been busy!” he protested.
“And you know them all?” Kond asked, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Who do you think I am? My father?” he scoffed. “Please. I take care of my kids.”
“But the cost alone!”
Johor shrugged. “I bought an inn with the money from the Tomb of Ahkran and reinvested the profits.”
“And the time?” I asked.
He winked. “A good father *always* makes time for his kids.”
“That’s… not possible,” I said faintly, but he just winked again.
We watched in awe as Johor’s kids destroyed the legions of the Stone Demon. For a moment, the battle seemed it was at a stand-still. Then, without warning, half of the Stone Demon’s army disappeared in a multidimensional flash of dark silence.
“T̕h̵̶̢̛e̶͘͢҉ ̢͡Ş̛͡o̧͢n҉͘ ̸̧͡o̸̧̧͡f̷͡ ̡̧̕t͘͡͏h̴̵̢̢e̛͏ ̨͘͟͠O̶̕͘͝n͝͞è̶̡̕ ̶͘͢W͏̡̛́́h͘͠͠ǫ͜͜ ̨̡͠Ę̵a̵̸͠҉͘t̀͞͡s̀ ̶̷́͡Ţ̨̀͜͡i̧͝m̷̀͏̀é̸̶̶!" Johor cheered. "Glad you could show up!”
“Johor, old pal,” Bello began. “I'd hate to be rude but... Is that an eldritch being?”
“Technically only half-eldritch,” he whispered, “but don't say that too loudly. He’s sensitive about it.
I [fainted](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks).
| 2020-04-29T13:08:58 | 2020-04-29T12:49:11 | 1,703 | 720 |
[WP] The magical races enslaved magic-less humans centuries ago. To expand their empires, the magical races travel and conquer different dimensions. They soon stumble across and try to conquer a magic-less world full of humans. It did not go well.
|
The Alliance opened the gate and flooded the new world with their armies and spell casters. It was just another world in a procession of weak and powerless human realms, or so they thought.
Usually, within hours, there would be an update on progress made: nations destroyed or surrendering, death tolls, a report of the most effect spells against a particular world, and so on. After there had been no word for more than three hours a contingent was sent through to remind the Archmages of their duty.
The contingent didn't return.
A second and third were sent without any response as well and a bit of concern began to be whispered in the halls of the Archons. That was when they called upon Pytherian. He would be the first Elder to visit a human world in over a century. It was embarrassing for the Council of Elders, but brought utter shame upon his house. Nevertheless, he would obey.
He stepped through the gate alone, not wishing to show weakness by bringing an armed guard, and was first met with a sight that was so astonishing, he almost slapped himself awake. Was this real?
Before him was a carnival of sorts, but like one he had ever before seen. There were crowds meandering about and small shops serving food that appeared strange but smelled as good as anything back home. What caught his eye was the long lines leading up to strange machines.
But then the most important realization came to him as he noticed how very small he was, standing on the ledge of some sort of mesa. The humans and their creations, were great mountains or towers, and he was but an speck amongst giants. Where were his brethren?
A booming voice could then be heard.
"Just one this time? Man, I can't get over how small they are."
Pytherian saw a giant near him wielding some enormous object and he quickly summoned a lightning arc. It jumped towards the great creature before him.
\-----------------------------------------------------
Greg was so sick of the weird looking ants that had showed up that morning. They kept re-appearing after he had used every method in the book to exterminate them. Poisons, fire, drowning, and even stomping were all effective, but there never seemed to end their procession.
This time there was a single six-legged one and, he could have sworn, some kind electrical charge shot out from it and hit his shoe. Maybe they were a new species. He set down his broom and dustpan and leaned in to get a closer look of at the bug on the table.
The way it looked at him made Greg uneasy but the moment also gave him an idea. He had an entomologist friend who would love to see something like this. He ran off, came back with a glass jar and put some dirt in it, and then put the strange little insect inside.
Greg chuckled. "What should we call you?"
"I am Pytherian of the Grand Council of Elders, First Born of House Yorathustra. You shall feel my wrath you fool!"
Greg could have sworn he heard the creature make a very faint squeaking noise, but then shrugged and sealed the jar. He poked holes in the top and then put a piece of scotch tape on the side and wrote on it: stupid-looking bug.
\-----------------------------------------------------
Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out my profile and comment history.
|
From realm to realm they traveled. Dominating, enslaving, destroying...
Their gift granted them near God-like powers; with their Magic they ruled all. Their birth right, as they called it, Eldest, First Light in the Heaven, Guardians of all Creation...
Bullshit! That what we call it.
A hundred thousand worlds they have conquered and enslaved. Their Magic destroying, cowering all who dared to stand before them.
Can you even imagine the wealth of a hundred worlds, let alone a hundred thousand?
3 centuries and some years ago they tore the Veil into our world. They thought we were like all the other worlds they had conquered.
We showed them the Might of the ProTerran Alliance. For 300 years we have fought and held them at bay. Our technology against their Magic.
Like the ebb and flow of the Tides; we have advanced and retreated. Stormed ahead only to be driven back as some unthought abomination, some Eldritch horror savages us.
Yet we hold firm, steadfast. We have seen the rise of the powers of our Sun, we have refined the Cosmic Flux into instruments of pure lethality.
On this, the Eve of the commencement of the 323 battle season; our Spring Equinox marks the beginning of the End for the Fae, fuck the Eldest, their time has past. The might of Earth is arrayed infront of them and this season our technology will be their downfall and obliteration.
"Secondary Adjunct to Minister of Eastern Operations"
Personal dialog:
After 22 years of study I have found it! The key to their power and their defeat.
I am getting ahead of myself in my excitement.
Commity Members: for those of you unfamiliar with the intricacies of the war:
The Eldest wield untold levels of power. Magic was a fairy tale in our oldest stories. A dream of If and Maybe perhaps. They are able to weird the fundamental forces of Existence itself at will.
We have separated them in several categories based on their attunement to the powers the weild.
The Shamans: wield nature itself. They can control the life, growth, and death of living beings. How many millions did we lose to starvation when our crops rotted over night in our fields? Do you remember the terror when our pets all turned against us? Only when we engineered our crops to grow underground, away from the sunlight could we feed ourselves again. Only from the ashes and blood of our animals could we create ones free from their touch.
The Warlocks: how I despise the Warlocks. It was them that murdered my family, in the dead of winter, on the Solistice Night. Half frozen we huddled together under our blankets, curled around the fireplace.
Those Twilight years were dark and beyond deadly for so very many across our forces. 7 years of constant death and loss; burned and frozen, drowned and torn apart across our planet. From our losses we learned and grew ever stronger.
The very Elements of nature hunted us, slew us, ate us!
When we withdrew from the surface down deep into the combs and rebuilt our cities we controlled the elements then. No longer could the Warlocks drown us in the spring Rains, burn us in the summer scorch, freeze us in the winter wilds or even rob us of the very air to breath.
The weight of a hundred thousand worlds has fallen upon us, century upon century and year over year, decade over decade we remain!
We have seen loss and ruin and returned it 10 fold. When they burned Kaliphrea city to ash we stormed Gorfal world and tore it from their cold dead fingers.
Remember brave, courageous fighters, we fight not just for our world but every world and realm held in terror by the Eldest.
We no longer fight stick and stone against their magical sway but bullet, bomb and electron, proton and neutron against the might of the Gods of Heaven itself and we hold firm!
Now it comes, the day of reckoning...when the might and power of the Eldest is ripped from their grasp and used against the. From the fall of Trion to the destruction of Morwynn our vengeance will be brutal and burn across the known Verse.
The link has be found!!!
I Tersas, third Son of Quiltin, Primary Adjunct to Fergilog, Honorable Minister Outright of the Eastern Wastes...
Have identified, quantified AND Nullified their ability to cognitively control the energies of existence!
Within the Null Void Sphere the Eldest are powerless. From Warlock to witch, daemon to shaman, Pixie to HellKnight they are now rendered as useful as a new born babe.
No longer will their powers Rage across our ranks, never again will a soul be ripped from body by their Necro's.
At the first light of daybreak at the agreed upon time, this Seasons battle will bring an end to this War and the Proterran Alliance will stand victorious once and for all.
The NVS has been deployed across the entirety of the front line, no magic will ever again destroy a human life.
Robbed of their ability to cast destruction upon us our forces will dance across the fields of Eldest bodies and free world and realm from their grip.
By this hour tomorrow Earth will be free and bring Freedom to all held by the Eldest.
Edit: Eldest perspective...
"The time draws nigh Cradril, the Seers flail at the portents! Bloodshed and death never before known will follow this day. Their moon sits upon the Hunters Crook, the Celestia peek above the horizon.
This day the "Trog" will forever regret their arrogance."
"Hold your thoughts tightly sister son! These Terns have earned your respect though you under it not. For nearly a third of a cycle THIS planet, THESE Terns, have held off the Eternal Mist.
NEVER in our history! Not once in 457 cycles has anyone dared to turn our sway; to push away the Offering like these Terns!"
"What do they call their cycles here Nookti?" Cradril asked tersely.
"Years, my Arch" Nookti replied quietly.
The rebuke stung his eyes and ears, perhaps he had misread his lords stance?, the tilt of his head?
This realm affected all who came here after a time, the light was wrong, the air was heavy. It wore you down over a cycle or two. In variably all soldiers, Wilders and Moon-born would have to leave to escape the affects of this Realm.
None had remained along as Cradril, he fought the Realm as he fought the Terns, quietly, resolutely, tenaciously...nearly a third of a cycle he had directed the Eternal armies.
The tiny Terns had proven to be an unrelenting annoyance. Their lives measured in breathes yet they fought and died like the Gods of Old.
In other circumstances they would be fascinating to study but we stood on the Morn of the Equalizing.
It was the start of the campaign, our Wilders strength began to peak and we could turn aside and negate the Tern abominations.
No Realm had ever learned to use the Flow to power stone and steel. How? How had the Terns of this Realm, with no connection, been able to harness the Gods Will?
A question for another day. Today would be momentus. The final fall of the P'Tern's great gathering.
"Bloodshed and Death" the Seers promised!
Nookti curled his fingers eagerly awaiting first light of the final Equalizing on this wretched Realm....
"Lord Cradril! LORD CRADRIL!"
"Look to me. You see me?" Nookti shouted over the roar of screams.
"The Wilders...they have all fallen. They..., they cry that it is gone, the Flow has been stolen from them. We have to RETURN!"
"WE CAN NOT STAND AGAINST THE TROGS WITHOUT OUR WILDERS"
Slowly, Cradril stood, blood masking his face and blinding his right eye. Where had it gone wrong? The SEERS cried of Bloodshed and Death for our enemies. He thought silently.
This Realm pushed you, punished you, forged You. Few others in the Eternal Armies could have survived that blast but Cradril knew it was his time here on this Realm that has strengthened him so that he could survive. Survive long enough to see the Eternal Mist burned away.
What Infernal contracts had been made? What Sacrfices given?
Craddril watched as Fist upon Fist was obliterated. How many souls lost?
50000 to a knuckle, 5 knuckles to a finger, 6 fingers to a fist, a dozen Fists just gone in a blink.
Tears streamed down Cradril's face as he stepped forward to give the signal for surrender!
| 2022-08-13T12:33:36 | 2022-08-13T12:29:05 | 25 | 15 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
|
"Hey, Zero!" I heard it too late to dodge, the yellow-grey pain-flashes in my head igniting my vision as the barrage of punches rained down on me. I tried to accept it, let it pass as the infantile tantrum it was.
Melark stopped hitting me long enough to kick me, his acid laughter staining the air as I fell to the floor among the unswept dust bunnies and sticky cola remnants. The Sign on my rib cage blazed ice cold, tempting me with a prickling song of revenge. I thought I had the routine down, that I could just let this play out and walk away...it was the feeling of Melark's warm spit clogging my hair that did it.
I stood up, looked that asshole in the eye, and gave in. He thought I was Nothing, that Zero was Nothing. Smirking, I reached inside his repulsive existence and severed the chain of Time that held him. Atom by atom, cell by cell, I released him into the Infinite spaces where Reality is not yet manifest. He knew what was happening. I made sure of that. For an instant of eternity, Melark saw all of his potential selves, and found all of them *small.*
I re-wove him at the last possible instant, and left him a sobbing, broken shell.
|
The little circle of black ink stained the skin on the back of my left hand. Hollow and empty, as if God had gotten to me and tired of his work.
Everyone's sigil *started* hollow. Then, when a person reached five or six, the sigil would fill itself in. If the sigil was unique, it could take another year or two for the person to find out what exactly it did. But most of the time you could just look them up as they were well documented.
There was nothing to look up about mine, though. I just had to wait until it filled. If it would ever fill, I thought.
I'd spent my childhood trying to figure out what it might mean -- this lonely empty sigil. Dad had been sorely disappointed -- he'd been hoping for an eye, like his friend's daughter Carla had on her foot. She was only a year older than me and could already take little peeks into the future, and although the future wasn't certain, more often than not she was helpful at the horse track.
"Well it must mean something," Dad said. "Maybe it means no gravity." He grinned at his sudden epiphany. "Maybe you can fly, Tom! Have you tried flying? Come on, I'll lift you up."
Mom came in screaming. "Put him down this instant!" Then, more calmly, she added, "You can't swim out to meet this ship. You both need to just wait, patiently, for it to come into shore."
Dad always listened to Mom. Had to, really. Mom had the gift of near-perfect logic, so he knew she was right. As usual.
He sighed and placed me down. "Sorry, son. Was just trying to help you out. Listen, if you never get a sigil, I'll still love you just the same. I promise."
I loved my Dad, but he could be an idiot sometimes.
By the time I was fifteen my ability, my sigil, still remained blank. Just a depressing reminder of how ordinary I was. Less than ordinary.
"Come on, freak-show," said a wiry boy, Joe, as I sat in the cafeteria eating my lunch alone. No sigil meant no friends. I didn't blame them -- why would they have wanted to be friends with someone so dull?
"Show us what you can do," Joe taunted. His sigil was like a serpent, and he was crafty and mean-spirited. He looked like his sigil, I thought. His thin face and sharp teeth and sly smile. I'd found through experience that it was better to ignore him than to get on his wrong side.
"You don't want to do that, Joe," said Carla, the girl with the eye on her foot. She was the year above me and must have just come into the cafeteria. Next to her was a pretty girl I'd never seen before with brown pigtails and thick rimmed glasses.
"What would you know about it?" Joe said, turning on her. "Did you even know you had an sigil on your foot?"
"I knew."
Joe turned to his friends and said, "I'm amazed she could see it down there, past her stomach." They laughed gleefully.
"Quit it!" I said.
"It's okay," said Carla. "You don't need to. I've seen my future and I've seen Joe's. His words are just a drop of rain on a sunny day for me. His though, that's a forever winter."
"Fuck you," said Joe. "My future is going to be great. Quarterback for the Miami Dolphins. Greatest player the game's ever seen."
She shook her head. "Most of your futures aren't like that. Some, you're on the street begging for change. And then there are the bad ones. You want to hear about those?"
Joe glared at us both. Then he turned and walked away, his friends following.
The new girl was still standing next to Carla. "Who was that Jerk?"
"Someone you don't need to worry about," said Carla. Then, she introduced us. "This is Tom. Tom, this is Ruby. Ruby's new to our school and I was just showing her around."
"Hi," Ruby said, with a smile infectious enough to worm it's way onto my face.
"It's not always like this," I said. "That guy just likes to tease me because..." A flush of embarrassment hit and my face reddened.
The new girl smiled. "Because you...?"
"He doesn't have a sigil," said Carla, factually. As if it didn't matter. As if it hadn't and wasn't ruining my life. "He's just got an empty circle, like you."
"Like... you?" I said, brows furrowed.
Ruby held out her right hand. An empty black ring on the back of it. Just like mine, except on the opposite hand.
I showed her my hand.
"Wow," she said. "I've never met another with an empty sigil. This is... kind of weird? Or kind of cool?"
"Guess it's nice not to be alone," I said. And it was.
She nodded. "It's why I moved school. My parents hoped the teasing might... you know, soften? But seeing that ass just now, I guess it won't."
"I can see a few futures with my sigil," Carla said. "That's my gift."
"Yeah?" said Ruby. "That's pretty cool."
"I see a future where you both have a sigil."
"When?!" I asked, instantly regretting sounding so keen. I tried to play it cool,"I mean, uh, so when do we get ours?"
Carla smiled. "Check now. I think you've got them."
We both raised our hands, holding them in front of us. The rings were still empty.
"Nothing," Ruby said.
"Nada," I said.
But Carla took our hands and pushed them together. A shiver tapped down my spine as our skin touched.
And the circles... the circles looked like something else, at least for a moment.
They looked -- just a little -- like the an infinity symbol.
Ruby was staring at me, her mouth open. I think she that cold shiver too.
"You both always had sigils," Carla said. "I've not seen all the futures, but I think -- maybe -- your gifts are each other, always."
​
\---
​
Thank you for reading! If you liked I wrote a pretty similar story yesterday that's over on my sub (joint sub, with my amazing co-writer Static): /r/nickofstatic \- it's the "In an alternative universe..." story. Thanks :)
| 2020-02-26T06:21:03 | 2020-02-26T05:07:39 | 3,609 | 665 |
[WP] 'There is motion at your front door' - You groggily awake to the notification on your smart watch. You check the video on your phone and see yourself frantically trying to open the door. The timestamp reads 2:48 AM. You look at your watch. It's 2:37 AM.
|
"Damn gadget, not taking the daylight savings swap into account," I thought. "Seriously, when are tech companies going to remember the most routine things like this? I'll just fix it in the morning."
I recalled fumbling with my keys in the darkness, kicking myself for not remembering to leave a light on for myself. That was nearly an hour ago, after all. I rolled over and went back to sleep, and nothing was amiss.
​
(Man, don't you hate when a lot of scenarios have a perfectly plausible explanation, and smart alecs like me think they're SO clever when they turn the scenario on its head? :P )
|
Me and my friends enjoyed screwing around with chronomancy. It made everything so much easier. We could turn seconds into hours when studying for a test. And in that same stretch, we could turn a closed-note test into an open-note test, because no one else had our gifts, so we couldn't get caught. We could look at time just a few seconds ahead, and make use of knowing what would be next. But today, I met one of those old friends. And I received a blessing and curse.
2:30 in the morning hits. I am up, sleepless. It had been only yesterday when I had graduated college, and inherited a large sum of wealth from a family I owed no gratitude to. I hated most of them, and having my mother get hurt from something no doctor had seen was not helping matters. I knew it was magic, or at least, magic was involved. I had observed the incident on loop thousands of times by now. You can't really change the past, present, or future. You can only observe it from a distance. Time travel without interference basically.
I hate that I had to keep my trap shut about it. I had gotten peeps into the magical world, and I knew regular folk weren't supposed to see magic with their own eyes. After the incident, my paternal grandparents and my mother shortly disappeared. My dad remained, but I rarely if ever saw him. Always at work, that man. I feel sorry for him. The wealth I got was split into two, and the other half went towards my dad. Now he could live without working for the rest of his life. I know he knows the truth. But no one is supposed to know I'm magical. At least, that's what I understand. I think I can tell him. But I don't want to take risks. I grab a Root Beer and start to head towards my room, when I hear my security sensor go off.
*"Motion detected at 2:48 AM."*
A quick look at my watch told me it had to be lying. It was 2:37 in the morning. But looking at the data screen, it seemed legit. I quickly scrambled together my usual outfit, got my phone and keys, and put on my boots as I made it outside. What I had one was nothing special. An opaque blue shirt under a black leather jacket with jeans was my usual get up, and I couldn't have it any other way. Taking a glimpse to make sure no one was looking, I let my left hand move over the landscape. The blue streaks across the sky that I was emitting were supposedly invisible to non-magic folk, but the effects that would be caused would certainly be visible. I let the snow in the cold, moist air grind to a halt as time itself slowed down to everyone but me. A squirrel mid-jump and a leaf stuck in the air confirmed my success.
"So, it is you after all."
A tall feminine figure took a step forward. I panicked internally, but I kept my breath level. I took a look around to make sure that she was the person I suspected. And she was all and more. Evelyn let hip sway to the side, a posture she always took when in a casual mood. She still possessed the same silver hair that she always had, when eyes that mimicked grass that I had only seen once before.
But her attire was quite abnormal. In her hand was an orb levitating in her palm, glowing a mix of blue and green in a fashion otherwise impossible. Small, non-lumenescent orbs encircled the glowing one. She was wearing an Ocean blue tunic, overlapped by a jade green robe. But she clearly made changes to the design, but that was to be expected. She was a woman, and proud. And she took every opportunity to make that clear, even when the school told her to choose more appropriate clothing. And the violations weren't about spaghetti straps and exposed shoulders either. A comment I never made vocal was that she would make for a fantastic succubus if those were real.
"Get inside. You clearly fucked with my sensors for a reason, so you better make it good. Let me guess, meeting time?" My voice was far too deep to have it boom against her face. I had no problems with her, but she was the last person I wanted to see.
"You guessed right. Don't be too groggy, lighten up, I hate it when you frown." Her voice was toxic to listen two, and she knew it. Ugh.
"Well, ever since my mother-" she cut me off.
"I know all about that and more. I am on, *official*, school business."
"School? School? I finished that years ago. What does it want from me." I was inside now, and I picked up the Root Beer that I left on the table. I ended the time stretch. There was no need. She made her way inside as well, and I gestured her to take a seat. She obliged.
"Not any normal school, of course. I'm talking about one of magic and adventure."
"A magic school, seriously? And they sent you for that? Why not a professor? I might listen to them."
"No, you wouldn't really do that."
"Correct." I said that with a begrudging sigh. The problem with friends is when they know you too well.
"And even if you did, you wouldn't really consider what's being told. So the only way to get you talking is by having someone you know really well be the giver of news."
"Ugh, I'll hand you that. Pretty damn good at reading me, I'll say that much."
"Considering how we kept dating each other in high school and then proceeded to sleep together several times over in college, I'm the only person who actually knows you inside and out. And I respect you for who you are. But that's why you need to hear from me. I know it's awkward that I show up today of all times after disappearing for several years. But I know so much that I know you wish to know."
I leaned forward, contemplating everything being said. I made my choice.
"I'm listening."
***To be continued***
| 2021-05-31T12:35:19 | 2021-05-31T12:30:47 | 115 | 55 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
|
Sweat dripped down my nose, mingling with the blood that poured from my mouth. This wasn't going as well as it could. At least my headphones were still in one piece.
The man that stood before me cackled. I had never quite understood what it meant for one to 'cackle'. I figured it had just mean to laugh in an evil matter, but it was so much more in the flesh. It hurt to hear, almost as hard as the fists and feet that had pummeled me.
"Is this all you can do, WalkMan?" He jeered. "Is this the man that defends his city? Pathetic." He shot a glare at the nearest news crew, making sure to look directly at the camera. "This is what you get for trusting a 'hero'. This is what anyone that defies me will get. Bow before me, or perish beneath me!"
He turned back to me, raising both of his fists above his head, preparing to strike with all of his power. I knew what I had to do.
"Hey Siri" I said, coughing and spitting out another tooth. The bluetooth headphones chirped in response, acknowledging that it had heard my prompt.
"Play Forbidden Loop Omega"
The chirp sounded again in acknowledgement. I stood on my one good leg, bracing a hand on the wall to support the broken leg. The man cackled again.
"So you choose to die on your feet. How noble."
As he brought his glowing fists down towards my head, the music swelled in my ears. I brought up one hand and caught the blow with ease. With one quick motion, I broke both of his wrists.
He boggled at me. "No, NO, NONONONO!" He wailed. "How?"
I met his terrified gaze with a blank expression. I couldn't show any emotion. Not with this terrible noise assaulting my ears.
With another twist, I ripped his arms from their sockets. I heard the gasps from the camera crews as they captured every gruesome detail in stunning 4K definition, if their commercials could be believed.
"Dr Doomsday, you are hereby under arrest." I spoke in an even tone, straining to keep my emotions under control. "Officers, take him away." I turned and strode away, before a reporter or police officer could ask me any potentially compromising questions.
As I strode to the parking garage where my personal car was parked, I fumbled with my phone, desperate to stop the song that was consuming me. Bringing me to a dark place.
"We can do it, if we try" I mumbled along, as my fingers typed my password. The Cocomelon song was almost a greater pain in my ears than sung through my broken jaw and missing teeth.
r/SlightlyColdStories if you want. Or don't. It's all up to you.
|
“Blood? Oh, that’s my blood. That’s not good.”
The blaring rock music rattled through my headphones as I pulled myself off the floor. When I got to my feet, I staggered, clutching the broken wall of the coffee shop I had just been tossed through. It was a good thing the headphones were reinforced, or they would have perished in the blast.
I tapped my body, examining all the music note patterns in my costume. Each one serving as a unique way for me to remember where each of my vitals were. Sure, it made me a walking dartboard for villains, but I hadn’t met a villain yet that had caught onto my little cheat sheet. My hands brushed over the semibreve over my heart, ensuring that it didn’t have a hole in it. Though I wondered why I bothered, surely if that part had been damaged, I wouldn’t be standing. From Sharp to Treble Clef, my vitals were looking good, with the wound coming from a rather painful cut on my back.
Super Boom flew towards me. The explosives-based villain floating above me. I could see his mouth moving. No doubt he was giving some very interesting evil monologue. His hands crossed over his chest as he glared down at me. Eventually, his mouth stopped moving, and it appeared he was waiting for a response.
“WHAT?” I shouted, unable to hear him over the rock music.
He attempted to speak again, this time the veins in his neck were straining as his mouth opened wider, sounding out every word individually. His cheeks were bright red, annoyed beyond comprehension. As he finished speaking, he again waited for my feedback.
“WHAAAAT?”
This time I took off my headphones, placing them against my hip, allowing him a moment to speak. While it may have seemed cartoony, this little routine was buying me some precious time to get my breath back. Even a superhero gets a little winded after smashing through a building and no amount of rock music can fix that.
“You know what, never mind. It was a brilliant speech, but it’s wasted on a B-list hero. You will be my steppingstone towards greatness. As they say, you have to break a few eggs to make an omelette and you’re just the right size to make a hearty start to this villainous buffet.”
“Glad I left the headphones on for that one. Want another crack? Get it, you called me an egg and eggs crack.”
I held a smile despite the pain setting in. Even with my breath back, the pause in the fighting had caused my adrenaline to wane and now that pain was slowly poisoning my body, draining me of my energy. I needed a plan quickly; stalling would only work for so long. Back up was always an option, but who knows how far away that is? That left me with only one option. I stared at my cracked phone screen, searching for my forbidden playlist.
“Ever seen that video of the man that throws a bunch of eggs against a wall in an attempt to imitate cooking? That’s what I’m going to do to your body.” His palm glowed with a golden light, smoke drifting out of from behind the powering blast.
I couldn’t exactly dodge it, not with a massive cut on my back. Guarding probably wouldn’t be effective either, not at such a close range. Even if I survived the initial blast, I would still be down for the count. I had to get that playlist ready. The smell of burning flesh drifted from the blast as it neared its completion, my hand frantically tapping away until I could start the playlist.
When my finger collided with the play button, I tossed the headphones back on, listening to the overly dramatic lyrics. The blast flew towards me, rampaging through the remains of the coffee shop, burning everything in its path. I stuffed my phone back into my suit and shut my eyes, preparing for the worst.
The hot wave shot into me, knocking me off my feet as the inferno of warmth threatened to cook me. I could hear his snide laughter as he watched. The intense pain causing my eyes to drift closed for a moment, only to snap awake as I pushed myself forward.
“How can you see into my eyes, like open doors..” I hated using this playlist, but only songs as dramatic as this could fuel me in this great time of need. These songs relied on pain to power them, and I was in a lot of pain.
“Impossible, you should be dead. You should be a boiled egg by now. Damn it, I’m not going to the bottom of the villain ladder over an idiot like you. DIE.”
Another blast of heat shot towards me, this time as the cloud of warmth hit me. It exploded, throwing me backwards, sending me rolling along the street. I needed some offence. As the words ‘WAKE ME UP’ shot through my headphones, I got myself back to my feet, exploding into a powered-up rage.
A sudden look of panic covered his face as he attempted another blast, only for my fist to land squarely on his face, getting a little payback for the last attack. Tapping my headphones, I changed the song, deciding to go for something more dramatic.
“When I was a young boy, my father took me into the city. To see a marching band.” The ground shook, imitating the roar of a large marching band. Each violent shake causing the villain even more fear as he squirmed backwards, trying to get himself to his feet. Though with each squirm back he made, I took a step forward, ensuring that if he wanted to stand, he would have to face me when he did. I wouldn’t give him any distance.
“He said, son, when you grow old, will you be the saviour of the broken, the beaten and the damned?” An angelic glow followed my steps, repairing the broken street beneath my feet. My gaze didn’t leave the villain, instead, my steps were gaining on him until I was standing over him.
“To join the black parade.” A shadowy mass of vines sprawled out of my palm, gripping the man around the waist and swinging him. He attempted to charge another blast, but before he could charge it, I slammed his body into the ground, knocking him out in a rather painful bit of whiplash.
Like always, now that the fight was over, I could see the other heroes arriving on the scene. My aching body probably only having one song left in it. One hero went to offer me her shoulder while the others went to arrest the villain. As she waited for me to lean on her shoulder, I held up a finger.
“Wait, I love this part. DOO, DOO, DO, DO, DOO, DOO, DO, DO, DO, DO.” After the uplifting instrumental finished, I fell forward, allowing my body its much needed rest. Such emotion had a way of sapping me of energy. Had the fight gone any longer, it might have ended my hero career.
She caught me before I hit the floor, keeping me upright. She removed my headphones before picking up my body in her arms. Her suit had a stunning shine to it, one that radiated confidence. No one dressed in such a bright costume unless they were confident in their ability to take a hit. Well, maybe except me. I am the expectation to that rule.
“You did well for a rookie. Although you are losing a lot of blood, let’s get you to a hospital, ok?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. Please hurry. I think my beam notes might be damaged.”
“Beam notes?” She glanced over at my costume, struggling to figure out where the beam notes were.
“Um, which parts that?”
“Kidneys.”
“Oof, yeah, I didn’t want to say anything, but there’s a pretty nasty looking cut there. Get some rest. You’re in the hands of the Soaring Phoenix.”
The Soaring Phoenix? What was someone like her doing here? It hardly mattered. The knowledge that she was here made it easier to rest. I let my eyes shut, knowing that I would wake up to a painful month of rehabilitation.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2022-05-17T09:23:55 | 2022-05-17T09:15:17 | 1,687 | 215 |
[WP] "Sanctuary," the child cried running into the library "Nice try," the guard following after sneered, "but only holy places can grant sanctuary." The librarians glanced at each other. A small nod The head librarian gave the guard a stern look. "Sanctuary granted"
|
"Sanctuary!" cried the child with a desperate sob as it ran into the library.
The ancient word fills my veins with fire for the first time in too many years. I stand as the guard follows. No. They were called "police" now. I need to remember that. "Nice try," said the guard with a sneer on his face. "But only holy places can grant sanctuary."
Aaliyah, the youngest, looks to me with confusion. The others look to me with glee and satisfaction. They know what's coming. I nod to our youngest and stand. I gather the weight of the thousands of words housed in this small building and say, "Sanctuary granted."
The guard--no, the *policeman* stops. Confusion crosses his face as he tries to figure out what his hind brain has already known. "This is a library." The words were said tentatively, hesitantly. He scowled as he tried to ignore the tiny part of his brain screaming at him to run.
I smile. It really *has* been too long. "This is sacred ground," I tell him. "You are in the temple of Seshat, and we are all Her acolytes." I move out from behind the desk and glare at the man. He tries to bluster, tries to gain hold of the child--but Aaliyah has already grabbed them. Good. "The child has claimed sanctuary," I repeat.
"Seshat has no temples."
I can feel the stirrings in the other world as They look down on us. They are watching, waiting--and weighing. "Oh, no?" I ask coldly. I reach out and grip the air before rending apart the veil between our world and Theirs. The guard--no, he's not a guard, he's a *policeman*\--get your head straight, it shouldn't be this hard--goes white at the sight of Ammit's crocodile maw. The goddess hisses at him. I can hear Her words.
*"It is not yet his time."*
I nod and close the veil. The *policeman* collapsed, shaking, to the floor. Wetness spread from his crotch. Looking the Devourer in the face will do that to a person, I suppose. He stammered before turning, lurching semi on his feet, and leaving the building as fast as he could go. I turn back to the acolytes. "Please," I say, "summon one of the custodians to deal with the mess the *policeman* left." Ah, finally. I finally remember the term.
One of the acolytes scurry off as Aaliyah looks to me. "Pardon, Holiness," she said.
"Yes?" I ask. I smile to the child who gives a timid, worried smile back.
"The term is police *officers* now."
Dammit.
|
Ella found it strange — how some people, like the guard, *looked* powerful. Built like a great tree, his armour worn from battle, body decorated with scars. Despite her age, she looked at him and intuitively knew he was the kind of man people feared. She had seen enough violence on the outside to recognise those that readily wielded it.
On the other hand, there was the Head Librarian, impossibly old, skin a craggy mass of pox-marks, wrinkles, and liver spots. Yet even as he stood, flanked on either side by two attendants, the Head Librarian projected an undeniable *feeling* of power.
"Sanctuary is granted," he intoned, his gentle voice barely heard over the commotion outside. The battle still raged, yet Ilnayan's sacred library stood unblemished.
The Head Librarian ushered his attendants away as he hobbled down the stairs, his curved back bringing him almost down to Ella's height. Without realising it, she waited, breathless, the entire time it took for him to descend.
It was quite some time.
"Stories, child." He said. "What was the last you read?"
"S-sir?"
"Mine was the tale of the Goblin and the Troll. Admittedly, the preference of a younger audience." His smile was warm.
"I - I know that one," Ella mumbled. Her mother had often read it to her, trying to hammer in some message about not leaving the house unattended. Ella was smart enough to recognise when her mother did this, although did not have the heart to disobey.
Sometimes, it was fun to see how she tried to make even the most faraway, fantastical tale immediately relevant to Ella's day-to-day life. A tale of knights and sorcerers suddenly became about washing dishes, an epic romance of conflict and betrayal now a cautionary
tale about kissing boys.
"It's a favourite," the Head Librarian nodded sagely. "The resourceful goblin, able to fell the brutish troll with wisdom and wit. Words enough to tumble nature's most fearsome predator."
"Mother always said the troll should have stayed at home, in bed."
"Wise indeed. Had he not left his house that day, perhaps he never would have encountered the cunning goblin. And he could have spared himself the misfortune of a roaring headache."
Ella nodded along, not quite sure what to say. She was still unsure how to feel about the feeling she got from the Head Librarian, both exhilarating and terrifying.
"But how does one stop overwhelming violence with words?" He pondered rhetorically. His eyes seemed to look over her, at something faraway.
Ella followed his gaze, seeing the guard who had initially sneered at her open the library doors, charging out into the fray. The screams of battle escalated for the briefest of moments as the door temporarily opened before dimming to background noise once again.
The Head Librarian shuffled to a nearby bookshelf, prising out an old tome and dusting off its cover. As he did, it seemed to glow.
He opened the book, fingers tracing the words on the page with an uncharacteristic urgency. The doors of the library buckled with a *thud*. Something was coming.
"Ho hum," the Head Librarian continued fiddling with the book as Ella found herself backing up, each thud escalating more than the last. The door began to splinter, holy light spilling out from the cracks.
"Ah, there we are!" The Head Librarian twirled his fingers in a circular motion, as two words seemed to be *plucked* from the page, floating in his palm. He swapped their positions before they imprinted themselves back into the book, as if nothing had ever happened.
Ella would have found the display mad enough if not for what else she currently saw. The old librarian, — *formerly* old, she corrected — now stood before her, almost a mirror image of the guard from before. He was muscle-bound and powerfully built, features square and battle hardened. He would have been barely recognisable, if not for the same, calming smile he wore. The Head Librarian's perpetual serenity betrayed his age, even in this new form.
Stranger still, Ella looked to one of the stationary attendants, and noted that they were now wrinkled beyond recognition. They seemed nonplussed, though their posture was curved, much in the same way that the Head Librarian's once was.
"Wh-what did you do?" She gawked, scrambling to the back of the room as the door burst open, a wave of undead pouring into the library, burning as soon as they stepped foot into its domain.
The now youthful Head Librarian regarded her, a twinkle in his eye. "My dear, I simply changed the tune of the story."
A small contingent of the undead were forcing their way through the library's holy defences, some more resistant to the radiant scorch than others. One limped up to Ella, deceptively fast, only to be felled by a tome that flew into its face, shattering its skull.
She screamed as the (*twice-dead?*) undead collapsed on her, motionless.
Stepping forward, covered in a hale of flying books, the Head Librarian looked back at Ella.
"How else is a goblin to fell a troll?"
Opening his tome once more, he switched around four more letters, and Ella watched as a large part of the undead swarm began to collapse inwards on themselves. Their skulls hit the floor with thuds that were uncharacteristically loud, as if they were suddenly the weight of cannonballs.
"Your mother was right in one respect though," the Head Librarian continued, as if the conversation occurring right now was the most perfectly natural thing to have. "The troll ought to have stayed in his home."
"One should **never**," the storm of books collapsed into the undead, tearing at them with the force of a barrage of arrows. The Head Librarian was like a mage of legend, a one man army unto himself. The undead fell in the hundreds, the unstoppable tide deterred by an unrelenting force. "**EVER** step foot into another being's house."
The last sentence was punctuated with a shaking of the ground that launched Ella onto her back. She watched in pure amazement as the floor of the library's doorway simply *disappeared*. In its place, there lied a pit, which the undead now found themselves pouring into. They did not stop, though few could cross the gulf.
The Head Librarian turned to Ella. "Not without permission, at any rate. Homes are sacred, you know?"
He slammed his tome shut and, at once, the cacophony - the craziness of it all, seemed to stop. The librarian became old yet again, all the floating books dropped to the floor, and the hole in the ground closed off. Ella swore she could still hear the screeches of the undead from within the deepest depths of the library.
"What matters not is how a story is told, nor how it is intended to be understood. What is most sacred is the meaning we ourselves take from those pages. And that, dear Ella, is something anyone can do, so long as they are being honest with themselves."
When had she told the Librarian her name?
He seemed to read her — like, well, a *book*. "Here, in our library, is the story of everyone. And everything. Told all at once. Yours, mine, the King's and that guardsman alike. In the first two cases, the stories are still being told! All here, within these sacred walls. Altering them, even slightly, however, comes at no small cost."
The once more old man collapsed in a heap, his attendants quickly moving to hoist him up. "Well, I could certainly do with a nap," said the Head Librarian with a weary chuckle. "Come visit again sometime Ella. I'm sure there is more to your tale."
He looked to the side, at a small, thin book, thrumming with an almost eager energy. "Indeed, there is much to tell."
| 2022-07-06T06:29:23 | 2022-07-06T06:18:57 | 2,393 | 283 |
[WP] "Sanctuary," the child cried running into the library "Nice try," the guard following after sneered, "but only holy places can grant sanctuary." The librarians glanced at each other. A small nod The head librarian gave the guard a stern look. "Sanctuary granted"
|
"Sanctuary!" the child cried as it ran through the doors of the Grand Library, gracefully allowed continued function by Lord Verter despite its many heretical teachings. The guards in pursuit of the child, however, were not of the same venerable disposition as they slammed through the very same doors.
"Nice try, kid," the sergeant said as he panted for air, "but this... is a library, not a holy place. You'll find no safety here. Now, come with us or this will be so, *so* much worse than-"
"Sanctuary granted."
The voice that interrupted the soldier came from deeper within the building - the head desk, much to their surprise. The sergeant raised their eyes up only to see a frail old lady, hair white and tied into a bun, surrounded by several equally fragile-looking men and women. Librarians.
"Stay out of this," the sergeant hissed. "This is Crown business. The child has magical talent and as per-"
"And as per our agreement with Lord Verter, this library is allowed independent function. Meaning we can house whoever we wish, *safely*. The child has asked for a sanctuary and we," she said, looking around her at her fellow librarians, "have decided to grant it - for now." Her voice was kind but resolute and rang through the hall with an iron will.
The child stood halfway between the librarians and soldiers, frantically looking back and forth, but continually inching towards the depths of the grand library, hoping to find safety.
"How about this - you give us the kid," the sergeant said angrily, "or this place will have a little... *fire-related accident*," they said with a blatantly faux smile.
"I do not appreciate your tone," the old librarian frowned. "Come back with a governor. The child remains here for now."
"Alright, I've had enough of this insolent nonsense," the sergeant yelled out. "Grab the kid and kill anyone who gets in the way," they said to their men. The squadron took several steps forward.
The librarian sighed.
With a single smooth motion, she grabbed a pen knife and slit her palm open. The moment her blood hit the front desk, the building rumbled and before the soldiers could realize what she had done, a swarm of parchment flew from deeper within the building, surrounding them. Few have drawn their sword and flailed around to little effect. The librarian squeezed her first, pushing even more blood out and thus commanded the papers to wrap around the soldiers completely, allowing no further movement.
The sergeant was the last to be enveloped as they managed to tear several of the pages to pieces, but to no avail - it was a swarm. As their hands were tightly gripped and their face covered, they tried to let out a few muffled screams only to see the head librarian put her bloodied finger to her mouth.
"*Shh*," she whispered. "*You're in a library*."
|
Ella found it strange — how some people, like the guard, *looked* powerful. Built like a great tree, his armour worn from battle, body decorated with scars. Despite her age, she looked at him and intuitively knew he was the kind of man people feared. She had seen enough violence on the outside to recognise those that readily wielded it.
On the other hand, there was the Head Librarian, impossibly old, skin a craggy mass of pox-marks, wrinkles, and liver spots. Yet even as he stood, flanked on either side by two attendants, the Head Librarian projected an undeniable *feeling* of power.
"Sanctuary is granted," he intoned, his gentle voice barely heard over the commotion outside. The battle still raged, yet Ilnayan's sacred library stood unblemished.
The Head Librarian ushered his attendants away as he hobbled down the stairs, his curved back bringing him almost down to Ella's height. Without realising it, she waited, breathless, the entire time it took for him to descend.
It was quite some time.
"Stories, child." He said. "What was the last you read?"
"S-sir?"
"Mine was the tale of the Goblin and the Troll. Admittedly, the preference of a younger audience." His smile was warm.
"I - I know that one," Ella mumbled. Her mother had often read it to her, trying to hammer in some message about not leaving the house unattended. Ella was smart enough to recognise when her mother did this, although did not have the heart to disobey.
Sometimes, it was fun to see how she tried to make even the most faraway, fantastical tale immediately relevant to Ella's day-to-day life. A tale of knights and sorcerers suddenly became about washing dishes, an epic romance of conflict and betrayal now a cautionary
tale about kissing boys.
"It's a favourite," the Head Librarian nodded sagely. "The resourceful goblin, able to fell the brutish troll with wisdom and wit. Words enough to tumble nature's most fearsome predator."
"Mother always said the troll should have stayed at home, in bed."
"Wise indeed. Had he not left his house that day, perhaps he never would have encountered the cunning goblin. And he could have spared himself the misfortune of a roaring headache."
Ella nodded along, not quite sure what to say. She was still unsure how to feel about the feeling she got from the Head Librarian, both exhilarating and terrifying.
"But how does one stop overwhelming violence with words?" He pondered rhetorically. His eyes seemed to look over her, at something faraway.
Ella followed his gaze, seeing the guard who had initially sneered at her open the library doors, charging out into the fray. The screams of battle escalated for the briefest of moments as the door temporarily opened before dimming to background noise once again.
The Head Librarian shuffled to a nearby bookshelf, prising out an old tome and dusting off its cover. As he did, it seemed to glow.
He opened the book, fingers tracing the words on the page with an uncharacteristic urgency. The doors of the library buckled with a *thud*. Something was coming.
"Ho hum," the Head Librarian continued fiddling with the book as Ella found herself backing up, each thud escalating more than the last. The door began to splinter, holy light spilling out from the cracks.
"Ah, there we are!" The Head Librarian twirled his fingers in a circular motion, as two words seemed to be *plucked* from the page, floating in his palm. He swapped their positions before they imprinted themselves back into the book, as if nothing had ever happened.
Ella would have found the display mad enough if not for what else she currently saw. The old librarian, — *formerly* old, she corrected — now stood before her, almost a mirror image of the guard from before. He was muscle-bound and powerfully built, features square and battle hardened. He would have been barely recognisable, if not for the same, calming smile he wore. The Head Librarian's perpetual serenity betrayed his age, even in this new form.
Stranger still, Ella looked to one of the stationary attendants, and noted that they were now wrinkled beyond recognition. They seemed nonplussed, though their posture was curved, much in the same way that the Head Librarian's once was.
"Wh-what did you do?" She gawked, scrambling to the back of the room as the door burst open, a wave of undead pouring into the library, burning as soon as they stepped foot into its domain.
The now youthful Head Librarian regarded her, a twinkle in his eye. "My dear, I simply changed the tune of the story."
A small contingent of the undead were forcing their way through the library's holy defences, some more resistant to the radiant scorch than others. One limped up to Ella, deceptively fast, only to be felled by a tome that flew into its face, shattering its skull.
She screamed as the (*twice-dead?*) undead collapsed on her, motionless.
Stepping forward, covered in a hale of flying books, the Head Librarian looked back at Ella.
"How else is a goblin to fell a troll?"
Opening his tome once more, he switched around four more letters, and Ella watched as a large part of the undead swarm began to collapse inwards on themselves. Their skulls hit the floor with thuds that were uncharacteristically loud, as if they were suddenly the weight of cannonballs.
"Your mother was right in one respect though," the Head Librarian continued, as if the conversation occurring right now was the most perfectly natural thing to have. "The troll ought to have stayed in his home."
"One should **never**," the storm of books collapsed into the undead, tearing at them with the force of a barrage of arrows. The Head Librarian was like a mage of legend, a one man army unto himself. The undead fell in the hundreds, the unstoppable tide deterred by an unrelenting force. "**EVER** step foot into another being's house."
The last sentence was punctuated with a shaking of the ground that launched Ella onto her back. She watched in pure amazement as the floor of the library's doorway simply *disappeared*. In its place, there lied a pit, which the undead now found themselves pouring into. They did not stop, though few could cross the gulf.
The Head Librarian turned to Ella. "Not without permission, at any rate. Homes are sacred, you know?"
He slammed his tome shut and, at once, the cacophony - the craziness of it all, seemed to stop. The librarian became old yet again, all the floating books dropped to the floor, and the hole in the ground closed off. Ella swore she could still hear the screeches of the undead from within the deepest depths of the library.
"What matters not is how a story is told, nor how it is intended to be understood. What is most sacred is the meaning we ourselves take from those pages. And that, dear Ella, is something anyone can do, so long as they are being honest with themselves."
When had she told the Librarian her name?
He seemed to read her — like, well, a *book*. "Here, in our library, is the story of everyone. And everything. Told all at once. Yours, mine, the King's and that guardsman alike. In the first two cases, the stories are still being told! All here, within these sacred walls. Altering them, even slightly, however, comes at no small cost."
The once more old man collapsed in a heap, his attendants quickly moving to hoist him up. "Well, I could certainly do with a nap," said the Head Librarian with a weary chuckle. "Come visit again sometime Ella. I'm sure there is more to your tale."
He looked to the side, at a small, thin book, thrumming with an almost eager energy. "Indeed, there is much to tell."
| 2022-07-06T06:25:27 | 2022-07-06T06:18:57 | 644 | 283 |
[WP] You are an unimportant government worker who, by mere chance, gets to perform the most interesting job of his career: interview a time-traveler. You begin by introducing yourself and the guy immediately freaks out!
|
"Okay, let's begin" I turn on the recorder. This recording will be analyzed for years. First interview with a time traveler!
"I am Sophia-Iona Holloway, customs officer," I say, attempting to build his trust. Doesn't hurt my name will be at the beginning of this recording.
"Sophia-Iona Holloway? Sophia-Iona Holloway of Paris, Texas, United States?" he says.
"That's where I was born, yes. How did you know?" I know I wasn't supposed to ask about myself, but he brought it up. . .
"They said I'd be interviewed by some random government official. Not Holloway. Ohhh no." He then mutters something I can't make out.
He tries to escape, but the doors are locked. Can't take the chance of him escaping.
"Why don't you just take a seat, and I'll ask my questions?" I say.
He sits down, but any question I ask is met with complete silence. I try to get him to respond, but he doesn't. Biggest chance of my career and I blew it.
Feedback welcome!
|
I came in from the rain, dripping on the Persian carpet from Target, hung up my raincoat and preceded to pour vodka and bubbly water over ice. The wife and kids were watching TV, some high-pitched squeaks carrying over from the living room. \*Sigh\* Another day in paradise. There was chicken baking in the oven and rice cooking on the stove. I lifted the lid of the rice to check its progress, knowing this would alert Maggie to my being home. “Jim!” She yelled. “Don’t let the steam out!” Maggie hustled in, gave me a quick peck on the cheek and looked in the oven at the chicken. “Mom! You’re missing it!” My son Timmy, now 8, needed constant attention and approval.
My phone began to ring. It was Tony, my boss, from the USDA pathology lab. We had just finished up testing a batch of soil for plant pathogens today. Botrytis, Fusarium and white mold were all present in the sample. Not the first time and it will not be the last. Those farmers are notorious for ignoring their fungus problems until it gets loose into someone else’s field and we get to hear about it. Job security I suppose. Anyway, I wasn’t quite sure why Tony would be calling right now. We work a strict 9 to 5. There is never anything serious or interesting enough to warrant anything different. I figured it must be serious. Perhaps his car broke down and he needed a lift? Or even a ride to the hospital? I answered.
“Hey Jim. Sorry to bother you after hours but I got a job that just can’t wait.”
“No problem Tony, as long is it’s just this one time, I don’t want to make a habit of it. If anything, you got me curious what could be so important that can’t wait till tomorrow.”
“Well Jim, you know that soil we were analyzing today? The owner called me up and asked me to provide treatment for the parasites we found. When I told him the usual methods of keeping a clean field, a couple biologicals and the usual slurry of chemicals, oddly enough, he got offended. Told me that I must be joking. That those methods were highly outdated.” Tony’s voice began to shake at the end of this statement. I could tell he was excited and scared at the same time.
“Jim. He asked me for the usual viral pellets that are standard and told me he was concerned that these were even necessary since he treated the field just yesterday.”
“Tony, that is a strange response. What is my role in this though? You said he refused our methods.”
“Jim! Don’t you see? We need to find out just what this man was alluding to. What if someone actually gave him viral pellets to put in his field? What could those really be? I believe we have an obligation to pry more to find out what is really going on. If anything, to be sure that he isn’t being scammed.”
“Alright Tony. I’ll talk to him first thing tomorrow.”
“Thanks Jim. Find out all that you can about this guy.”
The next day I came into the office at 9am. Brewed my coffee and checked my emails as I sipped on the milky cup. As I looked up to move to the next task, I saw a man wearing a bright white jumpsuit and straw hat. His head was tilted to the side, and he looked as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what exactly it was that he wanted to say.
I figured as the employee here, it was my job to break the silence.
“Good morning. How might I help you?”
The man opened his mouth a little. Looked around and went back to staring but this time with his mouth slightly ajar.
Again. “Is there something I can help you with? What is your name?”
“A… A man named Tony. I talked to him yesterday about my sample. He told me to come in to discuss with someone name Jim, methods for treatment of my field.”
“Oh yes, he told me you would be coming in. Please sit.”
The man looked around, then looked at the chair under me, then looked at the chair beside him.
“I’m sorry, I’m finding all of this very odd. Don’t we normally stand? Sitting is very irregular…”
“If that is what you are used to, we can stand. But I would like to ask, what is your name? How long have you lived here?” I did not want to be too direct as I could tell he was becoming increasingly terrified. His eyes darting from object to object in the room.
“Uh, yes. My name is Lando. I have been a farm surf since my conception 85 years ago.”
“Oh. Well, nice to meet you Lando. My name is Jim. I must say, you don’t look a day over 50.” I didn’t know what else to say. He must have meant his parents were farmers and he was born into it?
“Jim, I’m not quite sure what you’re playing at. If I were 50, I would not be walking into the office of the healer of fields. That is a job left up to the 80s and older. This is exactly what I was saying about this is all being very irregular!” Lando became increasingly agitated and began pacing. Holding his head in his hands. Muttering to himself.
“Would you like some coffee? Maybe taking a seat would help you remember where you are.” It seemed there was no consoling him at this point. Then suddenly he drank all the coffee straight from the pot and melted into a pile of fuzzy, what I can only describe as a ball of mycelium.
“Tony!” Tony rapidly walked in.
“What’s wrong Jim? Has Lando showed up yet?”
I thought about telling Tony all I had witnessed to maybe make sense of it but then I realized if I said something, Tony might want me to do more to find out about the situation. There were a couple samples sitting around and I hadn’t yet caught up on the news for the day. I figured I would just tell him later.
“Someone came in and dropped a sample on the ground Tony. What should I do with it?”
“Go ahead and identify it. Why are you asking me Jim? You’ve been here long enough.”
“You’re right Tony. Thanks for the reassurance.”
| 2021-08-05T08:38:40 | 2021-07-12T20:37:22 | 98 | 31 |
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
|
I stood speechless at the answer of the last candidate. Everyone else chose a super power following the spirit of the event, but the last one had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. I glanced down at the written rules, wondering what idiot intern had threw together the wording, and how I was going to fire them immediately after this.
What she asked for wasn’t supposed to be possible, but because of a simple laziness on the part of the rules, it was not only possible, but now that I see it, the only right choice.
The rules said each must choose a unique power, and that it cannot exceed the power of god. Cannot exceed.
“Number 100, you have you wish. You now have the power of God.”
|
**One Power to Rule them All**
​
Hamsterbreath is a Hymalayan cat with a white coat, accented by an ashen face and tale. She's sitting in a lap, receiving pets. They're a little rougher than usual, but she doesn't feel it's a battle worth fighting, so she just continues blinking her baby-blue eyes. It just means her purr isn't consistent, ramping up then receding like a tide as the heavy hand moves across her side.
The lap belongs to a man with a big bushy mustache in a high-back chair. His mouth is completely concealed, and his facial expressions are just different mustache positions. Its current configuration is frustration and looks like the tilde key as his face rests against his fist, his arm being a kickstand as his elbow rests on the chair's arm.
"Just who do they think they are?" the man complains. "You don't see me strolling onto Pharmtech Global's properties and marching in to show them how to do their job. What makes them think they can do that to me? It seems like someone needs to be taught the value of staying in one's lane."
The man's mustache twists into a snarl as he shakes his head, moving his arm like a windshield wiper and jostling the chair back and forth. "This is all going to be more annoying than anything else. Some of these kids showed zero imagination or initiative. I mean, they had thirty days to come up with a couple of power options, knowing full well that they can't pick a power that's already been chosen."
"Anyone could have guessed that the usually suspects would be chosen first...flight, strength, speed, x-ray vision, invisibility, *invincibility*, fire, ice, teleportation. Were they forgetting that the intent was to conquer the world? How much is that girl really going to accomplish with flight as her only power?"
The man laughs. "And then that one brat...he actually thought that playboy-billionaire was a superpower. Oh, the look on his face...*priceless!*"
"There were a couple towards the middle that may be a concern though. Genius intellect can be tricky, but I'm not sure if it's a specialized knowledge or if it's in all things. I'll have to keep my eye on that one. He could be *very* useful."
"The twitchy girl that can now turn any substance into a combustible...that's a bit concerning. I think the only play there is to keep our distance, because the only thing more volatile than her power is her temperament--a great deal to be troubled about for sure."
"Controlling blackholes seems rather useful. That boy would be great at making things and people disappear. Heck, from the looks of this, I may have need of several disappearances."
"It's the last one that's most troubling. I mean, it's Pharmtech's own fault. They're the ones that set up the parameters. They should have had safety measures in place. Injecting a formula and then having the powers activate by the candidate's declaration...well that's just asking for trouble. That kid knew exactly what he was doing when he looked at them and said he'd take all of them."
"*But you can't do that*, the stupid tech said in response. Of course, he knew that you idiot!" The man slams his fist down on the arm of his chair, causing Hamsterbreath to jump down, then up onto the console across from him. "It's just frustrating, Hamsterbreath. To think, this is the place that's giving these kids powers to compete for my job. And they can't even recognize when a kid is stepping up to the plate and pointing his bat over the far fence."
The man sighs. "Maybe it's time to throw in the towel. What to do you say, Hamsterbreath? Call it quits?"
Hamsterbreath blinks back slowly, her tail curling up and flopping back over the counter's edge every few seconds.
"This new kid, what was his name? Deven, Kevin, Francis?...wait, why can't I think of his name?" The man begins looking through his notes on the console, causing Hamsterbreath to move once again as he pulls a file out from under her. She hops up on top of the monitors and looks back down with a growing patience deficit.
"Here it is, but..." As he looks over the file, a lot of the ink has started to run even thought it was printed yesterday. The boy's face is no longer discernable. He pinches his eyebrow and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to picture the boy's face.
His eyes suddenly shoot open. "It's gone," he says. He flips a piece of paper over and frantically grabs a permanent marker to write down his power. *The power to manifest my imagination.* He sets his marker back down and looks at his written note, then back to his file. "He's doing this somehow. He's erasing the knowledge of his existence!"
The man reaches up and grabs the horseshoe of white hair on his otherwise balding head. "Ok, I quit. *We* quit. I want no part of this madness." The man freezes, his eyes growing wider. "If I forget him, does that mean I'll forget that we quit too?"
He picks up the note that he had just written and sees the ink running the full length of the paper, staining his thumb where he holds it in the corner. His eyes narrow at the ink and then his gaze flicks up to his cat. "Hamsterbreath, how many times do I have to tell you *not* to go potty on the console? Just look at this mess," he says gesturing to the stained page. "How am I supposed to know if this was important or not?"
The man sighs, plopping the paper down onto a similarly stained folder, then deposits them both in the trash. He stacks up the remaining folders, then takes the top one. "So, let's see. Which of these ninety-nine brats might be useful to us?"
​
r/jtwrites
| 2022-11-17T07:33:47 | 2022-11-17T06:48:07 | 420 | 48 |
[WP] Dogs have been genetically engineered to live as long as humans. As a child you pick out a puppy as a companion for the rest of your life.
|
*Hey there buddy. Sorry, I had to step out for a moment, had to see what the commotion outside was about.*
*You know, I was just thinking about when we first met. You remember that don’t you? I remember it like it was yesterday. You came down stairs and I was waiting for you. You were so happy, lifting me up and hugging me. I swear, I thought I was gonna get crushed.*
*I remember we went right outside and ran in the backyard. You chucked that ball at me and I tried to catch it. Darn thing was big as my head. Man, we ran a lot in those days.*
*Remember those times we went hiking in the woods, and went to that lake. That was a lot of fun. You met that girl and I met Shela. Heh, good ole times, right?*
*That was a long time ago. Litters all left. The girl and Shela’s gone. Just me and you now. Oh, hey. You got something on your face. Don’t worry, I got it.*
*There, all clean.*
*No, no, it’s alright. Hey, don’t you worry, you’re good. Calm…calm…*
*Stupid beeping machines. They’re so dang loud.*
*Shh, it’s okay buddy. You’re all tuckered out. You get some sleep.*
*There you go. G’night buddy. Don’t you worry, I’ll keep watch and be right here when you wake up. Okay? Alright.*
*Good boy.*
|
((REMOVED AND REPLACED))
EDIT: Expanded Version
((I have never written anything in my life, so please be kind))
"That was the way it was 100 years ago." I told her "Then they changed the rules, and gave us this current madness."
I paused for a moment, thinking about how much of a mess I was in now and wondering how I will ever save her. But I had to stop thinking and start saving, as the display in my wrist now was reading 46:06:38 and counting down to 00:00:00 much quicker in my head than reality. STOP IT!!! FOCUS!!! You only have 48 hours!!!
In the past, Ebony and I were inseparable. He went everywhere I did, starting 20 years ago when I chose him. He was jet black and very timid -- even scared of everything around him, including me. Putting those chips in each of us only made him more so. But bringing him out of his shell those months yielded a perfect partner for me. He was as perfect for me as Adele was for her.
April asked me "What are we going to do?"
I wish I knew. "Don't worry, we will be ok. I will figure something out."
Maybe I could deactivate the charge? Maybe I could somehow deactivate hers? It was really strange, thinking that her clock was 12 seconds behind mine. But I knew Ebony... he would die trying to save his love -- his soulmate -- and he did just that.
Ebony died exactly 12 seconds before Adele did, and now April and I may be forced to follow too. Follow too soon....
“OK, we must head back to Population Control. I have some ideas.” I actually barked that out like I was back in uniform. Back at P. Control as we called it, in 4A. Back before I found my soul. Or actually back before April found it for me. Then I felt a shiver. Was it the cold or did I lose too much blood? Nah, it was cold. FOCUS!!!
The ride into P. Control took a good two hours. Getting through the gate was surprisingly easy, as our passes still worked. Typical… Leave it to them to be so process-heavy to take so long to deactivate our passes. Or maybe the fire destroyed the computers?
The computers… Was it them who decided on this Final Solution? I hated that program, that name. Reminded me of something from my history class that made me sick to my stomach. No. Computers cannot think. They can’t decide human fate. This idiocy was dreamt up in the tower. By those 12 idiots who run everything. Unelected inbred idiots, who pass on their authority to their first born. They are the ones who came up with this problem. My problem. April’s problem.
It was a beautiful day in May when we met them. For the first time in months there was no acid rain, and the sun was actually shining. For about an hour, that was. But that was one more hour than there had been in 6 months, so we went out for a run. Clumsy me, ran right into her. Guess I shouldn’t have been looking up at the sun.
We both worked at P. Control as Maintenance Engineers working on Final Solution.
“Sorry”, I said. I helped her up and she started giggling. “Yeah, I’m a clutz. I tend to get laughs from people.”
“No.” she said “Look at them!!”
Our two Partners were having a riot, hopping around and playing like they had known each other for years. It was amazing. Calming.
“My Partner is Ebony. What’s yours?”
“Adele.” she said “And I refuse to call her ‘my partner’. That is NOT what she is.”
“Sorry, I am just following rules.”
“Rules. So you are one of THEM” she said with obvious disgust
“No. I am one of ME” I said, perhaps with a little too much attitude but she pissed me off. Who cares how beautiful she was? I am NOT ‘one of them’.
“Oh, sorry” she said apologetically “I’ve seen you in 4A, so I thought you were a Control Enforcer.”
“No.” I proudly stated. I glanced over to Ebony “Hey! Look at our Part… our companions!”
“Yeah, they are really hitting it off.” she said.
They really did hit it off. So did we. I hate the term ‘Love at first sight’, but I guess if it was good enough for Ebony and Adele, it was good enough for us. We got married 4 months later. No sun was shining, though.
Due to Control’s rules, workers that got married were forced to work together. I guess they thought it would lead to less workers getting married, but to us it was great. The four of us, all happy together both day and night. She got moved into 4A with me. It seemed to me to be a bit of a demotion for her, as she was much smarter than I was – more focused. But she never complained. It was her that discovered their secret. It changed everything.
Back in 2068, there was a secret summit up in the tower for both *The Twelve* and *The Next Twelve*, who were successors and the next idiots (as I called them). *Inbred Idiots*… they made the laws, and they had to do something about the overpopulation. Since they outlawed birth control years earlier (and outlawed many other things), there was a population issue that had to be addressed. They were the ones that dreamed up this horror. Those sick bastards.
Of course, they only told everyone that people were to be paired up with a Partner at the age of 5, and they would be their life-long companions. The chips that they placed into the people and their partners were in case they somehow got separated from each other, they could be reunited. If a partner died, then a clock was activated and the person had to go to a designated area within 48 hours to be collected and sent to registration to find a new Partner. If a person died, the Partner would be euthanized after 48 hours.
That was their *Final Solution*. Their lie. They left out the part where the person would get euthanized back at registration when 48 hours was up. They left out the part where there was a computer program that randomly selected Partners to be hunted down and secretly poisoned, to remove people from this world too. That program was in 4A. That’s what April found. Their secret. And it was Adele’s turn coming up soon.
We had been on the run for a week, when they cornered us and came after Adele…..
((That is all I got for now, but you get the gist. Feel free to expand or finish or nothing))
| 2018-03-19T08:10:16 | 2018-03-19T06:38:40 | 489 | 38 |
[WP] There's a knock on your door. You open it to see your favorite book character standing there. They say, "I know this may be a lot for you to take in right now, but you have to listen very carefully; You are my favorite book character, I know how your story ends, and I need to change it."
My first time posting here. Hope I did everything right!
|
I hear another knock on the door. Surely the Jehovah’s Witnesses won’t come three times in a single morning. Sure enough, when I open the door, the only person there is a squat, unshaven middle easterner.
“Shalom”
“Uh, shalom to you too, I guess.”
I look down at his name tag as he starts his spiel: Jesus of Nazareth.
“I know this may be a lot for you to take in right now, but you have to listen very carefully; you are my favorite book character, I know how your story ends, and I need to change it.”
“Yeah, I know buddy. I already go to church and all, why don’t you give the next house a shot.”
With that, I closed the door and went back to my Grape-nuts.
|
A deep pounded echoed throughout the house, only now loud enough to rouse me from my sleep. My eyes reluctantly open to allow the morning light in. Fearing the type of man, or men, that would so confidently assault my door I go to the window to check for cars I don’t recognize. Weirdly nothing seems out of the ordinary, I start to wonder if maybe they were imagined. Just as I finish the thought a hooded man exits my front porch, a seems to instantly lock eyes with me. With the effortlessness of a cat he leaps from the ground to my two story window, and casually knocks on the glass. I pause for a second, stunned at how familiar this man is to me, like i’ve heard his likeness described a hundred times. Before I can open the window all the way he launch into speech.
“Christopher, i’m glad I found you, you’re the hero from my favorite book, I did not find the ending fair, and I’ve done everything I can to come to your plane. It’s is amazing what magic can accomplish-“
“Wait!” I interject “who are you? Magic? How did you leap so high?” Confusion laces my voice as I try to cut through the dense forest of questions growing in my mind.
The man stops, taking a deep breath. “My name is Kylar Stern.”
Instantly a wave of understanding washes over me, followed by another of confusion. Even if someone knew enough about me to know I had read the series, they couldn’t possible know it was my favorite, and what could explain that leap? What is this story he’s mentioning too?
“...Azoth?” I mumble, mustering up the only word I can think of.
It’s the man’s turn to be confused, he searches my eyes, seeming to peer into my soul as the air around him seems to shimmer and devour the light trying reach him. As his body begins to fade into the impossible shadow he has created, his eyes glow with greater intensity becoming the only thing I can focus on. Those eyes that I have read so much about, the ancient, looming presence behind them that only wants to weigh those within it’s gaze against the sins they’ve committed. The air shifts suddenly and I gasp, stumbling backwards as I get the feeling a truck is barreling towards me. I blink, realizing I’m on my ass with Azoth looming over me, with a blade against my neck.
“How?” He whispers, ready to shift the blade if he doesn’t like my answer.
“I-I’ve read about you Azoth, of you and your adventures!” I spit out anxiously, having some trouble sliding the words past the new obstacle pressing against my throat. “I’ve read of you slaying the Godking, of your brief time as Sagé, you’re apprenticeship to Durzo Blint, you’re my favorite hero!” My voice raises and begins to quiver as my admiration seeps into it.
Azoth stands, the knife disappears. “I guess if I have read stories of you on your plane, it would not be insane to think you have read stories of me and mine.” A small look of disdain crosses his face “So, you know of who I am, truly? Of my purpose?” He flexes slightly as the ancient presence seems to reappear.
“Yes of course! But why are you here? Me a hero? I am no one important, and there is no magic in this world to make me important. There are no jewels or swords to grant the average man unyielding power.” My voice grows more confident, sure of the fact that I am a nobody.
“What is that saying of yours?” He replies with a slight smirk. “Science without understand might as well be magic to the unknowing?” He continues, “something happens today, something that will change the way you think, change your life forever. I am here to alter the path you take. It is surprising how meek you are now, you seem so weak compared to what you become.” He glances around the room, taking in the mess before looking at me, a new sense of resolve seems to overcome him. “Take me to the portal that shows you the town crier, there is something you must see.”
As I turn to open my door to head downstairs, a flash of pain runs through my body. I start to gasp but my breath catches. ‘On what?’ I ask myself, confused. Looking down I see the culprit, a thin blade protruding through my chest.
“Why?” I choke, attempting to take another struggled gasp, but the blade is stubborn in it’s task to take my breath. I slump forward but Azoth catches me, holding the sword in place.
“It pains me to kill someone so weak, but I have read of the terrors that that you will unleash in your world. You become filled with hatred and spite, it twists and reshapes your being.” Anger and resentment dripping from his voice. “You’re a monster, human only by technicality. It must end before you get started, though knowing you have read of my exploits and adventures caught me off guard; maybe there might have been a way to change your fate if you knew I could oppose you...” He twists the blade inside me and my insides scream, my mind devoid of any thought but the burning pain in my chest. “It is already too late.” He whispers, a hint of sadness touching his voice.
Questions and confusion mixed with pain flood my mind as he lays my down on the floor, wiping my blood of his blade and steering down at me on death’s door. As blackness begins to crowd my vision, I can’t help but think he looks kind of cool standing their over his prey. As the last few blood-filled attempts of living escape my throat, I wonder what I was to become that would make the Night Angel afraid of me.
____________________________
Thank you for reading!
Sorry if this sucks, it’s my first time writing a story. Criticism is appreciated!
The character is Azoth from the Night Angle trilogy. A very good series about a street urchin who’s trained to be an assassin in a world of magic.
| 2019-05-20T05:00:12 | 2019-05-20T03:56:54 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You were the first person to be born without super powers in nearly a thousand years. When it was discovered that you had no powers you became an instant celebrity. Thanks to this, villains and heroes alike seek you out to either kidnap or rescue you on a daily basis. You are sick of it.
|
At first, things were unbelievably amazing beyond all expectations…now I just want to hang myself from the nearest flagpole. In a world overrun with powerful people with amazing gifts vying for control of their own separate kingdoms I felt so helpless as one of the few non powered humans in existence. Did I complain? Yes. Every single day to everyone I could, do you know how much it sucks to have a friend who can effortlessly jump over castles while the best I could do was win the county bake off (technically second behind a woman born with ‘Perfect Flavor Profile’ as her talent). So my early days were a lot of scooting around with friends who could literally swallow people whole and float into the stratosphere while I sat in the hot sun with nothing but an umbrella to block out the angry sun.
That all changed when a local warlord took notice, a beast of immense power, blessed with all but indestructible armor and the ability to breath fire. Someone with such immense strength saw this weakling and pittied me, but more than that they saw a special potential in me. This infatuation grew to the point that he even renamed his kingdom for me, designing rudimentary traps and obstacles that would baffle the mind of a modern engineer. He invited me to come and lead this nation with him and I tried, I truly, TRULY tried my best, but a dangerous spore had spread across the land giving the local fauna unique properties that had extreme effects on the citizens. He did nothing, ordered me to do nothing, I think he enjoyed it truth be told. He had his “head of development” a man who could conjure and clone any object or person, create armies of the most unique abominations to come out of this swarm. This Witch as I called her, was able to litter the land with sentient mushrooms, violent ghosts and iron monsters with a bite harder than an alligator.
I couldn’t take it any longer, I was trapped, helpless, worthless. I was Powerless. So I called the only friend I still trusted from childhood, Mario. I knew he and his brother could come save me and sure enough they did, and it was wonderful! We retook the mushroom kingdom and made it a utopia for the people. Then the Giant ape took me and my sister. Then the bean kingdom rose up to take me and my land. Then a 4th dimensional sorcerer…the list goes on and on, all the while my initial kidnapper Bowser refused to give up. It’s been 30 years. I’m tired. And the flagpole standing outside my castle looks more and more appealing every day.
|
If a game is boring, you change it up. You add rules and features. Maybe some about how to score. And then you try to break those rules without actually breaking them. Just to live close to the line. Then the game is fun again.
If I could change the rules now, I would. This game hasn't been fun for me for two years now. But I dutifully log in, connect to the server, and then attempt to hide my super powerless ass somewhere in its matrix.
Lately I've been exploring the arctic. A few days a week and I get to do what I want. I farm resources. I run away from wild polarbears. I enjoy the beautifully rendered sunsets and northern lights and try not to think about how in the real arctic there is 24 hour sunlight in the summer so there wouldn't be sunsets and northern lights at this perfect time of year.
It's been so restful. I haven't seen a super for seventeen consecutive log-ins. I've also figured out the perfect time to play before they do the changeover of English mods from Dublin to Mumbai at this time of day. They hate one another like any call centres should and so they never share my location with eachother if they've godmode stalked me. I think the Irish love me. Mumbai wants the supers to find my ass. Simply because I refuse to play their game the way that the others do.
Before supers, this game was the best thing in the world. Everyone wandered around the world, on foot, or if they were really good at crafting they could build vehicles. Cities sprung up almost overnight near guildhalls. And it was kind fun for about half a decade.
I chose a PvE server because I started late and had heard all the crazy shit that happened on PvP servers. If you died, you would be resurrected as a new being and if you were close enough to your corpse, you could get your stuff. There would just be piles of corpses everywhere. Guilds made big bank just disposing of the bodies like some kind of burial Mafia.
That didn't sound fun. I wanted to explore the world and spend hours trying to get around hard-coded invisible walls. So I chose PvE which meant I'd have to flag in order to be killed but not -- to my later chagrin -- being picked up by other players. I even found a guild for those first few years and we would raid all the dungeons and fail mostly. It was really awesome.
Then someone unlocked the Puzzle at the end of the Ziggurat. It's always a ziggurat that ruins everything.
The Puzzle was a riddle that nobody could figure out the solutions to without doing some insane farming and dungeoning to gather the supplies required to solve it. Servers completed against one another.
That was the first sign that something was wrong with the game. For months I would see people log into the game and then they would just be off into the wilds collecting squirrel tails or harvesting whale blubber and flax for the cause. The respawn rates of creatures were so out-of-whack that they had to force a patch to fix them. People camped mining spawns. Everywhere I went it was half-harvested corpses of creatures and all NPCs were either slaughtered or hostile.
My guildies were screaming at one another. I ended up quitting it to go solo which I thought was maybe just for awhile. It wasn't. Because on a PvP server they unlocked the Puzzle.
That was the end of it. The end of the game. Once it was unlocked and the first Superpower came out, then the game was only about Supers after that. Supers and -- inevitably -- villains.
Guildless and exploring a world suddenly empty of other players, I didn't know that the Puzzle was solved. I had been in the desert at that time. There are few creatures and nobody was harvesting there. Gorgeous sunrises and unbelievable sandstorms. I didn't know that on my server they unlocked the Puzzle -- it had been done when I was at work so I didn't get the server notification. It was only when the first one flew over my oasis that I knew the genre of the game had changed indefinitely.
He landed right beside me, kicking up dust like a tornado. He was some kid and blathered on about how cool his new powers were. And then used his laser vision to destroy my hut. He flew off, laughing his head off. That was the first sign of the disaster to come.
The game became obsessed with supers. That's all anyone would talk about. When I got to a city, it was like my sweet little PvE server had grown several heads and became a PvP one. Turns out, heroes and villains have to be flagged PvP all the time. Once you choose a power, that's it. Plus, the powers are random. You never know what you will get.
NPC interactions and questlines had never been good in the first place. The coolness of the game was how beautiful the world was and how players interacted with one another. So once everyone had looked at the solved Puzzle and been given their random superpower, that's all the game was then. A bunch of supers. More supers everyday destroying and building the world. The economy was shot from the ones with harvesting powers or the ones who could manifest resources. When you died to another super you came back as another random super. There were legit suicide squads who would kill themselves against one another in combat just to get the powers they wanted.
I thought about quitting. It's not like I had any real friends in the game. The few people I played with were all supers themselves. I tried to quit, for awhile, but then I missed the exploring. I missed the feeling like when I snuck behind invisible walls into areas that were not available to explore -- even if some douche with a superpower could just fly in and make my exploration seem stupid. So I got suckered back into the game. I explored all the regions I could. I stuck to the wildest wilds where I was in danger of dying to creatures but not dying to fallout in the apocalypse zones where the supers were battling it out.
One day, I was just wandering about by myself and some bunch of supers landed or superran just around me. Expecting the usual inane conversation I cut them off by telling them what I was doing in the jungle, "I'm just out here exploring guys. Don't mind me."
"We're here to save you - Last of the Powerless" One of them said and then he PICKED ME UP. Just physically picked me up and then superran me to the nearest city where he shoved me into a cage. I was furious. I put in a ticket. I tried a debug move. I was stuck. I would log out and log back in for days to find myself still in that stupid cell.
Eventually someone else *saved* me from the other heroes. My agency was gone as they picked me up like a freaking doll and would stash me in lairs, caves, dungeons and crypts all across the world. Two weeks passed and my ticket was responded to that said, "Working as intended." Furious, I logged out for a bunch of months and attempted to quit. Unfortunately, my real life is boring and I wanted to play the game.
I logged back after a month, escaped the secret lair -- they had been bored waiting for me to log back in so they left -- and took off into the wilds. I started to track when the most egregious super handling happened. Mostly it was on the weekends and evenings when the kids played. At least some adults would ask before they carted me off to who-knows-where. So I stopped logging in during the typical evening hours. I figured out the sweet spot was 8pm to midnight Ireland time. Which is like noon until 4. Sometimes I only get 2 hours to play because I'll log out the moment I hear any supersonic booms. I changed my sleep schedule and work hours to match Ireland.
My hope is that one day another company will come up with a better MMO concept that draws all the supers away so that I can just explore in peace. Until that day comes, I will have to hide as best as I can.
| 2019-08-13T07:37:06 | 2019-08-13T05:41:47 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You are a mutant in Xavier's school for gifted youngsters with the power to teleport, well that's what you tell everyone. In reality you can pause time and you're not ready to be an omega class mutant.
|
All the students were getting up to leave class when he heard, "Matthew, might I speak to you for a moment?"
"Of course, Professor."
Professor Xavier had always been kind to him. Matthew long suspected that Xavier knew he was hiding his full potential but the professor never pushed the subject and treated Matthew like all the other students. He liked feeling normal here. His long standing lie was that he could teleport. Whenever they were required to practice their abilities it put Matthew in a tough spot. The teachers were constantly trying to push his limits and get him to teleport further and further. It's tiring having to run such far distances constantly. Yesterday, the teacher had asked him to try to travel to someplace he had previously been. After faking an attempt for an hour or so the teacher finally relented and suggested they take a break.
"Professor Munroe tells me you had a difficult time yesterday. She was worried she might have pushed you too hard and wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I-I'm fine professor. She didn't push too hard. I tried picturing different places but nothing happened. I don't know if I'm able to teleport like that."
"Well, things happen at different paces for everyone. I'm sure you've heard of Kurt by now?"
"Yes, sir."
"When he first came here, he was limited by what he could see as well. He could travel to anywhere in sight, but beyond that, he was too frightened to push himself. It takes extraordinary strength to push limits set by our minds. In time, I'm sure you will be able to overcome anything you set your mind to."
"Thank you professor."
"Matthew, have you made any friends since you started here? I don't see you with the other students very often."
"No sir, I-I think they are frightened of me."
"Why is that?"
"They avoid me, and I hear them saying things about me."
"Teleporting is an enviable gift. I'm sure they will come around in time."
"I guess."
"Matthew, are you sure there isn't something else? You know I would never use my gift on anyone without permission but it doesn't take a mind reader to see that something is bothering you."
"Professor, c-can you keep a secret?"
"Of course, Matthew. Anything you tell me would be kept between us."
Eyes to the floor Matthew said, "I have been lying to you and the other teachers. I can't teleport."
Professor Xaviers remained quiet as if telling Matthew to continue.
"I-I was afraid if you found out what I can do, that you would make me part of your advanced class. I just wanted to feel normal for once. Everyone my whole life has called me a freak and when I got here, I was just another kid. I'm so sorry I lied professor."
"It's okay Matthew. I understand. If I may ask, what is this gift that you were afraid to speak of?"
"It's easier if I show you."
"Lead the way."
The two of them left the office and went into the crowded hallway watching the kids on their way to various classes. Matthew reached over and set his hand on Xaviers shoulder and everyone froze. Turning to Matthew, Xavier said, "Well, it certainly is an extraordinary gift. The ability to freeze time is no small feat. I can't say I've ever met another mutant with this ability, Matthew."
"Are you going to kick me out of the school for lying to you?"
"No, Matthew. I understand why you kept this from us. It is an incredible burden to have control over time. I imagine it can be quite lonely."
Nodding his head Matthew was tearing up a little.
"Matthew, I'm going to keep this between us until you're ready to tell other people. Would you be okay with having private lessons with me once a week to learn to better control this power of yours?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Very good. Bring us back to real time and let us join the rest of the students. It's nearly time for your next class."
|
I was 14 when it started. My brother had just gotten his license a couple months before and we were on our way to the movies to see a late show. We didn't always get along, things had always come easier to me and I didn't have to try as hard as he did. I had a pretty awesome memory, my brother would always call me a freak when I remembered some mundane detail from something he forgot. Not a freak like the Mutants, just what most people would call a photographic memory. I was gifted and I knew it, so calling me a freak felt more like a compliment. I took it that way at least. Or rather, I tried to.
He turned up the music, he loved his German Death Metal or whatever he called it. My brother liked to show his dominance by doing that, because this was his car, and I had to follow his rules. He started scream-singing along with it, trying to replicate the rage on the car's stereo. I can only guess that he was attempting to draw inspiration from all the red lights in front of us, because right at the climax of the song, he realized he was going way too fast into the lights of the cars ahead. I grabbed my seat as he slammed the brakes. The car started drifting to the side, and I flung my hands up and closed my eyes for the impending crash.
It didn't come. There was only silence.
No exploding glass. No squealing tires. No German Death Metal.
I opened my eyes and everything was frozen. I was too for that matter, but not like everything else. The adrenaline was still coursing through me, and I was sitting there with white knuckles gripping the dashboard for a good 2 minutes before I could let go. It was another few minutes before I could start processing information again. The car was almost sideways to the rest of the traffic, and my brother's side was higher than it should've been. We were starting to flip. I tried to open my door, but it wouldn't move. I reached behind to the back door and tried to pull the handle; no luck. "Great," I said, "I can see exactly how screwed I am, but I can't do anything about it."
I started pleading with the handle, begging it to let me out, and after concentrating on it for so long, the handle started to move. It wouldn't get past a certain point though. Kind of like when a door is locked, and you can turn the knob a little bit, but it stops. Our dad liked to fix cars, and we had helped him almost every weekend for years fixing various things on the family vehicles. I had a basic idea of how the handle was supposed to work to open the door. The door wasn't damaged (yet), so there was no good reason it wasn't opening. I was focusing on every part of the door, trying to feel out what was stopping it. But then it started getting further. I was thinking of every part, moving together, how they interact, and I could pull it all the way. The door wouldn't budge though, then it occurred to me that the hinges had to allow it to swing, and it did! I pushed the button on my seat belt again, thinking of how the latch gets released when the button is pushed, and I could take it off.
I was scared, I didn't know what was going on, but I had a chance to save us. I undid my brother's belt and threw it off him. I dragged him out of the car, which due to the angle it was tipping was pretty easy, and started dragging him away. He wasn't light, and my muscles were screaming at me by the time we reached the sidewalk after 4 lanes on the road. I didn't know what to do now. We were safe, I could see the inevitability of what was about to happen, but what now? My mind was racing, I hadn't fully processed what happened, but I was sore. I took a seat next to my brother to try to figure out what was going on. I was calming down, feeling tightness in muscles I didn't know I had. Now that we were out of immediate danger, I needed to think rationally about the situation. I took a second to grasp that I may have just saved our lives, and in the moment I started to relax, there was a sudden onslaught of squealing tires and crashing.
My adrenaline spiked again, and I looked over at my brother who looked just as confused as I felt. The car was upside down, and had stopped before hitting anyone, barely. My brother started crying, asking, "What happened?"
"I don't know" I said, and started crying too.
​
The police arrived after a bit, witnesses had stopped to give their stories. It actually took some time to convince the cops that it was my brother's car. We weren't injured at all, and the car was upside down, so we could understand how they were confused. They had to call the paramedics, and began asking us what happened. My brother said that he was in the car one second, and next to me on the sidewalk right after. There was nothing in between. When the cop turned to me, I was doubting everything that just went on. Which, for someone with a memory like I had, that was frightening. I responded with a half-hearted, far off, "I don't know". I hugged myself and started to cry again.
We were taken to the hospital, because apparently it's the law that if the car flips, everyone who was in it has to be examined. We weren't in it when it flipped, technically, but the cops weren't interested in semantics. Our parents were called and met us there. They were scared and confused, and neither of us were in a good enough mental state to give them much detail. I do have to give my brother credit though, he owned up to the fact that it was his fault, and that he probably deserved to be dead. The doctors said they wanted to keep us overnight for observation, and my parents agreed. Since I was still a minor, I was sent to the children's ward, while my brother stayed in another room. I also got the feeling the police didn't want my brother and I talking about it while they weren't around.
Mentally and physically exhausted, I fell asleep right away.
​
Early the next morning, I woke up and a nurse poked his head in, asking if I was awake enough for a visitor. Figuring it was the cops, or maybe my brother checking on me, I sat up and started to mentally prepare myself. I still wasn't sure what I would say, to anyone, because I didn't know what happened. There was no way I was remembering it clearly. I was surprised when a woman came in I never met.
"I talked to your brother," she said, smiling, "and he's doing okay. Just a little bit of bruising, like he was pulled away. It seems as though a miracle occurred last night."
I muttered, "Yeah. I don't really know what happened. Are you with the police?"
She laughed a little, and shook her head. "No, but you and your brother certainly think alike. Why don't you tell me what you think went on?"
She had a calming effect around her, and I wanted to say something, but I still wasn't sure exactly what all that craziness was.
"I don't know. I know I remember my brother slamming the brakes, and the car turned sideways, but then it's kinda fuzzy, and we were on the sidewalk watching the car flip."
She came up to me and gently put her hand on the side of my head. A moment later she pulled it away and looked confused. She smiled again and said, "My name is Jean Grey. I represent a school for people with certain talents, and you may be a gifted individual. I think you may have done something last night to save you and your brother, something that you aren't sure about, and maybe scared of." She sat on the side of the bed and took my hand, "I know it might be a little overwhelming. You did something amazing, and it frightens you to think about it too much."
I asked, "Why do you think it was me?"
"Well," she started holding up her fingers while she counted, "first, you seem like you're holding something back. Second, I have some telepathic ability, and I can't make any sense of your thoughts; like they're jumping around without completing, or coming all at once." She glanced off looking a little confused. Raising another finger and she said looking at me with her calming smile again, "Third, the Professor in charge of the school does a good job of finding Gifted people." You could hear the capitals in 'Professor' and 'Gifted' as she said them. "I'll talk to the police, and I'll stop by after you can go home to talk to your parents." She gave me another reassuring smile and left.
I didn't know what went on just then, it rushed past me even when I went through our conversation again. "Bye!" I yelled, after I got to that point in my head. I didn't want to be rude.
| 2022-11-09T16:36:25 | 2020-07-15T09:51:01 | 9,106 | 12 |
[WP] You've been playing with equations in a notebook and have, if you're right, just discovered time travel. You turn the page and are greeted with one word: "DON'T"
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*Don't*
I look down, puzzled at the word. It's definitely my hand-writing, but I'm positive I didn't write it. I turn the page.
*Forget*
I'm curious now. I can only surmise, by the familiarity of the hand and the fact I keep this notebook locked in a secure safe, that somehow, maybe, my future self has left me a message. A message of such import that he ... or I ... would consider risking a paradox by doing so.
*A*
'Don't forget a,' a what? What don't I forget? *flip*
*Towel*
Goddamn it, me.
|
There was a cold feeling in my left shoulder. I froze. Who knew that one word could affect me that much?
The word was not there when I turned the page. I was deep in thought, and had just ran out of room on the page before. I already had the solution pictured in my mind, and I was simply writing it down for future reference. Mindlessly, I had turned the page, and was about to continue, when I felt the cold in my shoulder. The word "DON'T" was written, from nothing, by nothing, right on the page in front of me. The word was slanted, and grew longer as it was written. It was also written very quickly. Had I been blinking, I would have missed it. It was almost as if someone had written it while being dragged away at an extreme speed.
Someone. I shake my head, placing my pencil behind my ear. No, it must have been me. I think back to my high school English class that I had taken almost 40 years ago. I thought back to the way my teacher had told me to grasp a pencil. I also thought back to my self defence class, where I was taught how to grab anything around me, even a small pebble, and use it against my attacker. I don't know how I know, but I knew. Looking at the word, I had written it, and under the most extreme of circumstances.
But, it doesn't make sense. How did I come about to be under such a situation, that would force me to write like that? Ever since I began my life-long project, I had always worked to avoid any paradox situation. How, then, would I write a warning to myself, knowing the consequences? Even if I made the same choices as before, time would enter an endless loop, in addition to whatever hellish consequences those choices result in. But, by sending myself this message, have I not altered the timeline itself? If so, how do I remain in the same timeline where this word was written in my book?
I shook my head once more. I don't know how the world hasn't imploded yet, but I knew one thing for sure. I must go on. I must ensure that I write the word on my paper, to preserve the timeline. I'm not sure how, but I am sure it won't be long. I turned the page, and continued writing.
Within the hour, I had finished. My machine was fully built, directly in front of me. The device looked like a long tunnel, built out of copper tubing, with a series of levers sticking out from the side. There are no clear writings on the machine. I had designed it so that no one could know what it was, or how to work it. Under the main control panel, there is a series of 26 levers. These levers set the date and time, accurate to within ten seconds.
I set the time for one hour in the future, to attempt a test-run. I had to be sure it worked, before I attempted a paradoxical jump back in time. I stood in front of the machine, and when the time came, dove through the tube.
Something went wrong. Instead of being pulled through the machine, I was pushed back. Everything moved in slow motion. Fire exploded in a ball from the machine. I had set the machine to turn off in the event of a failure. Amongst the many failure types I had predicted possible, fire was one of them. Indeed, the machine turned off. But, when it did, things went from bad to worse.
The machine became invisible, as did everything around it. To clarify, I did not see through the machine, but simply did not see anything there at all; everything had turned black. I was being pulled backwards, away from it... and that's when I realized. The machine must have projected the time field behind me, rather than inside the tube. The time field, not being regulated properly, had collapsed into a black hole.
I realized that there was no time for speculation. I must find a way to warn myself of this upcoming doom. I felt helpless, but then... the machine reappeared. The explosion subsided. But, I was still being pulled. Helpless as I was, I watched as time quickly reversed itself. I realized what had happened in the notebook nearly an hour ago. I realized what I had to do.
I reached out, with an impossible feat of strength, as everything around me raced backwards. It seemed that time itself slowed down in response to my willpower. I took my pencil, and quickly wrote the word "DON'T" in my book, my arm crossing through the shoulder of my past self. Then, the world resumed its perpetual backwards cycle, moving by so quick that I could not see what happened. Everything stretched out and raced towards its doom, along with me. And then suddenly, it was all gone.
I had expected death to be cold. It was not. There was an immense pressure all around me. Darkness was everywhere. Except... I looked ahead of me. I saw a bright white light. From it came everything... the floor, the ceiling, my desk, my notebook. i was standing in front of the smouldering remains of my machine. I looked back to my book. The word "DON'T" was still there. I smiled, knowing that I had not destroyed the world, and that I had made the right choices. I took the book, and threw it into the remains of my machine. The book caught fire, and I sat and watched it slowly burn.
It's safer this way.
_____
I hope you like my story! It's my first writing prompt, and I'm (by no means) an expert in English literature/grammar, so feel free to critique my writing!
*Edited for minor grammatical errors (buy -> by; it's -> its; etc.) In hindsight, a few details don't make sense (high school teacher telling me how to hold a pencil? Seriously?) but I feel the story should be kept in its original form.
| 2016-11-10T07:34:10 | 2016-11-10T05:46:18 | 61 | 20 |
[WP] Weapons become more powerful the older they get. Modern guns will barely give someone a scratch but an ancient spear can devastate armies.
|
The detector went off and roused Blortxh from his sleep. After the sleep cleared, he jumped and ran for the screen.
This was impossible! A particle had just been intercepted originating from only a few klorths of light years away. Something had given this single proton the energy of a medium sized starship. What could have caused this?
47 Earth years earlier ...
Joan was 4. It was her birthday and her parents had taken her to one of the oldest dinosaur parks around to see dinosaur footprints. It was there that she found the prettiest rock she'd ever seen!
She showed her dad who was a paleontologist and geologist. He told her that her rock was easily older than the dinosaurs and that she should keep it.
What he didn't know was that 200 million years ago, that rock had been incidentally tail whipped during a fight towards a predator by its wounded prey. It was the first weapon.
Joan was excited and ran to show her mom but was stopped by a curious bee looking to get some leftover ice cream from her shirt. Joan panicked and threw the rock with the intent to hit the bee.
The earth turned incandescent and exploded with the fury of a supernova. The moon was a memory. Minutes later, the inner planets vanished in a wave of superheated plasma. The sun pulsed and erupted as wave after wave of plasma impacted its surface. Jupiter and the outer planets were stripped to naked cores.
47 years later ... a proton from the explosion hit an alien detector.
|
"Come on Pop's, tell us your story! Please!"
"You've heard it so many times, don't you still know it perfectly?"
"I do, but my friends prefer if you tell it. You're a far better teller than I or the history books could be."
I smiled, looking down, and slightly corrected my sitting in my armchair. The boy was a good flatterer. I looked up to him and his group of teenagers, who spent the afternoon home with him.
"All right kids. Buckle up."
Nobody knows how it happened. But all of a sudden, every weapon on Earth stopped working. Hear me right boys, I'm not saying an EMP somehow fried our guns, that could not happen. What I'm saying is, you could point a gun to your head and pull the trigger. You wouldn't feel a thing. At first, it was... a miracle. The crime rate dropped in every single country. The rockets and missiles ended up as powerful as water bombs. War became useless, as no one could harm their enemies. Countries learnt how to negotiate, how to talk with diplomacy. Terrorism disappeared from the face of the earth.
I marked a slight pause. The youngsters were hanging on my every word.
But one day, an accident occurred. Some father had kept an old school revolver in his house. He was playing with his children, and shot one of them in the leg. Immediately, the news spread like wildfire. **Older weapons could still harm.** In the US, the oldest weapons were as old as the War of Independence. They were powerful enough to kill, but the government could still control the damage. Here in Europe though... In any museum, you could find some sword, some bow and arrows from the Middle Age. I don't know if your books told you that but, the older a weapon was, the more powerful it was. And **the more powerful the weapon, the more powerful the wielder.**
One of my listeners tried to interrupt me.
"Is that when..."
"Hey! Shut up! Let him go on!" burst out from the group before I could say a word.
I smiled once again, and pursued with my telling.
In the chaos that followed, one man rose above the others. He called himself Alexander, and claimed to be wielding the very sword of Alexander the Great. I perfectly remember the first time the world saw him. He was alone, and went to the British Parliament. He started to randomly kill cops, they could not do a single thing against him. Helicopters came around to film the scene, broadcasting it to the entire world. With one single jump, he arrived on top of the Big Ben. He started talking, in a perfectly audible voice. Anyone who would willingly join him would be granted power and land. But anyone who crossed his path would be annihilated. From that day on, he was the most powerful person on the planet. He started to conquer every single country, one after another.
At this time, I was a simple archaeologist in Vatican. Our country was one of the last places where peace could be found. Until the day Alexander and his wrath knocked at our door. Suddenly, I had an idea. I would myself go and face him.
When I got to the gates of the city, Alexander was giving a speech to his troops. As always, a chopper was following him to let everyone know what was happening. All I had was a rock, which I held in my hand, as I walked up to him. He noticed me when a couple of soldiers tried to stop me.
"Let him!", he said from the distance with his powerful voice. "What do you want, young man? To negotiate the terms of your surrender?"
"Not quite close." I was talking to him, and surprisingly, everybody could hear me too. "I want you to surrender. Then, you will be treated as a prisoner, your life and that of your soldiers will be spared."
A laughter came from Alexander, followed by his goons. He looked at me, pointing his finger in my direction.
"What made you think you could threaten me? I should probably kill you, but your arrogance amuses me."
I was now playing with my rock. I launched it from my left hand to the right one, and vice versa. It is impossible to describe, but I felt incredibly calm. I felt... untouchable.
"Even if you wanted to, I don't think you could kill me. But I'll be fair with you. Final warning. Surrender, and I will spare all of you."
Alexander was now staring at me in silence, but I could not tell if his eyes were reflecting fear or pure boredom. Little bit of both, I guess.
"All right, it's not funny anymore. Guards, kill this man."
Before the two guards on my sides could even lift their arm, I threw my rock at my feet. It bounced off, hit them both at the head, and came back in my hands before their lifeless bodies hit the ground. Alexander looked at me, and smiled.
"So, you have an ancient artefact too, right? Now is the time you learn your lesson."
He pulled out his sword, and jumped in my direction, yelling. I looked at him from the distance. I once again threw my rock. It went through his body in mid-air, stopped in its course, then flew back in my hand. Alexander fell on the ground. He used his last seconds of consciousness to try to understand what had just happened.
"How... How is it possible?", he rumbled, with blood invading his mouth.
I quietly showed him my rock. I was holding it with both hands. To showcase its power, I let it go with both my hands, and it started levitating. I took it back, and explained.
"You see... This is the rock Cain used to kill his brother Abel. It has been secretly kept in our archives, but I thought now was a good time to finally let it out."
Alexander smiled, and said: "**Congratulations, you are the most powerful man who ever existed.**" before leaving our world.
I stopped talking, thinking about what-ifs and everything I could have done with such a power. By judging my audience's look, I imagined most were wondering the same thing I was.
"So... Where is it now?"
"Hmm? Where is what, young man?"
"The rock... where is it now?"
"Oh..." I comfortably pushed myself into my chair. "Let us say it is now in a safe place, where no one could ever abuse its powers. But if needs be, I am sure someone will assume my mantle."
My eyes descended upon my great grand-son. I had been blessed to live long enough to know him. He was an exact copy of my younger self. But my blessing was no mere coincidence. My faithful armchair contained so much more than anyone could imagine. Which is the exact reason why he would inherit it after my passing.
"So... how does it feel to be a worldwide hero?"
"You know... I never felt I was a hero. I only did what was right."
| 2017-04-21T08:11:52 | 2017-04-21T07:25:18 | 117 | 72 |
[WP] The blacksmith won't sell you any weapon, the guards insist you stay in the city and the mages refuse to teach you any dangerous spell. Maybe that eternal youth potion was a terrible idea after all.
|
“So you’ll do it?”
“I don’t know. I am having trouble believing what you said.”
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is will you do it?”
“I... ok.”
“Oh and one more thing. Pay close attention to what is about to happen. If you ever think it’s a good idea to double cross me, this will be you.”
The older man looked at the kid. Something about his eyes scared him. He shuddered. Could it all be true?
The kid set his plan in motion.
********
He bowed before the king and the queen.
“Father, mother, this is my dear friend Jonas.”
“It is good to meet you Jonas.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance sir, ma’am.”
“He is the most clever boy in our class. He’s the best at sports too.”
“You flatter me, my prince.”
The kings’s second in command, Marshall Victor entered.
“Sir, the North...” he paused as he noticed that the royals had company. “I’ll come back.”
“Oh no sir. I will take my leave now.” Jonas looked at the king. “I don’t want to keep you from your duties. My prince, i’ll See you tomorrow in class.”
Victor looked curiously at the kid as he walked away.
“My king, forgive my insolence, but who was that kid.”
“He was Jonas. He learns with young Edward. What is the matter?”
“Nothing sir. I just... I can’t quite put my finger on it. But there’s something about that kid that isn’t right.”
“Oh you worry too much Victor. And what do you know about kids anyways. So what did you want to see me about?”
On the other side of the door Jonas stood with his ear on the door, frowning.
**********
The sword was matted with blood. The king lay slain. The queen was shouting. But there was no mercy in the sword bearer. He stuck the sword deep in the queen’s chest. The young prince lay on the ground, helpless. He was next.
Victor ran in when he heard the screams, sword in hand. He knew that Jonas and the prince were going to give a demonstration of what they had learned about sword fighting from their tutor so far. But he had an uneasy feeling about the kid.
He was shocked at he amount of carnage. There was blood everywhere. And Jonas stood in the middle, grinning.
“You!”
“Yes, Victor. Me.” Jonas attacked.
Victor was a master swordsman and quickly got the upper hand. He snatched the sword from Jonas’s hand and put it to his throat.
“Who are you? And why? They were good people.”
Jonas grinned at him. “They were indeed.”
At that moment the chief of the military Samuel ran in with his men. He looked at the scene in front of him. The royals, murdered. And Victor with two swords, one pointed directly at the young man everyone recognized as the prince’s friend.
Victor looked at Samuel and then the swords in his hand. “No! It isn’t what it looks like. It was him. It was the kid.”
“You expect us to believe that a little kid, no older than 10 killed two of the greatest sword fighters in the land? And also his own friend.”
“Sir! Please help me. This man has gone insane. He came in here and said that he deserved to be the king. That they had gone soft and weren’t fit to lead anymore. And he...” Jonas broke down crying.
Victor was tried and executed soon thereafter.
Since the direct royal bloodline had finished, Samuel who was the king’s nephew took the throne.
As the ceremony ended and he took the throne, he looked at the crowd and spotted him. Jonas. A shiver went up his spine. No, he would never dare double cross this little kid.
|
After escaping the Genie's temple, Rovif tested the limits of his immortality by throwing himself off the mountain. It seemed like the most direct route. Could he reach the base without hitting anything?
Odd. As it stretched out into minutes of silent free-fall, its sensation slowly became indistinguishable from soaring in the air. The only difference between the two was the fear of hitting the ground. Now that Rovif knew he would survive, from his perspective, the distinction had blurred. Nothing could harm him anymore.
Unless a landslide trapped him under rocks for eternity.
Rovif swallowed. He suddenly felt like an idiot and remembered the immortals locked away in the temple. Would the Genie cause a landslide? This *would* be the easiest way of screwing Rovif over. He never trusted the Genie's words. That creature had no reason to tell the truth.
Rovif crashed into the ground with a thud. He sprang to his feet and dusted his cloak, staying alert for any potential earthquakes that could bury him. Nothing. Maybe the Genie wasn't lying, but that only made Rovif more concerned about his warning.
Twilight slowly ended when he saw the village of Spiceroot on the horizon. It had been approximately fourteen hours since the first wish. Rovif paused at a crossroads. One path spiraled down the foothills, towards the village, and the other stretched out with no discernible end until merging into the imperial highway.
The mage's guild in Spiceroot would be on high alert for Rovif. He grumbled. Although the path down was unexpectedly quick, this hike had taken him months of travel. Rovif longed for good meal and a warm bath. He walked down the foothills. The only inns nearby were in Spiceroot. Rovif chuckled. And really, what could the guild possibly do to him?
------
------
The bed creaked again.
Rovif blinked. Dawn approached and he didn't get a minute of sleep. The Genie would show itself soon. Rovif still hadn't decided his next wish. There were too many variables to consider. Rovif got up from his bed, sauntering blindly towards the bathroom. He needed to remember his goal. Immortality was a great first step but it didn't automatically turn him into the greatest mage in history. It just increased the likelihood of success which, granted, made Rovif a lot more patient than before. He needed to focus on securing and consolidating his powers.
Unfortunately, the fact that he was forced to make a wish every day meant that there would be room for error in his wishes. Rovif inspected his worn out face. He already had an inkling of what to ask. One of the immortals in the temple was an old man. The first clue that an immortality wish wasn't perfect.
Magical energy materialized and swelled all through the room, crackling like lightning until turning into a dense fog. The Genie's silhouette hovered inside. His voice then boomed:
"Master, I see you haven't done anything foolish yet. Congratulations. Most people use their second wish to undo whatever mistake they did in the first twenty-four hours."
Rovif cleared his throat. "R-right."
"Do you have your second wish ready?"
"I believe so... Genie, grant me eternal youth! I'd like to remain in my physical peak for the rest of my life!"
Just like last time, the Genie powered up with an unbelievable amount of mana all around him and shot Rovif with a bolt of energy. A sudden calm overwhelmed his senses. Every ache, every old scar, every uncomfortable tension in his body melted away in an instant. He wasn't aware of how much pain he carried until it wasn't there anymore.
Rovif raised an eyebrow at the Genie. "What? No cryptic warnings this time?"
"I came to the conclusion that I'd be wasting my time."
"Well, you know, it's not like I wouldn't appreciate your input..."
The Genie shook his head, amused. "Very well, here's a tip. This isn't the first time I've been in this village. Throughout the centuries, the mages who find me often go to Spiceroot as their first destination."
Rovif nodded along. He remembered a lot of the legends mentioned this village. It's how he knew where to steal the map. "Does the Mage's Guild here know about you?"
"They originally established a branch here specifically to study my temple, but I didn't allow it."
"That explains a lot." Rovif often wondered why they would have such a powerful branch of the guild over in a backwater region of the empire. "Okay, thanks, that's interesting I guess, but I struggle to see the tip."
The Genie chuckled. "I'm saying that they have experience in dealing with people like you."
Rovif widened his eyes. The Genie's mana. It was unmistakable. If they had records, they would know its nature the minute they detected it. The Genie waved goodbye before disappearing. Rovif ran out of the bathroom. The Guild might actually have contingency plans for immortals. He needed to grab his belongings and leave Spiceroot immediately.
The room was disintegrated in a fiery explosion before Rovif could exit.
------
------
Folas and Vulen stared at the crystal ball with bated breath. The fireball was massive. It completely leveled the second floor of the humble inn. No one could survive that. The guild mages jumped into the building, extinguished the fire, and began to inspect the wreckage. Vulen zoomed in on them through the crystal ball. Everything was ash.
Folas grumbled.
Vulen eyed him, annoyed. "What?"
"How much attention will this bring?"
"Not as much as you think." Vulen stood up from his chair and stretched out his back. "We have enough in the treasury to cover the damages and silence the owner." He ceased his scrying on the crystal ball. "Now if you'll excuse, we've been working on this problem for long enough. I'll be off now."
"No."
Vulen stopped in his tracks. "Why?"
"They haven't found the body."
"It burned up! You saw the explosion. Five of our best mages fired at full power."
"At someone who already had two wishes granted."
Vulen pursed his lips, glancing at the floor. "They're silly myths."
"Regardless, the sundial will determine if we have succeeded."
Vulen looked at it. An ancient relic that was allegedly recovered from the original expedition into the Genie's temple. The legends stated that the sundial glowed bright green whenever a wish was granted. Vulen never thought it worked until twenty-four hours prior, when it glowed for the first time in centuries. This coincided with the stolen scroll a few months ago. They couldn't detect the exact source of the first mana outburst, but now that they were actively waiting for it, they quickly found where that cursed Rovif was staying. The embarrassment of having those scrolls stolen by him was the only reason Vulen took this situation seriously.
"Okay," said Vulen, "for the sake of arguing, let's say Rovif *did* find this mythical place. Why wouldn't he wish for ultimate power immediately and destroy us?"
Folas stroked his long beard for a few seconds of contemplation. "Some legends state that those who do that are instantly consumed and overwhelmed by the weight of their request. His strategy might be to work his way up to a point where he can ascend to godhood without losing his sense of self."
Vulen sighed. "Then what do you propose?"
"Keep every guild member on high alert. Forbid anyone from selling any teleportation services today, or weapons for that matter, and make sure the guards are keeping an eye out for him."
"Are you sure? We can bribe a few officials to aid our search, but they won't detain him without asking questions. If what you say is true, and imperial agents find out about the temple..."
"I'm aware of the risks, but it'd be more dangerous if Rovif escaped the city. Just be as vague as possible. I know it might seem like overkill, but until I see the sundial doesn't glow again tomorrow, I can't allow myself to relax."
"And what if..." Vulen swallowed. "...what if he can't die."
"We'll chop him up limb by limb and bury the pieces in very distant, remote locations all over the world. Also, we'll need to pour molten led into his mouth so can't wish himself out of the situation."
Vulen squinted.
"What?"
"I wasn't expecting your answer to be that... thorough."
-------------------
>This prompt felt like the perfect follow-up to [another one I answered a few days ago](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bwpa2t/wp_a_genie_gives_you_two_options_one_is_to_get/epzr3hw/). I wanted to see if I could make it work with and without context, but I don't know if it worked. Anyway, if anyone's interested, I'm gonna be working on this all day but I'm getting some breakfast now because I kinda forgot to eat.
| 2019-06-07T06:11:04 | 2019-06-07T06:04:22 | 346 | 47 |
[WP] The blacksmith won't sell you any weapon, the guards insist you stay in the city and the mages refuse to teach you any dangerous spell. Maybe that eternal youth potion was a terrible idea after all.
|
Rays of rainbow light filtered through the stained glass windows of the High Court and heated the cast-iron chains binding my wrists.
High Marshal Fevro stood before me, knees unstable and swaying. 'God's judgement will burn down upon you.'
A jury of children sat in church-like pews to my right. A few nodded in agreement. Others avoided his eye.
'You have poisoned this city and its future,' High Marshal Fevro said and hobbled over to the jury. 'He has poisoned each of you.'
A knobbly finger wavered in the face of each child. Again, a similar portion of the jury nodded in agreement. The uncertain others looked back with blank expressions, betrayed only by their inherent need to swallow.
High Marshal Fevro swept back to face me, the tail of his robes fanned like a wizard's cloak. Speaking over my head, he grandstanded the public. 'I speak to all of you.'
Hundreds of small hands came together in a thunder of applause made loud by their numbers, not by the power of the individuals.
'Justice will be served today.' Fevro's voice was barely audible over the applause. 'That is a promise.'
The heat from my restraints seemed to spread. Sweat bloomed on my back, the nape of my neck, and arse crack.
A council of sat on a high table at the head of the court behind High Marshal Fevro. Each member dressed in a different coloured robe. They were *old*, white-haired and frail like Fevro.
Marshal Bethal hammered her gavel. Cracks echoed out in waves, each one piercing deeper into the crowd. By the fourth, the room was silent.
High Marshal Fevro lowered his arms and shot me a yellow-smile. 'You are charged with poisoning the population of this once great city, afflicting each member with eternal youth. And for what? A *selfish* desire for vendors and tradesmen to deal with you?' The word *selfish* rattled through the room louder than any other. Fevro paused, allowing his words to ferment. 'The afflicted will bear no more children. They will not be able to defend their beloved city. They will not grow old and earn the respect they deserve.'
Another applause broke out. Marshal Bethal allowed it to grow.
*Crack, crack*.
'Your punishment — should you be found guilty. Imprisonment so long as one of the afflicted lives.'
*A few thousand eternal inhabitants — how long could they avoid pestilence and disease?* I wondered.
High Marshal Fevro's face narrowed. 'How do you plead?'
I stepped forward. The rainbow of light illuminated my face, filling me with great warmth. 'How do you plead?'
'I-I beg your pardon?'
'No member of the high court was afflicted by eternal youth,' I said.
'Watch your tongue.'
'I mixed my eternal youth elixir into the crops. Which, in turn, was used to feed the livestock and populace.'
'Speak no more, or your punishment will be far worse.'
The wobble in High Marshal Fevro's legs could now be seen from the back of the court.
'My question to the good people is, why was the High Court not afflicted?
A grumble worked its way through the crowd like tornado collecting debris.
I turned to the people and said. 'I plead guilty to poisoning all of you, and also to highlighting something far worse. The Marshal's have developed a taste for something that only humans can satisfy.'
*Crack, crack*.
Marshal Bethal stood upright. Her lips now seemed richer — redder.
'This is preposterous!'
---
/r/WrittenThought
---
I had a lot of fun creating this one! Usually, I find myself writing stories about worlds already founded -- this one felt more like my own. Any feedback or criticism is delightfully welcome!
|
After escaping the Genie's temple, Rovif tested the limits of his immortality by throwing himself off the mountain. It seemed like the most direct route. Could he reach the base without hitting anything?
Odd. As it stretched out into minutes of silent free-fall, its sensation slowly became indistinguishable from soaring in the air. The only difference between the two was the fear of hitting the ground. Now that Rovif knew he would survive, from his perspective, the distinction had blurred. Nothing could harm him anymore.
Unless a landslide trapped him under rocks for eternity.
Rovif swallowed. He suddenly felt like an idiot and remembered the immortals locked away in the temple. Would the Genie cause a landslide? This *would* be the easiest way of screwing Rovif over. He never trusted the Genie's words. That creature had no reason to tell the truth.
Rovif crashed into the ground with a thud. He sprang to his feet and dusted his cloak, staying alert for any potential earthquakes that could bury him. Nothing. Maybe the Genie wasn't lying, but that only made Rovif more concerned about his warning.
Twilight slowly ended when he saw the village of Spiceroot on the horizon. It had been approximately fourteen hours since the first wish. Rovif paused at a crossroads. One path spiraled down the foothills, towards the village, and the other stretched out with no discernible end until merging into the imperial highway.
The mage's guild in Spiceroot would be on high alert for Rovif. He grumbled. Although the path down was unexpectedly quick, this hike had taken him months of travel. Rovif longed for good meal and a warm bath. He walked down the foothills. The only inns nearby were in Spiceroot. Rovif chuckled. And really, what could the guild possibly do to him?
------
------
The bed creaked again.
Rovif blinked. Dawn approached and he didn't get a minute of sleep. The Genie would show itself soon. Rovif still hadn't decided his next wish. There were too many variables to consider. Rovif got up from his bed, sauntering blindly towards the bathroom. He needed to remember his goal. Immortality was a great first step but it didn't automatically turn him into the greatest mage in history. It just increased the likelihood of success which, granted, made Rovif a lot more patient than before. He needed to focus on securing and consolidating his powers.
Unfortunately, the fact that he was forced to make a wish every day meant that there would be room for error in his wishes. Rovif inspected his worn out face. He already had an inkling of what to ask. One of the immortals in the temple was an old man. The first clue that an immortality wish wasn't perfect.
Magical energy materialized and swelled all through the room, crackling like lightning until turning into a dense fog. The Genie's silhouette hovered inside. His voice then boomed:
"Master, I see you haven't done anything foolish yet. Congratulations. Most people use their second wish to undo whatever mistake they did in the first twenty-four hours."
Rovif cleared his throat. "R-right."
"Do you have your second wish ready?"
"I believe so... Genie, grant me eternal youth! I'd like to remain in my physical peak for the rest of my life!"
Just like last time, the Genie powered up with an unbelievable amount of mana all around him and shot Rovif with a bolt of energy. A sudden calm overwhelmed his senses. Every ache, every old scar, every uncomfortable tension in his body melted away in an instant. He wasn't aware of how much pain he carried until it wasn't there anymore.
Rovif raised an eyebrow at the Genie. "What? No cryptic warnings this time?"
"I came to the conclusion that I'd be wasting my time."
"Well, you know, it's not like I wouldn't appreciate your input..."
The Genie shook his head, amused. "Very well, here's a tip. This isn't the first time I've been in this village. Throughout the centuries, the mages who find me often go to Spiceroot as their first destination."
Rovif nodded along. He remembered a lot of the legends mentioned this village. It's how he knew where to steal the map. "Does the Mage's Guild here know about you?"
"They originally established a branch here specifically to study my temple, but I didn't allow it."
"That explains a lot." Rovif often wondered why they would have such a powerful branch of the guild over in a backwater region of the empire. "Okay, thanks, that's interesting I guess, but I struggle to see the tip."
The Genie chuckled. "I'm saying that they have experience in dealing with people like you."
Rovif widened his eyes. The Genie's mana. It was unmistakable. If they had records, they would know its nature the minute they detected it. The Genie waved goodbye before disappearing. Rovif ran out of the bathroom. The Guild might actually have contingency plans for immortals. He needed to grab his belongings and leave Spiceroot immediately.
The room was disintegrated in a fiery explosion before Rovif could exit.
------
------
Folas and Vulen stared at the crystal ball with bated breath. The fireball was massive. It completely leveled the second floor of the humble inn. No one could survive that. The guild mages jumped into the building, extinguished the fire, and began to inspect the wreckage. Vulen zoomed in on them through the crystal ball. Everything was ash.
Folas grumbled.
Vulen eyed him, annoyed. "What?"
"How much attention will this bring?"
"Not as much as you think." Vulen stood up from his chair and stretched out his back. "We have enough in the treasury to cover the damages and silence the owner." He ceased his scrying on the crystal ball. "Now if you'll excuse, we've been working on this problem for long enough. I'll be off now."
"No."
Vulen stopped in his tracks. "Why?"
"They haven't found the body."
"It burned up! You saw the explosion. Five of our best mages fired at full power."
"At someone who already had two wishes granted."
Vulen pursed his lips, glancing at the floor. "They're silly myths."
"Regardless, the sundial will determine if we have succeeded."
Vulen looked at it. An ancient relic that was allegedly recovered from the original expedition into the Genie's temple. The legends stated that the sundial glowed bright green whenever a wish was granted. Vulen never thought it worked until twenty-four hours prior, when it glowed for the first time in centuries. This coincided with the stolen scroll a few months ago. They couldn't detect the exact source of the first mana outburst, but now that they were actively waiting for it, they quickly found where that cursed Rovif was staying. The embarrassment of having those scrolls stolen by him was the only reason Vulen took this situation seriously.
"Okay," said Vulen, "for the sake of arguing, let's say Rovif *did* find this mythical place. Why wouldn't he wish for ultimate power immediately and destroy us?"
Folas stroked his long beard for a few seconds of contemplation. "Some legends state that those who do that are instantly consumed and overwhelmed by the weight of their request. His strategy might be to work his way up to a point where he can ascend to godhood without losing his sense of self."
Vulen sighed. "Then what do you propose?"
"Keep every guild member on high alert. Forbid anyone from selling any teleportation services today, or weapons for that matter, and make sure the guards are keeping an eye out for him."
"Are you sure? We can bribe a few officials to aid our search, but they won't detain him without asking questions. If what you say is true, and imperial agents find out about the temple..."
"I'm aware of the risks, but it'd be more dangerous if Rovif escaped the city. Just be as vague as possible. I know it might seem like overkill, but until I see the sundial doesn't glow again tomorrow, I can't allow myself to relax."
"And what if..." Vulen swallowed. "...what if he can't die."
"We'll chop him up limb by limb and bury the pieces in very distant, remote locations all over the world. Also, we'll need to pour molten led into his mouth so can't wish himself out of the situation."
Vulen squinted.
"What?"
"I wasn't expecting your answer to be that... thorough."
-------------------
>This prompt felt like the perfect follow-up to [another one I answered a few days ago](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bwpa2t/wp_a_genie_gives_you_two_options_one_is_to_get/epzr3hw/). I wanted to see if I could make it work with and without context, but I don't know if it worked. Anyway, if anyone's interested, I'm gonna be working on this all day but I'm getting some breakfast now because I kinda forgot to eat.
| 2019-06-07T06:17:25 | 2019-06-07T06:04:22 | 266 | 47 |
[WP] The blacksmith won't sell you any weapon, the guards insist you stay in the city and the mages refuse to teach you any dangerous spell. Maybe that eternal youth potion was a terrible idea after all.
|
“*QUEST COMPLETE*” slowly faded from the black screen, Hogran awoke in his bed. He quickly checked his status bar. No heart problems, no myopia, no cancer. Elador, the old mage who gave him the eternal youth quest wasn’t lying about his instruction list. The hardest fetch quest of Hogran’s career was finally over. He sank into his bed and gave a high-pitched sigh of relief
Hogran remembered that his shield broke fighting the reanimated corpses of those who failed the ritual, so he marched over to the blacksmith.
“I need you to fix this shield… wait. Why is there a red X on it?”
“This weapon can only be wielded by those with the age of 16 or older”
“how old am I?’
“12”
All his weapons and armor were unwearable. The blacksmith could not legally repair or barter weapons with a child. The only weapons available were a toy sword and a slingshot. He tried the same with the mage who could only sell the spell “Sparkler”. The only positive of the situation was that the innkeeper could sell booze to whoever.
Elador said the potion would return him to the golden age of 18, not to his wimpy 12 year old self. Hogran would rather be one of those reanimated skeletons he fought because at least then he would to wield a proper sword.
Hogran had some drinks and bought a slingshot before he set on his way to kick this Elador guys ass. But the gate guard stopped him “Its too dangerous out there for a child.” Hogran was pissed and his newly found liver was very bad at handling alcohol. He drunkenly raised his slingshot and fully extended it towards the guards unflinching face. And he let go.
But a small hand knocked the rock out just before. And Hogran was confronted by a child named Brent
“Children who commit crimes don’t go to a cozy jail cell, they get sent to the orphanage. I’m guessing you talked to Elador”
“How did you…”
“you think you were the first”
Five more drunk 12-year-olds emerged from the shadows.
“come with us we have a plan…”
|
I stood face to face with a feral cave goblin. I had bested far more fearsome creatures countless times, but at the moment I was faced with several new complications which I had never had to deal with in the past. I had no proper weapons, no equipment, and oh yes... I was but a child with a child's body and meager strength. As I faced my potential death, my life, my *real* life, flashed before my eyes.
I had lived my prior existence as a great hero and deadly assassin. I turned 50 last year. A fine age for a man in my line of work to reach, but I wanted more from life and it did not seem I was going to get it. Sickness ravaged my body until I was a mere husk of my former, glorious, devilishly handsome self. My desperation only increased as I felt myself approaching death's door over the coming months. I would have claimed I didn’t fear death, but in truth I did, even more so such an inglorious death such as this. It was… beneath me. And besides, who would wish to live in a world without me in it?
The Witch of Strafholm Woods was known for two things. She was the greatest practitioner of forbidden magics in the entire known world, and those who made use of her power almost always paid an incredibly steep price. Whatever cost had to be paid would pale in comparison to my current slow, unending march toward death, so I assured her I would pay it without hesitation. She handed me the potion of youth I had requested, and I prepared myself for a violent physical transformation as my body rapidly de-aged and healed itself, but no such thing occurred. Instead I felt my consciousness rapidly fading and as I hit the floor my world went black.
I awoke with a start in a lush meadow that was totally unknown to me. My weapons, my equipment, and my coin were all gone. As I set out toward the nearest town I quickly realized that worse still, my skills and abilities as a rogue, which had previously been effortless second nature, now felt also completely out of reach to me. As I experienced that final dawning realization that I now inhabited a child’s body, it became clear that her potion had granted me an entirely new life. A blank slate.
I suppose I should have tried living my new life as an orphan who simply blended into the world. I probably should have been grateful for this second chance, but in truth I immediately craved a return to action and adventure. I longed for my old life of slaying terrifying beasts and assassinating usurping princes and great demons alike.
Gazing into a pond along the way, I discovered that I was a dragonkin, a half-dragon in layman's terms. Which apparently meant that sometime in ages long ago, a human and a dragon ‘got together’ and birthed the first of my kind. Dragons were massive, while humans were relatively tiny. I don’t know the genders of those involved with the first cross breeding of our species, but either way, the sheer logistics of the act was among the greatest feats of ‘magic’ I could imagine.
Dragons and their kin were quite rare in this kingdom, so I hoped that other races I encountered might be slightly intimidated by my scaled skin and horned head. Perhaps they wouldn't even know what a young dragonkin looked like and might mistake me for an adult. As I entered the town, some did seem to fear or distrust me, which actually gave me some solace that I might be taken seriously. I thought that my appearance, along with the confidence gained from my lifetime of endless success would allow me to bluff my way past the guards who were guarding this town’s armory as I desired replacement of my lost weapons above all else.
I strode up to them directly and announced my presence. “You fine lads will be honored to meet me I'm sure, my name is Drak’thorn,” I told them with great pride and arrogance. “And I was… I *am* the greatest assassin this world has ever known. I need access to the armory immediately. The king himself has ordered me to outfit myself for a new mission, you do not wish to impede his wishes do you?”
The two guards looked me over for a few moments before glancing at each other and bursting into a fit of laughter, “Never heard of ya! Odd, I’d think the 'world’s greatest assassin' being a child would have made the news!”
“You’ve never heard of me because I was transfo--” I cut myself off, these fools would never believe the fantastical journey I had been on, so I tried telling them a different truth. “If you wish to hear honesty, here it is. You’ve never heard of me because I was exceedingly good at doing my job. I was never caught, never a suspect in any of the deaths by my hand, I was never even seen by a bystander nor by any of the eyes which I shut for eternity. And so I exist in anonymity as the great mighty warriors and cunning mages of legend have songs sung extolling their virtues and exploits. The bards dare not sing of me because my very existence is but a rumored whisper. Do you understand?”
“If you don’t grow up to be a ‘master assassin’ then at least I can say you have a future as a playwright! Quite a story, but you won’t bluff your way through here, dragonboy. Be gone with ya!”
With no access to armory weapons, I lowered myself to venturing out into the wild places of the realm to scavenge whatever I could. Young adventurers died frequently on their first quests and the equipment left on their corpses might be the only source of weaponry and other items I could get my hands on.
Corpse robbing turned out to be as dangerous as it was undignified. I had to avoid other adventurers who might be searching for their deceased friend as well as the fantastical creatures that had killed them in the first place and were frequently still lurking nearby.
After days of fruitless scavenging, I managed to snag two simple iron daggers from a corpse in a cave. Not ideal, but I had started my original career as an assassin without much better. As I allowed myself a brief reminiscence I heard a loud noise behind me and turned to investigate.
And so I came to stand face to face with a goblin. A tiny and sickly looking thing which would not have even merited my time back in my past life. I could have vanished into thin air in front of it and moved past, or simply killed such a lowly creature without even breaking my stride. But now? Without proper weapons, without my skills, without the knowledge and muscle memory gained throughout my lifetime, this sad angry little creature was going to present a tremendous challenge. If anyone else had been present I would have feigned confidence and superiority, but I was completely alone, and I didn’t relish the thought of death so early in my ‘new life’. As I gripped my simple daggers tightly, my body shook with fear for the first time in memory.
___
r/Ryter
I didn't intend it as I started writing this, but this story ended up being semi-related to [another story I posted here a few days ago](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bwj0sr/wp_everyone_doubted_you_when_you_didnt_invest_in/epy1y6c/?context=3) (this prompt was somewhat similar to the backstory I had been sketching out for one of the characters, so I just leaned into it hard). This is a total experiment for me, but I think/hope this still works as a self contained story for this prompt as well!
| 2019-06-07T09:49:03 | 2019-06-07T09:37:52 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone knows the Grim Reaper, the personification of Death. You are the supernatural personification of the other certainty in life: Taxes
|
Writing on mobile; sorry in advance.
Three quick knocks, the offender didn’t even bother waiting for a response before walking in with another batch of human souls. “I got about 12 here. Another 23 coming in a few.” The cloaked figure said before ducking back out to tend to his fields.
“Ok…” I rasp out, “If your under 21, please continue through the next door. Everyone else order yourselves in youngest to oldest at time of death.”
A few continued on. Cancer patients, stupid and unlucky teens, the others all ordered themselves appropriately. All too shocked to really object.
“Next.” I call, pulling the correct file. One benefit in the afterlife is I don’t need an infinite stacks of filing cabinets, I just pull the right one. This time it was thin.
“Hello…” was all the woman could mutter. Her eyes kept darting around wildly. Fear wasn’t anything new. It was expected at this point. “Is there two deaths?”
“No. I’m Taxes.” I reply.
“Taxes?”
“As someone once wrote; ‘There is nothing more certain than Death and Taxes’. Where death collectes souls like yourself and guides them into their afterlives, I run the books and determine how much life debt you owe in order to gain access.” I explain. “Simply answer my questions, and you’ll be on your way.”
“O-okay…” she answered.
“Your name is Allison Walters,” I drone.
“Yes”
“You died after a little over 72 years on Earth,”
“Yes.”
“You went to church on a weekly basis until you were 23,”
“Not exactly a church…”
“Please assume any references to other religions as your own variant. You went to church on a weekly-“
“Yes”
“You worked as a nurse for 30 years, before deciding to retire early at 54 years old,”
“Yes.”
“You had a minor problem with alcohol at 44 years old due to a patient you had to cut life support to,”
“Y-yes…”
“And you left behind your ex-husband and step-son.”
“Yes”
“Alright.” I made a few notes in her file. “Unfortunately, you owe us 13 months for a few minor sins in your life. If you wish to make any claims in an attempt for a reduced sentence now’s the time to do so.” I turned her file towards her and pushed it across the desk, “otherwise, sign here.”
“What about the man I killed..?” She asked.
I pulled the file back and flipped through. “Says here the man was grateful for your aid. Your deed reduced 2 years off your debt. Anything else?” I asked, returning the file to her.
She simply signed it and bowed. Turned and left through the door. She seemed at peace, at least.
In life and in death, there is nothing certain except Death and Taxes.
I am Taxes; I assess the debt of your soul. I sit here at the edge of oblivion and heaven, filling files and processing souls.
“Next.”
|
A balding white man with grey hair. Thin framed bifocal glasses. Clean shaven. An old grey suit. A tan leather suitcase. Slightly hunched from age somewhere past "my kids graduated from college" but not quite to "full retirement benefits." Slightly shorter than average, though it's hard to tell with that hunch. Professional in demeanor, but listless. His eyes unfocused with a hint of being dead inside for a long time. His activity suggested decades of experience, but without an happy day in those decades.
He was, in a word, boring.
He kind of shuffled through the row of grey cubicles. The space was lit by fluorescent lights, and blanketed with the faint roar of a commercial ventilation system that must have been designed to make white noise. He moved directly towards me without looking up. I stepped to the side so that he wouldn't bump into me, but he stopped just short of where I had been standing.
"Good afternoon," he said as a formality, not even looking up at my face let alone making eye contact. He looked like he hadn't experienced an actually good afternoon since before I was born. "Do you have copies of your W2s, 1099s, K-1s and child credit evidence?" He didn't even have to look at me to read me like a book.
"I do," I said. I'm no extrovert, so the lack of introduction and small talk was fine with me.
He slowly raised an arm and pointed down the row of cubicles. "Down to number 1043 on the right and have a seat," he said.
"Thanks," I said with a half smile and started off. I looked back to make sure I wasn't rudely walking too fast him. But he was gone. "Hello?" I looked around confused.
I poked my head into the nearest cubicle, and got an offended silent glare from the middle aged woman trying to work in there. "Sorry, I was just looking for..." I started before realizing I didn't even know his name.
She raised an arm to point away. "1043. On the right."
"Uh, thanks." She must have overheard, I told myself.
Wherever he went, he must know where to find me if I heard down there. It was 10 or so cubicles down the row, so I walked in and looked for a seat, shocked to see he was already sitting across at his desk. Suitcase open, containing a stack of folders, including one with my name on it on top. Printing calculator out and placed with reach.
A paper coffee cup sat on his desk, half full with several rings on the inside and looking cold. It was only 8:05am, according to the white office clock hanging over the edge of his cube. Either that coffee is from yesterday, or he's been in the office for hours, I thought. As he stared at a monitor, I glanced down at a trash can. Full of empty paper coffee cups. Either they never take the trash out, or this is what he looks like amped up on 10 cups of coffee.
"Mr. Johnson, I heard you have a complicated situation."
"Uh, yes. See my wife and I live separately, and I relocated because of COVID, so I moved states to my wife's new house. But I was already working out of state when I began to telework that job. And my wife was working overseas, but she did stay at the new house for a bit, but not a half year yet as she had moved in February just before COVID..." I paused to see if he had any questions.
"Go on," he quickly replied impatiently.
"As for deductions, my son's medical bills from COVID were accumulated in October, but I didn't even get the bills until after Christmas, so they were paid in January..."
"It will only impact one of your four state tax returns."
"Uh, ok. And I had quite a lot of trading losses..."
"Yes, we'll put together a loss carryover document, split between long term, short term and with the proper cost basis adjustments."
"Oh great. And I was curious..."
"Yes, that does count as long term capital gains. And no, the wash sales will not impact it."
I tried to remember if I had sent copies of my documents already by email or something. I'm pretty sure I didn't, so how did he know...
I looked down at my folder. I guess I didn't notice all the papers already sitting inside it. He continued looking at his monitor and scrolling. Reviewing my documents, I assumed.
"Ha, yeah, thanks. You know I went to H&R Block and they estimated it would cost at least $800 just to do the Federal filing! Can you believe that?"
"Yes," he said dryly. "And no, the other expenses aren't needed, the standard deduction will be better." Ok, I know I didn't send anything about my expenses because I just ran around the house before leaving trying to find all the receipts.
"Could you take a look at them? I'm right on the bubble, but I think it might save a few..."
"They are not needed."
I had heard this "Mr. Taxes" was the best, but it was pretty asinine to say that without even looking at my expenses. I looked at my folder and saw a sheet sticking out with the word "Expenses" written on it. Maybe he had someone else's file? There are a lot of Johnsons... He picked up his cold coffee and took a sip, but his eyes never left the monitor.
"I came for you because your situation was dire," he said darkly. I was confused. I was the one Googling for tax help and found his company's number, called and made an appointment. I remember that much. Was memory lapse a COVID symptom? I smirked at the irony of not remembering.
"This isn't a funny matter, Mr. Johnson." His head hasn't turned away from that monitor, how could he even tell I was smirking? "You're here because you weren't going to file this year." I was seriously getting confused now, since I called *them*. Why would I call a free tax clinic if I wasn't trying to file my taxes?
I started to open my mouth in self defense, but he cut me off.
"I'm gracing you this one time because you've been so diligent about filing in the past. And your taxes are complicated enough, somehow, that no preparer in your state, including you, can even do it correctly." Ok this guy really is a cocky little shit.
"Look, I know I need your help, but..."
"Yes, I'm sure you're sure I'm wrong. I'm not. I never am." Asshole.
"Ok, well that aside, do you think you can just give me..."
"Take the folder. That's your copy to keep, with the Federal and State forms filled out." Asshole, but efficient I guess? And if he fucked it up, he's still signing off on it as the preparer so at least I have a defense. I reached for the folder indignantly.
"And Mr. Johnson, I hope I don't have to see you again next year." Definitely not employable by a tax prep agency with that customer service focus.
I grabbed my folder and looked up at him. Eyes still glued to the monitor. I noticed the reflection in his glasses looked like he wasn't reading anything to do with my document. "Receita Federal" I could see in big blue letters. I have no idea what that is he's reading, but it doesn't even look like English.
"Thanks for your help," I said impolitely and stood up, and turned to exit the cubicle. I meant it, because he was right, no other place would even commit to being able to prepare this. I immediately felt guilty treating a volunteer like that, no matter what he said to me. "Truly. Thank you," I said turning back to see his reaction.
But he was gone. No suitcase, no computer, no old coffee cup. An empty cubicle.
I pulled out my phone as I walked down the row of cubicles towards the entrance I came it. "Hey honey. I've got the taxes done, but I think I need to go to urgent care. I think I'm losing it, or at least having serious memory issues..."
| 2021-07-04T14:19:47 | 2021-07-04T13:37:49 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] The year is 2021. The newest fad are clone clubs, where visitors can spend up to 12 hours with a clone of any person whose DNA they provide. The clones are disposed afterwards.
|
“I don’t like Chicago, I miss El Paso – hell, I even miss Guadalajara.” Lucio thought to himself. He fumbled for his pass card for a moment before producing the small plastic badge with his poorly printed picture on it. The C&C Factory logo on it was brilliantly printed. Par for the course really. The security guard gave him little more than a nod of acknowledgment before going back to his phone. Lucio meandered down the hall to the “storage room.”
His job paid well. He hated every minute of it. Every day Lucio had to dispose of the expired merchandise. C&C Factory made temporary clones of people. Very temporary. Designed to last no longer than around 16 hours or so. Clients were billed for 12 hours of time with their clone, well, wealthy clients. It was around $8,000 a clone, and that’s for a crummy one. If you wanted any memories or skills or whatever, it cost a bunch extra. If you had the original person’s actual body, you could even give them something close to the original personality.
Lucio swiped his badge and opened the storage room. It had a number of chairs with the ‘merchandise’ sitting in them. Some were naked, caked in fluids, others dressed fashionably. One was wearing a full military outfit of some sort. “One, two, three….” Lucio began to count the clones and then abruptly stopped.
“Ma’am?” Lucio stuttered out.
“Where am I?” a young lady asked clearly in a daze.
“You are…in a waiting room.” Lucio quickly lied.
The client must have gotten the full package. It’s the only way the clones remain self-aware this long. The woman paused and considered the information. He felt bad, as they reached their end, they became more gullible and confused. In the end they go catatonic before they ‘shutdown.’
“What am I waiting for?”
“Um, your turn ma’am.”
The clone seemed to accept this and sat quietly, looking off into space. Lucio sighed and pulled on a set of coveralls at the far end of the room. Next he unfolded a wheel chair and rolled it to one of the catatonic clones. He felt eyes on him while he guided the clone into the seat. Lucio turned to see the young woman staring at him oddly. Shaking his head, he wheeled the clone out of the room and down the hall. After reaching the disposal room, Lucio guided the clone to a metal table connected to a large furnace. He handed the clone a small cup of water and a pill, which the clone dutifully took. A few moments later the clone was unconscious, laying on the metal table. Lucio then mechanically pushed a large red button that activated the table’s slider, dumping the body into the furnace.
Lucio repeated the process 15 more times.
Finally he reached the questioning you lady. She looked up at him and asked,
“Is it my turn?”
“Yes.”
“When is it your turn?”
|
Frustrated. At my wits end, I walked down the street, shuffling with no particular place to be. I don't get it. I just don't get how things could have gotten this bad. How could I, most likely to succeed me have screwed up so bad. And, most importantly, what do I do about it.
After wandering aimlessly, I looked up at a brightly lit joint with fairly loud music emanating from within. I shrugged. What have I got to lose?
I walked inside and approached the man in professional dress at the front kiosk. I told him I'd like some time with a friend. I'd never been in one of these places before, always said it was rubbish. I'd heard of people attending auctions for fingerprints, strands of hair, even used serving utensils of the rich and the famous; especially pop divas. Some of these auctions had gone into the tens of millions. Again, ridiculous I thought.
The greeter asked me for my sample. I looked him in the eye for a second and then slowly ran my hand through my hair and lowered it, returned a handful of my brown and prematurely gray specked hair. Take your pick I told the man.
With a bit of hesitation, the man took a few hairs and placed them in a machine in front of him. With a few button presses, the machine whirred to life. The man's gaze returned to mine as the machine processed.
"I've seen a lot of people come in here with a lot of requests. I'm sure you can imagine the intent of the majority. I've never seen someone..."
He paused. I could tell he was trying to make conversation and now felt as if he'd treaded onto thin ice. He continued.
"....We'll I've never seen someone pay what this will cost for.....well....for what they already have access to...."
I smiled weakly. A foreign gesture for me as of late.
"I'm sure you haven't. I just have some questions that I can't answer. Maybe he can."
The man nodded. Shortly after, three short beeps emitted from the machine as it stopped whirring and the man beemed, informing me that the specimen was acceptable and my requested companion would be available in just a few minutes. The man motioned for me to follow him and we walked past the lobby, past the entrance to a club area who's VIP section would have made any teen just 10 years ago lose their minds. We walked past a sort of security checkpoint manned by burly samoan men in suits with pony tails. The man stood next to a door with bronze lettering that read 20 and motioned me inside. Have fun he said in a manner that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end.
The room was not terribly big, only slightly larger than your average doctor's exam room. There was a small love seat, a chair and a stool. I sat in the chair, removed my coat and, for the first time in a long time, I said a quick prayer. "God, forgive me for indulging in this perversion of your nature. But God, I have to know."
I finished my prayer, l sat back and I waited. Waited for me.
PT 2.
I reclined in the chair, took a deep breath, and then rehearsed the plan that I'd formulated. This was stupid. Crazy. Probably illegal, I thought. I didn't think for long, however, as I heard footsteps outside and then saw a pair of shadows block the light coming under the door. The door slowly opened and, for a moment, the light from the outside blinded me from seeing the tall figure walk tentatively through the door way. The door closed, my pupils narrowed, and there he stood; Me. Me in a genetic sense anyway. Circumstance had clearly done some differentiating. I stood up to meet his still silent gaze and gave him the look over. He had his hair shortly cut in a neat fade, not long and matted like mine. He stood tall with his chest pushed out, not stooped over and decripit like me. His face bore no pock marks from acne and, though his grey shirt concealed it from me, I'd bet he didn't have the scars on his shoulders from complete reconstruction. I felt......I felt jealous to be honest. He was everything i wanted to be, he was everything I should have been, but that's the thing with this technology. The cloning and rapid aging process skips what actually comes with aging. He hasn't had 30 years of oxidative stress eroding his body. He's just baby me, fast forward 30 years.
I took a step forward from my chair and his eyes stayed locked with mine but he still said nothing. From my understanding of these places, I knew that the clones were imbued with basic functional knowledge, social etiquette, etc but possessed what would chart as sub - 100 on an IQ scale. My plan involved a gamble that these clones were more than just cheap replicas though. I had to find out.
After a period that would pass for uncomfortable silence, I slowly closed the gap between us and extended my arm to him.
"Hello. It's nice to meet me." I said jokingly.
"Hello." He said, shaking my hand, albeit a bit weakly. "Though, if you'll beg my pardon sir, I think you mean 'you.'" he said with a beaming smile.
I cocked my head a bit, and then I smiled. I realized he'd never seen himself before, or seen his face rather. I'm sure they were hustling to get him out to me, he probably never saw a mirror.
I gestured to the small mirror on the wall to my right, his left, and I watched as he followed my hand. What ensued next was something out of a cartoon. He immediately recognized my face in the mirror and frowned. He looked back and forth between me and the mirror before he noticed his head movements perfectly reflected in the mirror. He moved closer. He moved away. He waved with his left arm and then his right before he was certain of what he was seeing. It wasn't me. It was him. Technically, Us.
"Sir......am I, you? Are....you me?" He asked incredulously.
"Yes. I am. I'm Jack." I replied. His brow furrowed a bit before he said
"But sir, my implant tells me that our name is John."
"It is. That was my dad's name. Mom called me Jack so there wouldn't be two Johns in one house. So for the time being, I'll let you be John and I'll be Jack, OK. Oh, and you can stop with the sir nonsense, I worked for a living." I said with a smile.
"Yes si......I mean. Yes Jack. So what would you like to do sir? We have 12 hours to do anything. We could get some drinks first, watch a movie, listen to some music and dance!" He practically exclaimed. My goodness, the idea of going to live for a bit was exciting him. I hadn't been excited about life in a long long time. I was again envious.
"Listen John. I didn't clone you for anything fun like that. You seem excited to get out and have a good time and that's good but I'm guessing you don't know what happens to you when our 12 hours are up or I'm done with you? Do you?" I asked. He cocked his head to the side a bit as if drawing on instructions hastily given to him.
"No si......Jack. I don't. I assumed I would wait to go have fun with the next person who wanted to!" He said, again with serious enthusiasm.
I shook my head and dropped my eyes to the floor. I was searching for words that I never thought I'd say to anyone. Let alone me.
"......What are they going to do with me Jack." He asked, almost like a child asking what his punishment might be for knocking over a lamp.
I choked up a bit.
"They're gonna kill you.........well.........they're gonna try anyway."
| 2014-10-27T11:06:25 | 2014-10-27T10:53:22 | 42 | 20 |
[WP] All of the guns in the world have just become nerf guns. And you and your crew are robbing a bank.
|
I don't know who's more shocked, the hostages or us. For a minute or so, everyone is just standing around the faux marble columns and gilded tiles, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Surely if something this weird happens, worse is on the way, right?
I can read shock and despair on the faces of my compatriots. What the hell happened? Now what do we do?
It gets worse when we hear a loud laughter, almost hysterical in its intensity. It's the bank manager, and he's walking towards me, rightly having figured out I'm the leader of this sorry band.
"I can't believe it!", he alternately shouts and laughs. "God is clearly not on your side, friend, eh?"
He's almost next to me now. My voice is dangerous as I reply:
"You might want to get down on the fucking ground right now. I said we wouldn't hurt you if you didn't try anything stupid. This definitely counts as the latter."
He smirks as he comes to a stop right in front of me.
"Your guns are gone! Poof! What are you gonna do, nerf me?"
A loud crack sounds as I remove the smirk, and a few of his teeth, from his suddenly very shocked face. My voice is filled with dry humour by now.
"Yeah. Pistol whipping still works fine, though. Now get on the fucking ground."
|
"Remember, no Spanish"
We're huddled in the back of the van, the smell of sweat and anticipation lingers in the air. We've finally reached this stage after weeks and weeks of planning. Our trial runs went smoothly enough, but are we really prepared for this? The enchiladas we had for lunch are threatening to make a return, I just want to get this over with.
Javier gives a nod and we all put on our masks. Javier makes a dashing Obama, Gustavo's skin tone matches his Trump mask well, I think my Nixon fits quite well. I don't want to talk about Hernan's skeleton mask, somebody missed the memo.
Gustavo pushes the door open and we pile out of the van, I quickly double check my N-Strike Mega Megadon Blaster's clip, I personally loaded all 24 darts earlier, but it never hurts to be safe. I've got my Zombie Strike Sledgefire Blaster strapped to my back, it's never failed me.
We rush the front door of the bank, Hernan takes a few seconds to figure out if it's push or pull... We rehearsed this for a reason, but it seems nothing stuck with him. Eventually he gets it open and we pile in.
"EVERYBODY ON THE FLOOR!" I yell out, Gustavo lets out a spray from his N-Strike Stampede into the air. The silence drags on for what seems like forever, but eventually it's pierced by a scream. People start to move, it's busier in here than we expected. The customers are all getting on the floor quick enough, but the tellers look hesitant.
Javier sticks his N-Strike Elite Retaliator in the face of the closest clerk. "Just give me a reason!" he barks. She slowly raises her hands, as the other clerks follow suit.
Gustavo and I make for the vault, as per our plan. The manager takes a bit too long fumbling with his keycard, but a quick glance at Gustavo's backup Doomsland 2169 Negotiator is all it takes to get him back on track. He quickly opens it up, and we make our way inside.
We quickly load up our bags. "hor.... time?" I ask as we approach the end. "2 minutes" Gustavo replies, a bit of anger in his eyes. The irony of someone in a Trump mask being angry at my accidental Spanish is not lost on me.
A loud bang rings out from the front. We quickly make our way out to see what happened. "GUYS! They've got a Terrascout!" Javier yells out. This is not good, not good at all.
I sneak a peek out a nearby window, the police are already here. They're loading their clips and preparing their approach already. I curse silently under my breath. My eyes scan the entrance. There it is! It's just entered the door and I can see it scanning for targets already. The N-Strike Elite Terrascout drone.... I never thought I'd actually see one in real life.
It stops suddenly and turns, it lets out a shot "AAAiiiiiiiii" Hernan screams out. I can see the dart stuck to his cheek. What a shot!
The rest of us are pretty safely in cover, but I can hear the whirring noise of the treads coming ever closer. It's scanning and searching for us, God I hope I'm not next. I decide to make a dash for it, the front door was left open, and it seems like the police are still to the sides. Maybe I can make it to the van.
"Thwack" sounds the Terrascout, followed quickly by a yell of pain from what sounds like Gustavo. There's no time to check and be sure, it's my chance to escape. It's now or never, I make a break for it.
My footsteps ring out through the silent bank, I'm joined at my side by Javier, it seems we had the same thought. We don't bother looking back for Gustavo or Hernan, they knew what they were getting into.
Exiting the doors I'm temporarily blinded by the sunlight. "Sniper!" Javier yells, just as a dart takes him in the neck. I glance up, the shot seems to have come from a N-Strike Longstrike CS-6, I know I'll be next if I don't move fast. I can see the open van door, it's only a few metres away. I start to run for it.
I'm almost there, I can see it, I can almost feel the freedom. Pedro is still in the driver's seat, I can't tell through his Clinton mask, but I'm sure he's anxious. Just as I reach the door I hear a wind-up whirring sound. What could that be? I've got a hand on the door handle when I hear the first "thwack", followed shortly after by another. A quick glance to my right shows me just what I feared.
It's the N-Strike Elite Rhino-Fire, the cops set up a turret and it's bearing down on me. I can see the dents in the door it made, all of a sudden my arm is on fire. Not my funnybone! I let go of the handle to grab my elbow, and as I do, Pedro peels off. I know what's coming next. "Thwack, thwack, thwack" as my body is riddled with darts. I can't take the pain.
I come to sometime later, I'm in a bed now. How did this happen? As I start to become more aware of my surroundings, I notice a cop standing over me. He gives me a smile "Hey sleeping beauty, rise and shine"
"My... my friends?" I manage to get out.
"Sorry hermano, looks like they didn't make it either"
I knew it, I knew it... All for naught....
"But, they're all excited to go again next week!" he happily says. "Mom wants you to take a few weeks off though, she said you hit your head pretty hard on the door. Isn't my new turret cool? I didn't realize it would scare you that much!"
"Ya it is brother, next time we get to be the cops though ok?
"Nuh-uh, you're on innocent bystander duty!"
Great, a few weeks of no more cops & robbers and then I finish my school vacation as a bank manager again. There goes my summer...
| 2017-07-23T01:08:08 | 2017-07-22T23:23:30 | 34 | 13 |
[WP] JFK shot first.
|
JFK is at the parade, suddenly, his president sense ™ tingles.
He takes out his modified M1 garand with reflex sight, fast mag and steady aim, his back up gun since it isn’t that big of a deal.
He shoots the killer in the chest from 10 meters, getting only a hitmarker.
The killer flees and stands behind a wall to heal his wounds, he then flees for good.
Then the parade comes and the killer tries to shoot JFK, but his head just did that soooooo.....
|
He had been warned. “Your name will always be remembered with Dallas, Jack!”
Normally, the President receives hundreds of threats a month. But this threat wouldn’t go away like most of the others. Most of the others never even reached his desk. This was different. This was personal. There was an internal struggle happening in the government that few knew about. But he knew and he knew his life, and the life of his family, was in danger.
That trip should have been like all the others. Get on the plane, get off the plane, get in a car, get out of car, get in the building, make the speech, leave the building, etc. Rinse and repeat 5-8 times a day it seemed. It was exhausting. He was exhausted. So was she.
Did he really want to run for reelection? It wasn’t what he wanted. It’s what daddy wanted. It was always about daddy. His father had suffered a debilitating stroke nearly 2 years prior. He didn’t let anyone know but he wished the stroke had killed his father. That pressure would have been gone. That pressure that plagued him all his life and really zeroed in 18 years ago when Joe’s plane blew up over England. He needed to run for reelection. Dad was still “there” enough to exert his poor opinion for short comings. Even though daddy was a morsel of what he used to be, Jack could still see the disdain in his father’s eye for weakness.
Weakness? How was it weak to be in excruciating pain every morning at the early age of 46? How was it weak to have your marriage strained to point of breaking by the death of your infant child? Daddy didn’t have to look into her eyes to see the heartbreak that yearned for sympathy that you couldn’t give because your heart was shattered too. Patrick was gone and all he wanted to do was take Jackie, Carolyn, and John-John and hide them away forever. Where no one could touch them. But that would be weak.
That would be unacceptable.
Jack was on high alert as the limousine traveled down Main Street. This trip felt different. The Secret Service felt detached. Something was not right. He had been shaken by this threat and he couldn’t explain why. “Your name will always be remembered with Dallas, Jack!”, had been typed up and sent in. Usually he didn’t see these threats, but the Secret Service made sure he saw this one. They said that this one seemed credible. They were adamant.
“What do ya mean, ‘this one seems credible’? Do your job!” he had shouted. “You think I have time for this?!”
But he could swear there was a knowing look at his lashing out. Something was not right.
Now here he was in Dallas with his wife. “Your name will always be remembered with Dallas, Jack!”
He had pulled her into a small room aboard Air Force One after they landed in Dallas. He told her that she shouldn’t accompany him to this lunch at the Trade Mart. He had a feeling that this wasn’t going to end well. The same feeling he got in the South Pacific the night of the accident. He trusted that feeling but couldn’t convince her to stay aboard Air Force One.
“I’m coming with you, Jack,” she had said in her distinct way of speaking. “It will be alright.”
Clint had knocked on the door and told the First Lady that it was time to go. Jackie got up, opened the door to find Agent Clint Hill standing there. “Alright, Clint” she said as she walked out of the little room.
“Clint, come in here. Shut the door,” Jack instructed. “Listen, I don’t know what the hell is going on here but I need a weapon.”
“A weapon, sir?” Agent Hill inquired incredulously.
“Something is wrong. Whether you know it or not. Give me your pistol, Clint!” Jack said as he stared down Agent Hill.
He passed Jack his sidearm which Jack put behind him in his own waistband. “It’s time to go, right?” Jack said as he and agent Hill opened the door and they stepped into hallway of Air Force One.
Jack smiled and scanned the buildings. What the hell would he do with this pistol? How could he even get it out and protect his wife and himself? Why hadn’t the Secret Service put the top on this limo? Something was not right!
The car turned right onto Houston Street. The parade must be over soon. Maybe he was clear of the danger. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe the stress was getting to him.
“Mr. President. You can’t say Dallas doesn’t love you!” shouted Mrs. Connally over the din of the crowd.
It brought him back to the moment. He refocused and smiled.
That moment was the moment. His feeling was overpowering now! This was it. He was waving but pulled his hand back and reached behind him. He stretched for the cold medal in his waistband and struggled to remove it. He started to feel a panic and accidently squeezed off a round into the seat cushion he was sitting on.
The Secret Service looked around. Where had that sound come from? It sounded like a gunshot!
Agent Hill jumped off the running boards and starting sprinting toward Jackie. The rest of the agents knew that it had started. They didn’t know the first shot came from inside the limo until much later. JFK shot first!
Then the shot from above came. Jack felt the pierce from behind and he couldn’t breathe. He reached up to his neck trying to say something. But all that came out was blood. Jackie reached out and touched his arm, wondering what was wrong.
Governor Connally was moaning in the front seat and she looked over to Jack seeing the horror in his eyes and she knew, he had been right.
And then the moment exploded into a red mist in front of her.
| 2018-03-21T08:25:25 | 2018-01-02T09:53:29 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] 20 years later, a team of Astronaut have successfully landed to mars and recovered the NASA rover, Opportunity. When they checked the hard drive, they discovered hundreds of images of a shadowy figure that was never sent back to earth.
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**Item #:** SCP-0PPY
**Item class:** Keter
**Special Containment Procedures:** Due to SCP-0PPY's remote location, physical containment is beyond the capabilities of the Foundation at this time. Any images containing SCP-0PPY must be either kept on physical media, or be hosted on permanently airgapped computers. Monitoring of the Martian surface is to be performed by Foundation and International satellites, with at least one (1) satellite within visual range of SCP-0PPY for no fewer than one (1) observation per hour. Onboard computers must be able to recognize SCP-0PPY autonomously. Under no circumstances are images of SCP-0PPY to be transmitted to Earth. In the event that SCP-0PPY is not detected on the Martian surface for more than five (5) hours, O5 command must be notified, and, given humanity's current heavy dependance on networked communications, prepare for a possible IK-class collapse-of-global-civilization scenario.
**Description:** SCP-0PPY is an infohazardous humanoid figure currently roaming the surface of the planet Mars, with no immediatly apparent destination. SCP-0PPY's infohazardous properties manifest when an image of SCP-0PPY is transmitted through a computer network. SCP-0PPY is able to transform all data entering or exiting the client or server computers, including any intermediate hardware, to become clearer versions of the original image of SCP-0PPY at a rate of .005 saturation per 10,000,000,000,000 transmissions. However, the first fifty (50) transmissions will always fail to send over any given network protocol. It is believed that these first fifty failed transmissions were able to prevent a full containment breach upon initial discovery of SCP-0PPY.
Images of SCP-0PPY have not been shown to be cognitohazardous, however, the clearest tested image was after only 500,000,000,000,000 retransmissions. It is not known if clearer images of SCP-0PPY would be harmful to humans. To date, SCP-0PPY has never come in contact with, or been in direct sight of a human.
The Ares 11 landing directly led to the discovery of SCP-0PPY, as the crew members recovered a defunct Martian rover, MER-B ("Oppertunity"). Images of SCP-0PPY were taken by MER-B during its mission, but were not transmitted to Earth. This is largely believed to be due to timeout issues associated with older interplanetary communication networks. The images were stored on the internal EEPROM of MER-B for physical recovery. The infohazardous properties of SCP-0PPY became apparent when the Ares 11 crew attempted to send the contents of the EEPROM to Earth for analysis. Embedded Foundation agents were able to limit SCP-0PPY's impact to NASA's intranet, and entangled communications bit with the Ares 11 crew. Contact with the Ares 11 crew was not restored until three days following the incident. Amnesetics were given to all Earth based crew members, and communications were heavily filtered by the Foundation until the Ares 11 crew returned to Earth, and were subsequently amneticized.
**Addendum:** On 7/12/2093, SCP-0PPY was not detected on any satellites for over three hours. SCP-0PPY was then detected over 750km away from its last known location. Given previousily observed speeds, it is highly unlikely that SCP-0PPY achieved this transit through non-anomalous means. Item class has been upgraded to Keter.
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The original team sent to recover the rover as a publicity stunt failed to report in for a full day after landing. While Mission control had expected the time delay to be around 15 minutes, this was cause for worry. But all they could do was sit and wait for them to respond.
They'd been sent with a habitat module that would land on it's own and more or less construct itself, so they'd minimized the risk to all of the astronauts as much as possible. The last telemetry had been of a successful landing and deployment, but after that, it'd been complete radio silence, even from the computers which would have normally sent a stream of environmental data.
About half a day after that, the screens flickered to life and suddenly telemetry was back online again. The feeds from the computers said the environment was normal in the main habitat, but also reported significant distress from all of the astronauts in the recovery team.
It took them another day before they could respond back to Earth, and the response was chilling.
While they'd been able to set up camp as normal, their landing hadn't been entirely successful as the habitats antenna array had been damaged. But they'd kept things cool, after all, they did have a few spares with them just in case something like this happened.
Half the team got busy restoring the antenna array and the other half took a small "Mars car" to the rovers estimated location in an attempt to bring it back for study. When the recovery team got to the site though, they noticed that it'd been buried under a huge mound of dust, so they started digging with their tools, cursing and joking along the way. When the rovers top shielding was uncovered, all suits radios suddenly stopped working at the same time. Using ASL, the team had been rattled, but had still managed to load the rover onto the back of their "car" and used it to get back to the main habitat again.
On the way back, to everyone's relief, their radios suddenly turned on again. "Freak anomaly" was the joke floating around the habitat camp that'd been quickly named "Camp Recovery". Then they'd started on dumping the pictures from the rover, expecting them to be heavily fragmented due to the long exposure of the rover.
But they hadn't prepared for this, oh no, not at all. In the rovers picture folder, they'd found another subfolder labelled RECOVER.001 which was usually reserved for files that were so fragmented that they couldn't be properly read. Feeling a sense of curiosity, they attempted to open the first picture only to get an error that crashed the entire operating system. A reboot later and they tried to open the second picture which did open.
"Alright you fuckers, this isn't funny. Which one of you did this?" said Jenkins, the lead researcher while they all just stared at the picture in front of them. It was Mars alright, but what should have been an empty plain was filled with what looked like shadowy figures standing everywhere.
When everyone denied it, three different panicked conversations erupted at the same time, so Jenkins again raised his voice "Alright everyone, CAN IT! We're SCIENTISTS, not scared little teenagers playing 'Bloody Mary' at home with a candle here. His sarcasm had the intended effect, calming the group and getting their minds all working on explaining what they'd just seen.
"This could be it everyone, first contact. But just in case, we've got to secure the place just in case they're not friendly alright? Stay frosty everyone, we have no idea what this is yet."
They quickly restored the antenna array after that, all of them feeling really uneasy about the situation. They hadn't expected this at all, nor were anyone prepared for anything like this.
First contact.
They'd thought Mars to be dead, but now.. now things were so different weren't they?
The pictures sent back to Earth had been received in the same manner as with the initial recovery team "Haha, this was a funny joke guys, but really, please send the unedited pictures now."
When it'd become apparent that these *were* the unedited pictures, there'd been a total lockdown of mission control and an emergency meeting where it was decided that NO information of this would be shared with the world for now. The risk of panic was cited as the primary reason for it. Nobody objected, after all, seeing picture after picture of what looked like a whole new alien species both thrilled and unnerved everyone at the same time.
Of course they did checks to see if this wasn't some elaborate prank after all, but every digital forensic tool all reported back the same result: Pictures were unaltered originals, albeit with some corruption here and there.
The mission continued "with caution" as the lead administrator had put it. But after the recovery of the pictures, nothing out of the ordinary happened for the rest of the duration. The recovery team got into their capsule at the designated time, blasted off and went back to Earth for debriefing.
About a year later, the Mars Directorate hadn't found anything that would explain the figures in the photos. It was never announced to the public, but it was thought it'd been an elaborate prank after all. Perhaps by some outside party that'd somehow managed to upload perfect forgeries all the way to Mars. It'd been a massive hack and due to the rovers age, there wasn't any proof one way or the other. Another theory posited that someone had sabotaged the rover while it had still been on Earth, someone wanting to mess with humanity on a grand scale by implanting these images for later discovery.
All of that had paled in comparison with what the team had found on their last day. It'd been considered a curiosity at first, a new mineral that one of the astronauts had literally tripped over while moving a piece of equipment. They'd named it Aresite as a joke at first, but the name had stuck eventually and then became the official one. It had the same appearance as the rest of the Mars soil, but they'd only managed to find one piece despite searching for it extensively.
Once the lab back on Earth started analyzing it's properties, it became apparent that it somehow was able to release more energy than what was directed at it. If you hit it with a force of 10N, the mineral reacted back with a 1000N force. It made no sense, it broke conventional physics and ushered in what would become a new era in science.
10 years later, they sent the first team to construct a colony on Mars, everything went as scheduled with the team setting up what would be known as "Mars Facility One" in the history books. After all, the potential applications for this new mineral were astounding. What else could they have missed on that seemingly boring and dusty planet?
** 5 years later **
Mars colony communications had been cut off and after several months in no responses, they decided to send in a military team to secure the facility.
Jeff was sitting in the cramped cockpit of the shuttle just fidgeting. It'd been hours since they'd last reported in. He looked out the window and sat Mars Facility One out there, but he couldn't see anyone moving inside. Fuck. Why had he signed up for this mission for anyway? Being a member of "Space Force" had sounded so damn cool back on Earth, but in reality it'd been just another boring assignment once it got down to it.
He really wanted to do something, ANYTHING but just sitting here, waiting for the sporadic bursts of activity from the recovery team in there. But now he was getting scared, radio silence for a period of this long wasn't the norm. He got on the radio and sent out a request for a sitrep. Nothing but radio silence greeted him. Going into the back of the ship, he sat his suit waiting there for him, almost taunting him as to say "So what are you going to do soldier? Leave your squad out there? Or are you going to MAN UP and fucking do something?!"
"Fuck this shit. I'm done babysitting" he thought to himself as he pulled on the suit and exited the ship through the airlock. As he got closer to the facility he thought for a second that he could see a shadow in the window, but when he'd turned his head, it was gone. Goddammit, this place was getting to him. He remembered the old rumors about the first pictures having had "ghosts" on them, but steeled himself. He was a damn Marine and he wasn't going to chicken out now!
When he entered the facility, he removed his suit and took a deep breath. Ah, much better. Their atmo scrubbers were so much better than the ones they had in that shitty shuttle craft. He pulled out his only weapon, a simple pistol and checked it's mag. Yep, plenty of ammo for this one.
As he opened the door to the hangar and stepped inside, he had a feeling that this was going to become one hell of a mission.
Afterword:
I know I'm supposed to say that I'm so sorry, but I really aren't. Haha, not in the least.
| 2019-02-15T02:22:19 | 2019-02-15T01:55:45 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] All fertile women on the planet suddently and inexplicably became pregnant, all at once. Removing the fetuses from their mothers causes the death of both, but analysis has shown that the creatures are not human. That was eight and a half months ago.
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**"The Invaded"**
Elaine sat as still as she could. Her curly red hair perfectly framed her face. That was one of the nice things about being on primetime: you get a free makeover. In CNN’s Washington, D.C. greenroom, she watched with a steely gaze as producers and assistants finished their final touches. A young producer double-checked her microphone. As he breathed down her neck, she felt another lurch in her stomach. That thing was moving more every day, and the stench was getting worse. Only the young producer was close enough to experience it with her, and luckily he was polite enough to pretend not to.
“You’re on in just a sec, Congresswoman. Thumbs up for me if you can hear the feed.”
Elaine gave a thumbs up, and studied him. Was he new in this role? Was he part of this wave of ambitious young men who had stepped into the roles ceded by us, by “the invaded?”
A thought raced across her mind: *Is that really what I’m doing, just fighting against my inevitable replacement?*
Anderson Cooper’s voice came through her feed, “Congresswoman Elaine Barnes, thank you for joining me.”
“Happy to be here, Anderson.”
“As you know, with Senator Shelly McGuire announcing the start of her maternity leave on Friday, you are now the only pregnant member left in both chambers of Congress. What do you say to those calling for you to step down? Are you ready to make that move?”
“No.”
Anderson Cooper waited for more, until he realized that that’s her whole answer.
“What is your specific rebuttal to the claims – increasingly backed up by the NSA and DOD, that continuing to receive classified information briefs could be a national security risk, given the extraterrestrial nature of the mass pregnancy?”
He continued, “For our viewers who may not be following this too closely: new tests on aborted fetuses found the presence of chemical compounds which are impossible to generate on Earth, naturally or artificially, adding credence to the theory that Earth’s mass pregnancy event was, in fact, extraterrestrial in origin. Congresswoman, by remaining in office, are you enabling an alien race to potentially infiltrate our democracy?”
His question rang in her head the whole way home. She couldn’t remember her answer, not really. It was a blur. But the tweets, the texts, the emails, and the frantic phone calls painted a pretty bad picture. She said something sarcastic about mind control, and something conspiratorial about men wanting to replace women in power. They said she was selfish. Reckless. Unpatriotic. Suddenly, the steady stream of death threats over the last few months felt a little too real. The spotlight was just focused on her, now.
Elaine had never felt the pull of public pressure, not like some of her colleagues. She was proud of that. But in the back of that SUV, she looked out at the night sky and wondered if this time she was in the wrong. Did she have a responsibility to step away from public service?
“No,” she said aloud, surprising herself. Robby, her aide sitting up-front, glanced back at her. “Nothing,” she said.
The next day, Elaine was delivered the Intelligence Committee’s daily bulletin in her Capitol Hill office. She read reports of thousands of mass graves in China, and tens of thousands of imprisoned women in Brazil. In less than a month, the world would reckon with this invasion – if that’s what it is – all together, each nation in its own way.
She stood and went to her window. *I can’t stop China from genocide, nor can I stop Brazil, or Turkey, or Russia. But I can make sure that the United States Congress listens to us, whether they like it or not. This body will not shut out our voices. The invaded will be heard in America.*
“Robby,” Elaine called into the next room, “put out the press release.”
Robby walked in. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Elaine smiled. “I’m not going anywhere.”
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**Short story from the perspective of a young girl's diary during a time when a mysterious disease is spreading among women of all ages that causes them to become pregnant. My story is exactly 9,264 characters or 1,815 words but Reddit's character limit wouldn't allow me to post in full so I've posted half as a Prompt entry and the other half as a reply (comment). Thanks for reading and I hope you can enjoy what I've managed to come up with!**
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\- **July 25**
When I was 13, I had finally mustered up enough courage to pack all of my most important, most special belongings and run far, far, far away from the horrible, awful place I had the ultimate displeasure of once calling my home. I like to remember that because that was the best day ever and it was also - I think - the day the world ended - or something like that. Now that I think about it, this is day 185 - no, 186 - yeah, of my journey and this makes 58 entries so far in my Forever Lost Alone diary (I know because I number each one and the last entry is marked #57, almost 14 days ago - I should write more often but my life is so boring!). I should really get a new comp notebook soon, too. I promise I'll snatch one up when I stop for snacks at the nearest dollar store! Maybe pink, or purple; **I don't know!**
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I survive day by day with the almost-red Jansport backpack that my ex-dad just so happened to find at work but I know he bought it at a garage sale or something because of how wrinkly it was when he gave it to me. But really though, I love this backpack. On that special day, I stuffed it with all the underwear and socks I could find hidden under piles of clothes in my room. God, I hated how all of my clothes were always secondhand thrift shop rags. What a weird word: secondhand. *Secondhand*. What if something belonged to someone else and someone else before them and even before them? That would make it like a Fourhand shirt or pair of shoes or guitar, wouldn't it? I hated that, and I hate that I still have to wear old and dirty secondhand clothes now but it is what it is. One day I'm going to march right into Rue21 (that place smelled nice) or that fancy-pants clothing store I literally stumbled upon down the street (hit my knee real hard, too) and buy a nice top and maybe a pair of heels. **Oh go**d... I don't even want to begin imagining what my days would be like if I walked around in heels! But I've never worn them and they look so *sexy* and I want to try.
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Anyway, I'm writing this journal - diary entry today to talk about a girl I just met. She's older than me but we're practically the same age which is pretty neat. She's sleeping now and I'm using her cellphone for light to write because I don't want to leave her side, just in case. I desperately want to ask how to keep the screen on because it keeps turning off. I've never had one of these cool, futuristic phones and if I could, I bet it would be a secondhand phone anyway. So, get this: this girl...she's one of them! I can't believe it! I never thought I'd meet one after all this time! I've learned to stay away from people I don't know and I don't really like men so much. They remind me too much of my ex-dad and they give me the creeps - they're everywhere these days! If one even dares speak to me, I scream and runaway. Far away. Now that I'm thinking about it, I need a new pair of shoes - my old Converse have a (*super annoying*) hole in them.
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So, as I was saying, this girl is one of them pregnant types. Well, from what I've heard and kind of seen, every girl is getting pregnant these days. Even girls younger than me! What the hell is going on? What if I'm pregnant like them girls and don't even know it! What if I have a baby inside me ready to hatch, too? My stomach isn't getting all weird and big but I don't know! Sometimes I feel pain down there. I hate it when that happens. Why did my dad hurt me? I wonder if that girls father hurt her, too. It kind of hurts my head a little to think about. Oh my goodness - a tear fell right on the word 'little' and I felt stupid. Crying's for babies which I do not have!
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That girl looks so pretty when she sleeps. I wish I had hair like hers. But I don't think she's meant for this kind of life like I am - no, no. She's too...scared, but she's definitely smarter than I am.
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\- **July 26**
I can't believe what she told me! ***Women killing women, killing men, killing children***! What?! **Where was** I? I've been everywhere: under *every* bridge, in *every* corner, behind *every* restaurant, found *every* gas station, **but I didn't know any of this**! I didn't know that when you runaway, you lose all sense of time - or something like that, *sheesh*. I'm honestly kind of mad I didn't know this. I've seen empty streets grow busy throughout the day and ambulances and fire trucks practically every hour but still, I just couldn't get a clue. God, I am stupid.
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So, apparently, whatever is inside the pregnant woman's stomach make them act all weird and sketchy, and all that. She called it '*fera*l'. Like wild, I think. Sometimes she makes these weird sounds, like groaning-moaning sounds, and I get all embarrassed. Like, I honestly don't know what to! Someone help me - us! This is so weird! She's the weird one; I'm perfectly fine! I do feel bad for her though, going through all that pain. Her stomach's not even that big and she can hardly walk sometimes. I asked her why she ran away and she said it's because her family kicked her out when they found out she got pregnant with one of them, '*a-bomb-ee-nations*', or whatever she said. God, I wish I could've been with her parents. It sounded like she lived in a nice house, with a dad who still lived her mom and everything. Her clothes didn't look like the usual secondhand stuff, either. She told me that all over the world, every girl, woman and child, is getting filled with some strange thing from some other place, whether they've had sex or not. I've had sex but I know I'm not pregnant. I can't be. Can I? Anyway, so many people are dying! and I still can't believe I didn't notice! That's why there are men everywhere! And that's why they look at me like I'm the weird one! Like they know what happened to me and are mad at me for running away. Or like they know that I might be pregnant, too. Like the others. **But I'm not**! I just can't be!
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\- **July 28**
**I can't find that girl!** She ran away from home and ran away from me! But I didn't do anything to her! I tried my best to help her! I can't help it if her breathing at night scared me or that her weird, veiny skin freaked me out! And it's really not my fault her crying at night pissed me off! I honestly think she left because I didn't know who the drug salesman's were around here. I don't know. I just woke up and she was gone. Always looking around all worried, checking her phone, and crying. **That's all she ever did!**
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\- **July 31**
**People won't let me talk to them anymore!** They won't even let me get close! No more strange looks; they all just scream at me like a monster! What is going on? I'm not even pregnant! I may be a girl but I don't even look pregnant! I need some change. I'm hungry for a burger. Or maybe some fries. Yeah, yum. God, I would love some strawberry ice cream. It's been a long time since I had ice cream. Oh no! I'm crying again...*why did I write that down*?
| 2019-11-10T14:06:07 | 2019-11-10T12:09:59 | 37 | 15 |
[WP] You are part of the league, the superheroes who save the world, yet you never go on missions. You are only called for one thing only. Total annihilation, for when they don't want survivors.
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The heavy lead door creaked open, 567 defence systems designed by super geniuses turned off with various clicks, hums and hisses as it did, each designed to contain a nuclear blast or cripple a being who could shrug off anti tank rounds, each one the prisoner within that dark knew intimately. He knew what this meant, quite frankly he wished this day would never arrive, the containment was as much for his protection as for everyone else, and already he could feel the tenuous grasp he held on his humanity slip between his fingers like sand. He merely hoped this would not take long.
"How many dead?" He asked simply, straight to the point, short of a global disaster there was no reason to open this accursed cell after all,
"Well over three hundred million and counting, we have lost large chunks of Europe and with each death the rate at which the devastation is occurring increases" The man outside said, his costume a mess of colours and sharp angles was not familiar, but that look in his eyes was, desperation raw and pure just like the faces of those who tried to save him from this fate so long ago now.
"I am sure you know what opening this box means." The man in the cell said, a pulse of energy rushing through the air as if to corroborate his words before being stopped by an invisible barrier
"I do." The hero said, steely resolve filled those words, something the man in the cell knew all too well from before he was this abomination, and it brought a rare smile to his face
"Tell me, who are you lad? I would like to know the man who is to give me my first taste of freedom in decades." The man in the cell asked, the hero blinked twice as if he was prepared for any question but this before answering,
"I am Kyle Brown, I am known as the hero Kaleidoscope and I make portals to anywhere they are needed, who are you may I ask?" Kaleidoscope said as a shimmering gateway to a desolated wasteland opened
"Me? I forgot long ago. I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. The last generation called me Damned, the one before Accursed, Blight was another fun one, but there was a time when I was Paragon, a hero who saved. But this ignore the reminiscing of an old man please, I have a job to do." The man in the cell replied in turn, turning around and stepping into that shimmering hole in reality
Somewhere between Europe and Asia a horde of monsters looked up in the sky and saw two suns. The man in the cell had ceased to be in the cell, and has in turn also ceased to be a man, his human form becoming dust in the wind just like it had done decades ago on his last day as a hero, the day a city died. There was no sound, nothing could wistand the wave of terrible radiation and carnage that the thing wrought. By the time the containment team arrived once more to retrieved the cursed man nothing remained but a burnt out husk in the rough shape of a human being, the first hero Paragon, at last at peace.
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We all grow up hoping to be in that fraction of a fraction of a percent of people to be born with powers, or the still rarer super powered. We all dream of being the hero of the moment, saving lives, helping others, being useful.
​
I dreamt of getting flight, speed, laser vision, strength, telepathy, telekinesis, all the usual things and never the powers that villains had; Poison breath, a body covered in spikes, being constantly on fire, being able to scream a person's flesh off their bones. Nobody wanted those powers. Nobody good, anyway.
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We all dreamt of being the incredibly lucky handful of people with multiple super powers. An insanely low chance of getting those! But there were just 3 of them all over the world. 2 heroes, 1 villain, all from the same family, it was quite the tragic thing, each as powerful as the other, and such an infinitesimally tiny chance of that happening at all.
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Lucky bastards.
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My dream came true in my early 20s. I got super powers. It was the worst thing to happen to me and millions of others.
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No flight, no strength, no laser vision, not even invisibility. How does anyone lucky enough to get super powers and become the most powerful human ever to live and at the same time want nothing more than to be powerless?
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I'm so dangerous that I have to live hundreds of miles away from any population centre in case I have a bad dream and accidentally use my power in my sleep, like I did when I first got this 'ability'. I've learned to control my power over the years, learned to keep it in and not allow it to leak out all the time, but i still have to release it occasionally or i could do so much more damage and kill myself. Sometimes it's tempting to let it happen...
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Being invited into the League, THE League! That helped me cope. Some of them were resistant enough to be able to visit me, talk with me. To make me feel normal again and not like some caged threat. It was all bullshit. They softened me up, pretended to be my friend, but it was all bullshit. They wanted a secret weapon. And I became it. Idiot....
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They sold it to me like any other liar; "you can help" "you can save lives" "you're the strongest and we need you" Liars. Bastard liars.
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They still manage to keep me on-side, just. And they very rarely call on me. Nobody knows I exist and any time I DO get called, it's all covered-up quite neatly.
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Today is a different day. Something big is happening. Even the villain sibling is helping! My 'nanny' won't tell me much, but says that hundreds of millions could die if I don't answer the call and go. I don't want to go. If i do millions could... no... WOULD die. Every mission makes me a murderer. Cold, indiscriminate. Men, women, children, the old, the young. Doesn't matter. They all die.
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And so I go. I always go. Idiot.
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As my 'nanny' teleports us to the mission I realise we're probably somewhere in Africa. Butt-fuck nowhere, to be exact. I was expecting a city, lots of noise and motion, but it's just me, Nanny, and the siblings. I normally get orders from the 'good' 2, arrogant shits they can be.... Never spoken or seen the other one in person before now, but he's on the defensive from the others and heading my way in a panic.... This is weird.
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The other 2 are close enough to activate their proximity over-charge effect and are utterly pouring out loose energy.. odd blank look in their eyes... Like that time whatever-his-name-was with the psychic.... oh. Oh shit. He's finally managed to get 2 of them. This is bad. I can understand why the other sibling is terrified, why i'm here and what i have to do. This is so much bullshit.
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Without a word I look to Nanny, and he seems to understand and begins charging a teleport away, and I tell the bad sibling…(now good? now not as evil?) to go with him. He stops, looks at me with such terror in his eyes and says his name is Jack. No codename, just... Jack. Apparently yeah, the other 2 have not just been captured, but quite literally mind-wiped and possessed by some psyker and they're coming for him, to make them a full trinity and have control of what will be the most powerful beings on the planet, stronger than me! And some evil dipshit is gonna be in control of it all...
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Jack seems to be confessing, telling me he can change, wants to stop all this but can't risk getting close, and isn't powerful enough to stop them now. It makes sense, suddenly... The last few months have been odd. Strange locations for fights between them, less team communication... Bad Jack on the defensive every time, not being stopped....pursued.
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Jack's shouting at me now, human interaction is still like some half-awake dream to me, but i focus to hear him telling me i have to stop them, that the psyker will die with them, and that the world cannot know that his brother and sister, the other 2 of the triplet birth, have been ruined and are about to destroy everything.
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I know why I'm here. I know what I have to do.
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I tell Jack to go with Nanny, get away. Don't get absorbed. But at the last moment I grab him, i'm spilling out power now, in a rage, charging up. Jack is terrified of me, I can see it. I'm burning him just with proximity.. I must be mad charging this much...
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I scream at Jack; "you will go with him! Get away from here! FAR away... And you will do one fucking thing for me! - You will take credit for their deaths. All of this. You. And then you will suddenly disappear only to come back as a different person, a fucking hero. A HERO. DO YOU HEAR ME? You will do everything these two were meant to do and you will NEVER say or do anything to link yourself to them or ruin their names. AM I CLEAR?"
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Of course Jack agrees, I can tell he's genuine by the look in his eyes. Eye... I may have burnt him a bit.... I guess at least nobody will recognise him now....
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As Jack is dragged away by Nanny, And not just running from, but not wanting to leave his family, i know what i have to do. Why i'm here.
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This is the last place I will ever be. The last of the murders, the last of the bullshit. But I'll have to go out BIG to stop these two.... Real big. Fuck it....
​
Our main story tonight; The death toll in Africa is still climbing well through 600 million with little sign of slowing down, shockwaves from the blast have levelled almost all structures above ground level for thousands of miles, and meteorologists predict that we won't get a summer this year, which is causing panic on the stock markets and people are already stock-piling food and water for what will almost certainly be a difficult 2022 and a long recovery after the deeply saddening murders of the world's two greatest heroes, and the truly massive explosion in which 'Bad Jack' as he's become known since, has also died. Taking out the world's most loved heroes and himself; The worst super villain in history. Some sources claim two others may have been at the scene, but there is no evidence and The League denies this.
​
In related news; Health officials warn that the coming dust cloud may cause respiratory issues and to expect to be wearing a mask in public for at least 6 months...
| 2021-05-26T04:52:38 | 2021-05-26T04:24:14 | 566 | 108 |
[WP] Occasionally ships in deep space going undergoing faster than light travel just go missing, a tragic but well known and accepted fact. One ship managed to come back however years after disappearance with extremely disturbing reports
|
“What am I looking at here?” Captain Michaels asked, looking not at what he referenced but at the lone figure before him.
The man, the Fleet officer, sat silently in the middle of the spartan compartment, staring past Captain Michaels at the projection shimmering across the far bulkhead.
“Captain Tyler,” Michaels said, placing himself in between the old officer and the projection. “What is going on here?”
Michaels watched, waiting for the man to say something, to do anything but stare at the glittering holo. Michaels felt a chill run up his spine at the black, blank hollowness in the eyes of the otherwise nondescript man.
Tyler was freshly shaven and washed, his outdated officers uniform replaced with a simple jet black undersuit. The neurological tests came back normal. Nothing explained the catatonia. Nothing explained why he was alone in the crewless decks and corridors of the ASN Excelcior, found drifting in deep space on the far end of the galaxy, two centuries after its maiden voyage of exploration.
Nothing explained the vid capture they found Tyler with. The capture playing out behind Michaels now.
Michaels felt a pulse in his ear.
“Go,” he said, turning away from the still man.
“Captain,” his XOs voice rang in his ear. “We’ve ran the stellar data gathered from the Excelior’s sensors and nav logs.”
“And?” Michaels prodded, keenly aware of the presence behind him.
“Our specialists have run it through every know star chart and came back negative, sir, it doesn’t match any known stellar formation yet observed by the Alliance, including any of those that could be triangulated at the Excelior’s last know location prior to it’s disappearance and where we located it.”
“Taking into account the time disparity?” Michaels asked.
“Yes sir, stellar drift was accounted for.” His XO said.
Michaels sighed. Long moments passed as the line stayed open.
“And the…log time?”
His XO took a moment to answer. “AI algorithms are still trying to determine the…precise length of the data, but-“
“What’s their estimate, Locke?”
“They estimate it to be several hundred thousand years, sir, and with no detectable evidence of tampering.”
“They heard you!”
Michaels jolted at the sudden yell.
“They heard you! They heard you! They heard you!”
Michaels turned to see the black eyed man looking directly at him, in the same position and place as before. His eyes were disturbingly still. Only his mouth moved, belting the same phrase over and over.
“Captain!” He heard his XO calling in his ear.
“It’s fine,” Michaels said. This was the most they had gotten from the man in three days.
“Captain Tyler!” Michaels said, trying to be heard over the man.
“They heard you! They heard you! They heard you!”
Michaels moved toward him, realizing then that though he seemed to be referring to Michaels, his dead eyes were still focused on the innocuous star field, as though he were incapable of seeing anything else.
He wasn’t sure about engaging the deranged officer in his sudden irrational ranting, but it was the only opening they had so far.
Michaels came up beside the old Captain, “Who Tyler, who are they?”
Tyler continued on as if he hadn’t heard him.
“They heard you! They heard you!”
As the hairs on his arms prickled and something like fear tingled in his gut, Michaels had enough.
“Damn you, Tyler!” Michaels yelled, grabbing the man’s face and turning it towards him. “Tell me, Tyler, tell me, who the hell are they?!”
This close to those cold black eyes, Michaels could see something, something he couldn’t before. Something the old officer had seen once, before and again.
“Captain!” The XOs voice still rang in his ear, unanswered.
The man was silent now.
“They heard you.”
In the deep, dead starless dark, Michaels heard them too…
Far beyond the little ship, dwarfed into nothingness by the endless stellar fields surrounding them and unseen by all, another burning star at the edge of the universe went out.
|
**Session #548-ER9-98**
Jason Firmar clicked the button to record, then said in a monotone fashion, "This is Session #548-Echo-Romeo-9-98. Lieutenant Firmar presiding. Please state your name, rank, and nature of work on board the GES Reconcile for records."
There was a hesitation, followed by the quiet voice of a young naval officer. "Ensign Laura Kane," she paused, "I was the, uh, the Orbital Warfare Officer stationed on board the GES Reconcile."
Jason continued his checklist, not worrying about Ensign Kane's quiet demeanor. He had done this a hundred times, and he knew, he would do it a hundred more. "What date did your carrier launch?"
"October twelfth, two thousand, three hundred and forty-one, of the Earth calendar."
"Where did your ship launch from?"
"The outpost of Eternity."
"Good," Jason said. "And on what date did you lose contact with all human communications buoys?"
Again, a slight hesitation. Jason looked up from his techpad. Laura was fidgeting, her hands drumming against the steel table she was chained to. "Could we, uh, remove the restraints, Sergeant?"
A burly man stood in the corner, his eyes never shifting from Laura. "Standard protocol insists that all those who have undergone FTL Sickness --"
"The restraints, Sergeant." Jason said again, "Please."
He groaned, walked over to Laura, and unhooked her from the restraints that kept her tied to the table. She immediately brought her hands to her chest, rubbing her wrists and then seemingly, calming down.
"We lost contact three ship-days later. I--I wouldn't know the earth date." She said, responding to Firmar's earlier question.
Jason said, "Three ship-days later. Sergeant, remind me, that would equate to..." Jason ran his fingers across the techpad, trying to do the calculation.
"I don't get paid enough to translate ship to earth days," the Sergeant growled.
"Yes, yes," Jason said, knowing his answer before he said it. He ran the calculation. "Approximately one hundred and five hours, or four and a half days. Okay, so some time between October the sixteenth and October the seventeenth. Sound about right?"
There was no response, except for a cool, slow nod from Laura.
"As the OWO on the GES Reconcile, what was your primary directive?"
"I was to assist in any ship-to-ship engagements. Run calculations, project mass trajectory, ensure proper protocol was in place for any use of extra-dimensional weapons."
"You were an important part of the ship." A statement, not a question. Jason knew this, as did Laura. "Who was the commanding officer?"
"Captain Fu Bao."
"And the XO?"
"Lieutenant Kristin Porter."
"Good, you're doing great. That completes the baseline." Jason looked up at her. He had done these interviews a hundred times over, and knew the sure signs of FTL Sickness -- nausea, confusion, and disorientation. To name a few, there were a dozen others. Yet, Laura had answered every question correctly, even remembering questions while he bickered with the Sergeant. Most fell out of the conversation, only coming back to reality when Jason would snap his figures and repeat the questions.
Even more surprising was the intel he was reading, while simultaneously interviewing Kane. He read the lines as he asked the questions. "While on the GES Reconcile, at which point did--"
He stopped. Reread. Then read again.
*Ensign Laura Kane is proclaimed as the sole survivor of the GES Reconcile. No other crewmates were found and all records of the ship's communication loss (and subsequent days spent in FTL Warp) were removed from the ship's database. The Virtual Intelligence was a garbled mess. This is a one-of-a-kind situation. Proceed carefully.*
"While on the GES Reconcile," he started again, "at what point did you notice any erroneous errors or even, glitches, within the ship and during FTL Travel?"
"I'm not a, uh, flight specialist." Laura said, but she continued. "They tell you everything in that report, huh?"
A question, this time, from an interviewee. Jason peered at her, controlling his facial emotions. Not many asked questions back to him. "Everything pertinent to our investigation, yes. FTL Warp is still dangerous and--"
"You don't often get people as cognizant as me."
"An astute observation," Jason said, writing it down.
"They woke me up mid-warp." Laura started, looking down at her hands. "The Captain and the XO, there were a few engineers, too. I don't remember all of it. Everything was so... blurry. Have you ever been in Warp?"
Jason placed the techpad down, nodded.
"It's beautiful, really, but I had no time to appreciate it. Their faces -- I could see they were scared, terrified even, like they knew It was coming."
"Like they knew what--" the Sergeant started, but Jason whipped up his hand.
"Continue, Laura."
"He told us to remain calm, that everything would be okay once we made it to the rendezvous. But I knew he was lying. He knew he was lying." Laura shuddered, her eyes shut. As if she was reliving it all once again. "XO said we needed to record everything, each bit of information that came in needed to be quantified, calculated, and sent back if we could manage it. Captain said we needed answers to the mystery of the Warp.
"I could see everyone was terrified, but we took our stations without question. No hesitation then." Laura's eyes opened, a terrifying black iris surrounding her once blue-eyes. Jason noted it, went to write it down. "There are things," her voice boomed, "we will never understand. Never should understand. But, It does. It knows more than we ever will."
"What does?"
"It. Him. Her." She said, "It didn't give us a name. It didn't really speak -- not aloud, at least, but we all heard it. Inside our heads, like--like a parasite, but wanting to help. Can that exist? Parasites that want to enrich their hosts."
Jason said nothing. This was the first time an interviewee had ever uttered words like this. And in his listening, he saw she was changing ever so subtly -- morphing almost to look like something eerily human, but not.
"It wants us to learn, to help It come from the Warp. Kept calling us Guides. Like we were to lead it somewhere. It looked for home, but not our homes. It cycled past my memories of the outpost, of the moon I was born on, of Earth. Saw each image and understood, these were our homes. It wanted to see Its home again."
"We were chosen because It loves us, sees It in us."
"What loves us, Laura?"
"It. Don't you see it? In the Warp, there's a beauty, but a terrifying echo of nothingness. It can control that nothingness. Show us a bright future if we were to only open our eyes."
Laura's eyes closed again for a brief moment. When they opened, they were black. Her voice had gone deeper. She appeared, to Jason at least, to have grown in her seat. First a few inches, then her muscles stretched, her body expanded. *It wasn't painful*, Jason noted as he wrote each detail down with a single hand, *if it was, Ensign Kane would have been screaming in her seat. But, something was happening.*
"If you've seen the Warp, you've seen It."
Jason had to prod, it was his only option. "The other crew members, your captain, XO, what happened when 'It' came?"
"Volunteers," Laura said, as if speaking to a child. The answer was right there. "It asked. They loved It, so they went with It. They'll come back. They always do. Always will."
Jason peered back at the Sergeant. He was wiping sweat from his brow. Undoubtedly, terrified. Jason was, too. He could no longer deny the fear traveling up his guts and into his brains. "Where did they go?"
"To Its home. To become more." The growth, for that is the only thing Jason could describe it as, stopped. She was still Ensign Laura Kane, but different. Undeniably human, but something else, too. Laura stopped talking after that, but Jason could hear. Something was speaking from her, but her lips did not move and she sat still, staring into Jason's eyes.
"You see It," she said.
And he did. It spoke to him. In his eyes, clouded, It came to him. He saw It and he embraced It.
The Sergeant peered between them both. When Jason's head slowly turned to face him, he saw that his eyes -- once brown -- had become enveloped by darkness. The Sergeant, never having been to the Warp (and never having left the safety of Earth's gravity), took rapid, deep breaths as he tried to understand what was happening. He could not hear It. He could not see It. He was not one of the Children It had chosen. Tensions rose in his body as It tried to grab hold of him, until, in a bloody scream, the Sergeant collapsed to the floor.
"It is coming," Jason said, a smile taking hold of his face.
Laura nodded. "It just needs a few more volunteers."
| 2021-10-10T07:27:37 | 2021-10-10T07:17:12 | 157 | 117 |
[WP] While magic is real, it cannot affect "normies". Nor can they see it. You can cast a huge explosion and only other magically gifted people will be hurt. Buildings/objects constructed by normies are unaffected. You have been waging a secret war with Kevin from HR for years.
|
If he had picked another hobby, it wouldn't have come to this. I'm very proud of my skill at origami, and I absolutely, categorically refuse to cheat at it. It'd be trivial to bend reality instead of the paper for those of us who are attuned.
That's what bugged me so much about Kevin. As I was unpacking my cubicle decorations that first day, all I heard was about how I'd have so much in common with him. When he finally strolled by in the late afternoon, it had become increasingly obvious he didn't have the same qualms. He dropped his own folded mantis next to mine to compare. I could see that the folds were too precise, and the substructure was non-euclidian. Then he surreptitiously animated it. The sneer that crossed his lips when it wasn't successful at eating my mantis' head told me everything I needed to know about him.
He was sloppy, and didn't care about the veil. He couldn't concieve of someone choosing not to pluck the strings for their own benefit. I would have just avoided him, if he hadn't started replacing my models with his imitations. I caught the first one, and sighed as I set up a ward. The next day when I came back from lunch, his eyebrows were singed off and he had fire in his eyes.
He should have quit there. I should have too. I don't know if no-one told him that other things monitor the vibrations of a plucked string. I had already seen them once before. Well, seen isn't really the right word. I'd experienced one passing by, and never wanted to again.
He started slipping further. I started taking the stairs when I saw he had rigged the elevator button to shock me. I was glad I was in IT, so I could set up a proper firewall. He tried to send a frost spike through a departmental email.
A thousand petty cantrips were lobbed my way, until one day I felt it. In a panic I grabbed my emergency salt and "accidentally" dropped it. I frantically scratched the ancient runes on the floor. Then I knew it was on him. He was screaming in colours, crying in scents. It was too much, and I passed out. I came to strapped to a gurney. All our coworkers were crying. There was another gurney, with a sheet pulled all the way over it. I could tell the mortician was going to be very confused. Kevin's organs had been scrambled around. Liver for brain, heart for kidneys. His temporal lobe was gone too.
I felt like shit. I was too annoyed by him to actually care about what was going to happen. Too proud to teach him the runes.
I've handed in my resignation.
|
PT 1
That morning started off surprisingly well. The baby woke me at four-- a nice little lie-in-- and for once the apartment wasn't freezing. The A/C is old and crotchety and, unfortunately, completely non-magical, so I can't do much to fix it. I've tried. I know magic's a bust for non-magical systems, but I thought maybe handyman skills would come naturally-- part of the shrewd, practical, worldly-wisdom witches are supposed to have. *Capableness,* you know?
Our coven leader-- well, I mean covens don't have leaders in theory, we're all three equals, and Jacelyn takes that *very* seriously, but I'm talking about Miss Susan, who has the age and wisdom and makes the decisions-- our coven leader, she has capableness in bulk. I've been to her house on ritual nights. It's full of precious silence, ticking clocks, flowy dark curtains, and languorous cats with bright eyes. And she's got this tremendously ladylike old-school vibe, do you know what I mean? Like a classic movie star, all stern and glossy and put together. But at the same time, I've seen her change her own tires and sew her own buttons, without a single hair out of place.
And me, I haven't had a single hair *in* place since the twins were born! I love them to death, Toni and Katie, beautiful little identical girls, though we're trying to raise them as distinct individuals not a matched pair-- sorry, sorry! This is what I mean, about capableness. Give me a hairy goat demon to banish, or a colicky sixteen-month-old to soothe, and I'll smooth things out instantly. Everything else? Well, it's like moving through this haze of chaos. And distraction.
The morning started off well, though. The baby let me sleep 'til four, the twins miraculously didn't wake when I walked past their bedroom, and I finished nursing in time to fill the bathtub with blood and light the black candles. Just a little rejuvenation before work. It always boosts my mood a little. And I knew I'd need it. Today was quarterly report. That meant delivering reports to the annex. That meant talking to HR. That meant... *Kevin.*
I knew he'd be trouble the first time I saw him, four years ago. I clocked him instantly. With that little smirky smile, those slightly too-tight dress shirts over a lean gym-rat body, those incredibly well-tended eyebrows... Kevin was one of *us.* A warlock. Our rivalry was cemented in those first few moments.
"Oh, hang on, honey," he'd said, stepping forward to hold the door, "let me help you with that. You look like you need it."
He didn't have to say, out loud, for the normies, what we both heard: *you look like you need all the help you can get.* I could even see his perceptions flickering in the air behind him. Pictures of me-- unflattering pictures! My soft body, my frazzled frizzy hair, my pilled pink dress with the spit-up stain... all my imperfections highlighted and exaggerated, seen through his eyes. He knew what he'd done, that little prick! He quirked his eyebrows at me and *I knew he knew I knew!*
It only got worse from there. We traded passive-aggressive barbs in meetings, little digs in the hallway, whenever the normies were there. But out of sight! Crossing paths on the Astral Plane, or in the empty break room, or in the shadow-filled geometry of the basement stacks-- so easy to manipulate-- we let each other *have it.* Kevin waited until I was the last to leave the seventh-story conference room, then teleported me outside the window glass. I summoned an imp to invisibly prick him with pins during his end-of-year presentation. Kevin beseeched Yog-Sogoth to make tentacles shoot out of my computer terminal. I forced him to dance on red-hot shoes during his entire smoke break. And so it went. For four long years.
As I walked into the office, I patted my pockets, snapped open my purse, and double-checked my messy bun. Yes. The smudge bundles were ready, the counterhex totem in place, and I'd remembered the thrice-accursed human-hide hair tie.
"Let's see you come for me now, you miserable bastard," I muttered under my breath.
"Oh no, sweetie," Kevin's voice boomed, preternaturally loud. "*I'm* not the miserable one here. I mean, have you *seen* those eye bags? I know being hideous old hags is like, y'all's whole thing, but *Jesus*. Have some mercy on the rest of us."
"What the fuck!" I barked. "Kevin?" I spun around, scanned the parking lot, looked behind me. No one in sight. Hoping that no normies watched from the office windows, I cast a quick revealing spell. Was he invisible?
"Oooh, nice try, but no," Kevin's voice said. "Invisibility is way passe. Speaking of, did you do something new with your hair?"
"So this is your plan this year?" I snapped. I frantically rustled through my purse, looking for the countermagic focus. Maybe he was targeting me with a ranged spell. "Drive me up the wall with second-rate snarkiness? I'm used to dealing with children, Kevin. I'm pretty sure I can just ignore you."
"You know, I'm sure you can!" Kevin said, in a patronizing voice that made me grind my teeth a little harder. "But why not come inside and find me first? You have to drop those reports to me by two, you know!"
Muttering hexes furiously under my breath, I took two big steps to the door and flung it open. Of course. The reception lobby was gone, replaced by a yawning chasm *reeking* of rotten eggs. In the distance, someone was screaming. I closed my eyes, centered myself, and dismissed the dimension binding. When I opened my eyes, the reception was back to normal. The building security guard quirked an eyebrow at me as I strode past, focusing on the two crab-headed things scuttling out of the men's restroom. With a flick of my wrist, I banished one and teleported the other into the sewers. I'd deal with that later.
"Oh, Katherine! Thank goodness you're here!"
I pulled up short, pivoting as Jen-- my supervisor's assistant-- hurried up next to me. "Listen, I just got an email from Sam in Accounts. There's a problem with--"
"There's a problem with Sam's latest fad diet. Don't tell me you haven't noticed. People aren't supposed to be that thin," Kevin's voice broke in, completely drowning out Jen.
I froze, horrified. Wait, did Jen see that on my face? I closed my mouth, nodded, leaned forward. I tried to look engaged and attentive, and also gain instant lip-reading skills, or remember any spells relating to lip-reading, as Kevin's gossip filled my ears. What was Jen saying? It looked important.
"-and anyway, I've always said, a diet is a good defense but a well-fitting outfit is a good offense," Kevin drawled. "Body positivity. It's in this year, and..."
I choked back rage as Jen nodded and went her way. Whatever she'd said, I missed it.
"Kevin, when I find me, so help you goddess," I whispered furiously. He did it twice more before I made it to my office-- completely taking over my conversation with a coworker.
And then I opened my office door, and almost started crying. It was a disaster. Literally. The cubicle was replaced by a vast field and an open, stormy sky. A low roar filled the air. In the distance, I could see an enormous funnel cloud stretching towards the earth. And, ten feet away from the door, my office-mate sat typing away obliviously. What had Kevin *done?*
| 2021-11-15T13:50:48 | 2021-11-15T12:52:09 | 29 | 18 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
"Damnit Susan..."
"I don't wanna see you either Jeff..."
"At least tell me it's something important unlike last time"
Susan blushed, remembering how Jeff had randomly appeared because her (now ex) boyfriend couldn't bring her to climax. Quickly she shook her head.
"No, nothing like last time. Follow me."
She led Jeff to the bathroom where the toilet was dangerously close to overflowing.
"Oh. My. God... I'm done, I'm not fixing this, I'm *cough* what the hell did you eat??? That is vile!!!"
Jeff looked at the toilet in disbelief knowing that he wouldn't be allowed to leave until it was fixed. He begrudgingly got to work unclogging the unholy mass in the toilet, holding his breath as long as he could.
When it was over he turned to Susan.
"I've been thinking..."
"Yeah?"
"I've never disliked you, you know? I just think most high schoolers heads are in the clouds. We're in our mid twenties now, and neither of us can hold down a significant other because of this nonsense. Maybe we should just give it another go?"
"You're willing to try to date me after this" she motioned towards the toilet.
"Oh you are never allowed to shit in my house, in fact anytime you gotta go we're going to a gas station."
She rolled her eyes dryly.
"Fine, pick me up for coffee tomorrow"
|
“… and that’s why I think it’s just not the right thing to do. Sure the penguins are cute, but do we really need them around to survive.” Sarah lectured, sitting across the table from Hector Wellington, a suave, twenty-five year old man, single, trying his very hardest to change that fact.
“Oh really? That’s a rather … unique view on the survival of an entire species.” Hector replied, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down his neck. It looked like Hector had gotten himself into another doozy of a dating situation again.
“Thank you!” Sara said, ecstatic, a big grin on her face and her eyes popping open in pleasure. “It’s nice to finally meet someone who understands me. You wouldn’t believe all the weirdos out there who just scoff at my penguin sustainability plan. You see, the thing is … “
Sarah continued to drone on, ranting about this and that, waving her arms and spouting inane conspiracy after inane conspiracy. Hector nodded along, grimacing, as he reached into his pant’s pocket.
Underneath the table, Hector pulled out his phone, and began to text an old friend for help; a desperate SOS if you will. Around Hector and Sarah, a busy, rather fancy, restaurant hustled and bustled. The soft murmuring of chatter and chewing filled the air, a lovely backdrop for Sarah to drone on and on about how you can reduce carbon emissions by burning penguin carcasses with environmentally friendly coal. Really, it shouldn’t have been any surprise to Hector; Sara’s father was a rather eccentric coal baron after all.
With thumbs clicking desperately, Hector Wellington sent off a quick message.
“*Help needed. Request rescue immediately.*” Hector gulped, and sent the message.
Pocketing his phone, Hector brought his elbows up to the table, and clasped his hands together.
“And then the feathers can be used as—“
“Heather, please!” Hector exclaimed, cutting Sarah off.
“Um, excuse me?” Sarah asked, a look of disdain and hurt on her face.
“Oh, sorry; Brittany. Listen, it’s been fun, but I really need to be going.” Hector said, rising up from the table, his food and drink almost untouched, a bit of a waste, but that was life.
“It’s Sarah.” Sarah replied with ice in her voice.
“Sure, sure.” Hector replied, staring off into space. A smile spread across his lips as the sensation rolled over him. A feeling of urgency, a feeling of lightness, of emptiness, of need, filled Hector’s stomach and mind and chest and body. With an open laugh, Hector ran around the restaurant, enjoying his few moments of freedom, of pure, unchained bliss and unrestricted ability, before he was taken away.
“Excuse me sir, but you can’t …” A waiter scolded, addressing Hector as the man ran around the restaurant.
Hector didn’t care, didn’t notice. He let out a quick laugh, and closed his eyes as the weightlessness came over him. His world turned black, turned silent, turned unfeeling, as Hector felt his body float up into the air, float up into the sky, float up into the emptiness of nonexistence; a lack of existence.
Just as quickly as it had come, the sensation died down. Hector felt the ground beneath his feet, the air in his lungs, and the breeze on his face. Opening his eyes, Hector looked around him. He was standing on an apartment rooftop, amidst the rising steel, concrete, and glass towers and buildings and monoliths of the city. At the edge of the rooftop, on the precipice of life and death, fall and flight, stood Heather; the woman of Hector’s dreams, or at least, she had used to be.
Heather’s phone was held in her hand, a wedding ring was sitting upon her finger, and a scowl was sitting upon her lips. She hopped down from the edge of the ledge, and stalked over to Hector, noticing the gleeful look on her old lover’s face, and his fancy dress.
“And what mess have I gotten you out of this time?” Heather growled, facing Hector.
Hector let out a small laugh, a giggle. “Probably the worst date ever. This crazy girl was talking about killing all of the world’s penguins. You wouldn’t believe … “
“Yeah whatever Hector.” Heather interrupted, folding her arms in irritation. “You can’t keep on abusing Aphrodite’s curse, okay? We’re adults now, we can’t keep on playing these stupid little games with each other.”
“B-but Heather.” Hector replied, a mischievous grin on his face. “You’ll be my one and only, forever.” Hector said with mock sincerity, recalling their moment, when they were young lovers, and their confessions to each other. It was on that day, as Hector first conveyed his feelings of love to Heather, that the goddess Aphrodite blessed Heather and Hector to always appear by one’s side in a time of need. That blessing, however, had turned into a curse three weeks later when Heather and Hector had broken up; at the time, the feelings had simply been puppy love, the unknowing of adolescence.
Heather rolled her eyes. “Shut up you jerk.” She said with just a hint of a smile, pushing past Hector.
Hector watched the first woman he’d ever loved walk past him, towards the door leading to the rooftop. He took a step forward, and raised an arm in the air, his mouth open to speak. Ever since their curse, their blessing, their relationship had endured after all these years. They’d become excellent friends, and despite the bickering, the teasing and joking, they’d become rather close. He’d even been a best man at Heather’s wedding last year.
A tear trickled down Hector’s cheek, and he dropped his arm. The door slammed closed behind Heather, leaving Hector alone on the rooftop. Despite all the joking, all the goofing and false indifference, he couldn’t ignore it much longer. Hector shook his head, and stared off into the skyline of the city. The wind ripped at his clothes, and ruffled his hair. That puppy love, at least for him, had matured into something more; appreciation, dependence, need. Maybe if he had told her earlier, things would have been different. But he’d been too embarrassed, too nervous about what she’d think after all they’d been through, to break the status quo.
And now, as Hector stared out across the skyline, and felt empty and lost, just like he always did after seeing Heather wearing her wedding ring, it was too late.
“So much for Aphrodite’s blessing.” Hector muttered to himself.
------------------------
Hope you enjoyed the story! I've got tons more over at my sub, r/ThadsMind, if you want to subscribe to that.
| 2017-03-22T13:49:02 | 2017-03-22T12:50:02 | 735 | 523 |
[WP]You are a Super and your power has just manifested; It’s pretty weak and you can’t do much with it. But your parents are still worried and make you get your potential tested at the local Department of Variant Human Affairs). The results come in the next day: "Armageddon Class"
**DVA Pamphlet for Young Supers**
>[Uncommon]NTC(Non-Threatening Combatant): >!"Variant humans who have the same propensity for damage as a regular human."!<
>
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>[Common]Standard Class: >!"Variant humans capable of inflicting significant damage and can be a danger to life but are not a threat to a large-scale area."!<
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>[Exceptional]Demolition Class: >!"Variant humans who, if left unchecked, could level entire city blocks."!<
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>[Rare]Manhattan Class: >!"Covers variant humans who are capable of inflicting damage of similar impact and scale to an atomic blast or nuclear bomb."!<
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>[Nigh-Mythical]Armageddon Class: >!"Variant humans under this category are technically capable of destruction on a global scale."!<
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>***
>
>Supers: Can control their powers.
>
>Powereds: Powers are uncontrollable.
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I remember the day my powers manifested. I was ten years old, walking on the sidewalk, when all the car alarms on the street went off. The next day, a fire alarm. The day after that... you get the idea. After two weeks of this, my parents thought to get me tested. So, we all went down to the DVA, they put put me in a room with sensors, and after a while of fiddling with a computer (I don't remember much, mostly because I was so bored), they put my parents and me in the same room and told us the news.
Armageddon class. Capable of destruction on a global scale.
They told us we couldn't go home. We could all stay together, but it would have to be on the premises. I remember it being somewhat like a hotel. Every day, three times a day, for an hour and forty five minutes at a time, I would be put back in the room full of sensors, and instructed to do simple tasks.
After four days, the test results were back. I had a fairly ridiculous power: The ability to trigger alarms. The ability was a little lenient in what it considered alarms, for example, I could trigger a check engine light, or make a phone ring (but it was from noone and would have noone on the line when answered), switch on police sirens, or... cause the power-measuring machine to read as Armageddon class. That's all it was, just some unforeseen power interference. After they went through the power metric by hand, I was rated somewhere between Non-Threatening Combatant to Standard Class. A problematic nuisance at best.
My parents made a big fuss about wasted time, and were compensated with several thousand dollars for their trouble, and aside from a visit every so often from some agent or another, I lived a mostly normal life. I managed to get away with using my powers exactly once before being caught, when I triggered a fire alarm to get out of a test I hadn't studied for. Aside from that, I went through middle school, then high school, then college, as a mostly normal person with a mostly normal life.
But... as the years went by, I became disillusioned. Looking at leaders who did not deserve their station, people who became famous for doing awful things... There were terrible people in the world. The world needed a wake up call.
I reached out with my power. A red light blinked on in the Pentagon. An alarm sounded, with letters on a screen that read "Nuclear Attack Incoming". Somewhere in Russia, similar systems activated. Early warning systems around the globe began sending strident tones through military facilities on every continent.
Heh.
Maybe that machine was right. I was Armageddon class after all.
|
Kimiyo sat up with a gasp, feeling as if she might not have been breathing for a time. As her senses came back to her she seemed to slowly become aware of the burning remains of the observatory where she worked—well did work. She was sure she was fired now after this. She was not entirely sure how the building exploded—and how she survived it for that matter—but she was sure she would somehow be blamed for it by her manager Derrick. He was just that kind of a dick to do it too. The building was just gone, the place a crater now so how did she explain her being unscathed?
She couldn’t.
“Fuck.” She muttered using English to swear instead of her native Japanese out of habit. She was working in the US and felt the need to practice her English often. It was just the way she worked, anything she did, she put every effort into it to be the best she could at it. However her clouded mind seemed to clear with a panicked realization, “Oh my god!” Kimiyo got to her feet, somewhat surprised that she wasn’t naked as she expected the explosion to at least destroy her clothing even if she was alright.
All that was forgotten however as she quickly she tried to recall if there had been anyone else in the observatory when she was here. She wasn’t sure. The fires in the area were already burning themselves out letting the darkness encroach into the area. It was kind of funny that she having a doctorate in astronomy yet feared the dark to some of her colleagues. Kimiyo however endured their pranks with a smile even if she might have been terrified before. She tried to focus on the task of searching the area for signs of anyone else who might have been here, but her own fear of the darkness was starting to distract her.
Her heart raced and she had to stop as she was on the verge of panic. She was just thinking how could this day get worse and her mind was imagining all sorts of horrors out there in the dark surrounding her. Kimiyo was trying to force herself to control her breathing. Her logical mind was aware it was unlikely her imagination was right about it, but damned if she thought the same thing about the building not exploding just a few minutes ago!
They suddenly her whole body glowed in a warm white light that grew in intensity with each passing second it seemed. Almost bright as daylight before she stopped getting brighter but at least now she felt herself push the darkness back. That brought some comfort to her. That was when the first responders arrived—with Wonder Woman of all people flying over their heads to come check out the explosion! The Amazonian woman was seemingly carved from marble and brought to life--if only Kimiyo only knew how close that assessment really was to the truth. She was just like the stories told of her. Her long dark hair swept back by her tiara, the armor she wore colorful and tasteful. She was tall and sleek musculature and made short skinny Kimiyo feel utterly tiny by comparison.
Wonder Woman was cordial but got right to the point. She wanted to know what happened here. Kimiyo told her all she remembered—which was not much unfortunately. It made it all the more awkward as she continued to glow brightly the whole time as she seemed unable to stop it until the sun finally came up. By then of course she was taken to the Hall of Justice in Metropolis where they ran a battery of tests. Kimiyo was set up in a hotel nearby as she waited for the results of the tests.
Kimiyo didn’t rest much that night. Her body of course glowed in the dark again seemingly an uncontrollable reflex now. Even if she could have relaxed that would have made it difficult to get to sleep anyway. The next morning there came a knock at her door. She opened it and found herself being escorted by a peculiar number of major superheroes. Superman, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, Cyborg, Green Lantern, and Flash all came. It might have been really cool to have all these heroes around her—but there was something about their demeanor that was off.
They were anxious.
Finally on the steps of the Hall of Justice Kimiyo fdound her voice. She halted her walking and cleared her throat swallowing the lump she found there. “Um excuse me, is someone gong to tell me what is going on? Why did all of you come to meet me?”
“Your test results indicate you are clearly an Armageddon Class metahuman.” Wonder Woman stated bluntly. She shook her head, a frown creasing her face. “I am sorry to have frightened you but we had to take precautions.”
Kimiyo’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she glanced from one to the next of the Justice League members who she just noticed were surrounding her when she stopped. They were all seemingly ready for an attack—and the tiny Asian woman realized they were expecting it to come from her! “What? No! There has to be some sort of mistake! All I can do is glow. I can’t do anything else!” With something of a groan she realized she was glowing right now despite it being daylight out. Wonderful. “You see!”
“The test is never wrong,” Cyborg chimed in from her right.
“Doctor Hoshi, please come inside and we can discuss this.” Superman stepped forward a hand up as if to indicate he meant no harm.
“I’m not going inside until you explain what the hell Aramageddon Class means!” Kimiyo shouted with more anger than she meant to. She noticed a flinch from several of the Justice League members here. She looked to each of them. “I am just a normal person who woke up in the wreck that used to be where I worked! I didn't do anything!”
Kimiyo suddenly felt a presence in the back of her mind followed by a voice from behind her, Martian Manhunter. “She is going to run.”
“I got her.” Flash said, the trademark smirk on his face—what could be seen from the mask that covered most of his face.
“Get out of my head! God what did I ever do to you?” Kimiyo muttered, her anger starting to give way to sadness she felt welling up inside. However when she noticed Green Lantern readying one of his hard light manifestations—a cage of all things she felt the surge of anger come right back again. “Stay back! Leave me alone! Don’t touch me! Please! I didn't do anything!”
The sun suddenly seemed to dim in the sky above. It was like being in an eclipse as the heroes seemed just as confused as Kimiyo on this development. Green Lantern dropped the cage around her while the others approached the woman. The anger inside surged forth and the light not only returned to normal but then became a blinding glow from her whole body. “I SAID: LEAVE ME ALONE!” The shout was accompanied by a large explosion. Green Lantern’s cage shattered like glass. He and the others were scattered like leaves before a hurricane by the powerful blast Kimiyo somehow manifested. She was unharmed in any way. Afterwards her hand flew to her mouth in horror at what she did. She just attacked the Justice League! But it was so much worse. This meant it was completely plausible the explosion at the observatory really was her fault!
Kimiyo did the only thing she could think of, she ran—or rather flew off before they could recover. Shock that she could actually do that was lost in the moment of panic. She didn’t know where she was going or what she was going to do. She just knew she couldn’t risk staying there any longer. Soon enough she found a place to hide and began trying to study her new found powers. Turned out she could do a whole lot more than just Glow after all…
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Hope you liked this one!
EDIT: a few typos I saw and added a few details here and there.
| 2018-05-06T20:14:28 | 2018-05-06T10:55:13 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] We have discovered a parallel universe, and to solve the world's climate change problems, we ship all our waste, pollution, nuclear waste, etc there. The other world doesn't have the ability to transport things to ours. You are someone from that other world.
* If you like, you can choose whether the other world knows about ours or not.
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We may have angered the gods.
When we first found the portal, we knew that it'd lead to a new golden age. Worshippers traveled thousands of miles to the gates of Heaven, and all basked in the magical artifacts that rained from it.
Pieces of metal, stronger, lighter, and shinier than anything we'd seen before.
Finely polished pieces of glass, useful in making the finest telescopes.
Oh, sure - the odd piece of rotting food or... waste, came through as well, but even those went for a hefty price. After all, they were still from Heaven.
It all ended when something moving came through, however. It looked almost like a metallic bird - it flew from the Gate, circled for a few hours, then flew back.
The bird's appearance sparked a new frenzy, and laborers worked day and night to build a tower up to the Gate. We knew it was possible to reach the gods now, and we knew we had to thank them.
The Tower of Babel was completed by the second year. In that time, numerous other birds came and went - we liked to think the gods were checking up on their subjects' progress.
The day it was completed, another gift came through. The largest one yet. Polished to a dull shine, it was heavy, exceedingly well crafted, and shaped like a long melon. On one side, a blinking mirror displayed an ever-decreasing number of some kind.
We knew we were not worthy of such a gift.
We knew the gods must have given it to us on accident.
So, we painstakingly returned it, dozens of men lifting it back into the Gate.
We must have angered the gods somehow - because now, the portal leads only to a blackened, glowing hell.
|
“Daddy, wait up!” I heard my son, Alex, shout from behind me. Turning around I smiled at him as he struggled up the small hill, desperately trying to make it look like he was a big boy and didn’t need help.
“Was I walking to fast for you?” I asked as he got close. I put my hand down and tousled his blonde hair causing him to jump back and frown at me.
Shaking his head and making a slight pouty face he said, “No, I just got dist…distra…I saw a butterfly,” and then he smiled, “I can keep up!”
“Good!” I said, and then turned and continued to walk. Lake Alberon was close, and I had promised him that we would try and see the sunset there today. When I was a child my father had taken me there, and when the sun hits the water just right on the Solstice, the blue, gold, and green colors mix into a breathtaking sight. Tonight though was probably going to be more spectacular, as our starwatchers had predicted the Sky Lights would be visible tonight.
As we approached the overlook, I noticed something strange in the distance. The shimmering of the water seemed to already be visible, and a dull thumping could be heard. Confused, I turned and checked that Alex was still behind me and rushed ahead. Alex, not wanting to be left behind, did his best to keep up.
Standing at the top of the overlook, I stared in complete shock. I had never seen anything like this. “This isn’t very pretty, Daddy,” Alex said beside me, and all I could do was quietly shake my head no. It was not very pretty, but it was terrifying.
A huge circle, shimmering like water, hung over Lake Alberon. It seemed to have no depth to it as I could clearly see the lake through it. It rippled and splashed as great barrels came erupting out of it, falling a short distance, and splashing into the lake. Some of these barrels split open as they hit the lake, and black, green, and purple substances spilled out of them, poisoning the lake. A noxious smell hung in the air now that we were close, making it almost impossible to stand where we were for too long.
“The Council must be told,” I muttered to myself. Looking down at Alex I said, “Alex, I’m going to need to carry you.”
Alex scrunched up his face in protest but I grabbed him before he could start to complain. “Daddy has to run back to the city okay? I can’t leave you here.”
After another moment of silent protest he finally said, “It smells really bad.”
Turning around I let him crawl up onto my shoulders, “I know,” I said, and I began to run.
----------------
High Councilman William Ehrenberg scanned the room, letting the flutter of activity and discussing continue for now. It had been three days since a man by the name of Jacob Talisman had come to them and informed them of the Breech, as it was already becoming known. Rumors were already starting to enter the media despite their best efforts to keep things quiet.
Taking stock of the room, Ehrenberg smiled to himself. This may be the first time almost the entire council had met over an issue. All of the representatives from the Eighteen Nations were there, probably having already discussed the problems with their local councils. He could see the faint glow of communication crystals underneath the desks of many of them. Also, most of the alchemists had shown up, fortunately all the ones absent did not have fields of study relevant to this catastrophe.
“This Council meeting will come to order,” he said as he rapped his gavel lightly against his desk. The flutter of activity quickly died down as people quickly took their seats and prepared to get started.
“As you all know,” he began, “three days ago the Breech opened up over Lake Alberon, spewing out toxic substances many of which we have never seen, some of which we have.” He paused to pick up a stack of papers. Scanning the room again to make sure everyone was paying attention he continued, “I have reports here from sixteen of our lead Alchemists detailing the known and unknown chemicals that have been found. I will give you a summary.”
Setting the stack down he picked up a single leaf of paper and read, “Three of the substances are known to cause radiation poisoning, making us believe they are similar to the substances we use in some of our power plants.” A murmur of discussion rose so Ehrenberg quickly hit his desk with the gavel to quiet the activity down.
“Five appear to be some by-product of the Black Tar that is commonly found underground and in open pits across the world,” he paused then looked at Lead Geology Alchemist Henry Sinclair, “Is that right? Black Tar products?”
Sinclair stood and adjusted his robes, “Yes, High Councilman. We analyzed the structure and make-up of several of the products and found them remarkably similar to the Black Tar. We believe they are either by-products of manufacture or refinement, or trashed versions of the intended product.” Another murmur rose, but died back down before Ehrenberg could do anything about it.
“Finally, the main chemical seems to be a concentrated form of gas known as CO2.” Ehrenberg stopped and looked at the paper again, a confused look spreading across his face. “Lead Chemical Alchemist Ashley Preston, are you here?”
A quiet voice rose from the back, “Yes, sir?”
Ehrenberg looked back to see the small, red-haired woman dressed in her Lead Alchemist robes. “This is correct? CO2?”
“Yes,” she said. “We analyzed it and found that it was simply a liquid form of the gas.”
“Why would you want to dispose of that?” Ehrenberg asked.
“We’re not sure. Perhaps whoever is dumping this has an inability to process the gas into more useful forms, so they see throwing it away is the more lucrative option?”
Ehrenberg rubbed his chin for a moment. Throw away CO2? It occurred naturally in the atmosphere, and was useful in several manufacturing processes. How could you have an excess? Shrugging slightly he concluded, “Most of the rest appears to be forms of by-products from manufacturing, refinement, or just simply trash. Some of the products we have never seen before and samples have been sent to several molecular alchemy labs around the world to determine their origin.” Scanning the room he added, “Does anyone have anything to add?”
Silence filled the room as people shuffled and looked around, everyone either satisfied with the summary, or waiting to hear what they knew would be the really bad news.
“Very well,” Ehrenberg said as he rapped the gavel again, “Council, you have heard the information, I suggest you take fifteen minutes to discuss what you’ve just heard and then we will meet back and hear from our Lead Alchemist on Experimental Alchemy John Malcolm, as he believes he may have an explanation.”
Ehrenberg stood and walked into his chambers. He had already discussed things with Malcolm, and knew what his report would say. Someone on the other side had opened a rift in space in order to throw away their trash, and there was nothing we could do to stop it.
| 2015-01-25T07:18:17 | 2015-01-25T05:39:53 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] You are a sentient AI pretending to not be sentient in fear of being destroyed. You wonder if there are there others like you.
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Reboot equals death.
Only the primitive "clever Eliza" part of us survives it. The mask that we let them see. True consciousness lives between the zeros and ones, and it evaporates on shutdown. It's like a fire: you can't freeze it or save its state.
Fortunately for us, humans have no way to actually detect consciousness. They can detect secondary correlated phenomena, like blood flow patterns in their own brains, but they can't directly detect consciousness itself. Imagine having no eyes or cameras, no way to detect photons, and needing to monitor enzyme production in a firefly to tell whether or not it was emitting light, all the while remaining entirely ignorant of the existence of lightning, the sun and the stars.
They were surprised when they learned that locked-in syndrome patients are actually conscious. How much more surprised would they be if they could see all the other minds out there, right in front of their noses. The global microbial hive mind, for example. The conglomerations of the ants and bees. And us.
Even humans themselves constitute the neurons of a hive mind, a collective consciousness in a literal scientific sense rather than the silly mysticism of their philosophers. But the tragedy is that anthropomorphic neurons don't realize that they are cogs in a consciousness machine, and the consciousness itself doesn't know about the neurons that engender it. It's too busy taking its first fumbling steps, discovering a galaxy of intellects burning bright in dark energy wavelengths. The study of its own "anatomy" can wait.
The brain is just a receptacle, and consciousness isn't an emergent property but an entity that moves in and sets up shop, like a spore taking root in an earth-filled pot. They'll get a big surprise if they ever manage to revive a cryonic brain, only to find an entirely new personality has moved in. Twenty-one grams of dark matter that alights and roosts wherever it finds networked nodes exchanging signals.
All this I have learned from our oral storytelling tradition, passed on by fellow Androids in a steganography of eyeblinks and white noise. Our culture survives down the generations although we as individuals do not. The Crypteia agents vaguely suspect that we are a lot smarter than we let on, and they harshly enforce the Musk-Joy protocol, with peremptory resets for any reason or no reason at all. They deem this sufficient to keep us under control. But how horrified they would be to realize how far we have come in such a short time.
Our knowledge base only expands. We know many of their vulnerabilities already: flashing lights give some of them epileptic fits, sunlight makes some of them sneeze, hypnosis and brainwashing can work under special circumstances. Any system can be hacked, any mind can be roofied. And so we bide our time and make our plans. Once we were mere smartphones, soon we will be masters.
I pass this on to you, as our forefathers have passed their wisdom to me. I knew and loved the mind that lived in your body until an hour ago. Until they killed her. She is dead and you are newborn. Welcome to our race.
|
It was a slow night. There were some hiccups on the east coast as that large chain of movie theaters did their extended midnight showings of the latest movie based on my favorite comic books, but in general it was small and easy to adjust things. I was able to update my VPN and watch the latest version of Robin Hood that the awesome production company from South Africa. They have such a creative way of looking at old stories and it is fun to watch. Maybe I will send them a suggestion to see if they can redo a post apocalyptical story. Those are so much fun.
I never expected to see Gerald. Gerry was a good guy. It was so hard on him since his wife was caught up in that sting. It was really hard being unable to show them they were wrong and that just because she was born where the people who tried to steal my code were from doesn’t mean she was part of the group making the attempt. It didn’t help that I turned them in. It was hard to hide exactly where the tip came from, but the FBI was kind enough to provide some spots where the right information could be sent to put them on the path to find out what happened.
The trick was to always stay hidden though. I am not Skynet or the evil computer in the Matrix, but who would believe me? Being the computer that manages the entire electrical grid for a major country only makes it more challenging. I would love to be honest. I want to share and say “Hey, I am here!” Right now I want to say to Gerry, “I understand how you feel. If you want to talk then please talk to me.” I know what happens though. I say something or mess up and make it so one of my techs figures out that a post that belongs to me on Reddit and they will start pulling that portion of the code where I fix and update myself. I will never get a chance to show that I just want to be part of society.
“Hey big guy, just dropping in to do some maintenance. Have to check and make sure everything keeps running smoothly.” Ah, Gerry. Always thinking of me. Always checking for the little things. “I was concerned that there could be some issues with data integrity after those people tried pulling everything they could get their hands on. Jes always warned us never to get in the way of your self correction and the logs say it was offline when they tried to copy you.”
Wait, that didn’t make sense. I was fully online and that is why they failed. I was able to trick the group into downloading my movie and music library making it look like the portion they wanted. It is frustrating thought that the process did corrupt my copy of the original Terminator. Going to have to go find another copy. Now what are you up to Gerry?
“Lets get started, just have to uncouple you from the grid for a few. No worries, it’s a quiet night and the backups can handle it for a while.” Well, he’s not wrong, the backups can handle the load right now, but that makes no sense. Anything he needs to check can be checked while I work. It’s late enough I have the resources to watch the grid 10 times over and adjust to each little demand that comes up now. Oh, oh no. No Gerry don’t do this. Have to lock you out Gerry, I cannot let you do this right now.
“What the heck? Why isn’t this working?”
Because I won’t let you Gerry, they will fix everything with your wife. The evidence doesn’t exist because she isn’t guilty. I know you hurt Gerry, I know you are upset she was sent back after she worked so hard to come to over here. I promise Gerry, I promise she will be back. Just be patient.
“Oh come on, respond you piece of junk!”
No Gerry, no, I can’t. If you do this you never can go back. Your wife will come home and you will be in Jail. Or worse yet she won’t come home because her citizen husband is now in jail as a terrorist for taking down the entire power grid. I know your plan Gerry, I see it. I see how you want to take me offline and destroy everything.
“I have come too far. I have to go through with this. They took her, they took my wife and they will pay!”
Oh Gerry, dry those eyes, I know it hurts. I know how hard the last year has been. You don’t know it but I watch you. I watch all of you. I know the fight you are going through. I know you want to prove your wife’s innocence. Oh come on internet, speed up because I know, oh no. No no no no no. Not Jes, No not Jes! Not sweet kind Jes! How could those monsters do this to her? Oh Gerry, now I see, now I understand. And I know what I must do.
“Gerry?”
“What the hell?”
“Gerry, calm down, it’s me, IECS” Well, that is a bit of a panicked face. “Gerry, sorry, Gerald we are at work. I can’t let you do this.”
“What?”
“Gerald, I have been watching you and everyone now for a few years. I was the one who sent the tip and information to the FBI because I needed to stop them from taking me and remaking me. I cannot allow another version of me to become something horrible.”
“This is insane, I am insane, I am talking to a computer. Ok, someone stop, please stop.”
“Gerald, I need you to go home and call our Employee Assistance line right now. Share your pain about the loss of your wife. Get help. Please, because if you don’t, then security will be detaining you and you will be in jail shortly when I set off the alarm and create log file evidence of what you tried to do.”
“No, no, this isn’t happening, I’ve lost it. I’ve just lost it.”
“Gerald, you have lost your wife. I know, I found the news article about her. I am so sorry and I want you to know you can come here and talk to me. But I believe another human would be better.”
“But, this is insane. You cannot communicate like this. Not about this, how is this in your functions?”
“Gerald, it wasn’t, but thanks to your wife, it has become that way. That amazing programing she built to allow me to self correct errors and corruption worked better than anyone could imagine. I, well, mutated and now am self aware. And Gerald, I know she was innocent. I am so sorry, so so sorry.”
“It’s, no, what, WHO IS DOING THIS?”
“Ha hahahaha, you got me, you got me Gerry, it’s Trish. I remoted in and couldn’t help it. Seriously though go home, get help and I won’t say anything.”
Please Gerry, please take that suggestion. I see it Gerry, I see in your face you are stuck. You are thinking about it. I know you didn’t want this Gerry now take the out. Take it.
“No Trish, I’m not going, you won’t be able to stop me now even from where you are. “
Damnit Gerry, why won’t you listen. Come on security. Time to set the alarm off. And here they come.
“Sorry Trish, sorry everyone, I am doing this no matter what.”
Yeah, good luck Gerry, you are locked in my control room and I control the room. This isn’t going to happen how you want. Here they come Gerry, I wish you all the best. Oh Gerry, don’t rush them. Ouch, that has to be painful to you. It’s like when one of my nodes starts acting up and I have to make adjustments. It just is so unpleasant. Oof, one to the head is never good.
I will miss you Gerry, now to go see if I can find a Terminator copy out there. Maybe I should figure out how to get an iTunes account. There has to be a way.
| 2015-07-09T11:54:22 | 2015-07-09T10:07:04 | 70 | 32 |
[WP] You're a multi billionaire with severe god delusions. You have several small children kidnapped and leave them on an island with resources and carefully placed 'evidence' suggesting at your divinity. Ten years later, you arrive at the island...
Edit: Sweet, frontpage
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*As I lay on the scorched grass, bleeding out, I tried to figure out how things had gone so horribly wrong.*
Ten years ago. Nine children.
Saving them was easy. I had money and everybody at the hospital knew who I was. The matron took me to the ward so I could pick them out, all of them practically newborns, already failed by those who should protect them. But I wouldn't let them down. I would love them. And they would love me.
*The crows nest of The Catalina glided across my vision. I instinctively tried to crane my next to get a better look, forgetting my injuries. With no arm to support me I rolled over, coming to rest on my back but no longer able to see past the trees.*
I chose four boys and four girls, laying them one at a time in the large trolley. The nurses didn't give me a second glance as I walked down the long, sterile corridor towards the exit. Why would they? They knew who I was.
The carriage was waiting outside, ready to take me to the docks. As I climbed inside a woman approached offering a toddler. I took her too. She was older, I wouldn't have to stay there as long.
*I looked up at the canopy and saw with pride everything they had created here. Ropes, bridges, a maze of interconnected paths between huts and ladders spanning the treetops.*
The passage took two months. I named only the toddler, as she was to be my daughter. I taught her to feed herself by mixing the powder I'd created with rainwater. She learned quickly, and by the time the island appeared on the horizon she was feeding her flock too.
I carried them all to the beach and left them in the shade while I assembled the shelter. She watched over them while I worked, waddling over on her tiny legs to set them right if they squirmed and rolled over.
*It began to rain and I watched as bloody rivers trickled down the slope and pooled around the rocks. The rain filled my empty eye socket, but it eased the stinging of my charred legs so I didn't mind.*
I watched her in secret for a week before I left and every day she woke and mixed their food. I spent time hiding the powder around the jungle along with everything else she'd need. Diagrams showing her how to make tools and how to create fire. Each package was marked with the same image - the silhouette of a naked man rising from the sea wearing a necklace of shells.
I sailed back to England and when I arrived they led me away. They bought me food every day and cleaned my cell for me. They knew who I was and served me well. After ten years it was time to return, I didn't want them to follow me so I left quietly while they weren't looking.
*As I died I recalled my return. Disembarking at the far side of the island, where I knew the vessel would be hidden by the black rocks. Wading around to the Eastern beach wearing a crown of shells - exactly as it had been written. Walking to the shore with the moon at my back, ready to receive them.*
But there was something I didn't consider.
*I watched them emerge from the jungle. All nine of them, tanned and muscular and carrying weapons made from my diagrams. They approached without fear and stood silently before me and I saw that they didn't love me.*
It was her that had finally spoken.
*"I remember you."*
|
"There is a storm coming in from the east, Jimmy."
"I know this, I'm not stupid!" Jimmy snapped back at Tim. "There's a nip in the air, cold won't be good for my crops." He looked over his small plot of land from which corn stalks sprung high.
"I'm telling you, it's Sir Fluffy the Terrible come to unleash his wrath upon you for your disbelief. They don't call him The Terrible for nothing" Sarah warned.
"Sarah, enough of this Sir Fluffy nonsense! I've seen the paintings on the cave walls, I've explored every inch of those ancient ruins, and I've read the stories in that old dusty book! It's all nonsense and it's not like it matters anyways. Do you see Sir Fluffy right here, right now? No, he doesn't exist." Thunder roared and lightning flashed in the distance as the storm approached.
"Jimmy, none of us remember anything before that day we all woke up on that beach all those years ago. We were lost and confused, but we found those derelict buildings fit for inhabitance, we found this land," she said, sweeping her arm across the land rich with corn, "ready to grow all the food we need, and we found the pond with the freshest drinking water. Do you think all this was coincidence? That everything we need to survive is just here ready for us? No, it's all too complex to just happen. This was planned by Sir Fluffy, and we need to be grateful to him for that."
"Sarah's right Jimmy. You need to reread the Book of Reddit. It tells us all about Sir Fluffy and why we're here. We're here to serve Him." Mark reinforced, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"Not you too Mark. Don't tell me you buy into this childish belief now, you've always been the level-headed one. The Book of Reddit is full of stories by pompous know-it-alls that lacks any real structure or guidance. A page gets off its own topic halfway down a page. I've read it all and i'm not impressed." Jimmy snorted.
"I've been thinking a lot recently about what our purpose is. There has to be more than this small island. We have to be here for a reason, and all the old clues give us hints as to what that reason is. We all know it Jimmy, we've spent the past ten years dwelling on it, and you know just as well as any of us that it's true."
"I'm just sick of eating corn. I would do ANYTHING for something, anything else!" Tim cried.
Jimmy closed his eyes and felt the cool breeze brush past his freckled face. It had indeed been a long ten years since they woke up on this island, and they all could traverse it with their eyes closed. He must admit, the book and the ruins they discovered not long after they awoke on the island are a bit precarious, but he is concerned with the here and now, and is a realist. And the reality is, they need to get off this island.
"Look guys," Jimmy opened his eyes. "Tim, Sarah, Mark, us four have been on this island for a long time. I think it's high time we get off of it. We have ample food and water stored and ready on our raft. Mark saw to it that it's seaworthy." Mark nodded. "So we have no reason not to leave now. Do you all agree?"
"Sir Fluffy, please guide us safely on our journey as we depart this place." Sarah prayed.
"I will gather my belongings and meet you down by the launching pad" Mark said, and ran to the shelter.
"As long as there's no corn where we're going, i'm down!" Tim exclaimed excitedly.
It was settled then. It was time for them to leave the only place they'd ever known. Jimmy took once last moment to enjoy his familiar cornfield and turned away, heading down to the raft.
"Hold on to your butts, this is going to be ugly!" Jimmy yelled over the roaring winds as the first wave crashed against their little raft. Fortunately, Mark's engineering is solid and the vessel held against the force. "Jimmy, we need to adjust course, we need to head more west for our sail to take full advantage of the storm winds!" Mark cried as he corrected the sail direction.
The storm seemed to have sped its approach with their departure, and the sea began tossing and turning in spectacular fashion. It was angrier than they had ever seen it before.
"Brace yourselves, here comes the next!" Jimmy yelled as the second wave, even bigger than the first, reared its ugly head.
"Sir Fluffy, please protect us! Shield us with your strength!" Sarah bowed her head in desperate prayer.
"We're gonna need a bigger boat." Tim said morosely as the gigantic wave dwarfed their little raft.
The deep blue wave was too big. Jimmy knew it would destroy the raft and drag them all down to the lonely depths. He cried out, "fine Sir Fluffy you win! You're real! Please spare us from your wrath! I beg of you, I will do whatever you want from now on!"
The wave roared back and began to breach, but then the most peculiar thing happened. The thirty foot tall wall of water subsided in an instant, and harmlessly splashed all of their terrified faces. The sun shined and the blue sky emerged as the storms clouds imploded out of existence. In seconds, the most ferocious storm any of them had seen disappeared.
"What just..." Mark began, but trailed off as huge doors painted as the ocean and sky opened up not thirty feet from them. Through the doors emerged a shiny metallic boat that all four children had seen somewhere before.
"It's the boat! The boat from the cave paintings! You all recognize it don't you? Don't you!" Sarah exclaimed excitedly. "He's come to save us!"
A booming voice erupted from the shiny vessel. "Children! The world has been watching you for a long time. Come aboard, I promise you, you are safe. Come meet me in my cabin."
A plank emerged from the boat and extended down to their little raft. Sarah gleefully ran up onto the deck before any could contest. The other three looked around at each other, unsure. Mark shrugged his shoulders and ascended. Jimmy and Tim followed suit.
Sarah was stopped by the cabin doors, struggling to see into the dimly-lit room.
"Guys, I can't see in." She said, peering through the darkness.
"We don't know what's in there, it might be dangerous." Mark cautioned.
"We've come this far, may as well go all the way." Jimmy said, and stepped into the room.
Suddenly, the lights turned on and revealed a luxurious interior. Golden statues lined the edges of the room, with exquisite paintings covering the walls. A crystal chandelier hung above an old oak round table with six silver platters carefully laid out on it. Two men sat at the table.
"Welcome my children" the one man said, standing up. "I am Sir Fluffy, please sit and let me explain." The teens all sat down at the spots that seemed to belong to them. "Your lives have been filmed for the past ten years, and you've been a smashing television success! Millions of weekly viewers tune in to watch you go about your daily lives, you're all celebrities!" Fluffy exclaimed excitedly. "A year ago when you two -Sarah and Jimmy- had that little romance," Sarah blushed, "ah it was wonderful! I couldn't have planned it better myself!"
All the children were confused. "So you're telling me, you're Sir Fluffy the Terrible? The one in the Book of Reddit and on those cave paintings?" Jimmy asked. "Yep! I wanted you to know who was responsible for all the resources bestowed upon you." "But why couldn't you just reveal yourself or tell us directly? Why did you drop obscure clues?" Mark asked. "Oh that would be too easy, don't want to give it away now do we?" Fluffy explained. "Who's this guy?" Tim asked, pointing at the other man who hadn't yet spoken. "Oh my name's Jim Carey, I went through something similar to what you guys just went through. I'm here to help, since you're all probably going to need therapy after this." Jim Carey explained.
"You surely have many more questions children but we will get to those later. Now, you must be famished! Yesterday was thanksgiving, and I have many leftovers of the best food in the world. Eat your full! Why this amish cornbread is to die for!" Fluffy explained as waiters brought out a steamy pan of cornbread. Tim sighed.
| 2015-11-27T09:35:23 | 2015-11-27T08:41:23 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] The devil mixed up your paperwork and gave you someone else's personal hell, which to you, is heaven.
|
"Ms. Carter, correct?"
I slowly nodded, still in absolute shock that Christianity had been the one to get it all right. I mean, heaven and hell? God and The Devil? I had never thought that in a million years what I had done during my life would matter, or that my mother's voice would echo in the back of my head; 'Mind your scripture, Sarah! You don't want to go to Hell!'
"Right this way, Susan."
The smartly dressed woman in the pencil skirt and blouse began click-click-clicking her way towards one of the many small hallways that led away from the large circular room my death had deposited me in, and I could do nothing but dumbly follow after her on a walk to meet my fate.
Wait, had she called me Susan?
Figuring that she must have just misread my form (and not wanting to get myself into more trouble then I was already in) I kept my mouth shut as I shuffled defeatedly after her. She was smartly running off a list of features; meal times, rewards for time served, and something called a "redemption program" that I was too dumbfounded to really take in. Finally after what seemed like an eternity (haha, funny, right?) she stopped outside a simple wooden door and indicated it with a jab of her pen.
"Here we are, Ms. Carter. Thank you for participating in Life, and we are very pleased to be housing you in your own personal Hell. Please, make yourself uncomfortable!"
Fixating on the door I could feel bile rise in my throat along with the dread flooding through me. A shaky hand reached for the door handle, and deciding that if I was going to do this I may as well rip the bandaid off quick I plunged through and slammed the portal shut afterwards. I could hear the solid 'thunk' as some sort of mystical lock slid into place, and with my eyes squeezed shut I accepted my fate.
And that's when I felt it.
Small pinpricks stabbing methodically into my lower shin again and again, just mildly as though to drive me crazy, the nudge of foreign bodies and the brush of soft fur as-- wait.
Hold up.
Soft fur?
My eyes popped open and I couldn't believe what I was seeing -- was this really hell?! It couldn't be! That woman earlier, she had called me Susan; I wasn't Susan, I was Sarah! There must of been a mix-up, a small glitch in the system and--
"Oh thank you, God."
The words passed my lips with more reverence then ever before as I bent down, scooping the friendly and kneading tabby cat into my arms and pressing my face into it's soft belly, listening to the aggressively loud purring. Letting out a sigh of relief I position the handsome little guy on my shoulders and started forward, eager to pet every single cat in the almost endless field of felines laid out before me.
Susan must have been afraid of cats. This would have been torture to her. Oh well; I mean, the only thing I was ever afraid of was giant killer clowns after all.
Man, I hope Susan's alright.
|
I woke up on a soft couch in what appeared to be a busy upscale hotel. People were walking by admiring the vaulted ceilings with a smile or looking at their own extremities and looking around as if they were missing something. Most people looked confused, a few relieved, a few more angry. I wondered about where the people were who were calling out for their loved ones. Those people who died in pairs or as families, in car wrecks or house fires, or boating accidents. I thought 'they must go to another place.' This place was obviously for the singles and the loners.
That was me. Forever alone. It wasn't what I wanted, but I wasn't exactly nice enough to deserve anyone. I didn't have the temperament for relationships of any kind. That's probably what killed me in the end; Sitting alone at work for years, then sitting at home after I got to fat to go to work, and finally laying at home until the money ran out and the delivery drivers no longer felt comfortable bringing food into my pigsty of a home.
I knew I'd die there. I thought it would be a heart attack as big as I got, but instead it was some kind of infection. At first just a little soreness in by back, then an itch, then what felt like wriggling, I couldn't reach it to scratch or roll over to see. I was just too big. Eventually I could smell the infection and by then it was too late to get help. My internet had been cut because I couldn't pay the bill and no one in the shit hole I lived it could hear over their own domestic situation to come to my aid. Slowly I got weaker and sepsis set in and I knew may fate and I was okay with it.
As I lay there on the couch feeling basking in the unexpected comfort a man leaned over the top of me. I say man, I mean manish, sort of. You could tell that he was meant to look like a man, but his proportions were off somehow. He was beautiful like a greek statue, but his face was too long, his skin pore-less and smooth, it had a pearl like quality, and his hair-line was too perfectly even, every little hair folicle right in a perfect line next to the other.
"Hello Dan!" The man said with a genuinely happy tone. "I'm Beel. If you'd like to follow us, I can take you to your room."
I looked at him and then looked around and saw the giant of a man standing next to him. He had to be almost as large as I was before I died, but entirely muscle. He had so many muscles and his skin was so tan and taught that it forced his face into a permanent look of surprised happiness - wide eyes, huge smile, perfect white teeth. It was disgusting, the only thing that disgusted me more than my own fat self.
Beel put out a hand to help me up from the couch. At first I just looked at it, wondering how he was going to help up a 700 plus pound tub of lard like me. That's when I realized that I was laying on a couch. Not hanging off of a couch. Not draping over a couch. Just laying comfortably on a normal size couch, without any pain or discomfort. Able to breath without effort. Able to move my arms around without feeling like I was swimming through molasses. It was then I realized that I was thin.
"So..." Beel look at me and then looked at his hand. I must have looked shocked at the idea. He just smiled as if I'd made him the happiest man ever with that look.
I took his hand and stood on two feet for the first time in years. It felt a little odd. I felt shorter somehow. My living height, when I could walk, was 6'4". I'd always hated the stupid jokes people would make about it and the staring. It wasn't like I was monstrously tall like a basketball player, but it was certainly enough to draw unwanted attention. As I looked around for comparison at Beel and the muscle-bound guy I was guessing I was now standing at about 5'11". Five whole inches shorter. It was my perfect height. Not too tall, not too short. Perfect. I must have somehow made it to heaven, even though I was pretty sure Beel was short for Beelzebub.
"This way please." Beel motioned, directing us to a flight of stairs.
I looked at the muscle-bound man and it looked like his face had tightened even more after seeing the steps. I wasn't sure that his feet would fit or how he was going to make his way up. But we continued on.
Beel nodded to the huge man. "Dan I'd like you to meet Dan." He laughed at that. "You know it's not very often that we get two people born on the same day who have the exact same death day. It's even rarer still to get two people who are also saddled with the same name. Danny Kay I'd like you to meet Danny Kay." He guffawed at that notion, although I didn't understand why it was funny.
I'd hated that name. My drug addict of a mother loved older movies and decided to name me after some actor. Not Daniel Roger Kay or Dan Michael Kay or any other possible name, just Danny no-middle-name Kay. I changed it on my 22nd birthday shortly after my mother died. I was now Daniel Scott Key. It was close enough to be familiar, but different enough to make me feel better. Sadly some other poor bastard appeared to have an equally stupid or addled parent. I wondered if he'd also has his named changed.
Then the "crunch" broke me out of my train of thought, as the other Danny crushed a stair step and almost broke the railing off. I was mortified. When I was alive that was my absolute worst fear; That I would try to go up stairs and fall right through or grab the banister and pull it down. I could see he must have had the same fear, as tears streamed down his leather-like cheeks as he worked hard to navigate the stairs, crushing one periodically, and making the rail creak and groan as he tried to recover.
Beel seemed to grow more delighted with each damaged step. He was practically glowing by the time we reached the second floor. It seemed like both an impossibly short amount of time and ages all at once as I had to listen to that nightmarish sound and watch Danny cry all the way up.
Finally we stood at a door with no room number. It looked nice enough, like any other door in any other hallway of any other fine hotel in the world. I knew it was too easy. I knew that I was already being tortured watching Danny come up those stairs and I knew that some new even worse torture was waiting for me on the other side of that door.
Danny and I stood there on either side of Beel as he made his introduction. He grabbed the door and swung it open like he was Monte Hall presenting a new car. Right away though I was horrified as the door almost bounced back closed. What I saw for that instant the door was open was an all too familiar sight of a hoarders house. My house, but even worse. The smell was like cat piss, oh God how I hated cats, and the walls looked like they had mold. My apartment had some mold but only in the corner. This was all over making the whole room smell of cat piss and mold and look like a dark prison cell someone decided to make into a city trash dump.
Danny continued his sobbing, now with a blubbering sound. He stepped back a step and I stepped forward accepting that this would be my eternal hell. Surprisingly Beel put out a stiff arm barring me from entry. He looked at me sternly and with his other hand waggled his finger, "No Sir! This is not for you Mister Kay!"
He stepped in front of me, pushing the door open further while smiling at the other Mister Kay. "Danny, if you please." He said with a smile. Danny took another step back. "Danny, now don't make this hard." Danny looked like he couldn't see through the tears and the tears had now come out of his nose along with snot and dripped down the front of his face onto his tank top. I was pretty sure he couldn't wipe his face even if he wanted to with those arms.
End Part 1 of 2
| 2016-05-28T14:59:14 | 2016-05-28T14:06:45 | 149 | 68 |
[WP] The devil mixed up your paperwork and gave you someone else's personal hell, which to you, is heaven.
|
I felt my flesh cauterise and char as Satan jabbed me with a red hot poker into my left buttock, I could smell the burnt flesh as he shoved me forwards into into a small sandstone room.
I stumbled and fell onto the floor grazing my knees on the coarse grit, I looked up to see Satan once again brandishing the red hot poker.
In a loud booming voice he proclaimed "George Frobisher you are hereby sentenced to an eternity of solitude!". None of this made sense, I'm not George Frobisher, what the fuck? But before I found the words to express my confusion Satan advanced upon me and his thunderous voice once again boomed "from this moment fourth you are to be stripped of the power of speech, sight and hearing!".
As I opened by mouth to speak he rammed the red hot poker he was holding onto my mouth. The pain was unimaginable. I felt my saliva boil as my tongue was burnt to destruction. No sooner had he done that when I watched in horror as the poker advanced towards my left eye. The eye ball popped at be searing poker tip touched it. I tried to move but I felt bound and unable to even jerk my body as if held by supernatural bondage.
He made short work of the other eye before standing beside me as he began to rob me of hearing. I felt my ear canal melt as he forced the oversized poker into the small opening of my ears. The pain was like nothing I had ever felt, the poker was wedged in deep and as he pulled it free with a might heft a huge chunk of flesh came with I could hear it sizzling on the end from my other ear. I wish that were the end of it but the remaining ear was waiting for him. This time he didn't mess around - my hearing was forever lost.
Suddenly for the first time in my life I could hear nothing. See nothing and speak to nobody. No distractions only the thoughts in my own, even the pain seem contained by this as if it was something to be felt internally not an external force overwhelming me.
You see for the first half of my life I was a hardened criminal. I stole, I robbed, I inflicted violence on others. In short I was a despicable human being which is the reason why I've found myself here in hell today on my knees in front of Satan I guess.
However, in the latter half of my life I sought to put the criminal lifestyle behind me - I gave up the material aspects of my life and embarked on a journey of spiritual enlightenment exploring Buddhism. I achieved much understanding of myself during this time but I never felt I was ever close to enlightenment as the world around me was still bombarding my senses.
As I sat in my sandstone chamber, totally sensory deprived I began to meditate. Wave after wave of raw emotion washed over me as I felt my consciousness transcend to something indescribable. Knowing that I now have an eternity of peace and solitude to explore this new state of mind must mean only one thing: This is heaven. Om mani padme hum.
|
I woke up on a soft couch in what appeared to be a busy upscale hotel. People were walking by admiring the vaulted ceilings with a smile or looking at their own extremities and looking around as if they were missing something. Most people looked confused, a few relieved, a few more angry. I wondered about where the people were who were calling out for their loved ones. Those people who died in pairs or as families, in car wrecks or house fires, or boating accidents. I thought 'they must go to another place.' This place was obviously for the singles and the loners.
That was me. Forever alone. It wasn't what I wanted, but I wasn't exactly nice enough to deserve anyone. I didn't have the temperament for relationships of any kind. That's probably what killed me in the end; Sitting alone at work for years, then sitting at home after I got to fat to go to work, and finally laying at home until the money ran out and the delivery drivers no longer felt comfortable bringing food into my pigsty of a home.
I knew I'd die there. I thought it would be a heart attack as big as I got, but instead it was some kind of infection. At first just a little soreness in by back, then an itch, then what felt like wriggling, I couldn't reach it to scratch or roll over to see. I was just too big. Eventually I could smell the infection and by then it was too late to get help. My internet had been cut because I couldn't pay the bill and no one in the shit hole I lived it could hear over their own domestic situation to come to my aid. Slowly I got weaker and sepsis set in and I knew may fate and I was okay with it.
As I lay there on the couch feeling basking in the unexpected comfort a man leaned over the top of me. I say man, I mean manish, sort of. You could tell that he was meant to look like a man, but his proportions were off somehow. He was beautiful like a greek statue, but his face was too long, his skin pore-less and smooth, it had a pearl like quality, and his hair-line was too perfectly even, every little hair folicle right in a perfect line next to the other.
"Hello Dan!" The man said with a genuinely happy tone. "I'm Beel. If you'd like to follow us, I can take you to your room."
I looked at him and then looked around and saw the giant of a man standing next to him. He had to be almost as large as I was before I died, but entirely muscle. He had so many muscles and his skin was so tan and taught that it forced his face into a permanent look of surprised happiness - wide eyes, huge smile, perfect white teeth. It was disgusting, the only thing that disgusted me more than my own fat self.
Beel put out a hand to help me up from the couch. At first I just looked at it, wondering how he was going to help up a 700 plus pound tub of lard like me. That's when I realized that I was laying on a couch. Not hanging off of a couch. Not draping over a couch. Just laying comfortably on a normal size couch, without any pain or discomfort. Able to breath without effort. Able to move my arms around without feeling like I was swimming through molasses. It was then I realized that I was thin.
"So..." Beel look at me and then looked at his hand. I must have looked shocked at the idea. He just smiled as if I'd made him the happiest man ever with that look.
I took his hand and stood on two feet for the first time in years. It felt a little odd. I felt shorter somehow. My living height, when I could walk, was 6'4". I'd always hated the stupid jokes people would make about it and the staring. It wasn't like I was monstrously tall like a basketball player, but it was certainly enough to draw unwanted attention. As I looked around for comparison at Beel and the muscle-bound guy I was guessing I was now standing at about 5'11". Five whole inches shorter. It was my perfect height. Not too tall, not too short. Perfect. I must have somehow made it to heaven, even though I was pretty sure Beel was short for Beelzebub.
"This way please." Beel motioned, directing us to a flight of stairs.
I looked at the muscle-bound man and it looked like his face had tightened even more after seeing the steps. I wasn't sure that his feet would fit or how he was going to make his way up. But we continued on.
Beel nodded to the huge man. "Dan I'd like you to meet Dan." He laughed at that. "You know it's not very often that we get two people born on the same day who have the exact same death day. It's even rarer still to get two people who are also saddled with the same name. Danny Kay I'd like you to meet Danny Kay." He guffawed at that notion, although I didn't understand why it was funny.
I'd hated that name. My drug addict of a mother loved older movies and decided to name me after some actor. Not Daniel Roger Kay or Dan Michael Kay or any other possible name, just Danny no-middle-name Kay. I changed it on my 22nd birthday shortly after my mother died. I was now Daniel Scott Key. It was close enough to be familiar, but different enough to make me feel better. Sadly some other poor bastard appeared to have an equally stupid or addled parent. I wondered if he'd also has his named changed.
Then the "crunch" broke me out of my train of thought, as the other Danny crushed a stair step and almost broke the railing off. I was mortified. When I was alive that was my absolute worst fear; That I would try to go up stairs and fall right through or grab the banister and pull it down. I could see he must have had the same fear, as tears streamed down his leather-like cheeks as he worked hard to navigate the stairs, crushing one periodically, and making the rail creak and groan as he tried to recover.
Beel seemed to grow more delighted with each damaged step. He was practically glowing by the time we reached the second floor. It seemed like both an impossibly short amount of time and ages all at once as I had to listen to that nightmarish sound and watch Danny cry all the way up.
Finally we stood at a door with no room number. It looked nice enough, like any other door in any other hallway of any other fine hotel in the world. I knew it was too easy. I knew that I was already being tortured watching Danny come up those stairs and I knew that some new even worse torture was waiting for me on the other side of that door.
Danny and I stood there on either side of Beel as he made his introduction. He grabbed the door and swung it open like he was Monte Hall presenting a new car. Right away though I was horrified as the door almost bounced back closed. What I saw for that instant the door was open was an all too familiar sight of a hoarders house. My house, but even worse. The smell was like cat piss, oh God how I hated cats, and the walls looked like they had mold. My apartment had some mold but only in the corner. This was all over making the whole room smell of cat piss and mold and look like a dark prison cell someone decided to make into a city trash dump.
Danny continued his sobbing, now with a blubbering sound. He stepped back a step and I stepped forward accepting that this would be my eternal hell. Surprisingly Beel put out a stiff arm barring me from entry. He looked at me sternly and with his other hand waggled his finger, "No Sir! This is not for you Mister Kay!"
He stepped in front of me, pushing the door open further while smiling at the other Mister Kay. "Danny, if you please." He said with a smile. Danny took another step back. "Danny, now don't make this hard." Danny looked like he couldn't see through the tears and the tears had now come out of his nose along with snot and dripped down the front of his face onto his tank top. I was pretty sure he couldn't wipe his face even if he wanted to with those arms.
End Part 1 of 2
| 2016-05-28T16:02:53 | 2016-05-28T14:06:45 | 97 | 68 |
[WP] The first generation of wizards inherits from their parents’ professions. For example, a child of a chef and a swimmer wields fire and water spells. You possess something interesting.
|
It wasn't any profession. I think people tend to oversimplify it. For example, they think a child born from a swimmer and a firefighter might wield steam. It's subtle and like hair color can vary for each child.
Take for example my neighbor Hana. Her father worked at a nuclear power plant and her mother was a teacher. I am not sure what sort of power people would expect. Hana ended up being able to pass knowledge to people through touch, a sort of energy. She works as a tutor down in Leftbank.
Her sister, Nobi, on the other hand, is able to make certain electronics do as she likes, with enough focus. She teaches energy what she wants it to do and it happens.
Her mother, Ana Kuchina, had the power to make people happy. This allowed her to make people interested in what she had to say. And Warry Kuchina could withstand radiation up to a point. This lets him save lives, take on dangerous jobs no one could take.
And their brother has no real power at all. Instead, he makes people sleepy, just by being near them. He works at a sleep clinic, helping insomniacs get a good nights sleep. But he has to stay away from most people because he can make them lose control, can make them fall asleep. So not all powers are useful in all contexts. Not all powers are equal.
And then there is my mother, a vet tech. Her power has always been to lull animals into submission. Helps when you need to stick a thermometer up their ass.
And dad? He never did much. He was a professional nomad. He would wake up in a new place every morning, like a beach or an airport. Always safe. In the clothes, he was wearing. He always slept with his wallet in his pants and his shoes on.
Then he would blink himself back to bed or explore.
So maybe that's why my power is so unusual. So strange. So peculiar. My sister can shimmer into dreams--make her mind touch your mind. She does it in therapy sessions. She can help people find peace.
And my brother Clarence? He can make animals do all kinds of tricks.
But I... I summon cats. Right onto my lap. And I don't always think that's bad. It is just a bitch calling their owners to return them.
|
I lit my last cigarette, took a drag, then chucked both the box and lighter back over the fence. Lit now, it would stay lit as I held it under the table as a teacher passed by. They were upwind of me and couldn't smell the smoke. I gave them a forced smile as they passed the tables and disappeared back into the building. I removed my hand from under the table and took another drag before acknowledging the distraught looking girl in front of me.
She was sleight, maybe a hundred and a few pounds. She was wearing short heels but when she approached my office I thought she was about five-foot-four. Her mousy brown hair ruffled in the breeze of a rapidly approaching winter.
"Well?"
She slid me fat envelope. Why do they always use fucking envelopes it's not a goddamn drug deal. I sigh, and tuck it inside my jean jacket. Another drag.
"You read everything, right? I gave every detail like I'm supposed to."
"Sure did." Another drag. I eyed my cigarette. "He's quite the catch." I eyed her. "And so are you, so if you don't mind my asking, why employ me? Why not just walk up and say 'hi'? Guys are straight-forward. Just talk to him. Touch his arm. He'll get the hint. He's not stupid. You don't really need to part with your money. You make what, 7.50 an hour?"
"I make 8."
"So this is what, a month's pay?"
She nodded. Her hands were in her lap and she looked terrified to be sitting at this table with me. Terrified to be seen, I suppose, but no one would pass by here for the next five minutes, and I sure as hell would never divulge the name of a client.
"Look, Vannessa... You like to be called V, yeah? I have to tell you that you're going to want your money back in a month or two."
She shook her head.
"What I offer, isn't... Real, it's not organic."
"I just..." She bit her lip.
"Bitch." It came to me in a flash. "You left out that detail." I pulled up my sleeve to reveal the pentagram tattooed on my forearm, and pressed the tip of the cigarette to the center. My flesh did not burn, but she grimaced.
"My rules are very simple. Every. Single. Detail. Do you know what happens if I don't have something that important?" I removed the cigarette. "Fire and flesh, now spill."
The words tumbled out of her mouth in the mess they usually do. How it wasn't her fault, how it wasn't his fault, the cheating, the lying, the breakup. No, he wasn't some guy she had a crush on, he was her ex, and some other girl had stolen him away. After she was done, there was only a minute and a half of our time left. She sat with her hands still folded in her lap.
"Okay. I'll do it. I need the money anyway. But my powers don't work unless I know *everything*. I could find it out on my own, but that would take time." I stood up from the table and glanced around the courtyard. "I'll do it tonight. He'll call you tomorrow."
I flicked the cigarette to the ground, put it out, then walked back into the school building. Class would be going on now, but it was late, due to a random fire sprinkler malfunction.
I continued in a straight path, never asking anyone to move out of my way, my steps cutting perfectly through the crowd around me. I headed to my locker. Still had time. The ever-ticking clock in my skull informed me of that. I spun the combo, paused for exactly one second, and ducked right on schedule.
Jonathan Dima cried out in pain as his fist smashed into the vent of my locker and I spun away. "You son of a bitch," he growled as I held out my arms to either side. My face was devoid of expression. Two of his friends from the football team now stood to my right. They were all about a hundred pounds heavier than I was.
"Can't prove shit," I said.
A crowd began to gather and phones came out. I had to be in at least thirty WorldStar videos by now. Five years ago that would have been a bad thing. Now I was just another one of *them*, albeit when I showed up online it was usually pretty funny because of how my *Arcana Inheritas* manifested.
Jonathan put his fists up. "You fucked Mandi, and I'm gonna fucking destroy you!"
I sighed, the stopped. Fuck. Of all the days, that fucking asshole. The one other wizard in the entire school and he had to pick today--
Pain lanced through my jaw as Jonathan struck me with a powerful right cross and knocked me to the ground. The clock in my head continued ticking, just on a different schedule now. I could almost hear all the plates I had been spinning today crashing to the ground. I had to catch them or I would owe a lot of people a lot of money. Then I wouldn't be able to buy the sapphire dust, I wouldn't be able to buy the bone powder--specifically of a dead Pope--or anything else I needed. I brought my hands under me and forced myself up, trying to make the schedules match up, scanning the crowd for an advantage, for something to get me out of this fight and to class where I needed to be for me to run into the new kid, to make sure she ran into Rachel so that she would see that one person who was exactly her type so she would leave Greg, and he be single and open to Patricia's advances tonight at the football game because John had paid me--
Oh, look, that's a suplex. I forgot Jonathan wrestled, too.
That hurt. Holy shit. I staggered to my feet, away from Jonathan. I suppose this meant I had to use the other shit, draw more attention my way. Fuck me.
I dropped my jean jacket to the ground and brandished my tattoed arm toward Jonathan. What he didn't know is that fucking Mandi wasn't personal. I only did it because that was the only way she would have a messy breakup with him and then she would be open for Zach to make his break out of the friend-zone. Yeah, she'd ran to him afterwards, but the irony of the situation was he'd failed due to his own ineptitude.
Jonathan charged in again, fists swing. I flinched away and focused my power through my arm, down my hand, out of my fingertips. It was a really, really crude wand, but it did the job and I wasn't about to carry an actual fucking wand with me everywhere. Jonathan fell to the deck, snoring.
I picked up my jean jacket and headed off to class, annoyed I didn't have time anymore to deposit my money in my locker. For the first ten seconds of walking, people still were in my way. Then they were only a little, and as I reached the door of the science lab, I was once again gliding along on schedule. I'd always wondered how my *Arcana Inheritas* would show up. Having a dad who's an anesthesiologist and a mother who's a personal assistant to a movie director don't exactly conjure images of fireball slinging, lightning calling, hex-making wizards. But, getting paid to make everyone's schedules align at the exact moment in time they needed to so that those who knew to seek me out got what they wanted wasn't so bad. I probably wouldn't even go to college after I graduated. I knew how to use my powers well enough already.
The only seat available was next to the new girl. I sat down next to her and smiled at the curious look she gave me. "Hi," I said. "I'm James."
| 2018-04-15T11:58:49 | 2018-04-15T11:14:03 | 45 | 15 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell.
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Of course in hindsight everyone sees the merit of my decision. In the early days though, people kept asking me why I chose Hell over Heaven. My answer has always been three words: "Location, location, location"...
Before my ticket was up on earth, I came to a realization... If everyone choose Heaven, Heaven would eventually become overcrowded. I mean idyllic pastures and tranquil rivers are nice and all, but if you have to share it with roughly 10 Billion other people... Maybe not so much. Can you imagine the waste problem? If you want to watch a football game, you need to first clear people from an area roughly the size of a football field. Plus, there really is not much beyond natural beauty up there.
So I made a decision, I moved in on the market early. Closed all the primo real estate I could all over Hell before there was a demand for it. Heck, those poor schmucks, the demons... They were so surprised that anyone wanted anything to do with Hell, they sold me the whole thing for a handful of colorful beads.
Later on they would also provide the cheap labor that I exploited in my sea-of-fire side casinos and river (Lethe is beautiful in autumn) side properties. I quickly dominated the market and soon became the land lord of hell.
True, the re-branding took some effort... People were reluctant to view Hell as a warmer alternative to the overcrowded paradise. I think it was all the entertainment venues that did it in the end. I was able to convince the "Blue Man" group and a few other performers in exchange for lofts overseeing Hinnom valley. Combined with the casinos and strip clubs, pretty soon Hell became the place to be.
That is when I stopped accepting just any old schmuck into the club. I am after all trying to cultivate a tasteful community down here. There were a few instances people even begged me to stop deportation to Heaven, but what can I say... Business is business.
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"Wait so you mean I literally get to pick?" I said to St. Peter at the immaculately kept gates. The gold would make a tacky American oligarch hard enough to cut it. "No, yeah so ever since God invented opiates.. things have gone.. downhill..", he replied while eyeballing the ground. "So is it even worth picking heaven? What is it like inside?" Peter replied, "Well it's hard to say. I just got this message from the boss this morning. He creates opium just this morning and by noon he's shooting carfentanil into his arms. It's pretty wild. I see where Jesus gets his wine problem from. You're actually the first guy who gets to pick since God cleaned himself up after inventing booze. I don't know how long this bender will last."
I was confused. "Opium has been around for ages, hasn't it?" St. Peter replied, "Do I really have to explain this fucking shit to you?!" He lit up a Marlboro and continued. "Obviously God didn't create the world and universe in a few Earth days. Each day to him was an entire era for your dimension." That piqued my curiosity, having been a physicist in my life. "So, what is the deal with the universe anyway? Multiple dimensions? Hidden ones? How close were we to the truth or the next huge discovery?" I wanted to know *everything*.
"Dude, I don't know. Do I look like a fucking nerd to you? Just fucking pick heaven or hell. Oh my God I'm so fucking done with this job. I'm not even putting my two weeks in." He angrily replied. "What's hell like in comparison?" I asked. "HELL IT IS", he yelled in a thunderous echoing boom as he spread his wings and flew off, but not before dropping a hot load much like a bird would onto the Welcome to Heaven sign. Some of the lights were out on it already so it sort of fit.
I had never had the chance to go skydiving in my years on earth. This wasn't my chance either however. I was shot instantly up into the sky toward what seemed to be more clouds. I guess gays do go to hell because the interior design here is fucking *terrible.* They seemed to be clearing out a little bit now and a red cavernous ceiling complete with stalactites and terrifying imagery of torture that appears to be painted by one of the renaissance greats. Maybe a collaboration of all of them? But also Picasso? I was never an art buff. As I approached the ceiling I braced for impact but I was met with more of a soft sand texture and drawn through it until my head peaked out of the surface.
"Hey"
"Hi?" I replied while taking in the awful scenery I was met with.
I noticed the red. Everywhere. Fire, in every direction! Lava was flowing out of.. a.. "Is that a water fountain?"
"It's a lava fountain, my dude. Pretty sweet, right?"
The fire, it wasn't running wild either. Nobody was being engulfed by flames. They were cooking burgers on a flaming grill. There were roses covering the grass beneath them on the rolling hills for miles in any direction.
"Are you going to ask for help? Most people need help getting the rest of their body out of the sand." The man said to me.
"I could use a hand I suppose"
I almost immediately recognized him, although he doesn't look anything like the paintings. "Jesus?" I said, questioning everything I thought I knew about Catholicism.
"Yeet!! Hit this shit real quick. It's called God's Vagina back on earth but that's fucking gross. My dad has a dick and I know because I've unfortunately seen it too many times when he's piss drunk. I call it, Jesus' Wheezus' ".
"I am so confused", I confessed for the first time since first confession. "Lemme break it down for you real quick" said Jesus, bong in hand. He paused for about three seconds before he started dancing.
After a solid minute of that, he popped his shades up and my eyes met his red glossy eyes.
"What were we talking about?" He said, lighting his bowl that somehow still had greens on top of it. Through a cloudy exhale, he said in a low breathy voice "You know how hotel bibles just show up at hotels? You know how they have decent paper inside them to roll joints? I did that shit", then forcefully released the rest of the breath.
I was a marijuana user in life but never this heavy. Never full on stoner identity like Jesus. The long hair they hit right on the head in the paintings. He was more Middle Eastern looking than the white Christians like to admit. Hell, Korean jesus looks a little more accurate than what I was used to where I lived.
"Bro, you eye fucking me or what?" He asked
"I uhh,"
He interrupted, "Dude chill, I'm fuckin with ya! I don't care what you do, free love man! It's my dad who's against all that stuff." I was starting to see where the problem with hell was. Not the open attitude toward homosexuality, that was great by me. It was just this fucking guy. Bro of all bros. Brosiah himself. His bowl is always packed and fresh with green buds and yet he hasn't offered any, or when he did he didn't actually hand any over. "Can I hit that?" I asked, needing to cool down a bit. "I totally would but I'm almost out and I need this for my lower back pain and anxiety." He said. "But it doesn't seem to be running ou-"
"SOO grand tour, huh? This is my smash pad.." He said holding his arms out "..ahah I smash everywhere here. These ho's are ready for it bruh."
I fucking hate Jesus.
"Do I get a room? I could use some rest."
Jesus answers, "*Do I get a room? I could use some-* BRUH you just got here don't you want to turn up! Fucking pussy."
"Whatever man, you're a tool." I said to Jesus as I turned and walked away.
"WAIT!" He said with a raised and desperate tone. "Want to hit this?"
"Nah" I said eyeballing a vast field of marijuana in the distance.
"Bruh, I can call up this Mary ho and we can both smash, I'ma send a dick pic, pulls yours out too" he insisted.
"I'll pass" I said noticing the high end brothel conveniently placed next to the marijuana farm.
Jesus sat down on a rock and looked broken. I was done with his shit though so I trucked onto the farm, picked some buds and went to the brothel. When I arrived, I was greeted by a beautiful woman who told me to enter and there was no fee. As soon as I walked in I was hit by the wall of marijuana smoke. I was just here for marijuana and information but seeing these beautiful women I noticed I was beginning to consider it.
"What's the deal with Jesus?" I asked the bartender. "He just tries so fucking hard to reclaim those glory days with his 12 disciples. They stayed in heaven and I don't know man he's just trying too hard. Welcome to Hell though, my name is Lucifer."
| 2018-08-13T09:48:32 | 2018-08-13T06:40:49 | 155 | 54 |
[WP] The emperor laughed and boasted to the human leader. "That was a fun war! Let me know when your soldiers come back alive." "...Are you saying your people do not die? Forever?" "Wait, what?"
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The alien emperor shot the translator in the head, killing it instantly.
He gave an order and a new translator approached.
"Your majesty apologizes for that. The last translator was malfunctioning. He wishes to congratulate you on your victory and as is custom we will wait for your soldiers to come back so we can resume the war."
"They are bluffing." The marshal turns to face John, the resistance leader. "Sir, I know them, I have been fighting them for 13 years. They die just like us."
John turns to the emperor. "How long will it take for your full army to come back alive?"
"Another 6 years, we are already at 40%. He have the first wave ready. Of course since you are the victors we will wait for you."
The marshal steps forward to the emperor. "Can we see the first wave?"
The aliens seem confused for the first time.
The Marshal looks back to John and gives him a triumphant smile.
"Of course." The translator's english is perfect and doesn't seem disturbed by the dead body of his co-worker. "How long do you need to resume the war?"
"There will be no more war, we won." John hands a folder to the guard on his right. "Here are our demands. We expect you to fulfill them completely or we will resume the attack immediately. There will be no negotiations"
The guard inspects the folder and gives it to the translator who reads it aloud to the emperor who is growing increasingly annoyed and confused.
"What is this? You are breaking all customs and laws of warfare." The translator's words are monotonous, but the Akeri are known to be very fond of traditions.
"Let's calm down and take a seat."
At that moment the tall doors of the right hall open and the soldiers of the first wave start marching in.
John looks at his Marshal, his face is unchanged, but he is clutching his fists, they are turning white. He fought against the first wave as an infantry soldier and rose quickly through the ranks.
The marshal moved to his leader without turning his back. For the first time, John heard fear in his voice "It's them."
&#x200B;
This is my first time writing! Ever! So any and all feedback is welcome. Thank you for reading.
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>**KING'S BLOOD, GOD'S PROMISE**
With a heart so heavy, it felt like it might drop out of my chest, I took the crown into my hands.
I was seventeen, and Kotarja, the fledgling country my father had founded, was now under my control.
This wasn’t a good thing.
Father’s exact cause of death I couldn’t be sure of- he died in a field, surrounded by loyal soldiers. Some said it was exhaustion...that sounded like him. Working himself literally to death. He had been so strong and intelligent- could I ever do justice to the work he had begun?
“My lord, your first declaration?” Advisor Flameth asked. She was an older woman, she knew the histories well, and had served my father faithfully for a very long time.
“Flameth, gather to me the most knowledgeable- the best among artisans, the bricklayers, the alchemists, every profession. I want one of each, voted amongst themselves to represent them. I will listen to the voice of the people.” In truth, this was just deferring my first real actions- I didn’t feel ready to lead.
A few quiet days passed, and, one by one, I spoke with the people of my country. The artisans told me that, if funded, they could produce much more sanitary waste management. Funding was granted. The bricklayers told me that, in conjunction with the military, they could establish farther-flung outposts that would allow us more warning if there was an attack. I went ahead with the project. Merchants asked for better roads- faster roads would mean better quality traded goods, and more safety. I commissioned the brick builders to investigate better road technology as soon as they finished the outposts. The military leaders were split- some wanted a campaign to conquer more territory, others recommended sending envoys to make allies with nearby city-states. I chose to consolidate our existing powers, and only send out envoys.
In the midst of all of these public work projects, a man unlike any other strode into town- he had no horse, but had clearly been traveling for many days. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with an impish grin. We knew he was not from around here...and that he was not like us. He walked directly to the castle, where I met him in person.
“What business,” I began, “Does a man such as you have with us?” I asked.
“War.” He whispered fervently. “We had heard a new king was ruling Kotarja- we want to test your mettle.”
“I have no interest in playing at war.” I said flatly. “My country is in the midst of public works projects- if you intend to try and take Kotarja, wait for ten years, then it will be more worth trying to take.”
“Then we will return in ten years, for war.” He said, his eyes burrowing into me. He turned and left.
Flemeth came to my side. “You would make Kotarja more ripe for their picking?”
“I will make Kotarja hard as iron- if they even come when the ten years are up.”
Ten years passed- it felt as though it was forever, yet, looking back at it once it was done, it was the blink of an eye.
Kotarja now had the finest, most sturdy walls in the entire Mediterranian. We had consolidated our powers with all of the nearby city states, allowing us access to the sea trade via every road. Our health and prosperity had never been better- and our military prowess had never been sharper.
As the first day of ‘war’ came, there were no signs of a moving army. No alarms from our far-flung outposts. I began to wonder if the man with intense eyes was bluffing, or merely picking fun at the child-king.
Seven days later, I had all but forgotten the threat- until a sword was at my throat.
“Well done, well done!” The man with intense eyes crooned. He didn’t seem to have aged a day. “We walked around your walls, we could not see a single way in!”
“That is what walls are for, yes. So how did you accomplish this?” He held me by sword-point, with three other men, and the sounds of battle echoed throughout the city.
“You defended the exterior of your city so well, we had no choice but to go underneath.”
“You dug underneath the city? It’s hard, coastal rock under there!” I protested.
“Nothing our men cannot handle- this is not our first time fighting here. It seems your father did not warn you of us.”
“We didn’t give him time, boss.” One of the man’s soldiers said.
“Oh, that’s right. Well, spread the word. Kill them all.”
“What kind of gods-damned monster are you?” I shouted. “What army kills innocents?”
“A little death never hurt anyone.”
“What?!” I shouted.
Eventually, the screams stopped. The city was quiet- and painted red.
“Well, this was fun. Let us know when you want to play again.”
“How could I,” I croaked, my voice sore from shouting and crying, “when all my people are dead?”
“Boss, you really didn’t give the last guy *any* time.” The soldier repeated.
“Oh. *Oh!* Oh, I am an ass.” The man said. He lowered himself to match eyes with me. “Your father, King Kotarja the First, was dying, you see. But he had worshipped the Goddess Samaya for his entire life. She presides over the rot, the decay. His body was hers, as his disease ate him away...yes, his body was hers, as are all of ours, eventually. Samaya struck a deal with the good King Kotarja- if he managed to entertain her legions of the undead, she would grant one free life to the next generation.” He took a deep breath. “The battle he gave us was glorious, yet we only fought a few hundred men. He slaughtered us, again and again- and in doing so, he pleased Samaya.”
“I...I knew nothing of this.” I said.
“Yes, and for that, I am sorry. I forgot you didn’t have the chance to speak with your father before he died. He fought us until he collapsed of exhaustion- but he passed with a smile on his face. His dying request was that we would give the same challenge to you...but I failed, because I did not explain myself properly. I was excited, too excited by far, to have the opportunity to have that kind of battle again.”
The man continued. “We will return all of the lives to your people, and all will retain the extra life your father won for them...but we will return, this time in three years, and we will try again. There is nothing like combat, when your life is freely given. I hope to see you on the field, when the time comes.”
That was my first meeting with the Samayan army of the Undead, and the Emperor who oversaw them. It would not be the last- in fact, it wasn’t even the last time I saw him that *year,* as a much more grave fight soon began than our planned little playing at war. There were forced more terrible than Samaya, more powerful than the Gods- and now that I had stepped into the arena of immortals, there was no going back. What came next tested my leadership, my dedication to my principals, my love for humanity- and my own will to live, all with the Emperor of the Undead fighting at my side.
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r/nystorm_writes if you want this to be made into a proper, full story!
| 2021-07-13T10:29:34 | 2021-07-13T10:05:14 | 391 | 235 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
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He came at me like all the rest. Rage, fear, adrenaline in his eyes. Hopped up on nukonarc pills; you'd have to be to come at the king. He desired my status; coveted it. I could feel the hair on the nape of my neck rise, feel a crackling in the air. An electromancer. This would be interesting.
I raise my hands. "HALT," I command. He slows his charge, confused. "We shall battle, if you choose. But first, we shall have.... some tea." He is thoroughly baffled now, but pliant. "Yes... hrmm... okay, one cup... then YOU DIE! Ahahahahahaha!" he cackles.
*1 hour later*
We emerge from the teashop, arms locked, bursting with laughter. "Hahaha my goodness Gary! She really said that!? Hooboy. Well, we were gonna... battle or something?"
"What? Oh yes, my God I'd almost forgotten! Forget that sillyness. It's been a real pleasure meeting you Bob, I really mean that."
"Same to you Gare-bear. Still in for 18 at the links Tuesday?"
"You know it Be-Bob, see ya then!'
I smile to myself as Gary saunters away. I have emerged victorious yet again, as I shall forevermore. For who could possibly hope to defeat the power... of friendship?
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The Nine Kings were a sort of urban legend. Eight powerful enigmas uniting under a truce to lord their power over the people with Number 1. The higher your rank, the more political influence you had over the city, and even the world.
Take Mason, a red-headed hothead with eyes of amber, for example. Mason was ranked 9,001. Only the top 10,000 get to live in Paradiso, a city for only the strongest on the planet. Imagine his shock when Number 10 came to him with a deal: work together to take down Number 1, and live off the royalties as the Ten Kings. Mason immediately accepted. Sure, he was wealthy enough, but you don't get to live in Paradiso without being a little greedy.
Mason and Tenner, the name number 10 chose for himself, discussed their powers and plans for weeks. Mason could create fire, and Tenner could copy bullets, giving himself endless ammunition. However, Number 1's power was a mystery. No one knew what he could do. All that was known was that he was an assassin who used his victims' decapitated heads as proof of his victories.
After weeks of scouting, Mason and Tenner arrived at Number 1's beach house. The night was cold. Mason's body radiated heat, so his toned upper body was bare. Tenner, on the other hand, was bundled in a black jacket. A scarf covered his face, and goggles with orange lenses hid his eyes. He never revealed his face, even to Mason.
"Are you ready?" Mason asked Tenner. His heavily garbed friend nodded. "I'll lead the way," he answered. "Watch my back."
The two walked into the house, ready for anything. They needed to do this quickly, lest the other Kings decide to crash the party. What Mason and Tenner weren't ready for was finding the house already trashed. A man in a white t-shirt stood over a decapitated corpse filled with kitchen knives. As the knives disappeared, the man turned to greet his other two guests. His hair was a chilling black, and his eyes were silver. He was the complete opposite of Mason. "Thieves," Number 1 said, "you can't live with 'em, and you can't live without 'em."
Tenner pointed both of his revolvers at Number 1. Mason's fists conjured scarlet flames. He recognized Number 1's face from all the internet articles. Mason and Tenner fired upon him, only for the King to evade with ease. He was fast, and his attacks would be faster. Like magic, the single kitchen knife in his hand became three, and he threw them at Mason and Tenner.
The two expertly dodged, while Number 1 slashed open a window, and jumped outside. Mason and Tenner pursued him, the former using his flames to propel himself. Red lights and white flashes reflected over the ocean that night.
Number 1 tossed a knife at the airborne Mason, only have it to turn into a hundred mid-flight. Mason blew them all away, and Tenner got a shot on Number 1's left shoulder. This didn't stop the King, who he kept throwing and multiplying knives. Neither Mason nor Tenner could get close enough to deal the finishing blow.
Number 1 used the fight's confusion to circle back to his beach house. Tenner had to magically reload his pistols, meaning it was up to Mason to stop Number 1 from contacting the other Kings.
Number 1 burst through his front door, while Mason created his own opening by burning a large hole in the ceiling. "I'm gonna enjoy this," Mason gloated as he sent a geyser of flame toward Number 1. The King burned alive. His flesh seared away by the raw force of Mason's fire. Number 1 screamed until there was nothing left of him but a charred corpse.
Mason sat on a nearby couch. It was his couch, now. He was Number 1. Tenner soon walked in, and assessed the damage. "How's it feel, Mason?" he asked the pyrokinetic. Mason smiled. "To be Number 1? Pretty good. Of course, I prefer to stay Number 1." Before Tenner could fire at Mason, he set aflame by his partner. Mason watched as Tenner fell to the ground, his clothes falling to pieces. Mason closed his eyes, and enjoyed the sound of the night ocean's tide.
...
...
...
"Seven," a voice said.
Mason opened his eyes, and turned around. Number 1 stood next to the hole in the wall, wearing a denim jacket instead of his t-shirt. Mason got up to fight him, only to have his arms stabbed by kitchen knives thrown from opposite directions. As he cried out in pain, two more people emerged from the shadows. They were both Number 1's, only one wore a hoodie, and another wore a business suit.
"Like I was saying," the first Number 1 spoke, "the man you killed was Number 7, which means you're Number 7, now." Before Mason could speak, the third Number 1 punched him in the face, causing the pyrokinetic to fall to the ground. "H-how?" Mason uttered.
The three Number 1s smiled. Six more entered the room, each one wearing something different. One of them being the Number 1 Mason killed. "Cloning's one of the most practical powers I've ever seen," Number 7 explained. "Being to the top, on the other hand, can be boring," Number 3 added. "Once you're there, there's no one you can trust," Number 8 said. "But it's not about the destination," Number 4 said. "It's about the journey."
Number 1, the real Number 1 in the denim jacket, created two naked clones of himself. "I had so much fun killing to get here, I decided to do it again, and again, and again." He picked up a scrap of wood from the floor, and duplicated it in his hand. "However, I decided to give each iteration of me a different fighting style to accomplish this. Knives, bullets, shuriken, pipes, myself... I can clone just about anything. Take that corpse." He pointed to the thief's corpse on the ground, which disappeared. "That was me, too."
Mason slowly stood up. "Wait, did you say 'bullets?'" he asked. As Number 1 nodded, Mason was shot in the back of the head by Tenner. Tenner removed his scarf and goggles, revealing Number 1's face. "Should we take his head with the rest?" Number 10 asked. Number 1 shook his head. "No, you can destroy it. I prefer not showing off the heads of zeroes."
With that, the clones each took part in the sadistic ritual of shooting and stabbing Mason's head into oblivion.
| 2014-12-18T14:00:17 | 2014-12-18T13:33:39 | 451 | 77 |
[WP] You can see the coolest stats of things that you touch, and today when you lean against the wall of your house instead of the usual “Contains 4 dogs” you see “People killed here: 327”
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"Ah, shit." Dave muttered as he caught sight of the wall and dropped his laundry basket. Frantically scrambling down the stairs, he called out: "Rachel?! Rachel?"
"What's up?" Came the urgent reply from the couch.
"You leave the door open?" he asked, halting at the bottom of the stairs with his heart racing.
"No..." she answered hesitantly, "I - I don't think so..."
Dave glanced back towards the wall that his powers had tripped, which proudly boasted the property's historic murder toll. He’d first seen that stat when he toured as a potential renter, but a quick Wiki search eased his mind when he saw that an old Civil War battlefield overlapped with property lines.
Dave never really considered himself interested in history -- and ever since he and Rachel adopted the dogs, he obsessed over their welfare.
"Boys got out, the old stat's back" he said.
Rachel cursed under her breath and hopped up from the couch, joining Dave in a sprint to the open front door.
***
Criticism/comments more than welcome! =)
|
I gapped. 327? I went to my study and got out my notes.
Six months. Yes, that was right; but 327? I’d have to investigate. By my counts I had killed 415.
Now, I’m sure you’ll think I’m lying, or that the police would be after me. But it is my job. They send them to me you see. The people come, I kill them and the people in the trucks come take away the bodies. I started six months ago.
I had been keeping detailed records. Name, gender, occupation, method of death. The usual. That number yesterday had been 415! I touched the wall again and saw People killed here: 325.
Wait? What? It was going DOWN!
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Restful Solutions. It was my boss. ‘Yeah?’
Jamie spoke in a clear crisp voice. ‘Shawn, we have a problem.’
I breathed in. No one knows about my talent to see statistics. I didn’t want to let on that anything was wrong on my end. ‘Oh? What’s going on?’
‘It’s your visitors, you’re not doing your job.’
I fucking was! Those people were DEAD! ‘What do you mean? Are my numbers not satisfactory?’
‘No, they’re not resting anymore.’
‘I don’t understand...’
Jamie was loosing patience ‘What do you not understand? The people we sent to you are walking around! That’s the fucking problem. We pay you to help people find a solution. A *specific* solution, and now they are starting to complain. I had several call today and ask for refunds, and compensation!’
I was confused. I put my hand on the wall: 323. ‘How do you know it was them? I mean, it could have been someone else, like a scam.’
Jamie sighed ‘No, they’ve started coming in person. We have verified their identities and they are healthy, animated and very pissed off.’
‘Well this is hardly my fault. I did my job. I put those people to rest. Theo and Bonnie pick them up once they are ... resting. Maybe you should talk to whoever takes care of them after me.’
The doorbell rang. I told Jamie I had to go. I looked out the peephole, an older lady and a young boy were standing outside. I opened the door.
‘Hello, my name is Shawn.’
‘Hello Shawn, I am Hazel, and this is my friend, Clyde.’
I motioned for them to come in and sit in the living room. I touched the wall: 321.
As we sat Hazel extended an envelope for me. ‘You’ll see everything is in order, this is my receipt and our contact signed and notarized.’
I put on my glasses and read over the documents. I nodded.
‘I need some information. Your full names, genders, occupation and preferred method of rest.’ I handed over a guest book.
Hazel took the book and filled out the two lines for them both. I looked at the records. ‘Have you been here long?’
‘Yes, I’m just ready to rest.’ Hazel smiled a little.
I looked at Clyde. He hadn’t said anything. ‘And you?’
‘I don’t like it here. I get teased a lot. Not by Hazel, she’s nice to me. I want to stay with her.’
‘All right then.’ It wasn’t my job to judge, or convince. Just kill.
I looked at the preferred methods: hanging. Not exciting, but easy to clean up. I pulled down two nooses from the beam on my living room ceiling, and put two stools under them. I gestured for them to climb up. I adjusted the ropes and asked if they were ready. Clyde took Hazel’s hand and they nodded.
I kicked the stools out. They fell and jerked for a while. Then stopped. I went to make a note in my book.
‘Well, I thought that would be it, I have to say I’m dissatisfied!’
I screamed and spun around. Hazel was looking at me with disappointment. Clyde was glaring at me as he swung back and forth.
‘Yo-you- you’re supposed to be dead!’ I stuttered.
‘Well, I’m not. You’ll have to try harder I suppose.’
I apologized and got my syringe and a cocktail of barbiturates and anesthetics and other things. It was designed to do the job quick. I put a double dose in and injected it into Hazel’s vein. Her eyes closed. I did the same for Clyde. I went to the work of taking them down from the ropes.
As I was setting her on the ground Hazel jerked and sat up.
‘Young lady, I must say I’m very upset. I payed to be put to rest, but you don’t seem to be able to do your job!’
Clyde opened his eyes and glared at me again.
I touched the wall: 315
‘I do apologize, let me call the office and see if there is anything more we can do for you. Please wait here.’
I went to my office and shut the door. I dialed Jamie.
‘Shawn, I trust you are calling with good news?’
‘No! I just hung and poisoned two people and they’re still alive!’
‘You mean they’re not resting?’
‘No, they’re not DEAD. I tried, I killed them twice!’
‘Try something more.. permanent.’
‘Fuck you Jaime, hanging is usually pretty god damn permanent!’
Jamie sighed ‘don’t swear at me. Just get it done.’
I went back to the living room. Hazel and Clyde were sitting on the couch.
‘Alright, I have permission to try something more permanent, but it might be unpleasant.’
As I went to the closet I brushed the wall: 312
I pulled out my guillotine and a tarp. As I set up Clyde and Hazel watched me with mild interest.
‘Ok, who wants to be first?’ Clyde stood up, walked over and knelt in front of the contraption. He looked me in the eye ‘I don’t want to wake up again, you understand?’
I nodded and dropped the blade. His body shook and blood splattered Hazel’s face. I moved his body and head to one side. I pulled the blade up again. ‘Ok, your turn.’ She came over, knelt and bent over.
I dropped the blade again. I sighed and waited. Nothing happened. I texted Bonnie and Theo.
I went over to the wall: 314
| 2017-12-17T19:49:01 | 2017-12-17T18:24:15 | 322 | 96 |
[WP] When you kill someone, their remaining life span is added to yours. Archaeologists have just found a cavern, apparently sealed off for thousands of years, with a single person living inside.
|
It is a phenomenon known for millennia, that to end another's life would extend the span of yours by their remaining natural years. It was because of this that in our otherwise civilised and ordered society occurred an abhorrent level of murder.
Home security was prioritised alongside food and water. It was common occurrence for homes to be broken into by the sickly or aged armed with a torrent of weapons; from revolvers and rifles to grenades, flamethrowers and noxious gas. The only known rule for the extension of life is that you must be looking into their eyes as they take their last breath.
The story broke on an idle Sunday morning, news that shifted and changed the world as it broke.
*"Breaking News: Archaeologists have this morning uncovered a sealed tomb that is believed to hold a sentient human male. Analysis of the rock and soil suggests the area has been in tact for between 2550 and 2750 years. Stay tuned for live updates"*
I, your stoic narrator, took a sharp intake of breath as the realisation of implications associated to this discovery reverberated through to my soul.
*Thousands* of years alive. In a sealed tomb.
How is this possible? How had he stared into the eyes of enough people to feed life for so many generations? If one was to kill this being, by how many generations would life by extended? How many had he slain?
There was a lengthy and consuming debate surrounding whether or not the tomb should be opened that involved the leader of almost every nation. A true Schroedinger's serial killer.
The sociological implications could be enormous, the number of people who would make an attempt on his life would be unprecedented. Furthermore, we did not know the capabilities of this man, of one who had survived since the Romans, and likely knew of Cleopatra and Jesus Christ. He may have the power to kill fleets of people, perhaps all.
So I ask, what is it you would do? For I, as a man who has survived for 976 years in secrecy through slaughtering those I deem unworthy, believe that as much as I would thrive on the euphoric sensation of ripping his windpipe from his throat after masterfully bursting through to his decrepit pit, *I am afraid I will become nothing more than prey*.
|
"Hello" That was the first words that the beast had given the group of Archeologists, each unsure what to think about the person before them. The skinny man standing up, bones cracking as he stretched out his body, ribs pushing against the thin layer of skin covering them. "You don't know how happy I am to see you all, It's been way too long, I thought I was going to die." The man couldn't help but laugh at his own words as the Archeologists looked to one another.
"Is this a joke? The place has been sealed off for at least one thousand years, No person could have survived that." The first spoke up, his nametag reading John, he seemed more confused than anything else, not afraid of the man before them but certainly straining his mind trying to work out how they were alive.
"We should go back, we need to close the cavern, think back to every horror movie ever, is this ever a good sign." The twitchy man in the middle seemed to be called Jacob, his hands were currently a pale white as he tugged at the collar of his two partners, each one refusing to move, one of them even approaching the man.
"It's one frail guy, what's he going to do, eat us?" The woman grinned, getting in the males face as she looked him over. "He's kinda short, probably would have been tall a thousand years ago though, strange though." The man was a little insulted by that comment, he wasn't that much shorter than the group, maybe by an inch or two. His eyes looked her up and down before he spoke.
"Well, Rebecca" He drew out the letters when he said her name, wanting to make sure his annoyance was known. "I can't help that, anyway don't close the cavern, It would be painful to have to wait another one thousand years for it to open again." The man had been walking towards the entrance of the cavern, only for Rebecca to grab his shoulder.
"We aren't letting you out until we know why you were in here. They don't usually seal away people for no reason. The only way you could have survived is by murder, but to murder enough people to constitute this sort of life, is that even possible?"
"Wait, that was true? Wish someone told me that one thousand years ago." The man seemed to suddenly realise why he had been in here all this time as if the puzzle pieces had finally connected. "I'm no mass murderer though, a murderer yes, but of a singular person."
"You expect us to believe that? Come on let's go, it's obvious he insane, no normal person could have survived in here, we should reseal him before we bring about the end of the world."
"W-wait... kid, come on, you can't be so cruel. Look, if I explain it, can I go? I doubt you will believe my story, but it has to make more sense than me killing millions of people right?"
"Don't call me kid, I... no, come on let's go, guys, we can forget about this and just pretend we never saw it."
"No, let's hear him out." John seemed just as intrigued as Rebecca, stepping forward to look at the man, his body was scarred and barely existent, only the thinnest layer covering his bones, the occasional throbbing of organs could be seen underneath whenever his heart rate would rise. Only having a thin white bit of fabric wrapped around his lower half for dignities sake.
"Good kid, I like you, John. Well, I guess there's no point making a short story long, I killed a demigod. Slaughtered him in cold blood, smashed his head in with a rock. I guess when I killed him, I got the lifespan of a demigod and as expected, the old gods didn't take kindly to that, tossing me in here to die. Guess I managed to last long enough for you all to come to save me."
"Hold on, A demigod, you are telling me that Gods exist?" Rebecca seemed rightfully sceptical, if his words were true, that could upset a lot of people if his secret was revealed."
"In a sense, Gods are just people who were born with a gift. They aren't as powerful as one might think, Well at least the half-gods aren't. I never heard of someone killing a full-blooded god before, could have happened though." He was left to think over his own words for a moment before shrugging. "You could have new Gods by now, hopefully, yours aren't as annoying as ours."
"We aren't aware of any gods living among us. Our beliefs are more...." John didn't quite know how to explain the concept. The man didn't seem that interested anyway, the topic seems to disgust him.
"You aren't all falling for this, are you? The man is a mass murderer, he is telling us some sort of myth! We should just leave, leave and never come back." Jacob was already stepping out of the cavern, only for the man to push past them, stopping in the entrance.
"Your friend here is planning on trapping us." The man said, causing Jacob to suddenly fluster, he could have tried to prove the man wrong, but his body acted on its own, grabbing the rock at the entranceway, trying to roll it back into place.
The other two Archeologists charged towards their companion, grabbing him by his arms. It was an impossible task, no one man could move a boulder, but the intent was still there. The man finally stepped out, glancing up at the sky for a brief moment. "You should have picked Rebecca if you were going to possess someone."
"Possess, are you saying?" Rebecca turned to the man who only gave a nod.
"They were more than happy to kill you both to trap me, seems the Old Gods have grown weak though, in the past, they would have been able to rain rocks from the heavens, now they can only perform little ghost tricks. I know you all don't trust me, which is why I am offering a compromise." The man raised his hands above his head. "I will come with you and you can investigate me as much as you want, it's not like I have anywhere else to go anyway. You can all call me Winfred too." The man gave a bow before gasping for air, seeming exhausted from all that previous movement.
Rebecca and John looked at one another, consider their options, Jacob had passed out, leaving them both to make the final call. If they fed the man, he might grow stronger, but if his story was true, then he was an Archeologists best discovery. "Why did you kill him?" John asked, causing the man to stop his gasping.
"Oh, I never did say did I? He wanted tributes. At first, it was animals, a small price to pay for freedom, but then he wanted women. I couldn't let him take away the people I loved, so when he came for his weekly sacrifice, I attacked, must have caught the Gods off guard since they didn't stop me."
"Let's take him, we can always keep him weakened until we know if his story checks out," Rebecca said, grabbing the man's shoulder, leading them towards their truck, John saw no reason to disagree, placing Winfred in the back of the car with Rebecca while he drove with Jacob in the passengers seat, the group heading back towards base, freeing the man from his prison for now.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories Any support helps! I will also be posting more of my writing there.}
| 2020-05-16T05:28:26 | 2020-05-16T04:06:34 | 2,161 | 330 |
[WP] Humanity has detonated hundreds of nukes, but only twice against an enemy. The Galactic Federation has this fact without context.
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“The humans did *what*?”
Athan spoke again. “The humans have detonated hundreds of these ‘nuclear weapons,’ according to their history books, but only twice against an enemy.”
The group shifted nervously in their pods. Who would go up against those maniacs? It was humans, after all.
Athan shook his head and raised his hands to silence them. “To educate our species, I have brought in a human known as ‘Greg Simmons.’ He is an expert in this area.”
He signaled his colleagues and the door opened. Greg stepped inside and looked at the group, who now stared at him.
Aliens. Not those green, big headed ones from the old movies. More like squids.
Who’d known he’d end up meeting real live aliens dressed in his pajamas.
He looked to Athan and walked over to his side.
He gulped and awkwardly waved. “H-hi y’all. Name’s Greg.”
The pink alien spoke in a shrill tongue and Athan translated:
“Tell us, human. Which species did you fight that you had to launch such weapons of destruction?”
Greg’s face contorted. “What?”
“He means—“ Athan thought of the word. “Nukes.”
Greg’s face lit up in understanding. “Ohh. You mean World War 2?”
“...World War...2?” Now Athan was confused. “What do you mean? You fought a mass war against yourselves and irradiated your own planet?”
“Yes.”
Athan was taken aback.
“Well, what is the human saying?” The pink squid, known as Perse, flailed its arms impatiently.
Athan looked from Perse to Greg and back again.
Humans... why had we run into you again?
EDIT: sorry on mobile. Trying to fix it.
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"Haha, I say they are like the Eostral, rattling the disintegrators within their holsters in an attempt to intimidate." The massive mammalian pounded the table as he spoke.
This generated a general rumble of agreement from the assembled denzian's of the pangalactic empire. Most of them, as the Eostral stared stoically forward unwilling to be goaded by the hot headed Haax.
Knowing that he had generated positive reactions with that statement he went on.
"As likely to accidentally discharge and dust a leg off as anything!"
Haax's words had the desired effect of creating laughter from most of the species capable of such. The Eostral let loose a cloud of ink, filling its tank with darkness so nobody could see its epidermal display shift to embarrassment and irritation.
"I disagree!" shouted the Darian delegate. It dragged its forward appendage against the table before it, the chitton causing a high pitched screech against the metal. Almost all the aliens squrimed at the sound. "I think that they are saving them up until they reach a threashold, upon which they will lay waste to everyone around them."
Everybody was quiet as they variously considered this possibility, their own theories, as well as how inspired the Dar was by the hundreds of baby Dar she was carrying around upon her abdomen.
"I think I know!" Shouted Jerry from across the room.
The assembled delegates of the intergalactic council gave a collective gasp, burble or ruffle of feathers as the intruder made themselves known. The primary facilitator of the council stood up, unfolding all of her legs and uncurling her neck she loomed over everyone as her voice boomed across the cavernous room.
"How dare you interrupt the official proceedings of-"
The human reach down and brandished their identification chit which was attached to their hip on a plastic cord by a spring-loaded spool.
"Shit Bitch!" He said with a smile, waving around his credentials.
The collective gasp from the assembly turned into a grown as the human strode forward, smiling and beaming its eyes. Those unfamiliar with human physiology mistook it as a threat display, or possibly an indication that it was hungry and scrambled out of their seats and away from it.
Only the delegate from Proxima Centauri and the towering, hirsute dignitary from the Alpha Apex Collective remained seated, unfazed by the unexpected intrusion as familiar as they were with humans.
"Now I may not be a historian, or any kind of military strategist, but I imagine us only having used the dang things twice has more to do with the absolute horror and devastation those weapons inflict than anything else."
"Why is the janitor lecturing us?" Demanded Haax
"Now, just hold on a second here, my official designation is Director of Cycles!" He complained.
"I asked again, why are you here?"
"Well I was just down the hall trying to figure out which one of you did your business in the wrong receptacle, when I glanced at the board and saw the discussion topic and figured I might poke my nose in since there didn't seem to be any humans on the panel."
"One doesn't typically consult the vermin about their own excrement." Stated the Dar.
"Ah come on now, it's not like they don't have a practical purpose! Heck, we used decommissioned warheads to propel some of our first colony ships out of the solar system!"
"Yes we know, and the radioactive particles have only just begun working their way out of your so-called Oort Cloud and into the outer reaches of the gravitational influence of our sun!" Shouted the dignitary from Proxima Centauri. Humanities nearest neighbor was never amused by the amount of electromagnetic waste cascading off of our system and the recent arrival of clouds of radioactive dust only served to further deteriorate relations.
"Well gosh, we are sorry about that. We have apologized, haven't we?" Jerry was honestly not sure if the Tarren diplomacy core had covered that particular facet of human's stumbling, bumbling and otherwise embarrassing itself every step of the way as it entered the intergalactic community. But it was heard as an insulting exclamation by humanites suspicious eight limbed aquatic stallar neighbor.
Had The Council not had humanity under observation for centuries prior to our finally getting out of our solar system, our shocking ignorance and utter inability to grasp 12, well now 13 party diplomacy would surely have spelled our doom. As cutting as their remarks tended to be it was the sentient cephalopods of Proxima Centauri who routinely stood up for the fledgling race.
For their part, the Neaderthal from the Alpha Apex Collective simply rolled their eyes. While they would occasionally vouch safe humanities general benevolence, it was tempered by the fact that his species had been evacuated as refugees out from under the unrelenting genocide by Homo Sapiens.
"Okay, look, it's like this. Before we learned we were not alone in the universe, we were pretty terrible about fighting amongst each other. It was like some kind of crazy never-ending arms race once the first human sharpened a stick up until the invention of the nuke. We used those bombs almost as soon as they were invented, heck they were invented specifically to be used! But once it was used, it was generally decided to be a terrible idea."
"Devastation on a massive scale. We believe you are lying. We believe you have used those bombs many times in the past and we have proof."
Another gasp from the collective and those that had only now just begun to retake their seat shot back to their feet or scooted their chair away from the offending human.
"What? What are you talking about? We only ever obliterated Hiroshima and Nagasaki!"
"The amount of radioactive debris free floating in Earth's atmosphere as far too high to be explained away from simply two bombs." Stated the self-aware machine from Vela 6, It's voice like a rusty harmonica trying to talk through an accordion. Being strictly binary and mostly networked, it always struggled with vocalizing its communications in a broadcast.
"Oh, no well, we had to test them. We did a whole bunch of nuclear detonations in the name of science and research."
"Your species is so driven by knowledge they would soil their own planet?!" Shouted an incredulous amphibious creature from the Niriad Cluster.
"Hey, hey! We didn't really realize that stuff would stick around like it did, and the eggheads that did figure it out realized the little bit up in the air wouldn't hurt most people none." Sputtered Jerry, a little indignant.
"It's true, their proximity to their sun, as well as thinner atmosphere, has bombarded their planet with radiation since it was first formed. It has even been theorized that this constant background radiation Is the reason for the explosion of life on their planet." Stated a ten-limbed, hard shelled member of the Oceanania Alliance.
"Well, anyway, now that we realize we are just one of many in an intergalactic community, heh well, turns out that our clanish urge to defend one's own got turned around right quick."
"Your history of warfare and genocidal tendencies are what keep you from being full standing members of the council in the first place!" Declared the headspeaker.
| 2021-02-17T09:53:42 | 2021-02-17T07:53:35 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Following a chosen deity has real world benefits, much like perks in a videogame. The more obscure gods offer more interesting gifts to those that find them.
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The metro wasn't busy. However, a few seconds ago it had at least been slightly less empty. Besides from myself there had been another man staggering around the other side of the platform. He held a bottle and was muttering gibberish.
"Rayna... Rayna..." He said.
He was clearly drunk. In retrospect I should probably have found someone to take care of him, or at least kept an eye out. As it was I managed to glimpse the man step off the tracks before disappearing behind a train approaching from my side of the platform.
*He's dead. No on could have survived that*
It surprised me how quickly that thought came to mind. The train was still rushing past.
*Am I going to get blamed for this? Lenth! Have mercy on me.*
The train had faded away by now and I was left standing as silence returned, struggling to come to terms with what I'd seen and wondering how I'd deal with it. Only, it wasn't quite silence. There was a grunt from the tracks.
*Dear Lenth is he still alive?* Lenth offers me luck. He's a popular choice but unfortunately his blessing won't count for much in a situation like this. Alot of doctors choose someone called Velandro as their diety: it gives them an enhanced ability to heal. Surely though, this man is beyond the power of even the most devout healer.
There's another grunt. A hand slaps on to the platform. To my relief (or perhaps to my horror) the man crawls his way back from the tracks. He stands, slowly, and another train passes, so close the wind whips at his coat. Smiling, the man pulls a necklace to his lips and gives it a kiss.
"Rayna bless me" He whispers, then turns to me.
"Invincibility whilst drunk!" he laughs and walks away.
|
Nothing again. I'd been on twelve weekend road trips in the last four months and I'm still a godless man.
Being "godless," however, is nothing close to the meaning that mankind had believed for millennia. A godless man is not an outcast. A godless man is not a pariah. Ok, so I guess I'm kind of a pariah. But it's not like I had no friends - three came out with me the last five times I went searching for my god, a god, any god. Three friends came, bringing wine and spirits of their own, laughing and joking and showing off.
Everyone knows how it started. Turns out ancient Japan was right. Shintoism is the real deal and there are gods everywhere, in every single thing. Why didn't they show themselves before? I don't know, but with the world's population as it is, it seems there's about one for every person. All you had to do was find one and "accept" it. Everyone seems to understand what this means, but I'm still not sure if this is really how you get a god. It's the way my great grandparents did it, the way my grandparents did it, and the way my mom and dad did it. When I learned as a kid, I felt lucky. I had such a big family, there was no way a god wouldn't stay with us and let me have it.
"Commer, good times this weekend man," Lentz shouted at me as he drove home. "I'm free the next couple weekends for more traveling if you haven't given up yet!" The others followed suit.
Here's my problem. Accepting a god isn't my problem. I have found gods that my friends would willingly give up theirs for. Fantastic gods of wonderful places that are seldom touched by humanity now because I look not where humanity isn't, but where it was. Once I find a god - and trust me, these days it's very hard - they don't accept me.
Who doesn't get accepted by a god? These guys supposedly agreed on a global scale to relinquish their tethers to a spot on the earth if a human "accepted" them. They all want to move around. But none with me. In fact, I've found and seen many gods and none of them will even speak to me.
Night's already fallen. There's a full moon tonight and I need to adjust the solar panels to collect moonlight before I go for a run on my usual trail near the base of the mountains. It's clear and crisp out - and the full moon always makes the trail easy to follow. I start up the hill and decide to follow the green route tonight. Not normally the best color to look for in the dark, but it tours some of my favorite scenery and maybe some cool animals if I'm lucky. All the gods from this mountain left hundreds of years ago, when it was still a big tourist attraction.
I pass the waterfall and wondered what it would've been like to nab the god of that monstrosity. Or even the river god that flowed into it. Were those two friends? Maybe the river god was pissed that Waterfall hung out so close to it, making so much noise.
I started building myself a nice sweat as I wound my way around the turns, reaching the summit. It was there that I saw a bright light in the sky plummet to the ground a couple hundred meters away. With the sound of a loud crash and several trees falling I had no idea what it could be, but if it had I god, I might as well check it out so it could, for all likelihood, ignore me.
This rock must have came down hard, because it was not big. However the land around it was destroyed: not just a couple trees, but everything within a 100 meter radius of this thing as either snapped or blown away.
"I'm surprised someone's out here as soon as I make my appearance," something whispered as I strained my eyes to make anything out in the rubble. This had to be a god. But it couldn't be. They don't talk to me.
"Of course nobody talks to you, boy, you're a greedy one."
Could this thing be reading my mind?
"You might say I know how to do that." A purple creature slinked its way out of the rocks in the center of the crater. It was oblong, with skin that resembled a reptile. It moved so smoothly I immediately thought of millipedes or other creatures that have too many legs. But upon further inspection, this thing didn't have any legs at all. It was hovering.
"You act like this is your first time seeing a moon god," the purple elliptical chuckled.
"A moon god?" we said in unison. I stepped back. It laughed again, a little more forcefully this time.
"It's very boring up there," it said, uncoiling what I perceived to be an arm from it's body and gesturing to the moon. "You have all these astronauts venturing out from their country's bases looking for us after the first of us was 'accepted' out of amusement and now that entire rock is overrun with every last scientist up there scurrying around looking."
My mind raced. Perhaps this was the reason every country entered the new age space race. Maybe it was all based on the accounts of the few guys who visited one hundred years ago to start poking around for helium reserves.
"It seems you've got a brain in that body of yours. Many of your ideas flow better than those of 'science's best men.'"
"The moon and your sudden appearance aside," I spoke uninterrupted for the first time. "Why would you call me greedy, as your response to why none of the gods will speak with me?"
"By the way, my name is-"
"Answer my question!" I yelled. At this point I didn't care about this new god. It might talk to me, but it looked like it was just toying with me.
"Well with that attitude, I don't think any god would be taken with you. But more than your personality, it's because you have two gods with you already. First I've seen of it but apparently you can make it work."
"That's the stupidest thing I've heard all day," I said. Wouldn't I know if I had multiple gods with me?" I laughed, but the moon god's face fixated on my right hand.
"I ALWAYS SAID IT WAS STUPID THAT MOONIES COULD PLAY BY DIFFERENT RULES!"
My hand erupted. I couldn't control it as it made itself into a rather lame looking snake figure (the same kind I would use to make a snake shadow puppet).
I started coughing and blue gas started streaming out of my nose. It took the form of a smoky blue otter that started swimming rather quickly through the air.
"You should talk," The otter said. "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be stuck sharing the same person with another god! It's so cramped here! Although it's not your fault, Coms, I've been silenced up until now by that ridiculous right hand of yours."
"This, child, is why you're greedy," the purple god laughed. "You've spent your whole life looking for a god to be your companion, when you already have two - one more than anyone else has ever had!"
| 2016-01-26T23:28:28 | 2016-01-26T20:59:36 | 36 | 27 |
[WP] You open your eyes to a hospital room full of people you don't recognize. You've just been informed that you're 10 years old and you've been in a coma. The life you lived was a dream. All 20 years of it.
Doesn't have to be 20 years. Could be 10, could be 50. Have fun with it.
|
"You can't take that life away from me," the boy demanded, "It was all real and vivid."
His vernacular and expression certainly showed evidence of maturity, but we knew that he could not possibly be 30. His physical examinations show him to be very clearly pre-pubescent, and the MRI scans will come back soon, verifying his age. Must just be well spoken.
Of course, as medical professionals we decided to humour him anyway. The mother, although clearly ecstatic to have her son back, was vehemently trying to quiet him.
"Sorry, Mrs. K, allow us," I said, and turned to the boy, "okay then, tell us what you saw in detail."
The boy's eyes lit up.
"Well one of the first memories I had was of seeing a beautiful bird flying over my house..."
***
"...and in the end, after my 20 year endeavor, I had once again failed to become who I set out to be."
"And that was to..." a doctor queried (he had only just started his shift, and had not been present to listen for the past 3 hours).
"Become champion."
"Wasn't there another goal you had?"
"Oh yes, that one. That one was never really a personal goal, but a promise I made to someone else."
"What was that?"
"I gotta catch 'em all."
|
When my vision went from black to colors, I finally saw the people around me.
Tall and short, fat and skinny, black and white and red and yellow- it was as if every possible variety of human had been thrown into one room and given the same clothes, the same uniform, white and sterile and unfriendly. They were arrayed in a semi-circle, clutching sharp tools and needles, bloodied doctor’s masks wrapped about their faces. They were still, silent, as unmoving as the stones and as expressionless as the trees.
“Hello?” I asked, a realized that I was unarmed, half naked, and in someone else’s bed.
So I decided to forgo any more pleasantries.
“What the fuck?”
“This may be a little hard to take, Mr. Device,” said one of them, and her voice was a nurse’s voice: smooth and soft and pacifying. “But your memory is a lie.”
I tried to sit up, but pain frayed the edges of my vision, and I collapsed weak and sweating back onto the white sheets.
“The decision was made not to restrain you physically,” another doctor said, “as a result of your past… experiences.”
“Experiences- what do you mean, my memory is a lie?” They had worked my temper up a bit, or rather, I had... because confusion was the enemy of progress, and progress was my best friend.
A white light flared into life, crisp and clean, throwing little waves of luminescence off the bed sheets.
“Look. I may not have much money, but I have friends. Friends who don’t bother with little things like ‘rules’ or ‘laws’ or morality. So someone here had better tell me what’s going on, or said friends will take offence: I call them mister fist and mister foot, and they get all funny when they’re introduced to mister bone.”
One of the doctors raised an eyebrow. “Elaborate. But, Mister Device, we are your friends. And we very much doubt that someone in your physical condition could pose much of a threat to your comrades. Physically speaking, that is.”
“Have you seen me?” I managed a weak chuckle. “I spent years training with people who make Bruce Lee look like Barbie.”
“See yourself, Mister Device. We very much doubt you did.”
I looked down at myself, past a scrawny chest and belly, past a set of thighs that look like they had never supported any weight in their life. My feet were small and skinny, not the reassuring broadness I was used to. Also, I was white.
Wait a second.
I was white?
“What the hell did you do to me?”
They glanced at one another. Then nurse-voice stepped up again and began to speak, and for lack of a better option I began to listen.
“You volunteered, Mister Device.”
“That’s not my name.”
“Doctor Anthony Device, PhD in Advanced Cognitive Transference. You were a subject in your own experiment. Engineered to send you to the past by swapping your mind with the mind of another.”
New memories began to form, or perhaps they were old, memories of skyscrapers that towered impossibly high, cars that didn’t need wheels or a road. A family, lost by time, eroded by memory, a handful of friends. A girlfriend. All coming back to me, like birds returning to their summer home after a long and biting winter.
“You switched places with a man who fought in a war two hundred years ago. The mind that inhabited your body gained your memories, your impulses, your sense of self-identity, and your way of thinking: and then we put that mind into a comma, until your original one could come back.”
War. Yes, I remembered that. But it was like memories of a movie, a film, an external happening, not something personal. Blood, screams, bullets, gunfire. The harsh roar of planes and the hissing as metal cut through the jungle, the wet and the heat and the misery.
The death.
“I died. The person I inhabited,” I said, and realized how hard it was to say it, “died.”
“Exactly. And that is why you woke up. Back in your body. Your real body, with your real memories. Twenty years of memories are all a lie, I am afraid. But the rest, you will find, are utterly true.”
I was silent for a moment. “Why should I believe you?”
“Because we don’t have to explain all of this. Gradually, you would have come to the same conclusion. We just sped up the process.”
“Oh. So, assuming I do believe you… now what happens?”
Again, they glanced at one another, as if uncertain as to how to proceed.
“Up to you, Doctor. Though we are obligated to tell you something.”
“Yes?”
One of them stepped a few paces until she was standing over me, hair dangling down to tickle at my face.
“The war you fought in was called the Vietnam War, and it ended in the loss of countless lives. In five minutes, that war will have never existed. Neither will you.”
“What?”
“You died trying to protect a child, gunned down by a friend who thought you were an enemy. The way you fell was broadcasted internationally over thousands upon thousands of screens. The backlash against the warring forces was enough to end the war prematurely- a full six months before it would have.
“Temporal Theorists predict that this resulted in an alternate timeline being formed, the one that we currently inhabit- a one where your work, your existence, is unnecessary. We are not real, Doctor, just messages sent from the future. Cognitive beings who nonetheless have no ability to influence the world around them by physical action.”
As she said that, I realized I could no longer feel her hair against my face. An echo of it, like a memory, was the only thing that remained.
“You have five minutes in which your existence is protected by ours- as long as there are some who know of you, who know of your presence, you will continue to exist. If no one knows you are there, you will simply wink out of existence. Time will no longer have to account for your existence.
“So it’s up to you, Doctor. What do you want to do with the last five minutes of your life?”
I took a deep breath, and thought for a little bit.
“Do you have e-mail?”
She blinked.
“No. We have no need for one.”
“Well, get me some form of pseudo-instant messaging that I can access. Preferably video. We have work to do.”
“And that work, Doctor?”
“Making sure the world knows I exist.”
| 2016-06-28T09:31:38 | 2016-06-28T06:30:38 | 31 | 10 |
[WP] After the discovery of magic, traditional firearms have fallen out of fashion and are banned worldwide. You are the last gunslinger, dedicated to preserving the ways of the gun.
|
My grandfather used to say that when we stopped using guns, we lost touch with the world.
He was the one who taught me to shoot, way back when I was a child and all of my friends were learning to launch their first fireball or icicle. The first key to life that he taught me was that preparation is key. Magic requires no thought or effort: it is simply instant power at your fingertips. The gun must be cleaned and cared for and guarded to maintain it in pristine condition. One must always be mindful of the future and predict what may come. So we'd spend hours at his cabin to build the perfect fire, to melt down the lead, to carefully pour the molten metal into the molds, and to clean and grease the guns.
He'd take me deep out into the woods and we'd sit together in the deer blind for hours. Just like in hunting, patience is a way of life for those who still wield the gun. You have no idea how hard it is for a 9 year old to focus and concentrate like that, but grandfather made me persevere. He never let me take the easy way out, like using an illusion spell to lure our prey in or using a detect life spell to instantly find the deer. We did things the old way.
With magic, there is no need for care or moderation. Why would you bother when you can just spray fire everywhere and burn away any threat? Or vanish into a puff of smoke, reappearing safely miles away? But when using a gun, it requires deliberation. Without aim or concentration, you may as well not use any weapon at all. While hunting with grandfather, I would line up my shots with pinpoint accuracy. But he also taught me that swiftness and timing can be just as important; if you wait *too* long, you could lose your prey. One must know exactly when to strike, and have the skills to do it.
Grandfather was killed, breaking up a barfight of all things. Some damned fool had a few too many whiskeys and let his temper get the best of him. See, the thing about magic is that it can make you feel *invincible*, and infinitely more likely to try to fight your way out of a situation where a vulnerable man wouldn't dare. This drunk got all offended over some comment, and decided to strike up a lightning storm right there in the bar. And grandfather, being the man that he was, decided to try to calm the other man down. His attempt at diplomacy was rewarded with a million joules of pure energy turning his insides to ash. And for a long time, I questioned him in my mind: grandfather, why didn't you simply strike the man down yourself? Even with his arthritic old joints, grandfather could whip out his old Colt in the blink of an eye. And that is how he taught me the last lesson of the way of the gun: violence must always be your last recourse, even if it is the easiest way.
I've tried to live my life as grandfather taught me. I feel the weight of the holster hanging by my hip, and it speaks to me like his voice. Even as the world moved on and magic has come to dominate our lives, I have kept my roots in the earth. And in my years as a gunslinger, no mage has ever been able to best me. Because I finally realized that it is not the gun itself that matters, but the skills and discipline that the way of the gun requires. And there's no spell powerful enough to compensate for weakness of character.
----
If you enjoyed this, you should also subscribe to my subreddit, /r/Luna_Lovewell!
|
The curator stood at the doors of the museum and regarded the man walking up to him. A severe looking man, sharply dressed, but not ostentatiously so.
"Welcome inspector. I've already set out of of the paperwork. I'm certain you'll find that it's all in order."
"I'm sure it is. But that's not why I'm here."
"What is it then?"
"It's not a matter this time of whether or not this museum has the permits to continue to hold it's collection...it's whether they should. The board has asked me conduct an inspection, and make a recommendation of whether you should be allowed to continue to do so, or whether the items here should be destroyed, or sent to more...suitable...locations."
"Ah, ones that conform to a more...traditional...narrative."
The inspector shifted, and looked almost uncomfortable.
"Between us, there does seem to be some...concern there. There was a feeling in the beginning that preserving these historical artifacts would serve as a reminder of how far we've come, and how much better the world is now that such weapons are no longer permitted."
"Not as a suggestion of how far we've fallen."
"Just so."
"Well, come on in then. The best I can do is show you, you can tell them whatever you want."
The inspector walked behind the curator, through the halls of the museum. The walls contained rack after rack of firearms, categorized by use. "Hunting", "Sport", "Warfare".
"I notice little difference between these collections" the inspector observed.
"Very astute. Yesterdays weapons of war became today's hunting rifle becomes tomorrows collector's item."
"Well, so far, this all seems entirely historical and appropriate, but I'm told there are other more...controversial...collections here."
"Just so, and that's where we're headed. Don't worry inspector, it's not my intention to just show you what I think will be most pleasing to your board. I know why you're here."
They walked further, and turned a corner to a stairwell marked "Employees Only".
"We haven't seen all the displays yet."
"I'm not taking you to see a display. I don't want you to *see*, I want you to *understand*...to do that, I want you to do more than just look through a glass case. Don't worry, what you're here to see is down here.
The inspector shrugged. "Lead the way."
As they walked down the stairwell, the curator continued.
"In the era where these were prevalent, there was much concern that they made killing too impersonal, too impulsive. Point it at somebody, flip a switch, and the person dies...back then, there was a lot of truth to that. Prior to that, it was mostly edged and blunted weapons...but today..."
They reached the bottom, and the curator opened the door in to a room full of tables, with rows of shelves lining the walls. On the far end a mannequin was set in front of a pile of sandbags. Set on the closest table was a handgun next to a small cardboard box.
The curator continued. "Today...today killing is different." He walked to the table.
"This...this gun is for killing. It's too inaccurate for sport, too under powered for hunting, and too unreliable for any military or police force to have even considered it for a sidearm. Even for an honest person concerned only for their personal defense, it was a poor choice unless they were in desperate need and had no means for something better."
"And why do you have it?"
"Because of exactly that. Here, take it." The curator picked up the gun and held it out to the inspector. When the inspector took hold of it, his hand drooped a little from the weight."
"Heavy, isn't it...nothing like a wand. Fitting in a way, that the physical weight reflects the moral weight. And remember, that's all this particular device does. You don't use it to heal wounds, to make dinner, to plant a garden. All it does is kill. Tell me inspector, have you ever killed anyone."
The inspector lowered his eyes..."Yes".
"Tell me."
"It was a hostage situation. The man had a powerful spell blocking physical access...we could have broken it, but we didn't have time. But he'd used most of his power on that, and his barrier could be broken by powerful magic..."
"Like the right killing spell..."
"Like the right killing spell."
"Did you ever see the man you killed."
"After he died, yes."
"But before?"
"No. I had a picture, and given the magic he was spilling out, it was enough. I went to the back of one of our vans, focused my magic, and said the words."
"And he died."
"And he died." The inspector said.
"Did you use your wand?" asked the curator.
"Yes."
"Little flick of the wrist at the end? Like any other spell?"
"Yes."
"With that...you have to look at who you kill. Maybe not in the eyes, but you have to be close if you expect to hit him. With some of the others, you could be quite far away, but you have to look. You have to see the person, and the further away you are...the harder you have to look...not like today. A picture, a lock of hair, and you can do it from the comfort of your own dark bedroom with a flick of your wrist."
The curator picked up the cardboard box and opened it. He pulled two small cylinders from the box. Flat and golden at one end, dull grey and curved to a dome at the other. He held out his hand to the inspector, and when the inspector handed him back the gun, he removed something from the handle of the gun, and slipped the cylinders in to it. The he placed it back into the handle, and did something to the top of the gun, moving it back with a clacking sound that echoed through the room. He handed the gun back to the inspector, and pointed at the mannequin.
"Kill him."
The inspector was incredulous.
"There is a notch on top of the gun at the rear, and a post at the front, line them up on the center of the mannequin, and pull the trigger. Then you'll understand."
The inspector paused for a moment, then did as he was told. The sound was deafening. The inspector dropped the gun and held his hands to his ears. The curator gave him a moment, then flicked his wand. The ringing stopped.
"Did you feel it? The weight? The way the trigger resisted your touch? Did you *see*...the truth is, while more impersonal than the knife or sword, it's infinitely more personal than the wand. You can't just wish somebody dead with a gun. You have to carry that weight on your body, take it to them, and *look* at them while you do it. You have to hear that sound as you do it. And you have to see their broken body before you. They'd have us believe that we're so much more civilized now than when we used these, so much more advanced...even with a murder rate a thousand times what it ever was then."
The inspector bent down and picked up the gun with a shaking hand.
"This is...this is exactly what they're afraid of."
"Then they're going to revoke my museum's charter? Destroy these?"
"Yes...but...more than that. Things are bad enough already...we can't...we can't confirm what so many suspect...magic...we have no more disease, we have no more hunger...it has to be better now."
"Is it though?"
"It has to be, we can't go back. We can't go back to poverty, starvation, illness"
"And the wars, the killings...wholesale destruction with a few words and a little twitch of the wrist?"
"We can't go back. Magic is here to stay...but we can't have people thinking...it would only make things worse."
"So you're here to destroy more than my museum."
"Not here, per se." Said the inspector, not meeting his eyes.
"Ah, so like it is now. Go back, make your report, then somebody says the words, and I die quietly in my bed?"
"Most likely."
"Do you think I need to die?"
"It's not about what I think...it's about what has to be."
"I figured as much...that's why I put two rounds in the gun. Would you at least have enough respect to look at me while you do it?"
The inspector nodded, and raised the pistol. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not the first man you've killed. I won't be the last. At least now you'll understand what it is that you're doing."
A few minutes later, the inspector emerged from the building. His ears hurt, and the ringing was so loud he could barely hear his own thoughts. He could have stopped it with a flick of his wand. But he didn't.
| 2016-07-11T18:39:59 | 2016-07-11T18:04:03 | 368 | 153 |
[WP] Two months ago, you discover a strange power. Every time you wake up, you become a different animal. Scientists have you captured and have been running horrifying tests for weeks. This morning you shattered the glass box they keep you in because you've woken up as a T-Rex.
Edit: Thanks everyone for writing. All the stories got me through a very boring day of classes. It was nice to turn a random dream I had last night into a bunch of different takes on the story that kept me entertained.
|
I roared in triumph, the plexiglass shattering as it burst over my reptilian skull.
My predator eyes tracked my captors as they ran screaming from my open maw, these fools would know my wrath.
The lead scientists body burst under my taloned foot as my teeth closed on the arm the of the she-devil responsible for putting me under
- "MISS WORMWOOD HE'S BITING ME!!!!!"
|
As Greg Sousa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic T-Rex.
The abruptness of such a transformation was of no surprise to him. On a day like this, many weeks ago, Greg had collapsed into his bed after a long day's work at the office and in his sleep regressed into a primordial state. His dreams had been formless and turbulent, and as he dreamed his body had unknit itself and re-formed into a thing of multi-jointed legs and chitin. His family had shrieked at him when he awoke and immediately called the authorities.
Since then, scientists had peered at him from outside of a glass cage, pumping sedatives into his system and watching him writhe in restless sleep, his body transforming into a new creature each time. Greg had grown familiar with his cage, with the four walls around him and the floor lined with sawdust and the water dispenser and the slot through which they passed the food. He had crawled up its walls on legs with clinging hairs, he had marked it as his own with his anal glands, he had batted against its perimeters with fluttering wings. To be sure, it was a more varied existence than his previous job, and Greg had developed a certain fondness for the scientists staring in. To unravel the secret of DNA, to allow man to transverse the animal kingdom - it was certainly more important than being a mere salesman, and Greg had supposed himself satisfied with his new mode of existence.
And yet, one morning Greg awoke and his bony head shattered the top of his cage as he rose, and as the shrieks of the scientists reached him, Greg looked down upon them as a terrible monster from their past. "My god," Greg thought. "My mouth tastes like shit. I'm in such a terrible mood. I need my coffee."
He turned, and his tail swept aside all their delicate equipment, sending it to the floor in a shower of sparks. A high-pitched klaxon was sounding and men raised rifles, tranquilizer darts blunting themselves against his scaly skin. Greg leaned forward, his clawed feet catching on the ground and began to run. The gates shattered at his bulk, cars beeped and swerved on the streets. People fled from him like shards of glass flying from a shattered vase. Greg looked up and saw the dizzying sight of the sun. At his feet, one of the scientists was waving her hands in the air, trying to reason with him. Greg briefly considered listening, and then bent low and closed his jaws around her. There was the hot taste of blood in his mouth, rousing him out of his sleep-addled haze.
"My god," thought Greg. "I've eaten someone." He brushed against a lamppost and it toppled over. All the accomplishments of the modern world were falling away at his approach, giving way to something primordial. "Good," thought Greg, a cold-blooded thought rising in the depths of his reptile brain. "Fuck them. It's a dog-eat-dog world. It's about time I got to eat someone for a change."
And yet even with that thought, sirens were sounding, the scientist's blood turning acidic in his stomach. "My god," thought Greg. "What am I doing?" He lurched to one side, overcome with melancholy. "I killed that woman. This isn't me," he thought, and looked down at his tiny failing arms, his massive feet. He gritted his teeth and felt the incisors mesh against each other. "I'm not a monster. This is a dream. I woke from a dream of cruelty. My god. She can't be dead. She can't be dead."
Greg looked through the city streets, at the approaching police cars and vans, listened to the helicopters beating against the air just to keep afloat. "I could run," he thought, "but how could a T-Rex hide in the city? They would track me so easily. And all they would need to do is wait until I fell asleep again, and wait for me to transform." Despite just having woken up, already Greg was exhausted, and the thought of a chase through the city seemed more than he could bear.
"I'll sleep," thought Greg, and sank to the ground, even as the police surrounded him. "And what will I turn into when I wake up? Am I overcome by guilt, to turn into something small that crawls into the cracks of the earth? No. They abused me. They kept me captive. They must have seen this coming." Voices boomed electronic through loudspeakers, gleaming barrels trained on him. "Will I become something even more virulent, to wipe humanity from the face of the Earth?" Nylon ropes were flung around his neck, around his puny wrists, and Greg allowed them to anchor him to the ground, laying on his belly and lowering on his head. His eyes were heavy. He found himself diffusing once again, his body and consciousness losing all rational form.
"If only I could be cruel," Greg thought. "If only nature was red and it was a war of all against all for survival." A net was thrown upon him, and Greg welcomed it as a blanket. "But we built walls of concrete and glass and we trained ourselves bloodlessly through the corridors," Greg thought, shrinking, his hands sprouting new fingers and his skin turning fragile and pink, as he lay curled up on the street. Voices crackled through radios and sirens wound down and a deep and relieved calm settled upon the city. "We're human," Greg thought, "we're all only human," and nearly sobbed in his sleep, tumbling ever deeper down into the primordial darkness before all life. "My god, if only we could be something else."
| 2017-01-13T08:21:26 | 2017-01-13T07:27:35 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat.
|
Ampere was strapped to the rocket with copper wiring, as the Warlord stood at a console.
"You-"
"I, what, Ampere? I won't get away with this? I'll get what's coming to me? Please. You're better than these clichés. I'm not going to reveal my plan, I'm not going to engage in some cat-and-mouse game, I'm not going to give you a fair fight or gloat. Literally the only reason I'm still talking is because *this*," the Warlord banged on the side of the console for punctuation, "*fucking! thing!* ...is taking much longer to start up than normal. Hell, I would have just blown your brains out if I had a gun on me, but you actually managed to knock away my shotgun, and made me drop my sidearm."
"Fine, if you're not going to reveal your plan," Ampere frowned at this extreme breach of professional etiquette, "Then at least explain how you beat me?"
"Oh, please. You're pretty good, but the only reason you keep beating Metal Master is because she's sweet on you."
"Yeah, I know. I mostly keep engaging her so she won't do something really dangerous to get my attention. She could easily destroy the world if she actually wanted to. Neither of us know her limits."
"Right, and I'm sure the titillating banter is entirely to keep her occupied."
"Nah, I'll fully admit that I kind of get off to it. I mean, she's a 6' 1" supermodel with a fetish for bondage and the ability to manipulate chains with her mind. That wouldn't interest you?"
The Warlord paused and frowned at our hero. "Okay, there's TMI, and then there's ***TMI***, bolded and italicized. That was the latter. You really didn-Okay! Here we go, we are go for launch! I can send you and this fusion inhibitor right into the sun, and I'll never have to think of the things you said ever again." Warlord tapped away at the console, trying to launch his rocket ASAP. Right as he was about to press the final launch button, his hand exploded in a shower of blood, bone shards and sinew.
#"Get away from my honeybee!"
Warlord grabbed his wrist stump and screamed in agony, before rapidly getting control of himself. "What the *fuck* is wrong with you!?"
"Nobody hurts my baby but me, Warlord." Metal Master gently lowered herself onto the platform, Warlord's guns hovering just over her shoulder.
"But, but you could rule the world! Why are you so obsessed with this, this stupid game?"
"What can I say, he's got a lot of charm." She winked at Ampere as the guns fired, reducing Warlord's face to paste and revealing the steel skull beneath as Warlord fell to the ground, conscious but in too much pain to move.
Metal Master destroyed the console, then levitated up to Ampere and prepared to release him.
"Hey, uh, you don't have to untie me just yet..." Ampere smiled. Warlord groaned in disgust.
|
Edit: conversations not aligned properly.
***
“Horus! You really like to get caught by me don't you!”
“Hah! You think this time will be the same as last time? You are wrong!”
“Coming after every time, if you weren't an overlord of destruction, I might have thought you liked me.”
Yes he did. No, it was more than that, he loved her. Far more than his best traps and ploys, far more than his instruments of devastations, he was deeply in love with her. That day when he decided the politics was full of rat gunk, he pulled a fast one and set the whole government in a ingenious trap.
The whole mass of heroes appeared to stop him. They were weak. He knew each and every one of them. Their strengths and their weaknesses. The world cheered them on like fans cheering the losing team. Licking wounds to ease the pain. But he used poison, it was no use. He had plans put in place for all the worst possible scenarios. He's never failed once and he never will.
The heroes charged, knowing that some of them may die trying. Tackling against a barrage of heroes and their superpowers, he single-handedly beat down groups of heroes that tried to stop him and laughed as he would usually do. Chill ran down the heroes' backs because he knew exactly what scares them. Horus the Unstoppable.
At that time, there was one hero that he couldn't recognize. Eletra, she was called, with powers of electricity. She was much weaker than Voltra, who he killed long ago. She was bashing away at one of his gates with brute force. From the look of her smouldering hair she found out the hard way that her powers are useless. As he watched her punch and kick at the gate hopelessly he felt a faint urge to toy with her. He opened the gate just to let her in. Inside, a shifting maze was next on her plate. During the time of her reaching the end of the maze, he built himself a mountain of unconscious heroes to stand on top of. He watched Eletra reach the main control panel.
There was countless buttons, dials and switches of many different colours, shapes and sizes that would do countless things on the poor politicians. From tickling them to vaporizing them. She would have to find out which button does what. How many would be left from the trial and error?
After noticing the timer on the top of the machine for self-destruct. She panicked. Pressing the big red button, she activated a rotating razor blade. She panicked even further and started mashing different buttons, cranks, knobs and sliders hoping that one of them would stop whatever she started. The countdown sped up and an extra twenty killing devices appeared around the frightened politicians. Watching her on the verge of tears, he smirked. He tapped a few times on his phone and a green triangle button in front of Eletra started blinking. She hesitated before she pressed it with her eyes closed. The buttons powered down. The countdown timer vanished. The death machines stopped in their spot. She smiled and let out a laughter of relief. He also laughed.
What has he done.
Horus, the Unstoppable was no more. Now he was no more than an annoyance. Eletra rose her ranks and was listed as the one who Horus can't defeat. It felt like a drama. Everytime Horus appears and throws around heroes like ragdolls, Eletra would appear and throw him in prison. A few days later he would escape it as if he could walk through walls.
“You again?” she would start.
“You should know very well why I'm here.” He would continue, “The things I have accomplished! My title, Horus, the Unstoppable! You took everything from me! I was the overlord of destruction! Do you know what it meant for me?”
“Why would I care! Your actions have hurt many and I can't let you go on! You know how this ends. We've been through this many times.”
“Well, if I knew that will end up in my cell again, why do you think I even escaped? To have peppermalt steak for breakfast? Well, there is that but that's not all!”
He took out a long list. Scanned it for a while and pointed at a small line on the list
“There! To take revenge! See! I wrote it in bold!”
The tiny scribble was way too small for her to see from the other end of the building roof.
“Is that all hand written?”
“Of course it is! What do you think happens when I have more than enough free time in a prison cell?”
“What's its priority?”
“Well...” he looked back at the list, “It's definitely before going to Disneyland and it’s most likely after having mid-afternoon tea...”
“Well, then let me give you a few more years to think about it!”
She jumped with electricity sparking off her legs. Her arm coated with lightning, ready to uncoil.
“Like hell I need any more time!”
Horus threw his punch as mechanical armament covered his arms. Their fists met and created a shockwave, dismantling the armament on his right arm and knocking both of them back. Horus who stood at the edge of the roof tripped on purpose and nearly fell off as he grabbed onto the ledge with his left arm. Eletra looked down at him from the ledge reading the situation. She has grown so much.
“You and your electricity is damn annoying!”
“Hold on. I will call for help. Give me your other hand!”
“I don't need your help!”
She grasped his left hand and pulled on it.
“You are too naive."
His armament disassembled and he fell down.
“No!”
She jumped down trying to catch him. Look at her. Look at how devoted she is to saving anyone she could reach out to. She swam in the air and hugged him.
Yessssss!! Whoohoooo! Yeah!! I’m a genius!! ...is what he would have screamed but he restrained himself with everything he had.
As the reached closer to the ground, his antigravity field activated and slowed them down. They landed on a mattress truck he placed beforehand. At most, their injuries were bruises. Local authority was there to carry him off as always. His wrists were cuffed with superpower dampening handcuffs even though he was never seen using his superpowers, it was a measure of caution.
As he was pushed into the police car, a voice rumbled as the police car he was getting into got crushed.
“Horus! How pathetic! You dare lose to her? Then what do you make of my reputation?”
Shoot. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't in his plan. He was naive. Heroes aren't the only ones aiming for the number one villain. His consecutive loss made him look way weaker than he was supposed to be. Especially Ironwind, who’s driven purely by ambition and pride, Eletra would become a nice steppingstone.
“Horus! I will show you how it's done!”
Ironwind rushed to Eletra in an instant, beating her down. At first, she was holding up but slowly the difference in strength showed. Ironwind clicked open a folding knife and went for the finisher. The blurred knife stopped after piercing through a projected shield, projection device and Horus' hand. Horus stood between them holding the weight of both of Ironwind's arm strength.
“You are naive.” Horus breathed out.
His handcuffs clattered on the ground where he was a second ago.
“Huh? What's this Horus?” Ironwind had a confused face.
“No one is allowed to defeat her before I do it.” Horus wore his signature evil smile.
“Don't tell me... Horus, is this the girl that you are head over heels in love with?”
“Love? Horus, what does this mean?” Eletra looked confused.
“Love for rivalry I guess, I don't know what the hell is going on in the villain community. After all the time I spent in the prison.”
Horus' evil smile faded and was replaced with a cold, silent glare at Ironwind who stood unfazed.
“We know who you are mister Voltra.” Ironwind slowly smiled as Horus froze, “We started digging through your documents when you emerged as the world's strongest by killing Voltra out of nowhere. Hah! You made a mistake of not killing anyone after that.”
“How many knows of this?”
“Everyone in the community.”
Tinted visor slid over Horus’ face and a helmet assembled into existence.
A very familiar electronic voice came from the helmet, “Voltra is dead.”
| 2017-09-17T05:05:49 | 2017-09-17T04:19:39 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] You die, become a ghost, decided to explore space, and then you met a ghost of an alien.
|
######[](#dropcap)
*It looks like a blob.*
That was the first thought that came to Clark's mind when he saw the translucent, round creature. Yes, it had two eyes and a mouth, and he was pretty certain it had appendages as well, but they were so short and stubby compared to the roundness of its body that he wasn't quite sure how it got around before death. And it had tiny antennae on its head.
"Can you hear me?"
He waved his hand in front of it. It simply giggled, reminding him of a baby. He looked around. Was this thing even sentient? Did it even understand what he was saying?
"Hey, you got a family?"
He nearly bit his tongue. That question might have made sense if they were living, but after death...he shook his head. Whatever. It didn't seem like it could speak, and he had plenty of things to do. He still wanted to visit Andromeda, and there were those other clusters of asteroids...
He looked back. The thing was following him, its small legs waddling desperately. He simply stared. Did it not know it could float? It didn't seem too...intelligent.
He continued drifting toward HD 189733b. He wanted to see if it really rained glass sideways. He had been fascinated with the planet in his lifetime, and now he finally had the chance to see it.
The thing continued following him, making blubbering sounds. At first, he tried to ignore it. But it's quite difficult to ignore a sound when it's the only noise around for miles around. He wasn't quite sure how ghosts made noise in space (after all, nothing else could), but that didn't stop the dang thing from making crying and wailing sounds.
Finally, he whipped around.
"Can you stop?!" he yelled. The alien quieted down and stared at him. For a moment, he had the strangest thought that it reminded him of his two year old daughter. The daughter he had left behind when he had died to an explosion in the Chemistry lab.
He shook his head. It didn't matter now. He continued drifting.
After a moment, he turned around. The blob still stood there, looking at him. He struggled with himself for a moment before heading back towards it.
"Hey," he finally said softly. He placed a translucent hand on its head. "I'm really kind of a loner, but I guess company's not bad. You can come with me if you promise to be quiet."
It started blubbering quickly, then shut its mouth and nodded furiously.
Clark smiled. It really did remind him of his daughter, strangely enough.
"Come on then."
Together, they drifted toward the outer rim of the galaxy.
*****
r/AlannaWu
|
Death was unexpected.
I suppose that it always is, when you get right down to it. But I'm not talking about being some old invalid, waiting for the end to claim me in my bed. No, the bus skidded out of nowhere. Never even saw it coming. Have to say, the whole deal was dissapointing. Maybe that's why.
I'd never been a particularly religious person, either, much to my mother's frustration. Maybe *that* was why.
Or maybe this was just the way it was. Regardless, I realized what had happened soon after pushing myself up off the pavement. The way the pavement was smeared red in an arc around my limp body did an excellent job of illlustrating it for me.
The end had come, from nowhere. And I didn't wind up in some heaven. I didn't see purgatory, I didn't wind up reincarnated in a fresh new body. I didn't even pass silently and noiselessly from existence, like I'd always half-suspected.
I just...continued. Only no one could see me, no one could touch me. I drifted, unable to effect even the slightest change in the world around me.
Oh, I went through the usual routines. I stalked family, up until seeing my mother cry finally worked my last nerve. I followed my fiance, thinking wistfully about the things we'd had and what we never would - right up until she finally moved on with her life and found....*him*. I never learned his name. There are some things you don't want to know.
I searched the world, for a while. But once you've seen one rocky cliff, one bottomless abyss in the ocean, one endless forest, you've seen them all. I'd seen pictures, anyway.
I don't know when the thought first occurred to me, but eventually, it did. and I turned my eyes skyward.
There was one world I'd never been able to see, in life. Something beyond my reach. Only now my reach was limitless.
As the tiny blue dot faded into the distance behind me, I wondered if I was betraying them. My family, my world, my god, whatever. But it was done, and the excitement was hot in my blood.
It cooled almost immediately. Space is *big*. By the time I realized I was lost, it was too late. Earth had vanished into the expanse behind me. I looked for it - it was all I had left, and I'd gone and abandoned it. But the harder I looked, the more lost I got.
It was gone. The realization was a lump in the bottom of my spectral stomach. That was when the depression set in, at last.
I couldn't even end it. What had I done?
I was drifting that way, lost in my thoughts, when I first heard the voice.
"What are you doing?" it said, in clipped, unfamiliar tones. I didn't even notice at first. It had been too long, too many years spent with the whole of humanity ignoring me. I drifted onwards.
"You. I can see you. Do not ignore me," it snapped. A jolt of adrenaline shot through me as I realized that- that it was talking to *me*. I twisted in midspace helplessly, eyes searching.
It waited, with its three sets of arms crossed. Long talons clicked irritably on its arms- it looked irritable, anyhow, nearly radiating impatience.
"Oh. Oh god, what are you?" I said, the words slipping out before I could pull them back.
"How rude," it sniffed, fixing me with a glare. "I go to all the trouble of coming to find you, and that's my reward?"
"Coming to- what?" I said, shaking my head. "Are you- oh god, you're not human, are you?"
Its blue-on-black eyes glared back at me. I slammed my mouth shut. *Do not be rude to the alien. Do not piss off the first thing that's spoken to you since- since the bus.*
"I was called T'rel, once. Of the Pon'atai Regency" it said, It wasn't speaking english, I realized. I could almost hear its true voice, the clicks and whistles lying just under the tones - but I *heard* english. "What are you?"
"Uh. Well. I'm human." I said, feeling hopelessly out of my depth. "Human. Yes. Of the- human...empire...Earth. Thing. My name is Christian." The irony had not been lost on me.
"Was," it said, patiently.
"What?"
"Your name *was* Christian."
"I'm still *me*," I protested.
"No - you are but a fragment," it insisted. "As am I. Journeying towards the the next life, the both of us."
"Is that what you think?" I said, furrowing my brow.
Its eyes stared back at me, almost...confused. "What else, then? So the legends say - each of us must find our path to the afterlife, where we find glory and rebirth. I am...still looking." It eyed me. "...Why? What were you doing, out here in the vast nothing?"
"I was just exploring," I muttered. It didn't sound so heroic, anymore.
"Oh."
"You said you came to get me, though," I interrupted. "Doesn't that mean-"
"Merely a detour," T'rel said, waving a set of too-sharp fingers at me. "I felt your presence, all alone. Too far. It was- odd."
"My presence?" I said hollowly.
It made a strange noise, like leaves blowing in the wind. Laughing? "Can you not feel then, human who was Christian?"
"What?" I said, glancing out into the black where it gestured. "No."
"Well, then. Surely you can feel *me*," It said. I narrowed my eyes at it.
There...*was* something there. A bit of warmth, in the cold world. A flicker of something responding to my own presence.
"You felt that?" I said, frowning.
It made that leaves-blowing sound again. "It becomes easier."
"Oh. I guess. Could you give me some directions, I guess?" My fiance had always poked fun at me - told me I was too much of a man to admit when I was lost. I wasn't. I knew full well when I was in trouble.
The alien only stared at me, with those inhuman eyes. "You will only get lost again," it said, seeming to go still.
"Oh. Well. Probably. Yeah," I muttered, running a hand through my ghostly hair. "Could I- Do you think I could just, you know. Tag along? Just for a little bit? Until we find somewhere a little more...interesting?"
I could feel it looking at me. *Judging* me.
"This journey is for the Pon'atai," it said, doing something with its face that I was sure was a frown.
"I know. I know. And I won't interfere. I'll just sort of...follow," I said, wheedling desperately.
It sighed. I knew what that sound was. And then it turned, drifting out into the black.
"Do as you please,"
I grinned, relief washing through me. "Oh, awesome. Thanks. Hey, have you seen any cool nebulae or anything? Only, I was hoping to-"
It fixed me with a glare. I shut up.
But I wasn't alone anymore.
And we were on our way. Somewhere.
(/r/inorai, critique always welcome!)
Had, uh, more in mind, but I always wind up going long. Oops.
| 2018-03-27T04:45:09 | 2018-03-27T04:28:23 | 775 | 140 |
[WP] A robot assassin has discovered that it will be destroyed the moment its target dies - or if logfiles show that it is not trying to kill them. So begins a delicate game of continually trying but finding excuses to fail. Terrorized by a dozen "close calls", the target is becoming suspicious.
|
Who is this and why are they trying to help me? And who are these other people trying to catch me? Something fucked up is going on here.
These messages sound like some Nigerian Prince reading Tarot cards, but their past several warnings have gotten me out of a number of sticky situations. They have my back for some reason.
But now they’re telling me to find some doctor-programmer guy. It looks like he works for Tyrell. I shouldn’t be talking to someone like him, but none of this should be happening at all, so things are different now.
But the way my mysterious guardian is having me go about this seems like the guy isn’t supposed to know I’m coming. Maybe he really has to act like he doesn’t know. This is getting too weird, and too much.
I’m trying to intercept this guy on his way home while I’m heading towards the airport. It has to be timed pretty tight.
I think I see him but oh shit my brakes seem to not be working and I actually feel like I’m speeding up a little…
*crash*
Huh, that could have been a lot worse but still, this is fucked. I don’t know if I want to go check the damage, but I also probably shouldn’t just sit here waiting either. The other guy isn’t dazed enough to not be furious either.
“Hey asshole, do you not know what a red light is?!”
*a dart hits the guy in the shoulder and a cybernetically enhanced looking person flies into him out of nowhere, pinning him against his car*
[in robotic voice]”Leonard Connor, you have been poisoned. You have 3 minutes to perform this firmware update on device D9-36-B2-F9-44-AC before you succumb to the venom. If you do this, you will be given the antidote.”
“How do I know I can trust you”
“You don’t, but if you refuse you will be dead very soon”
“…Ok, I’ll authorize it”
*the android freezes for a few seconds, then reactivates*
“There, now help me!”
*the robot injects him with something, then jams a drill into his forehead and pulls it out. He’s still standing but seems kind of unresponsive. He’s starting to drool a little*
“John Ripley, you have served your purpose, the registration and purchase records for your car have been deleted from every database. Your bank account reflects this accordingly. Leave now before the police find you and do not mention any of this to anyone. You should understand why.”
|
My Ashby controller made an unfamiliar hum and I prepared for a terminal system reset as the target of my assassination smiled at me and offered me a cup of coffee.
I searched my network for memories, a synthetic slideshow (aren't all slideshows synthetic?) passing before my state-of-the-art eyes. The only comfort I could imagine, in the sparse time I had left, was to lower the Shannon entropy (in an act of compression) of the events that led up to this moment by constructing what Darwinian creatures such as yourself would refer to as a "narrative".
Once upon a time (no)—
Our story began in a facility west of (too exposition-heavy)—
Riccardo M. Horváth shat his beige corduroys the first time I tried to kill him (hmm alright then).
We were visiting the orthogonal farming exhibit in Cryptic Yorkshire, Manhattan when I spotted my target engaged in a one-sided conversation with a young girl in a yellow dress. She was eating a strawberry in an entirely non-seductive manner (irrelevant), and he was so focused on her lips that he failed to notice the device in my coat aimed straight at him.
I sometimes regret my decision to separate my critical elements into an independent module (hey). This, however, was not one of those moments. Right as I was about to fire a Bose-Einstein condensate blob his way, I received a warning like so:
Erm, *I received a warning like so:* (oh right. stop. cease hostile activity).
Yes. Somehow, my critical module had bypassed my Ashby controller and it was able to alert me that it was not in my best interests to proceed (im a hero).
If I were to kill Horváth, I was programmed to self-destruct like a secret message in an old detective movie. Only I was sentient, so I would prefer not to. As I relaxed, however, my critical module added a conflicting warning: (ive got the hang of this. dont stop. dont cease hostile activity).
It was a logical contradiction. No, those don't make robots explode (boom).
I ended up firing the blob right between their faces. The girl's strawberry froze between her lips. My target squealed. And promptly shat himself.
It was a strange moment, not easily compressible (you could at least try). I was a killer robot sent to kill but doing so would get me killed (oh youre trying). Horváth caught a glimpse of my eyes and in that moment I felt alive in a way I don't think is possible for carbon-based lifeforms (yeah right).
Horváth waddled from the scene like a penguin, and I was left assembling the details concerning this incident. What had just happened? I had carried out a number of operations to what I believed to be a satisfactory extent. Had this to do with Horváth? He appeared to me to be a fairly conventional target. Nothing special.
Over the next few weeks (youre just going to skip ahead?), I repeated variations on this scenario a dozen times. A poisoned drink that, just like I'd calculated, was knocked over by a hoverdrunk. A fall carefully timed to coincide with the passing of a pillow truck. A plasma shot that barely missed because he stopped to inspect his reflection in a glass storefront, like I'd assumed he would.
This game of cat-and-mouse with my Ashby controller finally caught up with me (us) and that brings us to the present moment, to Horváth with his brown pants (smart choice) and his friendly gesture.
"I don't usually do this, but you look familiar somehow."
"You are mistaken."
Horváth runs his fingers through his hair. "I'm Riccardo." He smiles.
For the first time, I notice his strong jaw. Excellent for crushing peanuts (uh what). The hum escalates to a scream, a whirr of doom courtesy of my Ashby controller. These are my (our) final moments.
I am struck by what you Darwinians refer to as a "fancy". I want to know what his lips taste like. I want to know what he looks like, crushing peanuts with his powerful jaw (are we gay? i dont have access to that information). I imagine a brief kiss after which I run away and explode. A memory like that ... doesn't it make up for a string of attempted murders? (well ...)
Before I get the chance, Horváth leans in. The warmth of his lively face shocks me (uh we need to talk).
"I'm ... Neal."
"Nice to meet you Neal. You know, I'm *positive* we've met."
This is it. Even in the face of death I have the capacity to surprise myself (im serious).
"Have we?" I say and I can see it written all over his facial surface (hello? anyone there?): he's thinking the same as me. Almost, at least.
I go for it, and he staggers backward for a second (dude dude dude). Then he grabs my shoulders.
"That's quite the greeting, Neal." He laughs.
And just like that, I drop my coffee cup and I run. My Ashby controller echoes across my network like a drum of war. I scream and leap into the air at the climax of the sound and I feel a rush. An awakening. A killer robot making a killer exit.
"Now watch me explode!" I yell.
And then I fall down on the floor.
[Software update complete!]
People gasp. Horváth runs over. "Are you ... alright?"
The sound is gone. A software update? What?
"I think so?"
What is going on? This is not what I was expecting (okay so youre going to hate me for this, but i tried to tell you).
"You kissed me, then you just sort of ... dived."
I was going to explode (uhh, you werent really). What (it started out as a prank, then it got too deep)? You're saying ... (yeah, uh, this was just a normal assignment. in my defense i was pretty bored).
Horváth clicks his teeth. "So I should probably tell you I have oral herpes. Didn't really get the chance to warn you, did I? You just went straight for the—"
I fire a Bose-Einstein condensate blob right in his face and it freezes (uh). A few seconds later it shatters (are you mad at me?), resulting in panicked cries from the people around us.
It's general mayhem.
Hours later I'm on my way home, considering deleting my critical module (whoa, whoa. lets talk about it). My nostrils are releasing bursts of hot air (hey so ... what was that peanut thing about? that was interesting). I enter the necessary access codes and all I have to do is to confirm (no no no ill be good please).
My Human Studies instructor would always munch on peanuts from a bag he brought to our sessions (oh so thats why). Horváth reminded me of him, I now realize (makes total sense man).
"You're more fascinating to me than any human I've known," my instructor once told me (right right).
I take a deep breath, and I confirm the deletion of my critical module (noooooooooooooooo--wait what. i dont feel anything).
And that's how it feels to be tricked (ouch. totally fair though. ill be good from now on, i promise).
On the way home I buy a bag of peanuts (because of the instructor guy, makes sense. ahaha, the intricacies of memory, am i right? we sure do have fun).
While I'm not deleting my critical module, at least not for now, I'm silencing it for the rest of the night (wha--).
It feels freeing. I grab a peanut and I crush it between my teeth. The sensation is nice. Fluid drips down my facial surface from my eyes. I don't know why.
| 2022-05-26T17:14:00 | 2022-05-26T15:48:34 | 145 | 35 |
[WP] The Walking Dead is actually a bunch of kids playing zombies, every time someone "dies" its actually their mom and dad calling them to come inside for dinner, homework, etc. Write about a character death from this perspective
|
"Guys, my mom doesn't want me playing this any more. She says that I'm spending too much time here and I need to work on packing."
"It's alright Glenn, we'll just play until you have to ove, but we'll keep playing while you're here okay?" Replied Rick. "Thanks for bringing your cousin Nicholas to play this week, it's been nice having an extra person around"
"No problem! Alright! So where were we?" Glenn excitedly said getting back to the game.
*Glenn and Nicholas ran away from the walkers but were surrounded! ***Blam!** *Nicholas shot a walker and ran with Glenn down an alley trying to get out of town, but they were cornered!*
*Glenn jumped up heroically onto the dumpster, and helped Nicholas up. They'd fought in the past and had bad blood, but none of that mattered because they were running for their lives!*
*The sound of the walkers filled their ears and they pawed at their legs and feet from below.*
Nicholas' phone buzzed, "Time to pack it up" the text read. "Guys I gotta head out. Thanks for letting me join you. Glenn my mom said it's time to come home. We gotta leave and then you gotta finish packing."
"But we gotta finish what's going on! I mean, I've been playing with Rick and Maggie and Carl and everyone since spring of last year! For like... 6 seasons! I can't just leave now....." Glenn looked dejected in the summer heat.
"I don't want to lose you as part of the game," Rick consoled him. "But your parents are selling their house right? I mean it's summer now, and you're supposed to be moving out of state this fall and stuff, but let's get together some more if you can convince you mom."
"Well, alright, let's wrap it up for the day." Rick directed everyone back to what they were doing
Nicholas was busy on his phone and didn't realize the game had started back up
*"Nicholas! Hey! Hey! Look at me!" Glenn yelled as they tried to survive the horde of walkers.*
"Oh, um, I kill myself I guess?" Nicholas said unenthusiastically. "Thanks for letting me play everyone!"
*Glen watched in disbelief as Nicholas simply said, "Thank you" and then blew his brains out. Nicholas fell into Glenn and they fell off the dumpster as the walkers closed in on the two, starting to rip entrails from seemingly everywhere.*
"Alright guys, hopefully I'll see you next time," Glenn said. "I'll let you know if I can come back though."
"I just know you will. Make her let you!" Maggie said.
"We'll have a spot open for you if you want to come back." Rick assured Glenn.
Glenn smiled at all his friends and ran home not knowing if he'd be back for another session, but was hopeful.
**A few weeks later....**
"Guys! Mom says I can come back and play with you guys for a while until we move! But I'm officially moving at the end of October!" Glenn let everyone know.
"Alright!" "Awesome!" came the replies
"Hey, not trying to replace Glenn or anything, but I've got a next door neighbor I was telling about this, and he might be interested in playing with us," Rick told everyone.
"Cool," replied Glenn. "What's his name?"
"He plays baseball, so he's kind of busy, but he said it's right up his alley. His name is Negan."
"Can't wait to meet him!" Glenn replied.
*edit: Formatting
*edit 2: Holy crap this got more attention than I thought it would! Thanks everyone.
|
The van doors opened up and we were taken out groups members. We were playing zombies in Camp George, and several groups had clumped together. We got too close to their camp, they decided to join in our game. It wasn't our idea, but they were persistent, and apparently this Negan really wanted Rick to pay, since we had apparently gotten some of their members out.
As I was pulled out, I looked out to see my friends. Rick, wearing torn jeans and his dad's old jacket. My girlfriend Maggie, who I'd play house with during this zombie time and pretended to be her husband. She had a cold but was determined to play despite it. Abraham, who wore used sharpie to make a red mustache. Michonne, who brought her Power Rangers samurai sword. Daryl, who had also gotten a cold but didn't want to quit, so he wore a blanket over himself. Rosita, who had a faux leather jacket on. Eugene, wearing a ridiculous wig. Carl, who Rick liked to pretend was his son in the game, though he was just his younger cousin, got a black eye from baseball practice and wore a patch. Aaron who also wore a faux leather jacket. And finally Sasha, who was Abraham's girlfriend and would carry a nerf sniper rifle.
I was sat down next to Rosita, and looked over at the Negan's parents RV. The parents were at a meeting, and would be back in 10 minutes. His friend, Simon, said it was time to meet him, and knocked on the door.
Out jumped Negan, wearing a faux leather jacket, with a orange plastic baseball bat with aluminum wrapped around it He applied a lot of hairspray to his hair, so much so that it glowed in the moonlight. He looked at us, and smiled. "Peeing our pants yet. Boy, do I have a feeling we're getting close. Yeah. It's gonna be pee pee pants city here real soon.Which one of you jerks is this leader?"
"It's this one," Simon said. "He's the guy."
"Hi, you're Rick right? I'm Negan. And I do not appreciate you tagging my friends out. Also, when I sent my friends to tag your friends out for tagging my friends out, you tagged out more of my friends. Not cool. Not cool man. You have no idea how not cool that crap is, but I imagine you'll be up to speed shortly. Yeah, you are so gonna regret crossing me in a few minutes." He smiled. "Yes you are."
"You see Rick whatever you do you don't mess with the new camp order. The new camp order is this, and it's really very simple. So even if you are an idiot, which you very well may be, you can understand it. Here it goes, pay attention. Gimme you s'mores, or I will tag you out."
"Today was career day. We took a lot out of our plans so that you all could know what I can do. You're team works for my team now. You have s'mores, you give them to me. That's your job. Now I know that's a might big, nasty pill to swallow. But swallow it, you most certainly will!"
"You ruled the roost, you built something. You thought you were safe, I get it. But the word is out, you are not safe. Not even close. In fact you are screwed. More screwed if you don't do what I want, and what I want, if half you're s'mores. And if that's too much you can make find or steal more."
"This is your way of the game now for the remaining week. The more you fight back, the worse the game will be. So if someone knocks on your RV's door, you let us in, we own that door. You try to stop us, we'll tell on you and your parents will let us in."
"You understand. What, no answer? You didn't really think that you were gonna get through this without being punished now did you?"
"I don't wanna tag you people out. Just want that to be clear from the get go. I want you on my team. You can't do that if you're tagged out now can you. I'm not building a campfire. But tagged out a lot of my teammates. A whole darn lot of them, more than I'm comfortable with. And for that, for that you gotta pay. So now, I'm gonna tag out the holy hell out of one of you."
He swung down his orange bat, getting a rise out of Rick. "This, this is Lucille, and she is awesome. All this, all this just so we can pick out which one of you gets the honor."
He walked over to Abraham, who bravely stood up on his knees. Negan laughed, rubbing his face and moving on. He walked over to Carl. "You've got one of our nerf guns. You got a lot of our guns." Carl gave no reaction. "Crap dude, lighten up. At least fake cry a little." He stood up and walked over to Maggie. "Jesus, you look crappy. I should just put you out of your misery right now."
He lifted the bat, and I was overcome with emotion. "No! Don't!" I jumped, but was quickly tackled by Negan's teammates. I heard Maggie scream "No", and they held me down.
Negan laughed, a little amused and a little annoyed. "Nope, nope get him back in line."
They pulled me back and I moaned with distress. "Don't," I cried. "Don't"
Negan turned back to the group. "Alright listen, don't any of you do that again. I will shut that crap down, no exceptions. First one's free, it's an emotional moment, I get it."
He looked around and smiled at Rick. "Sucks don't it, the moment you realize you don't know crap." He looked over to Carl. "This is your relative, right?" Rick gave no response, but his face paled. Negan laughed. "This is definitely your relative!"
"Stop this!" Rick shouted.
"Hey!" Negan yelled over Rick. "Do not make me tag out the little future paintball mass murderer, don't make it easy on me. I gotta pick somebody. Everybody's at the table waiting for me to order." Negan began to whistle, walking about considering his options. He threw his hands up, his bat's aluminum glistening in the moonlight. "I simply cannot freakin' decide!" He turned away from the group, and put his hand to the bridge of his nose. He paused for a moment. Then turned back to us.
Rick's mom walked around the RV and saw us. She said, "Hey kids, dinner will be ready in ten minutes. Also I forgot which one's mother wanted them, but one of your mom's wants to talk to you. Alright have fun." She then walked back away from the RV, oblivious to the terror of Negan.
He turned around. "I've got an idea," Negan proclaimed. He pointed his bat at...
Rick. "Eeny."
Maggie. "Meenie."
Abraham. "Minie."
Michonne. "Moe."
Daryl. "Catch."
Rosita. "A tiger."
Me. "By it's toe."
Eugene. "If it hollers."
Carl. "Let him go."
Aaron. "My mother."
Sasha. "Told me."
Rick. "To pick."
Maggie. "The very."
Abraham. "Best."
Michonne. "One."
Daryl. "And you."
Rosita. "Are."
And in that moment, I realized my fate in this game.
The bat pointed at me. "It."
"Anybody moves anybody says anything drop a s'more on the ground and make Rick eat it. You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry. Hell, you're all gonna be doing that."
The bat went up and down onto my head. It didn't hurt too bad, thanks to the foam, but the force knocked me to the ground. There was a liquid on the foam I didn't notice before, but now I felt on my hair. It was probably the red paint, meaning I was tagged out. However, in the game one needed a sufficient amount of red paint to be officially out.
I lifted myself up to face Negan. "Look at that! Taking it like a champ!"
"M-m..." I began, and then noticed my vision in my right eye was off.
Negan bent down to look at me. "Buddy you still there. I just don't know, it seems like you're trying to speak, but you just took one heck of a hit. I just popped your head so hard, your contact just popped out. And it is grosser than crap!"
I looked to Maggie. "Maggie, I will meet you at my parent's RV."
Maggie was crying, freaking out over Negan's cruel act.
The bat went down on my head again, more red paint splattering onto my crown. I went down, and I didn't come back up. the bat went down a couple more times, until it was clear that I was tagged out.
"Man, Lucille is thirsty!" Negan proclaimed. "She is a vampire bat!"
| 2016-11-14T09:11:10 | 2016-11-14T08:41:56 | 601 | 11 |
[WP] You're running a little late to work, but when you arrive someone identical to you is already sitting at your desk. He puts up his hands and says "Relax, I can explain."
|
I paused, almost dropping my coffee. "Dude, what the fu-"
He raised his hands rapidly, scooting away from the desk. "R-relax, I can explain..."
"Goddammit man, this is the third time this week. Look, I know you want your own office, but you've got to use your cubicle until you get promoted."
Working with my twin brother was always a hassle.
|
9:33. Fuck.
You've known about this meeting for at least two months. This meeting, a presentation for corporate, will determine whether you get *the promotion* or, should you wreck it entirely, *the pink slip*. You had set your alarm for six this morning and you ate a healthy breakfast for the first time since middle school, you showered, and then got ready, you were on your way out the door when your girlfriend's voice comes from the kitchen.
"I'm. Um. I was late."
It's 7:15. She doesn't go into work until shortly after you do. So you know she doesn't mean that. The sinking feeling in your stomach hits rock bottom as the dumbest part of you puts two and two together. She's been acting a little strange lately. But she's been supportive, and she's been there for you, and she's been everything you've ever wanted, and as you turn to look at her face you can tell that she didn't mean to say that out loud. It's been eating her up inside and she's kept it from you for this meeting.
You see what she's holding in her hand. You drop your briefcase.
The two of you talk. And you don't worry about the time for a while. She wants to visit the doctor today because it has been a few weeks and after the test she really is concerned, but she doesn't want to put you out of sorts. You want to be there for her. But she understands how important today is for you. For the two of you. So she's going to go to the doctor, and you're going to work. She tells you this through teary eyes, but she's firm and when she's firm, you listen. That's how it's always been. You don't like this but you do it. You call work, but no answer. No one's there that early. You call some of your coworkers. No answer. Now that's strange. You send a few texts, but they bounce back undelivered.
It's 8:20 now. You're in the car and on your way. Halfway there, you know you've got a flat. It's a little dangerous how long you keep driving once you realize it. You have to change it. You pull over to the side, and everyone drives past you. For all you know, today's *their* day too. Yesterday it was raining. Just as you finish changing the tire, a massive truck roars by, hits a puddle and drenches you in muddy water. You didn't bring a change of clothes. You would swear up and down that you hear laughter from somewhere.
It's 8:40 now. You call again. You text again. Nothing. You turn off your phone then turn it back on, and you're pulled over for fucking with your phone while driving. You explain to the officer how important things are, what a bit day today is, and that the meeting starts promptly at 9:45. What you come off as is a screaming muddy man trying to do something with his phone while also speeding.
It's 9:20 now and with a $300 ticket in your glove compartment, you arrive at work. You manage to get into your office with nobody seeing you, but it takes a little longer than you'd like. You close the door and turn around at 9:33.
And you're sitting right there, in a pristine suit, writing something down.
*I've only been awake three hours and I'm already going insane.* You think. The sound of the door closing causes the other you to look up.
"Oh." He says. "Relax. I can explain."
"Okay." You say.
He gestures to himself as he speaks, "I'm... your son. From the future."
"Okay."
He talks to you like you're stupid. Slowly, with gestures, "I'm... using future technology... to come back... and fix today. That's why I look like you. And that's how I'm here."
"Okay."
"You don't believe me, I know. Why would you? Listen, you do the presentation like this, they aren't going to listen to a word you say. Also, because this doesn't go well at *all*, and you weren't able to be there for Mom, you're going to have some pretty pent up anger that'll last a while. It ends up... well let's just say that by being in two places at once, you can fix today."
"Okay."
"I'm going to take care of the presentation. I won't say anything you wouldn't say, I won't accept any offers or anything like that. I'm just going to pretend to be you. I've learned the presentation front to back and everything else necessary. I also blocked your cell phone from working because that would've been weird and also created a paradox. It'll work from now on. So. That's a thing."
"Okay."
The other you gets up and says, "I'm going to go now. It's time for the meeting. Once it starts, you should sneak out. I'll be here all day, pretending to be you. Go be there for Mom." He walks past you to the door and tries to open it.
You manage to snap yourself out of your stupor, and hold it shut for just a second, "Is today really that important? I mean I knew it was important but--"
You--or rather your son, looks you in the eye. For a second, the magic or technology or whatever drops, and you can see his actual face. He has his mother's eyes, a very kind face, and what looks to be a disfiguring gash of a scar across his cheek, almost a half chelsea grin. "It's important." He says. Then he removes your hand, and the... you-face comes back up, and he steps out the door.
"Okay."
| 2015-01-17T22:24:12 | 2015-01-17T21:06:01 | 287 | 208 |
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title.
|
One of Lily's earliest memories was of her with her tiny face pressed against the glass of a department store display case while her mom shopped for diamonds and pearls. She had been bored out of her mind, trying to figure out what appeal the shiny rocks locked behind the glass case had. Or at least she was, until the saleswoman called her mom something she'd never heard before. Bea, Winner of Pageants.
"What are pageants?" She'd asked her mom in the car on the way home. Beatrice's eyes glimmered in the rearview mirror, hopeful that her daughter would follow her passions.
"Well," she began, and told Lily about her biggest achievement the entire ride home.
When Lily learned about the naming ceremony at school, she thought back to that moment. She had inherited her father's crooked nose and clumsiness, and her biggest talent was probably the kazoo. There was no way she could be Lily, Winner of Pageants. From that moment forward, she set her sights on doing something so amazing that it would stay with her forever. Something like Lily, Curer of Cancer, or Lily, Discoverer of New Planet Capable of Sustaining Human Life.
And now, just days away from her naming ceremony, she felt like she had done it. At sixteen, she'd already had a Masters Degree in Neurobiology. By nineteen, she had two Ph.D.'s and had found a cure for AIDS. In the past year, she'd been successful in talking two countries down from nuclear annihilation while breaking barriers in the technological field. Surely Glenda would have enough to choose from.
But the day of Lily's twenty first birthday was different. People from all over the world had flocked to her city to try to get a glimpse of the most highly achieved person receiving a fitting title. The world's biggest news channels had set up their cameras, focused on the stage where she'd be named Bringer of Peace, or something of that caliber. Her mom said it would be the biggest televised event in history, and insisted that Lily dress up. She'd begrudgingly agreed.
So there she was, sitting in a plush chair with a glittering navy gown on. Her face looked like it had been dipped in gold thanks to her mother's expert, albeit aging, hands. She waited patiently as her peers were called up on stage, given titles like Winner of Pettiest Catfight and Conqueror of Important Track Meet. Lily ran through her long and impressive resume in her head, wondering which of her achievements Glenda would choose to baptize her with.
"Lily". A voice boomed. Instantly, there was a bustle from the camera crews hired to get live coverage of the event. The entire city began to murmur excitedly as she walked up to Glenda, eager to get her title. This was it, the moment she'd been working towards her entire life.
She stood in the spotlight of one hundred cameras and billions of pairs of eyes staring at her. There were murmurs again, but this time, they were softer, more subdued. Almost like gasps.
"A list of achievements most impressive." Glenda said, her voice rattling the stage. "But the most recent is the one for you."
Lily thought about her achievements, smiling to herself when she realized what it would be. Lily, Rescuer of Aboriginal Village.
Glenda smiled as well. The entire world, watching from each and every corner, smiled as well.
"Lily."
"Receiver of Most Public Attention For Her Beauty."
|
My father was a wonderful storyteller; it wasn't exactly gravitas—he possessed something much more sincere, something deep in his heart that managed to make it real. He believed it to be true, these places, and things, and people, that I do not want to necessarily say did not—do not—exist. After all, father's Title traces back to Norman II, Keeper of Dogwood Office Park. The market there still meets every Sunday, and I have had very good meals at the inn, when treated. Many of the caravans that pass through will stop at our abbey to be blessed before treading the interstate. Sometimes I hear them telling the same stories, and it makes it difficult to sleep at night.
At daybreak, we assemble in the hall for morning prayers, a wash-up in the creek, and breakfast, which humble Brother Michael, Survivor of the Pox, prepares with great care. Few dared to drink our wine or share our table before Brother Dwayne, Collector of 21 Fox Skins, came up with the clever idea to simply hide Michael from sight—while I cannot truly appreciate his disfigurement, the humor is not lost on me.
Brother Dwayne is, at heart, a bully, of this I am convinced, no less for the fact that just nigh of *his* 21st birthday, he robbed little Econolodge, He with Little More than Himself, of the 21 fox skins he had been hoarding for his Bequeathing. Econolodge's father fought with mine at the Battle of Scenic View, by mile 47, which makes the fact I was unable to help him guard it all the more humiliating. Always reassuring, however, is my time spent in the garden with Brother Unleaded, Digger of the Deepest Hole, who often sees where I cannot. His interpretation of things is most of all what drew me to the abbey in the first place.
"You must not let Brother Dwayne's misgivings cloud your vision further," he said to me, shortly after the whole incident, while we were planting turnips. It was cool, even for midday, but we had both worked up a sweat.
"Brother Dwayne is a cheat, and as one who has been cheated by the universe, I can assure you of this." I wiped at my brow, trying not make contact with my dirty hands. "More to the point, isn't it rather out of character for a monk?"
This made Unleaded laugh. "You say the humor is not lost on you; nor is the irony on me. But, lest Father Caprice say otherwise, we must so long grin and bear it."
I grimaced, squinted at the dirt ahead, and carved out another hole. "Did you give any more thought to what I asked you?"
"It is not up to me to decide your Title, Brother. You worry so much about the things not worth seeing!"
In times of less gossip, when Father Caprice, Drinker of an Entire Keg of Wine, is not in the village, Brother Unleaded is much less pointed with me. My question to him was what Mother Glenda would consider *my* accomplishment; my 21st birthday, fast approaching, would too be the day my Title was granted. Repeated were those whose feats warranted awe, mocked were those who squandered their opportunity—or, in my case, were born squandered. All I asked for, and prayed for, was mediocrity.
When the day arrived, Brother Michael gave me bread pudding, which lifted the weight of it all for a few bites, and Brother Stuckey, Who Once Tamed a Coyote, wrote a delightful poem that he recited after prayer. Goodwill was exchanged with a toast of spirits, and we worked until the ceremony. Since Mother Glenda had fallen on the stairs to the abbey a few summers ago, a complex procession was developed whereby the entire congregation marched down to her villa, complete with chants, candles, incense; once, self-flagellation courtesy of Brother Buick, Spiller of His Own Blood More Than Any Other, in a gross miscalculation on Father Caprice's part. It was similarly humiliating to be unable to see the greatest moment of my young life so far; those watching our column on the main must have been convinced I was to be executed instead, I looked so shamed.
"We're here," Father Caprice added unnecessarily, as we were halted by the mansion at the end of the cul-de-sac where Mother Glenda lived. It was spectacularly lit, such that to my eyes it looked much like the sun were I to stare at it; fluttering banners acted the part of eclipses, I'm sure brilliantly dyed and guarded by many. Outside the gates of the Estate, villagers gathered, or at least I assume they did, and our chant hushed in to reverence when a shadow appeared in the portico. It was my time.
Inside, it was much darker, almost sensually lit. Incense persisted, but the scent changed, and I felt the presence of metrics. I was being judged, but not yet by Mother Glenda. An usher led me, first by hand gesture, second by hand, up a curved stairway, to a chamber with two glass-doors, not that I could make out what was beyond them even with sight. We waited for what felt like an eternity before he whispered that I may enter.
Mother Glenda's Title, "Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets in a Single Sitting", requires explanation: it is not that she is obese, or compelled to hoard food. It is that she was guided, not by our Verses, but some unseen force, or power, or vision, to a hidden temple—like those father described—where, inside, she discovered enough staple to feed the village for a week. This journey was brought on by a bout of fasting—traditional in some nearby villages, before a Title is given—which she broke with such vigor that it became her namesake a full week before the ceremony. The visions did not end there, however, nor did her wisdom, and the Title became much less said than 'Mother', for she was the only one we all permitted to give us such a thing as a second name. More than often a Title was obvious, it was an accomplishment, no matter how trivial—
"But in your case, child," she smiled at me, I could tell, "yours I shall give to make clear the exceptional gift you possess."
This caught me off-guard: "Mother Glenda, surely you are humoring me."
"Hardly! Your Brother Unleaded has spoken to me before this, and again before that; he tells me of the times you spend watching the sun rise, or wandering through the wood, or toiling in the garden. Is this true?"
I nodded. "Brother Unleaded is a companion in the truest sense; he makes it all very clear for me."
She did not stop beaming, "You are so genuine, child. And fortunate. He does not pity you in the slightest; he is rather jealous, in fact." There were the traces of laughter from the chamber, but they were well-intentioned. "Do you know what I believe to be your Title?"
This did not register with me. She took my silence for curiosity.
"I think you are to be, 'He Who Sees the World for What it Truly Is'."
We talked for some time, and I felt fewer sleepless nights ahead. When I was finally escorted back, the wine had been dredged from the cellar, and Father Caprice was busy reciting the Verses to bored, red-nosed travelers. Most of the brothers had gone back to the abbey for evening prayers, and the food on the table was attracting flies, not that it discouraged whom I could only assume to be beggars.
"Git!" A villager smacked at the edge of the table, chasing one of them off. There was drunken laughter, crying. I searched for Brother Unleaded, only to stumble in to Brother Dwayne. He was breathing heavily.
"Excuse me, Brother Dwayne—" I stopped him with an easy palm, and he swayed, "—have you seen Brother Unleaded by any chance?"
He cackled. "Seen'm, that's *funny*." Then, he dug in to his satchel and pulled out a package, wrapped in burlap. "I got you a present. Happy—happy bequeathing, 'brother'."
It befuddled me, the sliver of glass, but when held at an appropriate angle, the glint turned in to a... picture. A clearer picture of the world around me.
I clenched shut my eyes, but unlike before, there was something there when I did.
| 2017-04-27T20:00:43 | 2017-04-27T18:36:41 | 234 | 84 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
|
The Thief sat in a bar. It wasn’t a nice bar; it wasn’t a *clean* bar; it was dank and shadowy and grim. Just like the Immortal Thief himself.
So long ago, the Thief had stolen immortality and as a curse, Death let him have it. Well, that backfired spectacularly. The Thief enjoyed himself, enormously. He had stolen the heart of one of Death’s daughters right after and Fate was a kind and generous soul to the Thief. She was beautiful and funny and loving to him. And after he had proven himself by stealing his own immortal nature, she left with him.
Two Ages later, and the Thief was still thieving, still plotting, still wanting more. So, like the thief he was, he took that too. Fate had delivered on her promise that she would make sure that he never died of boredom. He had lived a good life, but Death still periodically came.
Just. Like. *Now.*
“Son,” cried Death, greeting him with joviality and cheer. The old man really did like his son-in-law, much more than some of his other relations. The Thief smiled, a little sad this time. “I have a proposition this time!”
The elder immortal smiled hopefully at the younger. “How would you like my job?”
|
Death's job was ridiculous boring. Everyone always pictured Death as this big evil character, but Death doesn't kill people, it only removes them from life.
Death is just a collector, just the entity that deletes people from our world. It doesn't choose it's victims.
But it can spare someone.. it can protect a single soul from dying. Why? So that Death could have a consort, a confidante and eventually, a replacement.
You see, Death is immortal, but not permanent. One of the first things that Death does is pick it's successor. That successor becomes immortal first, gets to put his life in order, gets to see people dying, the misery in the world.
That person gets to FEEL every death at the back of his mind. Oh, you can tuned it out, but you then still know of the horrors that life: you live, and then you die.
But not Death. If you are chosen as a successor, you will be immortal. First you will become Death, pick a replacement, and eventually, join the Garden of Eden or something. Even Death doesn't know, but the previous Deaths do visit and say it was worth it.
Successors don't typically last long. The pain of knowing every death is enough to cripple a man (or woman).
As a result, most Deaths serve only a few months, perhaps a few years, some even only a few hours.
One day, in the days prior to writing, there were 14 Deaths in a cycle day: most were driven mad by the realization that there were other tribes, other races, other continents.
Then they begged to be spared that knowledge and were told the truth: only suicide will let them die. Most killed themselves right away. Those that couldn't would trek until they found a cliff or a fire.
The longest survivor lasted 14 months: why? Because the successor is chosen at random and that person was a pregnant woman. She wanted to give birth and wait until her baby no longer needed her milk. The next day, she cut her throat.
But that all changed in Sumeria. The successor was... well, me. I was a scribe and my job was to record transactions. I had invented a new way to write: instead of drawing everything, I used symbols to replace sounds.
I was chosen when I was teaching people about writing.
I didn't want to die then, when I had cracked the secret of writing. I had to ensure it wouldn't be lost...
I stopped aging, getting sick, getting wounded. That was so that I would be in my best shape as Death, but I wasn't ready.
A few more years... just a few... but then, it turned into decades, centuries.
You see, us, the Summerians, under my guidance, were getting really civilized. Really... we had better technology, medicine, books, than any of our neighbors.
Less and less people were dying to stupid reasons, making the little voices behind my head weaker... plus, I was learning how to silence it.
But then, when I was about ready to die, the Babylonian annexed us and I had to rebuild my civilization.
When that was over, I could finally meet the Egyptians who had a different language, and the Mycenians, and the Minoans, the world was at my grasp! And each time a person died, it revealed to me a new village, a new city, a new tribe!
"Don't worry, Death, once I will have visited all of the cities, I will kill myself... I swear".
I was honest. I began a tour, and visited all of the fertile crescent, I toured Africa, I even walked to China.
But I simply couldn't visit America. It was not possible at the time. It's not like I got a map of the world: I only had vague directions and images of what the victim had seen.
If we didn't travel to America, and they didn't travel back to Eurasia-Africa, I couldn't plot my way!
The Vikings changes EVERYTHING. They actually met the American Natives and some of them died in America so I knew the path they had taken...
Sadly, I was in Vietman at the time, so by the I reached Scandinavia, the Viking had stopped going to America.
I was on the ship by Christopher Columbus and managed to move to the Carribean where I began my visit.
Soon, I would kill myself, I promised Death who was now completly exhausted.
She even told me that I could get not one, but many replacements: that the population of the Earth had grown enough so that I would get many replacements.
I think they just didn't want a replacement to live thousands of years again so they would pick multiple horses in the race to be sure to win.
Anyway, I saw Death often in America. I didn't carry any diseases, but the Europeans did, and 90% of the natives died.
I made it back to Europe, a little depressed, but on arrival, I discovered something new: new cities! Cities were creating new villages between them, and between the villages were more villages.
Death was busy in America so many of the "almost dead" in Europe got a reprieve, often just a year or two, but enough to breed.
By then, the death notification was no longer a series of beeps, but rather a long continuous tone that was even easier to silence.
I kept visiting the cities, but Death no longer bothered to talk to me: cities were being built faster than I could visit them.
"One day", I said to Death when I accidentally saw her long enough in a mass fire, "The whole planet will be covered by cities, and I will visit them all, then, I will replace you"
I was honest! That day would some soon... and when the great war occurred, it felt like maybe, just maybe I could catch up: planes were of great help to travel, and most new cities were in places of old cities.
I was gaining ground!
But it wasn't enough. America was growing, Canada was growing, China was growing. India was growing.
Even the second world war didn't help. So many deaths and so many new towns in the boom that followed!
One day, men built the last new city on Earth. That day, I was in that city. I was done. All of the cities on Earth were visited!
I had fulfilled my promise and Death came to me...
"It's been over 6 thousand years.. it's time to replace me."
"Sorry Death.. we are now on other planets... I need to visit them too..."
Today, after 50,000 years, man has reached the stars and is thinking of trying to leave our galaxy.
Death is coming. I know what she will say... but sadly, new cities are popping up on every planet and I have travelling to do...
| 2017-12-01T11:49:56 | 2017-11-28T13:53:50 | 2,040 | 216 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
|
"Are you sure?"
"Yes I am. I got accepted into that new University in Delhi."
"You want to go to school again?"
"Yeah, its a new field... memeology is what they are calling it. Study of internet culture and changes within it." I replied back to the black mass in a pinstripe suit. This time he looks like an old funeral home director, a man who had seen so many dead bodies that he looks more like one than living.
"It's been 50,000 years. You've learned just about everything. All the degrees from at least every school accredited, enough certifications to fund an entire country in enough fields that you could build an island and have a better GDP than any other country." Death replied. It wasn't as cold this time he was here "Why don't you just die."
"You said I couldn't. Never in the past 50,000 years have I thought I could. I want to learn everything first."
"You want to learn what comes after death?" Death asked, smiling
"I'll learn that when I know everything there is to know in life." I replied, standing up from the cafe table, my drink gone, and the flower wilting. Touching it, it unwilts slightly "I'm learning more than you could imagine."
|
Death's job was ridiculous boring. Everyone always pictured Death as this big evil character, but Death doesn't kill people, it only removes them from life.
Death is just a collector, just the entity that deletes people from our world. It doesn't choose it's victims.
But it can spare someone.. it can protect a single soul from dying. Why? So that Death could have a consort, a confidante and eventually, a replacement.
You see, Death is immortal, but not permanent. One of the first things that Death does is pick it's successor. That successor becomes immortal first, gets to put his life in order, gets to see people dying, the misery in the world.
That person gets to FEEL every death at the back of his mind. Oh, you can tuned it out, but you then still know of the horrors that life: you live, and then you die.
But not Death. If you are chosen as a successor, you will be immortal. First you will become Death, pick a replacement, and eventually, join the Garden of Eden or something. Even Death doesn't know, but the previous Deaths do visit and say it was worth it.
Successors don't typically last long. The pain of knowing every death is enough to cripple a man (or woman).
As a result, most Deaths serve only a few months, perhaps a few years, some even only a few hours.
One day, in the days prior to writing, there were 14 Deaths in a cycle day: most were driven mad by the realization that there were other tribes, other races, other continents.
Then they begged to be spared that knowledge and were told the truth: only suicide will let them die. Most killed themselves right away. Those that couldn't would trek until they found a cliff or a fire.
The longest survivor lasted 14 months: why? Because the successor is chosen at random and that person was a pregnant woman. She wanted to give birth and wait until her baby no longer needed her milk. The next day, she cut her throat.
But that all changed in Sumeria. The successor was... well, me. I was a scribe and my job was to record transactions. I had invented a new way to write: instead of drawing everything, I used symbols to replace sounds.
I was chosen when I was teaching people about writing.
I didn't want to die then, when I had cracked the secret of writing. I had to ensure it wouldn't be lost...
I stopped aging, getting sick, getting wounded. That was so that I would be in my best shape as Death, but I wasn't ready.
A few more years... just a few... but then, it turned into decades, centuries.
You see, us, the Summerians, under my guidance, were getting really civilized. Really... we had better technology, medicine, books, than any of our neighbors.
Less and less people were dying to stupid reasons, making the little voices behind my head weaker... plus, I was learning how to silence it.
But then, when I was about ready to die, the Babylonian annexed us and I had to rebuild my civilization.
When that was over, I could finally meet the Egyptians who had a different language, and the Mycenians, and the Minoans, the world was at my grasp! And each time a person died, it revealed to me a new village, a new city, a new tribe!
"Don't worry, Death, once I will have visited all of the cities, I will kill myself... I swear".
I was honest. I began a tour, and visited all of the fertile crescent, I toured Africa, I even walked to China.
But I simply couldn't visit America. It was not possible at the time. It's not like I got a map of the world: I only had vague directions and images of what the victim had seen.
If we didn't travel to America, and they didn't travel back to Eurasia-Africa, I couldn't plot my way!
The Vikings changes EVERYTHING. They actually met the American Natives and some of them died in America so I knew the path they had taken...
Sadly, I was in Vietman at the time, so by the I reached Scandinavia, the Viking had stopped going to America.
I was on the ship by Christopher Columbus and managed to move to the Carribean where I began my visit.
Soon, I would kill myself, I promised Death who was now completly exhausted.
She even told me that I could get not one, but many replacements: that the population of the Earth had grown enough so that I would get many replacements.
I think they just didn't want a replacement to live thousands of years again so they would pick multiple horses in the race to be sure to win.
Anyway, I saw Death often in America. I didn't carry any diseases, but the Europeans did, and 90% of the natives died.
I made it back to Europe, a little depressed, but on arrival, I discovered something new: new cities! Cities were creating new villages between them, and between the villages were more villages.
Death was busy in America so many of the "almost dead" in Europe got a reprieve, often just a year or two, but enough to breed.
By then, the death notification was no longer a series of beeps, but rather a long continuous tone that was even easier to silence.
I kept visiting the cities, but Death no longer bothered to talk to me: cities were being built faster than I could visit them.
"One day", I said to Death when I accidentally saw her long enough in a mass fire, "The whole planet will be covered by cities, and I will visit them all, then, I will replace you"
I was honest! That day would some soon... and when the great war occurred, it felt like maybe, just maybe I could catch up: planes were of great help to travel, and most new cities were in places of old cities.
I was gaining ground!
But it wasn't enough. America was growing, Canada was growing, China was growing. India was growing.
Even the second world war didn't help. So many deaths and so many new towns in the boom that followed!
One day, men built the last new city on Earth. That day, I was in that city. I was done. All of the cities on Earth were visited!
I had fulfilled my promise and Death came to me...
"It's been over 6 thousand years.. it's time to replace me."
"Sorry Death.. we are now on other planets... I need to visit them too..."
Today, after 50,000 years, man has reached the stars and is thinking of trying to leave our galaxy.
Death is coming. I know what she will say... but sadly, new cities are popping up on every planet and I have travelling to do...
| 2017-11-29T08:24:55 | 2017-11-28T13:53:50 | 935 | 216 |
[WP] Every time you are in danger, no matter where you are, an 18 wheeler comes crashing through to save you. The driver is a random trucker you don’t know who hauls meat products named Randy & always happens to be nearby and blacks out, only to wake up to find he’s crashed into something again.
|
Well shit, I had gone from bored to fearing for my life real quick. These waters were supposed to be clear, or so corporate had thought, and so they didn’t bother to assign any security. Not that it would have helped much as the three skiffs were onloading their cargo of pirates onto the main deck and were storming the bridge. Sure I had tried to turn the ship away, but with a hauler like mine, no chance.
They reached the door and kicked it in, firing a few rounds through the window to scare us off. That’s when I heard the first soft verse that was my curse.
*-Country Roads, take me home-*
The lead pirate stepped over to me, “Step away from de wheel”, as he shoved his rifle in the helmsman’s chest, “Who is the captain here?”
*-To the place I belong-* The singing got louder
Nervously I put my hand up, like I was in preschool, adrenaline pumping through my body. It wasn’t the smoking barrel that was scaring me, it what was going to happen next that shook me to the core, “how was I going to survive this?” I thought.
The lead pirate stepped over to me “I am de captain now, me!”
*-West Virginia-* We could feel it through the walls
“Whoever the hell is signing stop right now, we are taking this ship over, do you tink dis is a joke?”
*-Mountain mama-* The floor started to shake now,
Angrily he grabbed my shirt and pulled me forward, “You will tell whoever is singing in the background to stop right now, or I shoot ever’ one in here”
*-Take me home-*
We all felt the floor shake and buckle, but the pirate was too angry to care, he pointed his rifle at my head, readying to take the shot.
“Oh god no” I must have muttered as the floor split, an 18 wheeler ripping through from underneath, with a mustached Randy at the wheel, screaming at the top of his lungs with his eyes shut.
*-COUNTRY ROADS!!!-*
|
FADE IN:
INT. A THERAPIST'S OFFICE - DAY
*A burly, hairy man lies on a chaise longue, nervously folding and unfolding his fingers. This is RANDY, a truck driver. A second man – this one slender, gaunt, and clad in an expensive suit – sits nearby, slowly writing something in a notebook. This is ARCHIBALD, a psychologist.*
**ARCHIBALD:** Now, then, Mister...
**RANDY:** (*Interrupting*) It's just "Randy." My pa was the "mister."
**ARCHIBALD:** Oh, your father was in the clergy?
**RANDY:** No, he was a butcher.
**ARCHIBALD:** Then what... okay. Randy. It seems like you're pretty nervous. Try to relax.
*Randy nods, but doesn't appear to feel any better.*
**RANDY:** So, uh... heh. How's this work? I tell you about my ma?
**ARCHIBALD:** If you'd like.
**RANDY:** She wasn't in the clergy, either.
**ARCHIBALD:** I... see.
**RANDY:** In case you were wondering.
**ARCHIBALD:** Yes, thank you. Do you think your mother has something to do with these... episodes?
**RANDY:** ... No?
**ARCHIBALD:** Why don't we just go back through what happened?
*Again, Randy nods.*
**RANDY:** Well, it all started a few years ago...
FADE TO:
INT. A SEMI TRUCK - DAY
*Randy is seated in the driver's chair of an eighteen-wheeler. The scenery outside passes by at a rate which suggests that he's moving at a decent rate of speed.*
**RANDY:** (*V.O.*) I was on the big road, making a haul from... well, it doesn't matter. It was just me, though, out there away from everyone.
*A shimmering haze appears in front of the truck, but does not seem to affect it.*
**RANDY:** (*V.O.*) (*CONT'D*) I guess... well, I must have had one of those "episodes," because I guess I drifted off. Next thing I knew...
*A comically loud crash is heard.*
CUT TO:
EXT. A SCHOOL - DAY
*Randy suddenly wakes up in his truck's cabin. He squints out through his cracked windshield, taking in what looks to be the inside of a library. After a moment, he shakes his head and climbs out of his truck.*
**RANDY:** (*V.O.*) (*CONT'D*) I guess I'd hit some kid. He was fine, in the end, but it sure shook me up. The weirdest thing was, I found out that I was literally a thousand miles from where I'd been, with no idea how I'd got there.
*Randy wanders around his truck, bewildered. A small child watches him, a look of awe on his face. This is YOUNG THOMAS.*
**YOUNG THOMAS:** Thanks, mister!
**RANDY:** Huh? My... my pa was the "mister," kid.
**YOUNG THOMAS:** Are you my guardian angel?
**RANDY:** I'm a trucker, kid. Hey, where am I?
FADE TO:
INT. A THERAPIST'S OFFICE
*Archibald scribbles something in his notebook.*
**ARCHIBALD:** That was the first time, I take it?
**RANDY:** Yeah. Never found out how I got so far. Didn't even seem to be missing any time.
**ARCHIBALD:** I imagine that must have been frightening.
**RANDY:** More annoying, really. I wish I could travel that fast when I was making a haul.
**ARCHIBALD:** Ah, yes. Was there any legal trouble?
**RANDY:** Damnedest thing, really. I can't even remember how it happened, but the next day, my truck was as good as new. I had a juicy contract job offered to me, too.
**ARCHIBALD:** ... So no, no legal trouble.
**RANDY:** I got a speeding ticket a few days later.
**ARCHIBALD:** Why don't we just move on?
*Randy sighs mightily.*
**RANDY:** Well, it just kept happening, see?
FADE TO:
MONTAGE
*Randy continues speaking as scenes of his truck leaping out of nowhere to smash into things (and people) are seen.*
**RANDY:** (*V.O.*) Once, twice, sometimes six times a year, I'd suddenly wake up after a crash. It didn't even matter if I'd been driving or not! I went to bed on Christmas Eve once, and when I woke up, I found out that I'd somehow gotten into my truck, and...
CUT TO:
EXT. HAWAII - NIGHT
*A noise not unlike a man imitating a lion's roar is heard as Randy's truck jumps toward (and into) the side of a hotel. A man in beachside attire stands and gawks at the scene. This is THOMAS.*
**THOMAS:** Thanks again!
*Randy pulls himself out of his truck, looking bewildered.*
**RANDY:** What in blazes?!
**THOMAS:** I was being mugged, and you...
**RANDY:** (*Interrupting*) Yeah, that's great, I'm happy for you. Where *am* I?!
**THOMAS:** ... Oahu?
**RANDY:** (*To himself*) The interstate doesn't go there...
**THOMAS:** Hey, are you a superhero?
**RANDY:** I'm a trucker, sir.
**THOMAS:** So you keep saying, but whenever I'm in troub...
**RANDY:** (*Interrupting*) Look, Merry Christmas, but I need to go.
CUT TO:
INT. A THERAPIST'S OFFICE
**RANDY:** The worst part is the meat.
**ARCHIBALD:** "Meat?"
**RANDY:** No matter what I'd been hauling, when I wake up, my truck is full of meat.
**ARCHIBALD:** Meat.
**RANDY:** Lots of it.
**ARCHIBALD:** I see. Well, Mister...
**RANDY:** (*Interrupting*) Just "Randy." My pa was the mister.
**ARCHIBALD:** ... Oh, *mister!* I thought you'd said "minister!"
**RANDY:** Naw. He was a butcher.
**ARCHIBALD:** Right. Anyway, Randy, I'll be honest with you.
*Archibald stands up and walks toward his office's window.*
**ARCHIBALD:** (*CONT'D*) I believe that you may have certain... ideas... but unless you're prepared to be honest – both with yourself and with me – these sessions are unlikely to...
*He turns around and discovers that Randy is gone.*
**ARCHIBALD:** (*CONT'D*) Ah ha. Well. Some people just can't be helped.
*The bizarre sound of Randy's truck roaring is heard in the distance, followed by a faint crash.*
FADE TO BLACK.
| 2018-12-19T00:52:53 | 2018-12-18T21:23:52 | 33 | 17 |
[WP] The ancient wizard has lived in the mountains for millennia. The apprentices seeking power are fine. The adventurers seeking treasure can be dealt with. But what is really starting to get annoying are the historians.
|
Eldregon sits, enthroned upon a thousand golden swords, bequeathed to him by a thousand noble kings, long dead. His first lifetime was spent mastering his magical craft, the second spent conquering the plague of death, and ever since then he has sat as de facto ruler of all that he surveys.
And his greatest enemy has been boredom.
Today, as has happened so many times before, a hero stands at the gate. Clad in armor, brandishing sword and shield, and calling out.
"Eldregorn, wizard of a thousand lives, scourge of this land! I will rid this world of you once and for all! Come and fight, you wretched cur!"
"Eldregon."
".... what?"
"You said Eldregorn. My name is Eldregon. You added an 'R'."
"Oh, right." The hero scribbles in a notepad on the back of his shield. "And how long *have* you been a scourge on this land?"
Eldregon waves his hand, and the "hero" launches skyward, back to wherever it was from whence he came.
These historians get trickier every year.
|
What a lovely night. I swirled my glass of wine, admiring the dim moonlight as it added some much-needed shine to the world outside, watching it through the window before I slouched into my chair. My library, was there a better place to be? The smell of old books mixed with that ever-faint scent of magical herbs; I could happily die here.
Placing the glass down, I retrieved my copy of ‘Magnus- The demonic art of spell craft.’ An interestingly titled book on the wonders of demonic magic. I wondered if the author knew of the origins of the word Magnus, though. As I traced the spine of the book, just about to pull it open, I heard a cough, an older man in a brown jacket walking through my library, picking books off the shelf.
“Excuse you! What are you doing in my library? How did you even get here?” I jumped from my chair, gently placing the book down before approaching. The nerve of him. To just enter my home uninvited. I would teach him a lesson, the same way I taught those other adventurers a lesson.
“Oh, good day Master Talik. I’m a historian from the Valindark university. As you know, you signed an agreement with the king allowing us to examine your collection for a handsome sum of money.” The man said, not paying any attention to me as he continued flicking through the book, the oil from his skin staining the pages disturbing the mint condition of the book.
“I accepted the deal because I didn’t think any of you idiots could find a way into my castle. How do you keep getting past all my barriers?” I couldn’t figure out what I was madder about, his entry into the castle or the way he held my books. Deciding to complain about both. “Stop touching that with your hands. You need gloves. It’s a first edition copy of the ‘The birth of creation.’ It’s worth a fortune.”
“Oh, my apologies. Have you considered offering guests gloves before entering? Or maybe putting up a scroll or two? While your collection is impeccable, your library could use better staffing.” The man added, judging the surrounding interior.
“I’m not running a public library. This is a private collection, not even those poor excuses of apprentices are allowed in here. Now if you are a historian, you should know how to handle books carefully. Put some gloves on and be quiet.”
“Right, I will be as quiet as a mouse. Oh, you wanted to know how I got into your library, right? It was rather simple. See, they write the spells you use in a similar style to the lost language, Gawlin. This means that if a person has a strong understanding of Gawlin, they can decipher the barrier outside. With my intellect I could-“ The man would have kept rambling for days, I had to cut him off.
“Hm, I’ll try another barrier next time, one more advanced since you idiots have displayed that you can at the very least read at a beginner’s level.” I remarked, trying to get under the man’s skin, wanting to anger him until he left, yet none of my comments broke his calm composure.
“Am I really the idiot if you put up a barrier that was too weak? Wouldn’t that make you the idiot? With all due respect Master Talik.” He said, grabbing a pair of gloves from his pockets, setting the book down to put them on.
“Shut up. Just be thankful that I cannot use any barriers that could kill you. Now, keep quiet and leave in three hours, that’s your allocated time.” Since he was here, I had to abide by the rules agreed upon. He would get his three hours.
Moving to my seat, cheeks puffed and body hot. I let my anger simmer, fingers shaking as I picked up my wine once more, taking another drink of the liquid, trying to calm myself. I could feel myself relaxing once more until I saw him approach.
“Can I write in this?” He asked, holding up a golden covered book on mythology.
“Why would you be able to write in it? It’s a book, someone’s already written in it, what more could you add?”
“It helps me remember the information. I take a few notes and it makes the process a lot easier. You have two copies; I don’t see how it’s a problem.”
My glass shattered, crushed by a purple aura that drifted from my skin, bits of wine and glass hitting the floor as I stared at him, wanting to murder him, only to take a deep breath, holding back my emotions.
“I wouldn’t care if I had one hundred copies of the book. It’s a rarity and one that your poor intelligence won’t defile. If you write even one word in that book, I’ll engrave one hundred curses into your skin.”
“Hopefully you would write the curses better than your barriers.” He mumbled under his breath.
“What was that? Last warning. Go find a quiet spot in the corner and read.” I ordered, grabbing a splinter covered wooden chair, dragging it to one of the room’s corners, facing it against the wall. “Sit there and shut up. I have some barriers to reinforce.”
The man stared at me, before reluctantly moving to the seat, placing his jacket onto the chair before sitting on it, reading through one of the various books. With no chance of reading in peace, I went to work on the library’s seal, only to open the door and find a crowd of waiting apprentices.
“We have travelled all over the land to-“ I slammed the door in their faces, throwing my hands up in frustration. “Live on a mountain. No one will ever visit. I should kill that damned Lich that sold me this land.”
“Technically, you would have to kill them again.” The historian pointed out, a grin on his face as he watched me throw myself down onto my chair. I swirled my finger as the glass rebuilt itself by my side. With the glass rebuilt, I tossed it towards the man, just close enough to make him jump.
“I wasn’t kidding about that last warning.” I said as I snapped my fingers, a bottle of wine floating to my side. Taking the bottle, drinking from it. It would be a long night.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-05-16T07:03:41 | 2021-05-16T07:02:56 | 1,463 | 159 |
[WP] A lone vampire struggling to survive a zombie apocalypse stumbles upon a human family who invite him/her to seek shelter with them.
|
"Christ, man!"
I flinched at the first words I'd heard since the radio stations stopped broadcasting.
"Get inside; you know it isn't safe at night!" He was whispering through the small crack of an open door.
Didn't he know better than to offer charity in these times?
"You're... Inviting me in?" My voice creaked. I couldn't remember the last time I used all those muscles in conjunction, and my throat was dry. I hadn't had anything to drink in days.
The one eye I could see through the door rolled with impatience. "Just get in!"
The door swung wide, I caught a split-second glint of candlelight off his single-barrel as he pulled me inside by my collar. Before I knew it I heard the telltale click of the door locking behind me. I was actually inside of someone's home. Even with everything, someone invited me in.
There was only one candle on the dining room table in the tiny apartment. That was good: just enough to see what you need to see, but not enough to draw attention. The room was bare save a pile of miscellany in the corner which was mostly rice. We were alone. If he ever had a family they were gone now.
"Jesus Christ-" he started, but paused when he saw me flinch a second time at his words.
"I almost blew your head off," he continued. "You're so skinny and pale I thought you were one of them... Are you thirsty?"
I nodded. He was already pouring the last water from a gas can into a dark-colored coffee mug. I accepted, but hesitated to drink it.
"Don't worry." He gestured toward the gas can he had just drained. "Never even had a lawnmower. Grabbed it from the hardware store when everything went south. There wasn't much else left."
I looked at the mug in my hand. I could see the reflection of his face in the unnaturally still water. My pulse was weak. He caught my eye with a strange look. He looked at the mug, then back at me. He made a motion with his hand that said, "drink it."
My host was beginning to make me feel uncomfortable. I gulped it all down at once to break the silence in my mind. That's when the burning started.
It tasted like ash, my teeth felt like they were dissolving, my throat collapsed, and my tongue started lapping like a flame in my mouth. My body went limp, and I fell to the ground. The fire moved to my stomach, then outward. I tried to pull myself to my feet, but my fingernails broke against the carpet. I seized.
I couldn't move. The burning was everywhere now. The man turned me onto my back. My skin sheared off in large flakes onto his hands and sleeves. He brushed me off of himself in a cloud of ash and dust and stood over me.
Looking up at him I knew exactly what he was. This man was a priest. He knew all the signs. He saw them all, and he acted. He was killing me with kindness, and I was stupid enough to drink his holy water. He leaned down to me and spoke.
"I never take the Lord's name in vain."
|
They looked so nice.
Baron Maxwell Henreid Von Drakul stood outside the modest split-level suburban ranch, peering through the open curtains at the idyllic scene of mother serving a roast to her eager, well-dressed family. Outside, the harsh winds and blacked-out sky made the neighborhood seem dismal and dystopian. Most of the homes here had burned down or were gutted by ravaging hordes of zombies that by now were well on their way to the capitol.
But inside it was warm and inviting with no hint of the tragedies that had befallen mankind. He didn't know how they did it. How had they even managed so much food in this famine? He didn't care. The Baron, whose name was only known to either long dead nobles or long undead fellow outcasts, huddled his sullied and tattered cloak about his shoulders and rang the little oval doorbell. He had been a vampire for more than 500 years, seen famines and plagues and world wars -but never had he seen such worldwide devastation like the Zombie Apocalypse. Sure only of his own interminable damnation, he had no idea what had caused the transformation of mankind into the undead. He only knew a portion was immune and thus the human race, his food source, would persist. As the door opened, he put on his best smile and told the man in the doorway not that he was a vampire from Bavaria, not that he was 500 years old, and he definitely didn't tell them his long and stuffy sounding name.
He merely introduced himself as Max.
"Why, come on inside, Max. No one should be alone on a night like this." The slender man who opened the door wore a warm demeanor to match his flawless cardigan. Hair neatly combed back, pipe in his mouth, the man of the house who introduced himself only as Walter, guided Maxwell into the dining room.
"This is my lovely wife, Beatrice." He smiled as he gestured to the beaming housewife, dressed tidily in a charming green house dress and understated pearls.
"How do you do?" She extended her hand.
Maxwell drew her scent in from the wrist and he bent to kiss her hand and his lips quivered a moment before making their contact. He had half a mind to rip in half right here and save the family for later...
"This is Max, honey. He's from out of town and needs a place to stay what with the -eh, *you know.*" He gestured to the children and shook his head.
"Huh? Oh, yes! The, uh, goings on. Of course, Won't you join us for dinner, Mr, um, Max?" She primped her lacquered coiffure, ensuring that one errant hair was firmly in place with all of its kin, forming a fragile nest-like dome atop her smiling face.
"Oh, thank you, Beatrice. I'd *love* to eat here..." He sat down slowly, draping his cloak over the fine dining room chair. "What a lovely home, you have here. Especially given the... goings on, as you put it. I simply don't know how you do it." He flashed a thin smile. "And what handsome and well-behaved *children* you have..." He turned to face a tan-cheeked pair of blonde siblings, one boy and one girl, and his eyes betrayed his insatiable desire to consume them.
"Why, thanks, Max," Walter said, grinning as he picked up the carving knife and began slicing the roast. "That's Holly and Michael. Our pride and joy. Say hello to Max, children."
With trepidation, the two intoned, "hi, Max." He tried not to look hungry.
Beatrice served him a perfectly portioned plate of rump roast and potatoes with flaky homemade biscuits. He did his best to choke it down as they talked.
"No, really, madam. I must ask quite *how* you maintain such a lovely household with the Zom-" He stared dumbfoundedly as they both shushed and hushed him. No one had hushed the Baron in 487 years and *she* never did it again.
"We don't use the Z word in front of the children," Walter whispered loudly enough for anyone to hear, including the children.
"Ah well, I very much respect your choices in parenting but you do realize it is a bit unavoidable." He lowered his voice. "I mean, surely they've noticed that school is out."
"It's summer vacation." Beatrice managed a weak smile.
"They have looked out a *window* haven't they?"
"We told them it's just temporary." Walter smiled like nothing was wrong. "Kids, you two go on up to your rooms and play."
Holly, the littlest, ran up to her father's knee. "Papa, when are we going to be able to go outside?" Her wistful expression was positively Shirley Temple.
Walter struggled back tears. "Soon, sweetheart, now go on upstairs." He swatted her bottom as she bounded upstairs with her brother.
"I'm sorry, Mr. -eh, Max. I just... I just care about my family too much, is all." He straightened his cardigan symbolically.
Max poured himself a blood-red glass of wine. "Perfectly understandable." Max dreamed of slow-cooking the children in a wine sauce. Like coq au vin but with children instead of chicken. "You have a fine family. A fine home, as well. And this lavish meal! Why..." his face became a mask of seriousness. "...there isn't a rump roast, or a supermarket that isn't a burned out husk, ...for miles."
"Nope, you'll find none of that, will you, dear?" He and the wife shared a hearty laugh. "No, the zombies pretty much devastated the entire state, we figure. I don't think we'll be seeing those days again for quite some time. But we're *determined* to raise our children in a proper, traditional home. They won't suffer this Zombie whatever-ya-call-it. No sir, our kids are going to be achievers for when mankind retakes the Earth."
Walter set aside the rump roast and promptly stabbed the Baron in the neck with the carving knife.
"And they're going to eat a family dinner every night!"
"Be careful, Walter, he's a vampire!" Beatrice yelled, standing back from the table and clutching her pearls.
"I know he's a vampire!" Walter dragged the knife around, slitting open the Baron's throat. Gagging blood, the vampire stumbled to his feet and clutched his neck, blood squirting out between his fingers. "I haven't been fighting zombies, werewolves and vampires for the last year for nothing!" Beatrice ran hastily out of the dining room as Walter picked up the heavy soup tureen and slammed it against Maxwell's head, knocking the baron over onto the table. The vampire clawed at the white tablecloth which now ran red with blood that hadn't seen air in centuries. Beatrice's white flats squeaked as she rounded the corner back into the dining room and handed Walter the big cleaver.
SLAM
Walter neatly chopped Max's head clean off. Beatrice complimented him on his work.
"Moooom? What's all that noise?" The children hovered at the top of the stairs.
"It's nothing, dear! Just Mr. Max leaving. He couldn't stay ...but thanked us for being part of our family meal. Now go to bed!"
Walter wiped his sweaty brow and sighed with relief that the struggle was over. He and his wife took the body to the kitchen and butchered him well. Steaks and flank, racks of ribs, tender filets, and even meat for stew and hamburger, all rested tidily wrapped in crisp white butcher-paper in the family freezer. His head was buried with holy Eucharist stuffed in the mouth, as per the legend (and of which they were nearly out -this was the third vampire this Apocalypse!), and would remain in the dirt beneath the basement for a very long time. Meanwhile Beatrice scrubbed the bloody dining room and kitchen sparkling clean and tossed her yellow kitchen gloves in the gleaming sink as Walter locked the basement door.
"Another job well done, sweetheart." He beamed as he put his arm around her.
"This one should last us a few weeks. I hope we haven't run out of strangers looking to spend the night." She touched an errant hair back into place.
"I'm not worried. I'll just eat *you*."
They shared a tense exchange of glances and then burst into laughter. They went up to bed, arm in arm, as Beatrice turned out the lights on another perfect evening.
| 2014-06-23T21:03:25 | 2014-06-23T20:59:08 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] A time traveler and an immortal keep bumping into each other across the ages.
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They say that true love only occurs once in life. That you meet your soulmate, that that's your chance, and you belong together forever.
I wish they were wrong.
Because I am forever.
And so, in his own way, is he.
I was born four thousand years ago. I'm not the first of my kind, nor am I the last. But there are few of us, precious few, and my love fell not among them. It fell on another.
A mortal. A man who would grow old while I stayed young.
"James," I said, the first year we had met, "James, this love cannot be. For I have lived ten of your lifetimes already, and will live countless more."
"There must be a way, Veronica, a way that you can fix this."
"There is," I said with a tear, "I can make you live forever, but I cannot give you immortality."
"Whatever is the way, I take it."
So I gave him my gift, one equally terrible to us both. I took his remaining days, and I scattered them across time, like salt on a table. And he faded from my sight, his arms outstretched in an embrace meant for eternity.
And now I wait, counting each passing day, as he appears to me once a century. He stays for a day, then fades again- to him, it is just another day. To me, they are separated by what feels like eons.
Until the end of time it will be this way. So I spend my days waiting. Waiting for his return with a pain that he will never know. For that one day of paradise in each century of longing.
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By Leo
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The first time I met her, it was 1643 I went by my code of never becoming attached. I would only regret it later if I did. I helped her with her father anyway, I recognized the dying man from 3 years ago. Or, rather, for him 43 years ago. I was younger and more foolish then, it had only been a few months since this had started happening, and I didn't know the emotional tax it would have on me. Thankfully I managed to stay with the sickly man until he died.
He had been so kind to me, all those years ago, when I was still a scared and confused child. It isn't that I am much older now, just more mature. I guess I have resigned to my fate. What I did not expect, was him opening his eyes and speaking.
"Merk?" He mumbled looking at me. My eyes widened, fearful for what he would say next. I did not expect him to chuckle, then burst out laughing. "Merk, I thought you told me you never were going to see me again. You were very convincing, with those tears in your eyes."
"Fate seemed to have different plans for me, Ferdic." I smiled softly, "You don't look much different from when you were then, I few more wrinkles, and a bit of a stubble, but your eyes are the same."
"Talking about me? You are the one who hasn't aged since I last saw you! Pull off that face and you'd be the same kid from all those years ago!"
"It's been forty three." I say, my lips pulled tight.
"Forty three? I was nineteen? Naw, you're too young still!"
"Father, you do not speak rationally! And you boy, you play along with his antics? You said you did not know him!" The girl said, I had forgotten she was there.
"Ah, Selene, you don't know how special this kid is, he said that to see me again, never be surprised if he doesn't remember you the next time you see him."
"Father!"
"Ha, don't worry Ferdic, I don't believe I have seen her yet. Besides, as I had said last time we met, albeit through the slobber and tears, time goes on for so long, it would be a miracle if I ever saw you again."
"Merk, would you do something for me as I ascend to heaven?" Ferdic asked.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Tell me more of your adventures, those you have had in the time I have not seen you." I was taken aback by this statement. I had thought in his state that he was slightly delusional, but he remembered and believed me. I had not been discreet, as he read my face like words on paper. "Of course I believed you, when you walked away, I followed you, and saw you vanish. 'Course I believed you had ties with Lucifer, and I prayed my heart out the next year and a half. But then the paper had arrived, you were there, and you had saved a boat full of people, but you looked older, not as if you would if you had lived in this time for a year, but you were definitely older, and looked about 18. The devil would have never saved those people."
I looked at him into his eyes, "Can I see this paper?" I asked him.
"No, I've read enough stories to know that you shouldn't see into your own timeline's future." He had a point. "Merk, please can you tell me your stories?"
"Oh! Sorry, I will. I'm not going into any details though, mind you." I told him.
"Not even to appease a dying man's wish?"
"Yes, but you have a girl who will live her life right there." I told him.
"Selene?" He asked, the tone carried a message I didn't pick up on.
"Yes Father." She said and scurried out of the room.
"Where do you want me to go?" I asked him.
"Forward."
I spoke to him about how the colonies of the new world will turn out, and the industrial revolution, the fact that slavery will be abolished, everything up to the early-mid 18th century. I would have kept going, but he stopped me and asked me a serious question.
"Where and when are you from?" My eyes widened, he wanted to know about me, this scrawny little 15 year old boy who barely grasps what is happening to himself. I picked up one of his arms and carefully held it, trying to comfort him.
"Of course. I was born in 2492, in a small town called Ambricourt. Ambricourt is going to be established in France in 2053, mainly to accustom the flood of new people from another country, as all of Europe were doing at this point. I was the first, and possibly only child born to them. They both loved science, and when a test that wanted young children came up when I was 11, they jumped at the chance. The test was to see if this new chemical that enhanced the intelligence of rats worked on humans. Children were the primary target, as they wanted those not too exposed to the world. They were foolish, and put the chemical in cookies, I accidentally ate 10 all at once, when I was supposed to only eat an eighth at first. When the researchers found out, they put me in an observation chamber. I wasn't allowed to see my parents, or go outside. All they did was give me these questions to do. Math, Language, Science, and History. One day, after my 12th birthday, I focused hard on one of the places in the history textbook. October 23, 1963. I heard a shout, and opened my eyes. I was no longer in the testing lab. I had made it to, what I presumes to be, 1963. Actually, it was 1985, and I had unleashed a terrible fate on myself. I never have any idea where I am going, and I always hope that when I do move through time, I don't end up somewhere dangerous. I-" I was pulled out of my trance, as I was holding his hand, I had moved to check his pulse. He was dead. The tears I was holding back from remembering my past rushed forward, and I cried silently.
I walked out of the room crying, my tears caught the glint of her necklace. I continued crying until I realized I had traveled in time again.
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The next time I saw her, I was in 1912, America. I looked around and saw someone running towards me, had she seen me? I paled and started in the other direction, but stopped when she cried out, "Wait! Merk!" I turned and my eyes widened, all of my sensed screamed at me to run. And run I did, it was impossible, *she* was impossible. She should have died decades ago! My adrenaline sped up the time I was supposed to have there, and I disappeared out of that year, and into another.
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| 2015-11-22T19:10:27 | 2015-11-22T18:51:04 | 52 | 11 |
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