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[WP] You've died and wake up in some sort of theme park. You look at the ride attendant, with long white hair and a big beard, who says, "Wanna go again?"
|
I blinked my eyes several times as I tried to adjust to the bright lights. My thoughts were a mess, my memories all but fuzzy. I remembered sitting in a car, driving down a road during a wintry night. Something crossed the road and I swerved to avoid it, only for my car to skid and flip. There was the sickening sound of glass shattering and metal bending, and the next thing I knew I was sitting... here.
Inside a pod with a VR set strapped tight to my face. As I removed them, I began to see clearer the place that I was in. A small enclosed space with a screen in front of me, wires everywhere. And my pod was not the only one. Thousands upon thousands of similar pods laid around mine, the occupants all strapped into similar VR sets.
I stood up, wanting to get out from the place, and ask someone where I was. Just as I was about to do that, an old man appeared right beside me. His long white hair and beard grew all the way to the floor, and he was wearing a robe that was even longer than his hair.
"Hello S45678Z, I see that you are awake!" he chirpily announced, without even bothering to check if I was listening. His hands moved methodically around the electronics in my pod.
"Where am I?" I tried to ask, still groggy from the entire experience. If this was afterlife, it was not how I imagined it to be.
"Ah," he said, eyes and hands still more focused on the pod than me. "Memory lost is normal upon waking up, S45678Z. And it seems that you still have some quota to fulfill."
He started to hook me up again, pulling the VR Set to me. "Wanna go again?" he smiled, one with countless secrets hidden behind it.
"No, I need to know-" I tried to protest, but before I could do anything, I felt a sharp pain on my hand. A wave of fatigue suddenly wash over me. My body felt as if it was falling into darkness, my memories suddenly becoming fuzzy again, like slowly being erased.
Amidst the the swirls, the darkness, I heard a familiar voice around me. The sound of my mother's voice. "Honey, I feel our son kicking me!"
And so it begins again.
------------
Edit: Grammar. Sorry wrote this in a jiffy before I went to sleep!
/r/dori_tales
|
'Where am I? wha- why am I here? I was doing something a while ago, and ... what was I doing?' thoughts flooded my mind as I stood in a place I'm not familiar with. thankfully I saw a man, an old man, well dressed and well ... seemingly approachable, so I went to clear my confused state.
"I'm sorry, but where am I?" I ask the gentleman offering 'another ride' as he says. "Ha ha ha, well you're in a theme park my dear", "so you wanna go for a ride?". Theme park huh. Well I can't really remember from where I came from, or why I am here, and to add to this confusion this man is offering me rides, hmm, I ask "Uhh, I think i'll pass for now, do you have an exit? I mean, where is the nearest phone booth?", "Phone booth? what will you be needing it for?" he asked and to my confusion, "well to call people naturally, isn't that their purpose?".
"you won't be needing that my dear, you're dead anyway."
"huh?" was all I can say as I wrap my mind around what the gentleman had just said. "dead?" I asked, followed by "ha ha ha, well I do appreciate jokes at times mister but I think that's a bit inappropriate.".
"oho it's more appropriate than you're ever imagine" he says as he lifts his arm pointing to the bottom of the roller coaster.
I cast my gaze to where his fingers directed me to, and as I examined I was stunned with horror "THERES A BODY IN THERE!" I exclaimed and ran towards to see if that person was Ok, or alive at the least.
As I came closer crouching for a better view my horror rose, as I saw the body was gory all throughout. "oh my god" as I thought about the poor soul that encountered a fate such as this. In assurance I placed my finger around the body's neck to see but it was a fool's game. From what I saw in the beginning this body is as good as dead. I reached for my pocket "damn it's not here" I said as I remembered that I forgot to bring my phone.
"Huh, why did I remember that now" I told myself as I lay there confused. then suddenly to my surprise the gentleman has followed me and is now at my front standing .
"Still not convinced?" he asked to further my confusion, "what do you mean?". he then told me "look at that body, is it in any way familiar to you?". Well I haven't really thought about it, all I did was to check if it was ok but ending with a disappointing outcome. "look at it's face" he said.
As I looked my mind slowly fills with my worst fears realized. "tha- THAT'S ME!", "Wha- What's going on here?" I screamed in panic as I saw that the lifeless body I initially checked upon was actually me. "No, that can't be, I'm alive right now, this has to be someone who looks like me" I attempted to reassure my thoughts.
"Miss, haven't you seen anything odd in all the time that you've been here?"
Well that's the problem, I don't know how I got here, I haven't even the foggiest of memories of what I was doing, and now I'm alone in a park with an old man!
Wait ... I'm alone ... with an old man. Weren't theme parks supposed to be filled at this time, it's noon and high time for frolicking in lines waiting for rides or in stands. but everywhere I look ... it's actually barren. A barren theme park.
"who are you?" I ask. "Aha! Finally the question I've been seeking." he was quick to reply "But first who are you?" he asked. "I don't know". "I see" he says "Well in your terms, I am what they call ..."
"... death"
I froze from where I sat. Huh, this person claims to be death, yet doesn't look the nearest from what I can say as a person fitting death. He's more like a person whose soon to be near death in my opinion.
"Well of course you are a bit dumbfounded, everyone is the time they meet with someone like me" he continued "So to clarify things further" *snaps* suddenly the park is filled with frozen statues of people, or from my view, its like time froze for these people, except for us. *snaps* and the people disappear "Well?" He speaks as he amused himself with my awe.
"The moment a person dies, they are somehow, frozen in time, at the place the moment they died", "you are dead, and I am your personification of death"
"wa-wait! but if I'm dead, why am I still here?" I asked, "you're here to revisit the moment you died, and reason for that is for a soul to reach closure at their deaths", "you see, when a soul is removed from their body, it is confused, and seeks out the reason for their demise", "usually when a person dies peacefully they know immediately how they died, and so can rest peacefully".
"On the other hand, should a person die by means not of their own, they are left with questions unanswered" "and with these questions unanswered come intense regret, negative emotions fill the soul and corruption takes root"
"souls unaddressed, on how they died end up being the ghosts of your world, unable to leave, corrupted due to dissatisfaction.". "you better try and find the reason for your death soon, the longer you stay, the worse the consequences"
"so, you want another ride?" he ends.
"wait, all of this is too much to handle, even my dying I can't even comprehend still at this moment", then I continued "let me ask, why are you here anyway? If I'm to find out the reason for my demise, why do you need to be here?"
"I'm here to be your aid", "Well, even though I might be what you call death, i'm not as mortifying or eerie as your legends have spoken about me", "Actually my true purpose is to ensure that your soul gets to leave this world, if not I'm stuck with you, well, forever". "so to speed things up i'll just help you in your way, although you not finding what you seek wont be a problem for me."
"won't you be busy?" ,"Lot's of people die as we speak, aren't your hands full?" I asked.
"Like I said, i'm not exactly like your concept of death", "in actuality, there is more than one *me* ", "per person that lives, a personal death is assigned to harvest their soul", "I'm you're personal death, and I've been with you since you were born"
That was a bit creepy yet reassuring for a bit. I now understand that this man might not be as dangerous as I feel when I'm around him, according to what he says at least. Lots of things are still unaddressed, but i'm spent "hmmm, this is a frozen world anyway, maybe I can do anything I want for a moment" I thought.
So I asked "am I, free in this world?", "what do you mean?" he asks, "free as in the notion of space, can I roam the world?". He replies with "yes, but only to the extent of what your body remembers of the world".
"One more question", "sure" he replies, "what time do I have till I become corrupted or so you call it?"
"usually souls tend to corrupt after a week of their death" he answered.
"that's more time than ill need", "guess ill have fun for a while" As I smile.
(continue this)
edits: some typos
| 2017-01-07T07:35:42 | 2017-01-07T07:02:58 | 410 | 30 |
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid.
|
The goblins had always lived in the woods. Everyone in Halleshaw knew that. And everyone knew that the goblins steal. Not for any particular reason, it seemed- most of the time the stolen property was found abandoned in the woods unless it was edible. Occasionally they "raided" the village and "stole" people- the villagers humoured these raids. Normally it meant a goblin had gotten stuck in a tree or a hole, or they wanted something they couldn't reach. Once they had the thing, or gotten their friend unstuck, they lost interest in the stolen people and let them walk home.
The villagers accepted the goblins for what they were- an amusing nuisance at worst, like a drunk fox or tantrum prone toddler.
That was until the raiders came.
A large clan of barbarians from the south came, and destroyed everything in their path. Nearby villages were burned to the ground, fields trampled and population decimated. The villagers if Halleshaw armed themselves, farmers and their sons quaking with their home made weapons, the blacksmith sharpening anything he could find.
The barbarians never came.
After weeks of waiting for the boot to fall, a less cautious young lad snuck out to scout for the enemy. What he found, scattered through the woods were discarded swords, lost helmets... but not a single man nor corpse. He was just turning to return to the village when something grabbed his leg. He shrieked and spun...only to see a slightly irate goblin. He relaxed slightly. The goblin pulled at his trousers in the same way they always did. Caution told him not to go. Curiosity drove him forward, as he allowed himself to be stolen.
Unusually, the goblin led him deep into the woods, to a cavern. Straining to see through the darkness, he followed. His "captor" led him to a smaller nook, filled with sleeping goblins. As he got closer he saw they were not sleeping, but wounded. Badly. His captor shoved an armful of rags at him, and pushed him to the left side. The boy was about to question what the goblin wanted, when he saw the helmets.
Hundreds of helmets, piled in the corner, all with the markings of the southern clans. It was then he understood. The barbarians were never coming... the goblins has found them first.
The boy took his rags and bandaged and tended what he could. He was exhausted and covered in acrid green goblin blood by the time he reached the other end of the room. His captor finished around the same time. With a curt nod, he grabbed the boy again, and half led, half dragged him out of the cavern. It had been mid afternoon when they had reached the cavern, now the sun was dawning over the horizon at the break of a new day. The goblin pointed sharply in a direction, then abandoned him, in the way they normally did when they got what they wanted.
The boy went to say something but the goblin was gone. He left, following the goblins indication, and by the time the sun was creating the tree line he was home.
The goblins had always lived in the woods. And Halleshaw made a vow that the goblins would always be safe in their woods.
|
It's strange what thoughts return to you as you're dying -- what shallow-graved memories crack through their caskets and creep out into your conscious.
Around me, my fellow villagers groan and cry out and beg for help. We're a makeshift wall of the crucified. Of the defeated. Our feet and hands are nailed into wooden crosses all around the village perimeter. We bleed onto the charred remains of our old wall -- the wall that did us little good against the necromancer and his undead legion. Our blood dribbles onto smouldering wood, then sizzles and returns to us as a perverse smell, as hunger.
It's been two days. Of course we're hungry. Starving. When you're this hungry you see and hear and smell whatever you want to be true.
When one of us dies, a skeleton or a zombie will come to our body and remove our corpse, will take it to the necromancer. The dead will return soon after. Or at least, their body will. Their mind is something else. Rotten, darkened, obedient to their new master.
​
The evening sets on the hill beyond. I can do nothing but watch it happen. This is my view until I die. I watch the smear of orange bleed into the purple sky, and try not to hear the screams around me; try not to see the flash of fire in my periphery as another friend is brought back as a demon. No, I stare at the hill, at the sky.
I stare.
There is a windmill on the hill's peak. My uncle's old mill. Its blades fail to turn, the night air too still, the insides too ancient. But I remember them in motion and if I close my eyes I see them blurring, churning up the sky behind them.
I worked at the mill for three summers as a child, feeding grain into those grinding gnashing stone teeth. Flour would smoke around me and I would always leave dressed in ghostly, powdery white.
​
I imagine myself covering my ears. I pretend the screams around me are muted. Tell myself: this is better, this is peace. But your mind knows a lie better than your tongue.
It was a lie I saw one evening after working at the mill. That was why I buried it in a casket for so long. My parents chastised me for spinning yarns, and my siblings mocked me. They called me Gob, after the incident. It stuck with me for too long.
Gob was what the goblin I found called itself -- not that I really did find it, it was just my imagination. But still, I remember it crying: Gob. Gob. Gob!
I was dressed in my afterwork whites, even my face powdered like the Queen of Exolria. The evening was much like tonight, the sky a handshake of indigo and orange, the breeze just gentle enough to rustle my hair. I was tired, that much I admitted even to my parents. And maybe I did see things. But it was the fatigue that drew me away from the village after my shift, towards the coast. If I went home, I would have had to help with my baby nephews, watching and feeding them while our parents got drunk on bad ale. No, I'd worked hard enough and deserved a break.
The peninsula has few beaches but plenty of rocky coastal points. I walked a good mile further than usual until the din of the village was lost fully to the hush of the ocean. Then I clambered down boulders, nearing the ocean. Could feel the salt-cold spatter my neck and the floury globs of water trickle down my back.
"Gob," came the pathetic sound. "Gob."
It was sound of water rising out of a blowhole beneath ground. A wet swallow of a sound.
"Gob."
Curious, I searched for the source of the odd noise, expecting to find the entrance to a tiny, flooded cave, or something of its ilk.
Instead, I came upon the tiny goblin (no, I didn't, it wasn't real! Remember?) trapped between two boulders. A goblin, mottled cream and green and the size of my two palms places together. "Gob!" it cried, urgently now.
To start with I was scared. I recognised it as a goblin, of course. I'd heard plenty of stories about these fantastical, made-up creatures. And although its ears were smaller than I'd imagined, and its skin less slimy, it was clear as day a goblin.
My fear of it subsided as I realised it was caught. Another emotion took over. Similar to when I watched my nephews.
The tide was yawning in. Stretching its watery jaw up the cliff towards us.
​
The screams are maddening. I don't know who exactly cries in this choir of disappear -- a sister, a cousin -- but I know everyone in the village. I'm sure my cheeks would be soaked if I had any water left in me with which to cry.
Bones clatter as a skeleton guard walks past. It looks up at me as it passes. It wears a clump of rotted meat around the left part of its mouth, upturned only there into a smile. *Soon*, the smile seems to say. *Soon*. Then it walks by.
I stare at the windmill. Stare. Force myself into my memories. Watch as the blades slowly turn.
I tried to pry the goblin out with a stick, to start with. Not out of cruelty but fear. But it was wedged in too tight and in the end, as water licked my boots, I put my hands behind it and yanked it out. I held the tiny creature to my chest and clambered up to safer ground.
I still remember its starving tongue tickling my face as it licked the flour off me. The memory of my laughter fights the sounds of those dying in my present.
"Gob."
It sniffed the air. Looked one direction then another, before settling its eyes on the first path. So that was the way we walked.
​
The blades of the mill... They are turning in my imagination.
No...
They are turning in truth.
They really are turning.
But the wind is almost still. And they are moving so fast...
The mill has been decommissioned for the better part of the last decade. The mechanism too rusted to move, surely.
And yet the blades whirl against the night.
Has the necromancer repaired it? Does his army need sustenance?
​
I remember little of the cave and the eyes inside it. A hundred fires emblazoning that liquid darkness. But I do remember the one goblin, the mother, rushing out, unafraid of me. Of holding her hands to mine. Taking the child. I remember the sound of her crying.
I'd never heard in any story of a goblin cry. And it was a happy sound.
​
The windmill slowly falls over. The blade lowering, pushing forward at an impossible angle. The entire structure tilting until it lies on the ground.
I am deteriorating. Dying. That is it. I can hear my father's voice yelling at me to stop with the lies. Can feel the roughness of his palm against my cheek.
The lies.
And yet, the screams around me have paused.
More eyes have found the strange scene of this changing windmill that now looks like a javelin with a whirling front.
The skeletons march beyond us, as do the zombies. They stop a little way forward and stare at the strange windmill, then at each other, confused as I am.
"What is it--" says the necromancer, joining his army.
And then a roar as the windmill races off its perch on the hill. As the giant spinning javelin flies towards our ruined village.
If I could move, I would be too stunned to. Just like the necromancer. Just like his undead legions.
The weapon -- for surely that is what it is -- screams down the hill. It screams of death. It screams of oblivion.
The blades are not those I remember. They are reinforced by sharp-pronged metal. They spin in a blur of red as they chop through the dead, as they mince the necromancer and fly through the army and over the smouldering wall. And as it passes, I see a hundred, a thousand, burning eyes, just like the day in the cave.
I hear screams of triumph.
I hear the hiss of hydraulics as this transformed structure screeches to a halt somewhere behind me.
I hear the one sound that I was never allowed to believe as real.
"*Gob*."
| 2022-05-26T06:21:56 | 2022-05-26T05:57:11 | 2,852 | 531 |
[WP] After death you meet your guardian angel who welcomes you to a place where every appetite can be satisfied. There's just one rule: don't ask questions. Particularly about the nature of the universe. Even suggesting a question makes your guardian angel very, very angry.
|
"So, wanna stay here for a bit to relax and catch your bearings?"
"You fucking hypocrite."
I looked at my guardian angel, seeing a look of confusion cross her face. All this time she told me not to ask questions, and even the harmless question about asking her something(which I didn't get to finish) caused her to get snippy with me. And here she was, asking me a question.
"You go on and on about how I can't ask any question whatsoever, get snippy with me about just asking one, and you won't let me find out more about this or why I can't, and you have the audacity to ask me a question?"
"....What?"
"And there you go again! That's two questions you've asked me! So maybe you can explain why the hell you can ask questions while I can't!"
She started looking a bit worried. "Raoul, it's not like that—"
"Then what the fuck is it like?! Is it a 'rules for thee but not for me' sort of thing?! Or did you forget a rule yourself about asking questions?!"
"So you're telling me I'm bad at my job?! Take that back, jackass!"
"THEN TELL ME WHY THE FUCK I CAN'T ASK QUESTIONS WHEN YOU CAN, YOU SNOOTY PIECE OF—"
"Raoul!"
At once I felt a hand grip my shoulder, the long nails prodding my skin. The speaker held me in place, and I didn't struggle against her.
"That's enough."
I didn't argue with her. The angel, however, sighed in irritation.
"This is why we don't ask questions. You summon your guardian devil, who just so happens to be my ex. Anyways, Jezebel, you seem to know Raoul already."
"Shauna, it's been 20 years. I've moved on already and I've remarried with Gabriel. We don't have to bring this up again." Turning towards me, she exhaled, trying to calm down. It worked. "So, anyways, as you already heard, I'm Jezebel, your guardian devil. I'll handle the questions if that's fine with you."
"Perfect. So, what's the nature of this place and why won't Shauna tell me?"
"Well, the reason Angels hate being questioned about this place is because they don't know. However, us devils do, since it was created as a way to safely enjoy vices. Care for me to go into its history?"
"Sure."
|
"Oh, you're up! Splendid, let me get you a change of clothes." I heard from somewhere beside me. I slowly opened my eyes. The world around me was a blur of beige and white. *How did I get here?* I couldn't remember anything that led up to this. I sat up slowly, my back aching from a terrible pain and my head ringing.
"Gla...ses..." I managed to muster out to whoever was nearby. I couldn't see without my glasses. I stretched, closing my eyes for a brief second. When I opened them, however, I could see perfectly fine. I reached up to my face, but I didn't feel anything there. I could see, without my glasses. I sat there, in shock. I haven't been able to see properly without glasses for 38 of the 44 years of my life. I rubbed my eyes, even blinked a couple times, but I could still see. It's not that I didn't *want* to see, but I needed something to explain what was going on right now. Was I *dreaming?* No, that couldn't be it. This was all too much for me to comprehend. *I'll just lay back down and sleep.* I thought. Before I could do so, however, I was interrupted by the same voice I heard upon my awakening.
"Sorry that took so long. I've got you a change of clothes." The voice said. I turned to the source of the speaking, and to my surprise, a young woman in all white greeted me with a small smile. She had long, brunette hair that reached down the length of her torso, and she gave off the overall feeling of warmth. It took me a second to process, but she was holding clothes in her hand. A warm-looking jacket and jeans. *Ugh, Jeans.* I thought. I hated jeans. But, as to not be impolite, I reached out and took the clothes from her outstretched arm. However, under my touch, the jeans became a pair of long, navy blue sweatpants, just like my favorite pair. I looked at the pants for a good minute. *What the hell? What is going on right now?*
"Are you alright?" The nicely-dressed woman asked, inching closer to me. I looked up at her.
"Why did they change?" I asked.
"Hmm?" The woman hummed in response, her expression changing ever so slightly to a more unreadable one.
"The pants. Why did they change from jeans to sweats?" I asked, watching her face twist into a passive aggressive smile.
"Could I get you a glass of water?" She said, deliberately ignoring my question. Her face eased back into a genuine smile.
"Sure..." I muttered, looking back down at the clothes.
"Okay, I'll retrieve that for you. Please, change, it will take a moment for me to return." I heard her footsteps slowly fade away, and I waited until she was out of earshot to set down the clothes and look around. I swung my feet off the bed. The room was comfortable, almost *too* comfortable. There were posters hanging on the wall of Machine Head and Slipknot, my favorite bands. There was a small fire crackling in the corner. The room was huge. There was music playing somewhere in the distance. As I looked around, the thing I was worried about most was confirmed. This room was made specifically to appeal to me. I don't know how it was made or who did it, but they sure did a good job. I stood up, the joints in my body cracking. It was such a nice feeling. The floor was a cool, soft carpet. I looked down at my clothes, the ones I was told to change out of, and my breath hitched. They were covered in *blood.* Torn and ruined. But there was nothing on me. My exposed chest had no cuts or gashes deep enough to result in this much blood loss. I looked back down at the white sheets of the bed that I was just laying in, which didn't have a trace of blood on them. *What?*
I carefully peeled my bloody shirt away from my chest and lifted it over my head. When I took it off, I gently laid it over the bedsheets. I did the same with my pants. Once I had replaced my clothes with the ones provided, I felt immediately refreshed. It took a second for the thought to hit me, however. The thought that I was dead.
"I'm back!" I heard from behind me, making me jump. I turned around. The woman had entered the room again, somehow without a sound from the door or her footsteps. She was holding a large glass of water, with lots of ice floating around in it. I took it from her eagerly, not realizing just how thirsty I was until now. "Ah! How silly of me, I forgot to introduce myself!" She said. "I'm !@#$%, your guardian angel. I will be serving you for the rest of your afterlife!" She exclaimed. I stared at her, horrified. Did she just say I was in the *afterlife??* Woah now.
"What did you say your name was? I didn't quite catch that." I responded, shook.
"Oh, it's !@#$%. Anyways, I have a rule for you..." I still didn't quite hear her name. It was like there was some sort of filtration system blocking her from conveying the information to me correctly.
"RULE #!." She shouted, startling me. "This is the most important rule, and the only rule, so pay attention."
"Okay..."
"Mm-m." She cleared her throat. "NEVER. ASK. QUESTIONS. No matter how curious you are. Never about how you are here, or why you are here, or where this is, or who *he* is. NEVER." Her nostrils flared.
And then, I messed up.
I said the one thing I should have never said. Never in a million years.
...
"Why?"
...
Suddenly, I was alone. I was alone, and in the dark, and I couldn't move. It seemed as though I was tied to a chair. My wrists burned. Somewhere in the distance, a match was lit. I could see a flickering light moving towards me at an alarming pace. I squeezed my eyes shut, preparing to be hit by this invisible force. But instead, a gust of wind blew across my face. I opened my eyes, and was met with a ghostly face, that of the supposed 'guardian angel.' It seemed to be staring into my eyes, and I stared right back into what was *supposed* to be her eyes, but were instead sunken holes of nothingness.
"W-What?" I whimpered. Her faceless face twisted into a contorted smile of sorts.
"THIS IS WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME. THIS IS WHAT HE WILL DO TO ALL OF US BECAUSE OF **YOU.** ***YOU DID THIS TO US. YOU WILL PAY."*** There was laughter in the distance. Her voice melted into that of thousands. A flame was lifted up to my face, and with that, I remembered everything. I remembered the face of the one who stabbed me, again and again. I remembered the faces of the people I loved, slowly slipping away. With a searing pain, it all went away. Everything I ever dreamed of happening, I watched it go down the drain. The darkness swallowed everything, and all that was left was pain.
...
I woke up, coughing, with a horrid pain all over my body. As I opened my eyes, I found that I was sitting in another room, this time with only one other person. I couldn't see their face, even though I was staring right at it. They looked down at me. They had a loud, deep voice as they spoke. It addressed me with stern body language.
"Welcome, 'Guardian Angel,' to your living hell."
| 2022-12-10T16:46:04 | 2022-12-10T15:25:54 | 91 | 22 |
[WP] A top-secret division of the S.S., in charge of protecting Adolf Hitler from the thousands of time travelers trying to kill him.
|
In a sudden, sparkling corona of light, the man in the neon jumpsuit sprang from midair, raygun at the ready.
”Ah-*HA* Adolf! Get ready for a *reckoning* from the-”
He stopped, and looked at the startled men in front of him, in their Victorian frilled collars and codpieces.
”Oh, *blast*! Must've overshot again! Why, this damnable-!”
He started to fiddle distractedly with the chirping device strapped to his arm.
Calmly, the two men pulled out lugers from concealed pockets and shot him dead.
”Verks effry time, ya?” One said to the other, grinning, and wiping his forhead with a swastika handkerchief.
|
Wilhelm took the feet and Dieter took the arms. Together, they dragged the limp corpse out of Hitler's bedroom. A servant mopped gore from the parquetry.
The Fuhrer was visibly shaken by this most recent attempt. He had gone beet red and silent, watching the Zeitlichekorps men conduct the grim work at hand. Eva massaged his shoulders and cooed soothing words, but he paid her no attention.
There had been two in this attempt, each wielding machine pistols, and the wall behind Hitler's four-post bed was riddled with bullets.
This was the closest any attempt had come since the spring of 1943. Were they becoming more organized on the other side of that temporal divide? How long would it be before one of them came with a palm-sized superweapon to blow him and all of the Fatherland to hell? He had heard talk of such weapons existing in the future. He had heard talk of lots of things existing in the future.
One thing he never heard talk of was a thousand-year Reich. This was something the assailants always agreed upon. Heydrich assured him this was a mere psychological gambit -- clearly, these people were organized by some sort of resistance in the 21st century, and they would not be coming back in time to dismantle the Reich if Lebensraum had not succeeded.
Hitler took cold comfort in this. Of late, his underlings had noticed the air of foredoom hanging about his head. Often he would stare blankly out the window, stooped, hands behind his back, and as plainly as the nose on his face you could see thoughts about a certain day in April of 1945 that all the assailants insisted was coming.
---
Wilhelm and Dieter loaded the second corpse into the bed of a pickup along with the first. Wilhelm banged a fist against the tailgate as a signal to the driver. The driver revved his motor and, with a backfire that expelled black soot into the air, he took off down the gravel path at Berghof. The bodies would be examined by one of Mengele's men -- and if they carried any interesting technology, it would be handed over for reverse engineering. The war effort badly needed a breakthrough like that.
Dieter pulled his cigarette case from his breast pocket. He lit up, cupping his hand over the lighter to shield it from the cold winter wind.
"May I ask you something, Dieter?" Wilhelm said.
"Mm," Dieter grunted.
"What sort of resistance could be so organized with so many different men and women from so many different places?"
"The future is a strange place," Dieter said, waving his hand and taking another puff.
Wilhelm shook his head. "They don't even speak the same language. They don't even come from the same period. Caucasian, Negro, Mongoloid, Jew... the only trait they share in common is hatred for the Fuhrer."
"It's to be expected. A global Reich leads to a global resistance."
"I've come to think there may be elements of-- truth-- in what they tell us."
Dieter pulled the cigarette from his lips and eyed his colleague. He began to say something -- something traitorous, perhaps -- but stopped himself short. He started over: "I suppose we shall see in a year's time." He curled his fingers into the shape of a gun and mimed blowing out his brains.
"Will we hang like they say the others do?" Wilhelm asked. "--Granting this absurdity comes to pass, that is," he added, keeping the conversation strictly hypothetical.
Dieter took another puff and swept his gaze across the evergreens. "I've always wanted to go to Argentina," he said. "I hear it's not so damn cold down there." He turned his head and gave Wilhelm a playful wink.
Wilhelm decided to come out with it. He gulped. He felt his heart pitter-pattering in his chest as he tried to think of the best words. His mouth went dry and he licked his lips. His breaths became shallow. "We could end it, you know. All of it. Hypothetically."
Dieter tossed his cigarette to the ground and snuffed it with his bootheel. He turned, the gravel crunching underfoot. He peered at Wilhelm down the bridge of his nose. "Hypothetically," he repeated.
"We're closer to the Fuhrer than almost anyone."
Dieter was silent, and Wilhelm's stomach lurched. He thought Dieter might be sympathetic. Now he feared he had made the mistake of his life.
"There's a principle I believe in--" Dieter began.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I believe in the Fatherland, too--"
"There's a principle I believe in," Dieter said again, speaking over Wilhelm's simpering backpedaling. "Time is self-healing. These men and women who arrive to 'end it,' as you say -- they do not, cannot, succeed. Granting what they say is true. Or even granting it isn't. The Fuhrer's appointment with death is set and will never be changed. If it could be changed, it would be changed. Do you see?"
Wilhelm sighed. He opened his eyes and looked at Dieter like a guilty puppy.
"I work in the Zeitlichekorps," Dieter said, "not because I believe in Lebensraum but because I believe in Time. But I have no illusions of being essential. Were it not for us men in the ZK, it would be some other thing. A jammed mechanism on a gun, or a sudden change in schedule." He poked Wilhelm in the chest as if to underline his words. "These men today were face to face with the Fuhrer. By rights they should have succeeded. How does one miss so spectacularly with guns like those at point-blank? Time maintains."
"Then-- what happens after-- assuming, that is--"
"What happens after?" Dieter said. "If the Fuhrer commits suicide, everything these travelers have told us is true. We will embark with confidence into the great known."
"Assuming we don't hang."
"We will not hang. They never told us that we did."
| 2014-07-01T09:08:40 | 2014-07-01T08:47:42 | 240 | 13 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who.
|
Elli was born without the names. Some people thought that she was blessed. She was not faced with knowing the name of the person who would kill her. Others believed it was a curse, some kind of disability. She had to admit that not having the names made her wonder if there *was* something wrong with her. Everyone has the names. So what does that mean about her? Will she never really be loved? Will she eventually become so lonely she'll just... kill *herself*?
That was what she believed until she met Brian. He was beautiful, smart, funny, and *he had her name*. He knew about her predicament, and didn't care. He loved her, even if it meant she'd never really be his.
Two years after dating, she accepted his marriage proposal. Their parents disagreed because of her "disfigurement", but it didn't matter. They were in absolute bliss. Through all the doubt, all the worry, she knew this was meant to be.
That was until two months before the wedding, when her mother burst into her home while Brian was away.
"You can't marry him!" Her mother yelled.
"We've talked about this, mom. He doesn't care that I don't have the names. We love each other!" Elli explained.
"I know he doesn't care, but you just can't marry him Elli! You can't! It's not meant to be!" She insisted.
"Then tell me why. Why can't you just let us be happy?"
Her mother sighed and sat down at their dining room table. It seemed as if she was struggling to find the words. "Your father and I... We were tortured by the names. We were happy that it allowed us to find each other but knowing the names of our killers... It tortured us, Elli. We wanted things to be different for you."
"What are you saying, mom?" She asked, panicked.
Her mother paused, looking at the floor.
"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?" Elli demanded.
"We had them removed, Elli. People aren't supposed to know these things. We wanted life to be better for you."
Elli's mind went blank. She wasn't a freak. She wasn't disfigured. Her parents did this to her. Elli looked up, finally understanding what her mother was saying. "Did I have his name? Please tell me. Please tell me I had Brian's name." Elli begged.
Her mother stared at her for a long time before finally shaking her head. "I'm sorry honey."
Elli started crying, her mind racing. The one person she loved most in the world was not her soulmate. She'd already built a life with him, loved him, made promises, shared secrets, planned their perfect wedding and imagined their perfect home, they'd even picked out names for their future children.
Names...
That's when she realized. She didn't have his name... but he still had hers.
|
Written in scar tissue across a man’s back, there would always be a name. Another man’s name, the kind our culture crafted from blood and dirt to evoke that very image. The prevailing theory was that the name etched in raised flesh would be the name of that man’s killer. Or it wasn’t a theory, exactly, because it always proved to be true. Men would meet on the battlefield and exchange names. Duels were inscribed in fate before they were ever won. They meant everything to us, our names.
Written in thin ribbons of blood across a man’s back, there would always be a name. A woman’s name, the kind our culture crafted from wind and snow to evoke that very image. The prevailing theory was that the name written in raised lines would be the name of that man’s lover. Or it wasn’t a theory, exactly, because it always proved to be true. Men and women would meet on windblown hills and exchange names. Marriages were inscribed in our bodies and souls before two hands ever touched. Allegiances were broken and reforged on blood-soaked ground, by the grace of the names written by the fates. They meant everything to us, our names.
The elders did not tell us the stories of men with the names of two men scrawled across their spines, or the women who had any names at all. Our lives were built around precarious lies, and they were careful to keep all of that from crumbling down. Child, this is a man’s world, they would say as a round-cheeked girl toddled towards their tales. They would turn her around, twist her where she stood, and send her off to be told tales of other things. Of the women’s world, whatever that was. We understood that she was excluded from this. That she could not possibly have two names stamped on her heart, as we did. A man and a woman. Destined to be.
They were private things, the scars we had always had. Or they were supposed to be. I woke one night to the sound of silence, nothing but the moon overhead, luminous in its cold judgment. Then ragged breaths, a woman panting for another wind that would never come. I heard the breath pass from her lips to her son’s, the cries of any newborn child, and then screams. My own breath stilled. I could hear voices, low and dark, full of twisted things. The child had the names of two men, inked in scarlet across his chest. There was nothing to be done for him. I listened to him scream for one heartbeat, and then two, and then silence again.
The woman was dead the next morning. There was no sign of the child. We buried her body beneath the snow and the dirt, and pretended that we did not see the red bleed through the ice. I knew then that there was no chance that a child with two bloodied names would ever come to be. That this path would carry on unbroken. That the stories our elders told came true only because they forced them to come true, and because anyone who stood in their path would be cut down in an instant. I wondered if it was an elder’s name, coiled in crimson around that infant’s heart.
Then I met him.
I was too young to understand it then, and I am too old to understand it now, but I felt it strongly then. When I met him, it felt as if the entire world grew still. No, it was not the earth tipped on its axis. It was not the unraveling of a centuries-old yarn my elders had continued to spin. It was not even the silence after a cold, biting rain, or the chill that runs down a man’s spine after he removes his knife from another man’s throat. It was a small silence. A moment’s breath. Then the space between us grew smaller, and the moment was shattered. He drew nearer, and I could feel my breath on my lips, my heart beating in my chest.
You are Endymion, I said, and it felt as if the words stood still and shivered in the air, tiny shards of frost, or glass. Pointed things, the kind that could prick my fingers if I was not careful enough. You are Endymion, I thought, and I am going to die. I had two names across my back, just as any other boy who had survived to my age did, and I had traced his name with my fingertips far too many times, wondering when I would meet him. Wondering when the thread of my fate would meet and tangle with his, and when only one silken thread would remain. Whether it would be before or after I met Merope. I had the answers, now, and they were not the kind that I had favored, when I still thought that there was romance in the script that curled down my spine.
Your name is Selenus, he said, and my eyes darted up to his own. You are not going to die, he said, and I marveled at the softness in his voice, the honey that colored the tones of the man who was going to kill me. How convincing he was, standing there before me, in the center of a battlefield. He knew, just as I did, that only one of us would survive this day. This was his people’s tradition, just as it was mine, and all around us there were men pairing off, all around the bloodied earth. Our histories would determine our future.
There was no longer any space between us. We do not kill our infant children who have two men’s names on their skin, he said, and my eyes widened with shock. In one fluid movement, he bared his back to me, and revealed his soul. If I had wanted to kill him, if I had wanted to defy the fates, in that moment, I could. But I did not. Because I froze, and I saw my own name written there, beside another. I do not know if I made the right choice, he said, his voice suddenly soft in a way I had not heard before. You could be the man to kill me. But I will take that risk, because for our people, there are no presumptions. We have no way to determine whether the names on our backs are the names by which we will live or die.
But I would live by your side, he said, and if it is to be that we kill one another, I will let it be. My heart thudded dully in my chest. I had the names of a man and a woman on my skin, and tradition said what it should be, but when I closed my eyes I heard the screams of that murdered child, and I knew that our traditions knew nothing of what should and should not be. I opened my eyes again. He was still there, before me, his hand outstretched. I steadied myself, and stretched out my own fingers. Let the fates laugh, I said, and I swear by every god I know that his smile was the sweetest thing I had ever been graced with being able to see.
The elders were wrong, you see, and they could not keep fate at bay forever. My names should have been normal. Endymion should have killed me there, just as hundreds of his clansmen killed hundreds of my own. Merope should have grown up lost, without a lover. But she’s here. And she’s coming for me, just as it has always been written, just as I always knew that she would. Because it’s true — our names do determine who will kill us, and who will love us until the day we die. But they’re wrong, when they say that a man kills a man, and a man loves a woman. There’s no way to know.
I know, because my names should have been normal. But Merope, she is somewhere out there, with her blades tipped with poison, and I welcome her, even as she seeks to strengthen the traditions which I hope to destroy. She believes in the old gods, the gods I once thought were real, the fates that decree only a man and a woman should be together forever. She will kill me, and she will fulfil the very prophecies she seeks to deny.
I welcome her. With outstretched arms. Then, I can be with my darling Endymion again.
| 2018-03-11T09:04:19 | 2018-03-11T08:09:30 | 270 | 84 |
[WP] You’re a superhero who has decided to start dating. You quickly become frustrated as your dates are interrupted by the villain’s schemes. Then, you meet a girl and begin spending entire evenings uninterrupted. Little do you know, you’re dating your nemesis.
|
"Mr. Magnus, sir!"
"The villain... escaped, sir. Last sighted speeding down 31st street." The detective looked dejected as he surveyed the cafe. Well, I guess it's nothing more than singed ruins now.
"...Casualty report?" I vigorously rubbed my hands on my face. Maybe the ash coming off of my gloves would be enough to hide my embarrasment.
I was terribly off my game today. My third date with Jane was going so well. We had plenty of common interests, I liked her sense of humor... not to mention that laugh.
I may be a top-ranked hero, but even I can be starstruck sometimes.
It's been a while since my day off hadn't been interrupted by one of Glacia's schemes so just 'chilling' (pun not intended) with Jane was the most fun I've had in a while.
Until that miserable excuse for a human being showed up and...!
What does the Villain League have against my love life anyway?! This is the 21st. The TWENTY-FIRST date (not counting Jane) they've ruined since I downloaded that blasted app!
Damn it. I shouldn't be-
"...er, sir? Sir?"
*Huh?* Oh right. "Yes, Detective?"
He blinked at me.
Great, now he probably thinks that I've gone off my rocker.
"No casualties, none wounded, sir. You managed to distract the Singer enough to minimize human risk." He looks at a broken piece of signage.
"Although..."
"Magnus!" A brunette wearing a yellow coat breaked free from two officers and ran towards us. "Magnus, sir, you have to help. Please."
Even underneath her ash-streaked face, I can tell she's beautiful. I slowly put a hand on her shoulder to calm her trembling.
"Yes. How can I help you, ma'am?" I ask, turning the 'authoritative' switch on. Enough moping about your date, Max. People need help.
"Please, I-. It's my date, Max. I mean, he's..."
Max? That's me! Is she...?
"He's missing. I can't find him."
-part one ends-
|
(NOTE: I would love recommendations. I didn't do a whole lot of editing, I just kinda flowed and tried to make things make sense).
I fell in love the way addicts experience cocaine – feeling awesome and then suddenly naked in an alleyway.
My job is not an easy one. My powers are unimportant (I have hyper awareness and super sight, but also super strength, no biggie) but fighting bad guys in Philadelphia, PA is not a simple task.
Let’s not get too crazy here either; the “villains” aren’t like what you see in movies – super evil people with enormous schemes to take over the world. In reality, fighting bad guys is basically trying to make sure that a young woman gets safely home after work or stopping a teenager from buying drugs. Most of the criminals are somehow influenced by politics or by their incredible lack of income.
At the end of the day, I decided that as a 32 year old female superhero that I had a lot of things going for me. I’m successful, hot, and I stick up for the little guy.
Joke is on me though, because of course there’s an issue. The one person in the entire world that is constantly trying to ruin my life aka my nemesis. Neither of us know who the other person is (okay, one thing that is true is we still wear masks, but facial recognition has gotten so crazy we often have to change the masks to ensure privacy). Furiosa’s targets, generally, don’t have anything to do with me because she doesn’t know me in street clothes or like, me at all. If she did it would be all over social media in a heartbeat (oh right, we also have “super” accounts. I have \*ahem\* 2k followers \*ahem\*). Her tack is pretty much just causing chaos. She loves wrecking restaurants, nightclubs and such, but she never physically harms anyone. She just likes making a mess which makes my life a million times more difficult at my day job as a receptionist way more difficult. There’s always so much paperwork.
Her name is Furiosa – furious in Spanish. I will say that she’s honestly really badass – she’s Puerto Rican, probably around the same age as me, and has super strength and she can clone herself.
For the record, my hero name is Rockette – you know like Rocky Balboa? But, a chick? Heh?
Right.
Anyway, so it’s this award-winning sense of humor that was not allowing me to do a simple thing like dating. I would go out with someone and things would go well, but inevitably a restaurant would burn down, a car would come flying into the bowling alley, or the person would get kidnapped at the hands of the super chill Furiosa. Unfortunately, most normal people don’t really appreciate being in the pit of danger every night we try to go out. So, person after person would end up ghosting me.
So, I tried dating out of the city. I went to New Jersey or further out in Pennsylvania and finally while I was in New Jersey my life was finally calm. I met a girl – we were the same age and had graduated from the same high school. Her name was Bella.
I could feel her honesty exuding from her and her willingness to help others. She really listened to me with genuine interest.
There was always this hint that something was a little off, but having been rejected by so many people and feeling so incredibly good about this relationship I was willing to brush it off.
Every day, Furiosa was still coming at me with as much fire as she could. She was even more aggressive than normal and was preventing me from doing my daily tasks for the citizens of Philadelphia.
Every evening, I would go home exhausted, but thinking about Bella. The way she would giggle and the glint in her emerald eyes. How when she would get fired up about something, her hair somehow grew with electricity. I loved her and I knew it. I had fallen hard.
Our relationship was strong and powerful, she knew that I worked at the Philly Police Department and I knew that she was a social worker in Camden. We had similar interests in protecting people, but we always seemed to clash on how to help people. I believe that we need people from other sectors of life to accomplish non-violent tasks so that the police can handle the more dangerous tasks at hand. She had a strange opinion – she believed that people that interfere with people’s private affairs will only make things worse.
“What if you did something like that and you were hurt?” she said afterward,
“Bella, I’m a receptionist. I’m not going to go vigilante-style out in the streets.”
“That’s…not…not what I’m saying.”
“No, I think I know what you mean, I just—"
“No, you don’t know. Babe, I love you.”
In that moment my heart nearly burst through my chest. We stared at each other in silence. She looked into my eyes with the pleading of a scared kitten.
“Bella, I love you more than you will ever know.”
She sighed with relief and took my hands. “I’m going to work harder for us. For both of us.”
The following week, I didn’t hear anything from her. I was extremely concerned, but figured that she was busy with work – she had recently been promoted and was going to start working in Philly as well. We were both very excited, but I had assumed that I would be included in this transition.
I continued my days, not as a receptionist obviously, but broke up some minor drug rings, stopped a couple of muggings, and visited a couple of schools to talk about crime and how to prevent it from happening. In the evening, I went out with a small group of friends which was disrupted very quickly by Furiosa as usual. My friends are used to this happening by now – they all know about me.
This time was different, she hesitated before she started trashing. She never hesitates – since she can clone herself, she bursts in, clones herself about ten times and then trashes the place in about 5 minutes.
Her record is 3.67 by the way. I timed.
Anyway, since I knew this was only going to last a couple minutes, I stopped by a friend’s place while I dropped them off, dressed in my Rockette garb, and took off.
The next time I found her she was trashing a club, but…it was half hearted.
“This isn’t your best work, Furiosa.”
She turned and the look she gave me was that of utter confusion.
“That wasn’t your best opener either, Rockette.”
“Are you reconsidering your life of not allowing us to have nice things?”
“I’m more confused about my love life actually.”
I laughed, “Girl, are you having that rough a time that you have to talk to me about your love life?”
“Adrianna, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I froze. She took off her mask.
Bella.
*Bella.*
“Bell….la?”
“…Hi?”
“Did you…know?”
“Okay, look here’s the lowdown – I have always known, but I wanted to really, really mess with you. So I matched with you on Tindr and then we went on a couple of dates and we…well…I…screwed it up. I messed up my own masterplan.”
“But—” and the next thing I know I’m hitting pavement. Hard.
*I love you.*
When I woke up a little later, I was in the alleyway next to the club she was trashing – naked except for my bra and panties.
“Fuck love.”
| 2020-08-02T23:52:20 | 2020-08-02T23:18:04 | 38 | 23 |
[WP] One day, time just suddenly stops for a short moment for you. At first, you tried to mess around, but after the 246th times it happened, you start to realise that your power is not stopping time, but being able to move in time frozen by another person in the world.
Just an idea that randomly popped up in my head.
|
Grandpa was running toward me screaming "STOP STAY AWAY! HE HAS THE POWER TO STOP TI..."
And suddenly everyone stopped, again, all I saw was Dio screaming "ZA WARUDO" before it happened.
I could barely move a finger, but I saw it happening in front of me, Dio just murdered my grandfather!
When time resumed I was very angry! Grandpa last words were not to get angry, but my blood was boiling, I just wanted to punch that smug satisfied face to death.
As Dio approached me I launched my stand towards him
"ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA"
"MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA"
|
I was seven the first time it happened. The teacher was in the middle of having us recite our multiplication tables. I was daydreaming, staring absentmindedly into space while the sun shining through the windows lulled me into a pleasant state of drowsiness. It took a few seconds for me to realize the monotone drone of numbers had stopped, leaving nothing but silence.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and looked around. All my friends were frozen - Tom over there with his glasses falling off the bridge of his nose, Abigail's eyes mid-blink. Before I could react, everything snapped back into motion. They continued reciting as if they hadn't just been paralyzed, trapped in time. I was practically bouncing out of my chair, holding back a grin. I had powers!
That dream died quickly. Try as I might, I could never get time to stop or start at will; it seemed to do as it pleased. I tried rewinding it that one time I asked my crush out while hammered, fast-forwarding it at a high school recital; once I even tried to jump back a few years to the last time I saw my gran before the dementia set in. No go. Time, however was cooperative enough in stopping so I could watch the life leave her in the hospital bed at my own pace. Her veiny hands stayed curled around my own until the world started up again and her heart monitor flatlined.
The last time, I was on the subway home from work. The train car rolled to a halt in the station, hydraulics hissing, but the doors did not open. A quick glance at my watch - the second hand had stopped ticking. Dammit. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too long. I pulled out my phone to occupy myself for however long I would be stuck. A flash of movement caught my eye and my head snapped up. Noone else ever moved when the world stopped, ever. My eyes darted from person to person, each perfectly still. Was I imagining things? Had I gone mad? Was this all some twisted hallucination that was finally moving to the next level?
Movement again, outside the car. I ran to the window, stumbling over my own feet, just to catch a glimpse of strawberry-blonde hair tucked into a knit cap disappearing into the crowd, nimbly darting around the mass of motionless commuters. I banged on the glass.
"Hey!" I shouted. "Hey-y!" The stranger didn't respond or react in the slightest, just continuing to run off. I couldn't even tell if they heard me. The subway doors opened with a lurch and a few people glanced at me, gaze flicking up from their respective devices for a few seconds before steadfastly ignoring the crazy guy banging his fist against the window. Heat crept into my cheeks and I sat back down.
I spent that night staring at the ceiling in the dark, agonizing. Who was that? Did someone else have this power, this influence over time? Could they teach me? Were they trying to meet me?
The next day, shadows deep under my eyes, I took the train back to the same station. It would have been faster to take a different route, but I had to know - I /had/ to. I stood on that platform for hours, looking for the same blonde hair, the same small figure. I was met with a sea of people, but none of them the one I was looking for.
It was nearing the end-of-day rush. Deflated, I readied myself to push onto the next homeward-bound train. It stopped abruptly at the platform, the screeching of the rail being cut off into absolute silence.
"Hi."
I whirled around. Directly behind me stood a young man, about my age, with short-clipped strawberry blonde hair. His hospital scrubs peeked out from under his long black coat, hands shoved deep in the pockets. He shuffled his feet, reached up to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.
I blinked. "Tom?"
He smiled, but his eyes were shaky. "You remember me!"
"Dude, it's been years! I haven't seen you since - what, high school?"
"Well... Yeah, you haven't seen me."
"Wait, so, this -" I gestured to the static people around me "- is you? This is all you?"
He nodded.
"So then, in elementary school - "
"I kind of froze," he laughed, glancing off to the side. "That was by accident and I didn't know what was going on. Everything just stopped, except... Except you. I thought I was crazy, so I never brought it up."
I thought back to every instance time had stopped. Up until a certain point, they had been serendipitous - in the middle of an exam I would have bombed otherwise, just before the bus home from school took off. It was only after graduation that the pauses grew erratic, almost inconsiderate. Except -
"The hospital," I said. "That was you?"
Tom nodded. "I dunno. It had been so long, and I felt kind of weird talking to you when you were there for - well - yeah. I thought it would be nice to give you some more time. I realized after that that was pretty stupid. I'm sorry."
I clenched and unclench my fists a few times. "It's... Fine. It's fine. But why are you coming to me now, if it was awkward then?"
He looked down at his feet, face coloring pink.
"Holy shit," I said, the realization dawning on me. "That's kind of sweet, actually."
"This is probably really weird -"
" - no kidding - "
"But, I mean, hey." He glanced up to meet my eyes and gave me a shy smile. "You're the only other person who can move when the world stops, so... We could use that."
I laughed. "Buy me dinner first. Next Friday at eight?"
"I'll be there," he promised. "After all, I've got plenty of time."
(bad pun didn't know how to end this sorry)
| 2018-01-26T07:03:15 | 2018-01-26T07:03:03 | 71 | 23 |
[WP] Since you were born you could see a search bar over people's heads. All you had to do was think and the search bar would fill out and give you information/statistics. Out of boredom one day you decide to search your whole family with"Number of people killed"
|
I can find information out about people just by looking at them and thinking. It’s my superpower you could say.
When I look at someone I see a search bar, I call it the ultimate search. It’s how I found out my best friend is gay and that the quiet girl is far from a virgin like she claims.
It sometimes makes me wonder if others have the same ability or whatever, so sometimes out of curiosity I search.
So far I am the only one.
It sometimes becomes overwhelming, knowing almost anything there is about a person.
There is one question that I have never searched… “number of people killed”
Maybe I’m afraid of the answer and that’s why I have never really thought about it. Looking at the search bar above my mom I think it.
“a hundred”
My mother has killed a hundred people, I’m afraid to look at her… but I can’t help myself and when I do she is wearing a sickening smile.
I look to dad with the same question and his is almost double
Then grams.
And my sisters.
All of them have killed at least a hundred people and when I look to each of them they are wearing sickening smiles.
…
Now just waking up, I can’t help wondering where I am, the walls are a light pink color and my head is pounding.
Just as my memories of what happened with mom come back to me a lady walks in with some medicine, and the search bar is gone.
“Where am I?” I ask her and she just gives me a smile.
A man that certainly looks like a doctor walks in and answers my question “your at Yardley Memorial hospital, in the mental wing.”
He doesn't have the bar either, the medicine must be doing something to my power.
All of the sudden my mom walks in looking worried, and she is also missing the bar. “Sweetie-” I don’t let her finish since I throw the tray of pills at her
“You monster” I scream and next thing I know there are two guys twice the size of me dragging me out of the room, who knows where. All I know is that nobody has a search bar anymore.
|
I sat on the couch in the living room while everyone was outside talking and catching up with each other, after all, it’s been a while since the family had come together and be able to reconnect with each other, as always, I find that I’m by myself, and as always bored whenever these get together occur.
“Leo!” Mother called me, as she wandered into the living room, her hand on her hips as her head shakes exasperated,“Come on, when will you stop hiding and talk to your aunts, and uncles and meet your cousins? Can you please come with me?”
She walked away, already expecting me to follow her and I sighed, before getting up and forcing myself to meet my family once again, and always I saw the search bars, glowing softly over their heads, and a voice called cheerfully, “Leo!” A boy taller than me chirped, a wide toothy grin and his blue eyes bright as ever as he pulled me into a hug, before releasing me,”Where were you, the lot of us was wondering how long it’ll take until you left your den,”
I rolled my eyes at his pun, before sending a smirk his way, “Well I left my room quite a long while ago, just been prowling around, the usual, nice to see you again Thomas.”
Thomas nodded with a larger grin before his attention was taken away by Aunt Rose, leaving alone again, I greeted the rest of my family, making a sad attempt of socializing before getting a drink from the cooler, finding myself sitting in boredom, before a sudden thought came to mind, and he decided, no matter how unlikely or possible that it could be that someone in his family was a murderer, he thought to himself, it wouldn’t hurt to check either.
My first target was a 2nd cousin that always wore black, she was a thin and pale girl with dark hair, she was talking to her twin sister at the moment who look the exact opposite despite their similarities, and he stared intensely over her head, imagining the words forming.
“Numbers Of people Killed?”
Immediately the words faded, a slight nervousness instilled inside him as the bar slowly revealed the answer to him and unsurprisingly to be zero, he shrugged expecting such results, despite his nervousness of the unexpected occurring, he continued, his next choice.
Aunt Rose...0
His Mother...0
Uncle Lewis...1
At that result, he froze before relaxing as he remembered that Uncle Lewis was a police officer so it was a higher possibility but oddly felt uncomfortable at this information, still I persist.
Great Grandpa Stanley...15
I flinched at the numbers, but expected that number already, he was a participant of that war...
Thomas...12
I blinked owlishly, stunned at the result, honestly expecting zero, it wasn’t possible, Perfect Thomas, Thomas who always get perfect grades and Volunteer every week and who always made sure he never felt left out?
“No way...” I muttered, imagining the words appearing on to the search bad, and error somehow made and to still see that number made me stand up, I stared at Thomas, breathing out, trying to find an excuse, a possibility to why there was a number, a high number of people that have been killed, and he took a deep breathe before approaching Thomas, I walked towards him, filled with determination, but a seed of nervousness filled me, “Thomas, we need to talk...”
Thomas turned to me and grinned, “You know how much I hate how stuffy Thomas sounds, call Tom, yeah?”
“Sorry, Thomas...I mean Tom...” I muttered, scratching the name of my neck.
“So what’s up, why have the lion summoned me?” He questioned as he brushed his dark curls backwards with his hands, removing the bangs away from his face warm eyes, his usual grin felt off to me, maybe it’s because of what I saw but I don’t know but It felt wrong now.
“N-not now...can we talk alone somewhere...” I muttered, my eyes unable to meet his, “it’s something that no one else should hear...”
For a second, I felt like his blue eyes darkened and a quick but calculating look appeared in eyes, but only for a second that it made me wonder if I was just overthinking, forcing my gaze to meet his, what I saw was only a concerned face and the usual goofy grin gone, “is everything alright, mate?” He said softly,”I’m always here for you, even if we don’t hang out a lot, family is family and I’ll always be here, okay?”
That statement made me falter and doubt the truth of what I saw, but it never was wrong before, however there was always a first for everything, right?
“...Just follow me,” I said, hesitant as I turned around, allowing him to follow me up to my room.
.
.
.
A red tinted lit room with red and black stripes on the wall, a crimson red carpet, a large bed with simple dark sheets and lit candles around, “...Nice room” Tom commented as he looked at his cousin, Leo.
“My mother thought the aesthetics would go well with my supposed ‘image’...” Leo stated, emphasizing on the word image as he sat down, his eyes staring cautiously at Tom, which he noted carefully.
“So what’s wrong, mate?” Tom questioned, his hands stuck into his jean pockets loosely.
“You killed someone.”
The room was filled with silence as Tom stared at Leo silently, his eyes blank and his lips thin, Tom licked his lips in consideration as he replayed the accusation— statement into his head, “...What?” He finally replied in question.
Leo watched his expression carefully, for every twitch he’d make, for any turn in his expression that could indicate the guilt of the crimes he hoped that Tom didn’t commit, “You heard me.”
Tom only stared, his eyes cold and revealed no emotion to indicate his true feelings,”I do not know what you mean.”
“I saw it,” Leo rebutted, the sudden change in Tom’s body language was simply alarming, the way Tom stiffened, the way his teeth were clenched subtly behind his thinned lips, the darkness in his eyes that kind of scared Leo, he took a deep breathe, “I’m not going to rat you out, I just want you to stop...and asked why...”
Tom only stared at him, his face expressionless before softening into an easy smile, “That’s really a terrible joke... you know, that’s a really really serious crime to accuse someone of, mate, it could get you killed if you’re not carefully,” he laughed, a laugh that sounded empty to Leo’s ears and brought chills, “Next time , don’t accuse me of something like that, you wouldn’t like me angry, ya know....You seriously nearly got me angry but because you’re family I forgive you...anyways, if you ever make such an accusation to the wrong guy, you never know where you’ll find yourself...”
Leo only sat still, as if he felt like he barely escaped with his head intact for a moment, the look in Tom’s eyes were plain cold and empty, while his smile exuded a fake warmth and he began to laugh weakly, “Yeah, I was just joking, a prank...I just wanted to see your reactions...it’s not like you ever killed someone...”
Tom only smiled a large grin, while his eyes lacked warmth as he turned away and walked outside to mingle with the rest of his family, Leo left by himself wondering how he can gain proof, already making a mistake in confronting him as he feels that if he ever get in Tom’s way, there would be no hesitation in his death and funeral being planned...
| 2019-07-01T22:44:04 | 2019-07-01T22:18:35 | 52 | 13 |
[WP] Genies are real, and they do grant wishes. But these wishes do not have to be said out loud. They just grant you your three deepest desires, however fucked up they may be
|
The party was a pool of embarrassment but if you looked closely you can see that even though some of the things that were brought to reality were downright weird the person who received them was secretly satisfied. It was after all their three deepest desires. One by one the lamp was passed and three events either happened or popped out of nowhere. Up to this day no one has ever seen a purple sparkling unicorn but it happened, there it was in the living room. There was the question of why it had a very specific set of powers but given the nature of the wishes, it decided that it was best left unasked.
Andrew was the last person to get the lamp, having seen the previous wishes granted he could barely contain his excitement.
“Hurry up Andrew” the friend with a tentacle anime girl sitting on his lap, “let’s see what weird shit you’re into.”
“It’s probably something boring like a bicycle or something” another added, who was now talking velociraptor.
Andrew rubbed the lamp and a whirlwind of smoke filled the room before condensing into a muscular bald figure. Andrew opened his mouth. “NO” the voice boomed, “even I have standards,” and returned back into the lamp.
|
*February 28, 2021*
Okay, one of the things I wished for was her. That didn't mean I wanted her to kill her husband to make it happen. I'm blameless! This isn't what I asked for.
Even though all of us worked in the same office (had worked together for the last ten years, I'd watched the two of them meet and marry), and at times I wished him dead—because who hasn't wished somebody dead?—it isn't what I wanted. I have her but she's just confessed to me that she murdered her husband, because he'd never have let her go otherwise. I don't have anyplace else to get this off my chest, so it's going here.
And the love she shows me is almost manic. I won't say it's not what I had in mind, but it's not exactly what I expected. At times, before I had her, my affection toward her had been manic, obsessive, doubtlessly, and yet harmless—but seeing it reflected back like this now with the presence of her volition and thereby action which substantiates its reality is something entirely different. Sometimes I find it difficult to properly express my affection toward her because it might upset the equilibrium of things.
The way it's been these last couple days I can describe like this: that any moment she's away from me is a moment for her of distress, and therefore it is distressing for me because I know she's distressed and I do not want her to be distressed. I do not want her to be distressed ever. I am expecting to find one day (if I don't suggest it myself, perhaps casually or overtly, I'm not sure yet) in our bedroom or some closet or some other room in the house a shrine or altar or voodoo doll dedicated to me, someplace for her to properly worship me, be with me, when she is not at my feet doing the same. The thought of this doesn't disturb me. That would make me rather happy, in fact.
Of course, the lamp with the genie in it has expired, so it's not like I can use it to bring John back from the dead. Eager, I made my other two wishes right after the first one. These two wishes were: find the financial freedom to quit my job, and have children someday. Oh well.
​
*March 3, 2021*
Behold, yesterday I awoke to find my bank account containing five million bucks. Where it came from, I don't know. It was deposited via a wire transfer. I don't think it would be in my interest to ask the bank questions about it, so this is all I know about it. I still haven't quit my job.
We are, of course, still having sex. Something about her dedication to me is irresistible. There isn't a thing in the world she wouldn't do for me. She proved this on day one, didn't she? I am hoping we can make three children in one go. Not only because I've always wanted three children, but because then there will be more pillars in this family to sustain the weight she's laid down on me, the weight that pressed this family into existence.
​
*March 4, 2021*
Samantha's murdered husband, John.
Reflecting on all this, on him, yes, there were surely times I wished him dead. Wished I had everything he had. I was so damn jealous of him. At times, I could hardly look him in the eye. That confidence of his. It was insufferable. We were friends once.
​
*April 11, 2021*
She's pregnant. And it occurred to me that I don't know whether the children might belong to John or myself. The timing is too immaculate. According to the doctor, she's been pregnant for nearly seven weeks. It was seven weeks ago that she fell into my arms. I don't want to think about it. We're still having sex.
​
*April 16, 2021*
The police came over to speak to Samantha. They wanted to talk to her about her husband. Not his dying of natural causes, but the suspicious transfer of funds he executed prior to his death. The timing seemed convenient. Samantha told them she didn't know anything about the funds transfer. And she also told them she didn't want anything more to do with her deceased husband, with dead John, that she had no interest in any of his assets, or anything at all to do with him, because she had a new man that was going to take care of her and her children. I overheard her say this, since the conversation with the policemen was private of course, and hearing this made me feel warm inside. It was the way things were always supposed to be.
​
*May 1, 2021*
The more I reflect on it, the more I realize how much I truly hated John. And then I wonder, it makes me wonder, that maybe, just maybe, I wanted him dead first, and wanted Samantha second. I've been speaking with Samantha about this, because at this point I can tell her anything and be confident that she won't respond in any fashion that isn't supportive, supportive to me, her new man. She's incredulous that I wanted John dead more than I wanted her, but that's beside the point.
I've quit my job as well, and the children are on the way.
The idea that I claimed four wishes and not three makes me uneasy, that there's an outstanding debt which has been incurred, that I'll be called upon to pay one day.
But I'm really not thinking about that right now, because I have everything I need. I'll end here.
​
*May 1, 2021 cont.*
It could be also that I was only granted a single wish, and yet have two more. That wish for everything John had, including his life even. Not impossible that this is what I wanted. I'm questioning this only because I don't recall explicitly asking for any of these things, these desires, from the genie. It was more like—yes, it was, I think my memory is serving me—he'd asked me if I wanted my deepest desires fulfilled, and I of course agreed. But the genie I spoke with all that time ago has been nowhere to be found. Maybe I will try again with the lamp—but only if I need something else (which, I hope, will be unlikely—I can't imagine what else in the world I could need!).
| 2021-08-06T11:31:13 | 2021-08-06T10:23:04 | 74 | 34 |
[WP] Every day has a word. If you speak it, you are executed on the spot.
|
What can you define as the end of the world?
Maybe it's just fire and brimstone, meteors, the whole deal. Maybe it could mean the downfall of man due to some higher power, our flame stamped out by an angry God.
But the truth I suffer - the truth we suffer, is much more unseen, yet much more feared.
One day, people started dying. Whilst speaking to their loved ones, as they bicker with one another. Seemingly no reason, no rhythm, no rhyme. Some caught on quick as to what it was, somehow.
Fear was ripe in the air back then. As soon as the masses learnt of how they could drop dead with the uttering of a phrase, changing and dynamic, there were mixed reactions.
 
Some chose to shut themselves away, thinking they could hide.
Others formed new orders, orders of the mute. Where silence was not only golden, but their very life.
But some devised clever ways. Clever, yet utterly cruel. It led to a new society, in a way. There were new groups of people, devoted to finding out each "word of the day", so that those who tune in may learn, and find themselves better equipped.
You might be asking, "how?", and to that I shall tell you how.
They create teams, teams of twos and of threes. One reads out every word, every single one. Every day. The reader knows they will die. If they succeed in their goal, they will die. Sometimes they are compensated, but oftentimes are made unknown and ultimately forgotten martyrs. They do this to help people, so they say. Many die, yet many more live.
 
Life goes on, no matter the price paid to live it.
 
(sorry if it's way too short and quick, I just had an idea, wanted to push it, tried to push it, and now I send it out.)
|
Lapomius the Silent had 4 hedgehogs, 3 squirrels, 2 ferrets, and 1 greater mouse-eared bat named Kitten. He sat inside the greatest tree trunk of the forest primeval, holding Kitten tenderly.
Lapomius the Silent had 4 hedgehogs, 3 squirrels, 2 ferrets.
His throat muscles contorted, finally settling in a position that felt vaguely familiar.
"Love," he croaked, and he croaked.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
The pen trembled in my hands at the thought of my love. I cannot turn back now. Let my words blaze through the heavens. Let her brothers and father faint before the passion of my spirit.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Simon was a fellow. When asked to describe himself, he would say he finished high school and he had a job. Probed further, he might reveal that he had a fondness for unseasoned mashed potatoes.
If he could live past today, he might be able to add survivor of an apocalypse to his bio. Of course, everybody he met would be able to say that as well, so it meant little.
He dusted off his hands, sweat dripping off his face as he collapsed onto the couch he had just dragged in front of his door. No one knew what caused half of the world's population, most of them couples, to abruptly drop dead yesterday. It was safest to just wait it out. Nothing could get to him in here.
He looked proudly over his work, talking to himself, "Simon, you—"
He keeled over.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
My hand dipped and looped as my pen flowed across the page. Style. Beauty. Grace. The universe trembled as the freed souls roared my latest word as one.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Rowan wailed in his crib. He was starving, and cold. His stuffed walrus had squeezed through the bars and outside of his grasp. No one had come to feed him for two days. His brother, at least, should have visited, if only to make weird faces so Rowan would stop fussing, but even he was gone.
He ceased his wailing to try the first of three words he knew.
"Mommy," he whined.
No use. Onto the second.
"Daddy," he shrieked.
The third was his brother's favorite word. "Are we there yet? Are we eating yet? Are you still crying?"
"Are," he yelled. His third and final word, was his final word.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
The harmonious roar of my song tapered off. My pen paused. The hundreds of words swirling in the ink, waiting to be released, panicked. At this rate, they would be doomed to obscurity. Sung by me, echoed by no one.
Unacceptable. Better to engrave four words in stone then trace thousands in water. Even four would be a challenge, but perhaps I could encourage the mortals along.
"Love, you are...beautiful?" I tested, frowning. Yes, she was beautiful, but she was more than that. She was elegant, in appearance and demeaner. Strong, through words and body. Intelligent, with witticisms and inventions. But all of those could be said by any admirer. No, that was also unacceptable.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Linda knew that the government would eventually discover a solution. Until then, she had done the only practical thing you could do in response to an unknown threat: locked her door and refused to talk to anyone until this threat was vanquished. She faithfully kept her tv tuned to the news, but the only thing on it for the last two days was a blank screen.
She hoovered up the last few crumbs from her box of Cheez-Its, peeling back the plastic to flick her tongue into the corner of the bag. Finished, she tossed it onto the floor, letting out a satisfied burp, and reclined her chair back further.
She jerked awake, startled to see the blank tv screen replaced by a rolling banner.
"Urgent Message: Call 453-276-3261 to order a free vaccine against the plague with this simple word—"
Linda threw off her comforter, scrambling over uneaten food and discarded boxes to grab her phone.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
"Love, you are *mine*."
| 2022-02-19T22:57:45 | 2022-02-19T21:18:42 | 42 | 14 |
[WP] A young girl has two monsters in her life: her step-father, and the one under her bed. She manages to befriend the latter to deal with the former.
|
It was quiet in the house like it always was. Quiet enough for her laughter to carry through the house and wake him up. His eyes shot open and glared, bloodshot under a heavy brow.
"Son...of...a...bitch..." He muttered vehemently, his fingers clenching the blanket tight.
"Huh? Whuzzat?" Her mother groggily muttered in her whiskey clouded sleep.
"Your damn kid woke me up, again!" He growled throwing back the covers. "Goddammit I haven't been asleep two hours and I have to be at work early tomorrow."
Standing up with a scowl he looks at her mother still in bed. "You should get your ass up like I have to day in and day out with no sleep to provide for this family. See how you like it for a change."
Her mother makes no move, the alcohol has worked it magic. She is beyond her unhappiness, at least until morning comes.
"I'll just have to fix this, just like I have to fix everything." Fists clenched he strides to her child's room. Opening the door he sees her sitting on the floor with her toys. She is quiet now, looking up at him. Of course, now she's quiet. She's quiet just like her mother gets quiet. They both know when they've crossed the line. And he is getting so tired of reminding them of that line. Time and time again.
He grimaces as the rage clouds his mind. She isn't crying. She isn't trying to get away. This infuriates him. She doesn't remember any of the lessons, he thinks. Well, by god, I'll give her a lesson she'll never forget this time.
He approaches raising a fist to his side when something happens to send a splinter of unease through the haze. She smiles. She isn't looking at him with her usual respect. The respect he has drilled into them both. She is looking over his shoulder and smiling in joy. Pure, unfettered joy.
"Now Max." She says in her innocent lilting voice. "You can play."
A fetid breath rolls across his neck and he turns.
"Oh....my.....God...." He mutters as he feels warm piss running down his leg.
"No." Answers a dark voice, "Not quite."
|
**May contain triggers. Please be advised**
For the last eight years Jessica has been tormented by her step-father; an evil, abusive, drunk of a man who tortured her and her mother mercilessly. He was mentally and physically abusive, a rapist, and incredibly manipulative. Every night she would hide under her sheets and tremble in fear, waiting for the creak of her door to eerily open, a sound that plagued even her dreams.
That night was like many others, twelve year old Jessica hid under her sheets as she heard that pounding of footsteps drunkenly stumble up the wooden staircase, each step growing louder the closer he got. The haunting creak of the door created a hollow echo through her room, a premonition of what was to come. Any crying or begging for mercy only made him more sadistic, a lesson she learned a few years ago.
Thirty minutes had passed before he disappeared back into the thick darkness in the hall, slamming the door. Jessica curled into a little ball, sobbing to herself as tears streamed down the side of her face. A pale moonlight crept in through her blinds, barely illuminating a small patch of floor. She suddenly heard a rustling noise come from under her bed; the noise turned from rustling to scratching as it grew louder. Jessica sat up quickly and surrounded herself in her favorite blanket leaving only her head visible as she cowered in the corner of her bed.
From under her bed she saw a large hand as dark as the shadows reaching forward. The nails were at least three inches long, the hand stabbing them into the wooden floor below as it pulled itself out from under her bed. As the creature pulled itself out from the darkness Jessica hid hear head under the blanket. She heard the creak of the floorboard echo around her room as she shook with fear. The creature slowly extended out one of its fingers and lifted the blanket with its fingernail exposing Jessica’s head. A thick wall of darkness sat in front of her, barely visible as the wind outside howled an ominous tune.
The creature leaned in closely and exposed its fang like teeth before whispering, *“Whatssss the matterrrr childdddd?”* it hissed as it faded into the darkness.
Jessica shook with fear as the head of the creature twitched around as it analyzed her. Small whimpers accompanied with sniffles were all the noise she was capable of making.
*“Littttttlllleeeee chiiilllllddddddd…,”* the voice quietly sang with a hiss, *“do noottttt beeee afffraaaiiiidddd.”*
She sat with her face pressed tightly into the blanket, tears dripping down the side of her cheek as it slowly soaked through. The creature extended its finger again, lifting the girls chin upward with its sharp fingernail.
*“Chilllddddd… whhhyyyy aaarrreee yyyoooouuuu crrryyyiiinnngggg?”* the voice empathetically asked.
She hesitated for a moment as a pair of dull red eyes glew in the darkness as they stared into her soul. Jessica sniffled as she attempted to quit sobbing; the creature carefully pulled its hand back from lifting her chin as she wiped tears from her eyes. She took a deep breath before whispering, “My… my step-dad… he’s a monster.”
*“Aaaaa mmmoooonnnnsssttteeerrrrr yyyyoooouuuu ssssaaaayyyyy?”* the creature asked with a bit of enthusiasm behind its hiss. *“Iiiiiiiii dddooo nnneeeeeeedddd tttooo feeeedddddd…”* it pondered out loud to itself.
“He beats me, and my mom..,” she said as tears began to stream down her face once again, “and he… and he… he does awful… things…”
The creature extended one of its long fingernails and gently pressed it up against her lips. *“Hhhhhuuussshhhhh nnnnoooowwww cccchhhhiiilllddddd. Iiiiii wwwwiiiiilllllll hhheeeelllppppp yyyyyoooouuu,”* the monster hissed with a sense of joy.
Jessica did not say anything but sprang forward and hugged the enormous creature, her arms barely extending around one third of its waist as she sobbed into the beast’s stomach. The creature put its hand on the girls back, gently patting her as she cried.
*“Iiiiiiiii wwwwiiiilllll bbbbeeeee bbbbaaaacccckkkk ttttoooommmmooorrrrrrrrroooowwwww cccchhhhiiiillllllddddd…”* the creature whispered in her ear before molding into the shadows and disappearing under her bed. Jessica bundled herself tightly in her blanket and curled back up into a ball as she silently hoped she wasn’t dreaming.
 
--
 
The following night Jessica’s step-father had been at the bar all evening and had just got home; she could hear her mother’s screams of fear from downstairs, each quickly followed by a whipping noise and a cry of agony. This continued for an hour, her mother’s screams getting more desperate the longer the abuse lasted before the all too familiar noise of the staircase began to echo through the hallway.
Jessica hid under her blanket, fear trembling through her body as the pounding footsteps grew louder. Her door crept open, the creaking noise sending a cold shiver down her spine as tears began to stream down the side of her face. He stood at the side of her bed; she could hear the noise of him unhinging his belt before the sound of him unzipping his pants echoed through the room.
Jessica could see the silhouette of his hand in the moonlight as he reached forward attempting to grab the blanket, but the hand suddenly froze still. There was a mumbled gurgling noise that grew louder and louder, muffled screams were muted by the sound of bubbling liquid. Jessica cautiously peeked from under her blanket to see the creature; its legs firmly latched into the ceiling as it suspended itself downward, one of its fingernails pierced through her step-father’s throat.
The man attempted to kick and flail as he slowly choked on the blood flooding his throat. His eyes started to grow dull as life began to fade from his body. Blood dripped from the front of the creature’s fingernail as it pulled the man towards it; the creature brought the man’s limp body towards its mouth before severing his head with its teeth. His body fell to the ground; blood spraying out of his neck coated the walls and the floor as the body spasmed and twitched.
The creature quickly appeared in front of Jessica’s face, it’s large smile barely visible from the moonlight as it’s red eyes contently stared into her. *“Ggggoooodddddbbbbyyyyeeee cccchhhhhiiiillllddddd…”* the creature hissed as it patted her on the head. As it retreated back under the girl’s bed, a large clawed hand reached forward before stabbing its nails into the leg of the dead man; His body slowly disappeared under the bed, the only remaining trace a trail of smeared blood.
“Thank you…” Jessica whispered into the night, briefly answered by a mischievous snickering that echoed through the walls. She grabbed her blanket, still soaked with tears and blood, and made her way towards her mother's room as she quietly closed the door behind herself. Jessica climbed into her mother's bed without waking her and cuddled close, her eyes still flush with tears as she quietly sobbed through the night.
 
--
**Original Ending**
 
“Thank you…” Jessica whispered into the night as she curled up in her blanket and placed her head into her pillow.
| 2015-01-23T11:04:32 | 2015-01-23T09:57:39 | 96 | 31 |
[WP] After North Korea declares that they will start a nuclear war if a single bullet is fired The Us military goes medieval
|
The Great Leader's palace trembled once more as the fiendish Americans launched another salvo of their lethal artillery.
Inside, Kim Jong-Un desperately tried to retain any semblance of control, stressfully stuffing another handful of chips into his mouth while listening to frantic radio reports and updates. *Damn them!* He raged internally. When he declared that nuclear war would be set off with a firing of a single bullet, he never realized that the foolish American pig-dogs would actually take him *literally*. When American Cavalry - not armored, but literal cavalry mounted on horseback, sporting plate armor and wielding lances that would be feared throughout North Korea - had thundered across the DMZ, his border units were caught so off-guard that they were almost immediately overrun. By the time poor Kim could rally the shocked military, the combined South Korean and American forces had already seized much of the region south of Pyongyang, and inspired by the knights in shining armor the local peasantry had revolted against the oppressive regime. Those few who attempted to resist were mercilessly cut down by the allied forces, whose numbers swelled by the day and who even now lay siege to Pyongyang.
The Chinese had not only condoned the invasion, they actually *participated in it*. While the West had rampaged through the lower half of True Korea, the Chinese had marched their own armies of antiquity into battle from the north, a terrifying force of both heavily armored infantry and rapid, Mongol-styled horsemen that served as advanced scouts and guerilla units, harassing the North Koreans with swarms of arrows before scurrying away from retaliation. It was an outright betrayal of Korea, but a stunning show of unity as the Chinese completed the encirclement of the now pitiful North Korea remnant, tied down to a single city with territory shrinking by the day. Though his advisors insisted he retreat,Kim Jong Un had stubbornly remained within his palace, for he would never abandon the last functioning refrigerator under his control, as well as his great pantries full of junk foods.
All of it was for naught, though, as with a great crash to his left his beautiful kitchen wall crumbled when a particular piece of artillery found its mark. Before Kim could even reach for a weapon or another handful of chips, a three-man cavalry team burst into the room - an American, astride an imposing charger with armored barding, a Chinese horse archer astride his hardy steppe horse, and a South Korean in traditional armor astride..inside would be a better word for what was some sort of pink mechanical equivalent of a horse thing, detailed with strange logos and glowing lights. The American, his tabard proudly displaying the Red, White and Blue, barked out orders for the other two to secure the area, before he menacingly trotted over to the now cowering Kim Jong-Un.
"How!?" Was the only response Kim had. "Those walls have been proofed against all sorts of weaponry! It should have been impenetrable!"
The American knight calmly flicked his plate visor up so his face was revealed, confident blue eyes staring directly into the now terrified, beady ones of the once dictator of North Korea. "*Great Leader*," the soldier calmly replied with only a hint of sarcasm, "have you ever considered proofing your walls against the most powerful artillery of all, artillery that can launch a 90 kilogram stone projectile over 300 meters?"
I'm on my mobile so the format is probably crap, but happy for feedback otherwise for my first writing prompt response!
|
As the reports rolled in on the giant screen in the war-room, Lieutenant-General Bo Kwang-kyu clapped and cheered just as enthusiastically as the next officer, ever mindful that the President had a particularly vindictive memory when it came to perceived disrespect against the great Motherland.
Still, something didn’t add up, and Bo cast his eyes furtively side-to-side, hoping to find someone who shared his misgivings. All he saw was pure, unadulterated adoration.
“Again! We have smashed their assault forces, again! Mark my words, this is when the world will finally recognize us as a great nation!” rang the President’s shrill voice from the back of the room, over the din of the celebrations. “Ten victories in ten engagements! We are supreme!”
Bo allowed himself to steep in the festive mood for a while longer, then made an excuse and disengaged, striding back to his office with a heavyset frown on his brow. His right-hand men, Colonels Lee and Park, were already waiting for him, with sheafs of papers gripped tightly in their hands.
“Sir,” Lee began, after shooting off a sharp salute. “We’ve ran separate intelligence checks as you’ve requested. The results are in.”
“And? What do they say?”
“Sir, the reports coming in from the front lines are corroborated,” said Park, spreading the first set of photographs on the table. A couple of years junior to Lee, Park had a penchant for the power of the written word, and rare was the time that he did not have documentary evidence for his claims. “My sources tell me that we have really, actually, repelled the American invaders repeatedly.”
“And it is not just propaganda?”
The question hung heavily in the air as Bo sieved through the photographs. Lee, after double-checking that the recording apparatus in the room had been temporarily switched off, ventured a reply.
“As far as I have verified, Sir, even the Publications Department themselves had to temporarily suspend operations just to make sure they weren’t unknowingly padding the reports. Park is right, the reports are true.”
Bo didn’t have to ask for substantiation, not from Lee. Just as Park had his methods, so did Lee, and Bo had learned long ago that Lee excelled at extending the finest tendrils of influence everywhere he touched, such that he saw all, knew all, without anyone even realising he was observing. In Lee’s world, the less of a paper trail, the better.
So what was he to do, now that his two most trusted Colonels were telling him that everything he had expected of a war with the United States of America, was wrong?
“Permission to speak freely, Sir,” said Park, adjusting his collar nervously.
“Permission granted,” said Bo, as muscle memory took over and his knee gently nudged the switch under the desk to turn the recording devices back on. Old habits died hard.
“I think we may be winning because of the… unconventional tactics being employed by the Americans.”
“You mean these… horses they are riding into battle?” said Bo, stabbing a finger at the topmost photograph.
“Er… yes, Sir. At first our front-line troops thought that they were a ploy, a feint, something to distract from the real punch of their assault. So we waited for the tanks, but there were none, just horses, more and more and more horses.”
“That was the first engagement, Sir,” said Lee, furrowing his brow in recollection. “The commander I spoke to, he had tears in his eyes as he recounted how their bullets mercilessly cut down row after row of horses and their riders, a senseless bloodbath the likes of which he had never seen before…”
“Tears in his eyes? At the loss of human life?”
“No Sir, at the wastage of perfectly good horsemeat.”
Lee reached out and placed another report on the table. “I know how you said that we always have to keep the civilians away from the battlefield, Sir, but once word got out, there was no way we could stop the neighbouring villages, aha, NEIGHbouring… sorry Sir, it’s my weakness for wordplay getting in th- as I was saying, the villagers in the vicinity would come at night, cart off all the viable horsemeat, and the scene would repeat, day after day after day.”
Bo’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the table as he scanned through the report. When he was done, he returned to the photographs.
“Two birds with one stone, I’m not complaining. OK, what about casualties? The reports in the war-room briefly mentioned that we too have been suffering casualties?”
Lee cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. “Less than 5% casualty rate, much better than the 95% we had estimated in our wargaming sessions. Hardly any casualties from the arrows they fired from horseback, but mainly when they switched to catapaults and trebuchets.”
“These are the quarries they dug up their ammunition from,” said Park, unfurling a map on the table and circling in red the locations he had committed to memory, “and this is where we believe they are concocting the pitch they smear their boulders with.”
“Do we even have defences against such unconventional warfare?”
“Depends on what you mean by ‘defences’, Sir,” said Lee. “Our land-based mortars and missiles out-range their largest war machines, and since we destroy every one which comes into range, they’ve been firing their flaming boulders from outside the safety perimeter. Suffice to say, none of their ‘rounds’ have ever hit any of our encampments.”
“Then the casualties? How do you account for that?”
Park sighed as he withdrew a series of documents from his folder which Bo recognised as court-martial papers. “Some of the men got bored, and they started playing a game where the man who stands the closest to enemy lines without getting smashed by falling rocks wins the collected pool… or should I say, WON the collected pool, aha, aha- sorry.”
Bo ignored the painful pun. “So you’re saying that actually we could have suffered zero casualties?”
“Hence the court-martials, Sir,” said Lee, sniffing as he regarding the samples on the table. “I’ve also made it clear throughout the ranks that anyone taking part in such games will have their daily rations halved and their family members whipped.”
Bo sighed, then stood up to face the window, where the early blossoms stood in direct contrast with the darkened skies. He had been taught that every war they engaged in could be their last, and the pessimist in him had no idea how to deal with the success they’ve had so far.
“And both of you still believe that this is all because our President challenged their President to a war by medieval means?”
Lee spoke first. “That’s debatable. All our Supreme Leader said was that we would rain nuclear destruction on them if a single bullet was fired, and their President interpreted that as a challenge he could overcome. He said that woe is the American President who backs down from such a challenge, and that they would show the world that even 5th century technology was sufficient to destroy us.”
“This is what our spies are telling us?”
“No, Sir. It’s from his Twitter page.”
Bo took a seat and massaged his temples. “Fine, whatever. Just tell me, what do we expect from the next 48 hours? Anything we can do to help our forces on the front?”
“Sir, we think that they will be trying a night assault this time. We have but the handful of drones we intercepted from Amazon, but they’re telling us that the Americans are going to launch a pre-dawn raid.”
“And what are our preparations against that?”
“We think they will be using bugles to coordinate the onslaught, so we’ve already prepped recordings of the acoustic trash those Southern-rebels listen to in their leisure. We’ll be blasting them at full volume, throughout the night, and let’s just say that there ain’t a bugle in the world which can drown out that filth.”
Bo nodded, heartened at least to hear that they were adapting and learning from [the tactics used against them](http://edition.cnn.com/2016/01/08/asia/north-korea-propaganda-music/). The road to full-fledged legitimacy still lay a great way ahead, but it was every effort like this, every conscious commitment to improve, which would perhaps give them a fighting chance at the end of the day.
“Very well. Continue your good work, as I persist with mine. I’ll make sure our President doesn’t get too cocky, and just stays on the current path to success. The last thing any of us want is our President ordering us to dig a bloody moat now, right? Dismissed.”
“Aha, Sir, if that happened, you could say that our technology’s been de-MOATE-”
“I said DISMISSED.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2017-03-19T06:41:59 | 2017-03-19T06:41:57 | 5,121 | 112 |
[WP] Some government or pharmaceutical company designed a disease with the capacity to infect 99.99% of the population. Those infected have to pay monthly fees for medication to suppress it or they will die. You are being sued because you are immune.
|
"You have some nerve."
A overbearing man with an expensive but still ill-fitting suit tried his best to intimidate me.
"I suppose you're here to beg for your life? Or dare I imagine you have some sense, and are trying to settle out of court?"
"No, actually, I'm here for this." I said, dryly. I handed him a document.
"What the hell is this?" the overbearing man asked, quizzically.
"You been served."
"**WHAT?!?**" the man boomed. I admit, I stepped back a bit. I'm not certain how far he'd unleash his anger.
"Funny thing, me being the only immune person, I'm the only person *on earth* who can legally serve this notice. Enjoy your class action suit. Oh, and next time you decide to infect the world, you *might* want to skip the judges and lawyers..."
|
BZZZZ. I jumped as I went to grab the phone from the glass table before it made too much of a ruckus. I glanced at the screen only to see that it was another text from my lawyer.
"Where are you?" the message read, and I slid it back into my pocket so that it wouldn't make so much noise in case it vibrated again.
I was sitting in another lawyer's office, actually. It was where I was to be given advice on my immunity. Not my political or legal immunity, you see, but immunity from a disease. Most people would feel very lucky to be immune to a disease that had infected 99.9% of the population. The problem was that pharmaceutical companies were in control of most of the government, and everybody needed a supply of their drugs so they may not perish from the disease. Conspiracy theories abounded when the disease first took hold that the pharmaceutical companies were the ones who had propagated the diseases, but, as with many other conspiracy theories that seem to ring true, they were relegated only to those who did not care what others thought of them when they spouted them off.
I took a second to distract myself from my thoughts by glancing around the room. It was an unnaturally long room with long rows of low hanging lights that traveled down the ceiling of the room in three columns. The walls, the table and the only two chairs in the room were completely white, giving it quite a modern feel, which seemed unnatural and even jarring. I distracted myself by counting the lights in the room. I had gotten to fifty one when a tall man in a suit burst into the room.
"you are a lucky man, my friend. A lucky, lucky man, indeed. You have come just to the right place to solve this problem. And what an interesting problem it is, indeed, indeed!" The man seemed full of energy, but I couldn't notice much more about him except his extremely long nose, which, for some reason, presented into my mind the picture of a parrot that I couldn't quite shake. The man seemed to mistake my silence for confusion and chose to introduce himself.
"My name is Harry, friend, but you can just call me Hair. That is, only if you like." He laughed heartily and I looked at him strangely. He either didn't notice my glance, or chose to ignore it, however, and dropped a massive brief case onto the table. I'd never seen a brief case so big.
He touched a button on the side of the monstrosity and two latches shot up from the middle, making a sound like a gunshot in that big empty room. He opened the brief case, and inside there were merely two papers, a bottle of pills and a strange looking vial that had something slimy inside writhing incessantly. Just a slight glance at the slimy thing mad me shudder, but Harry did not notice and sat down decisively in the chair opposite me.
"Look, what you have is a gift, my friend, but if I'm being completely honest with you, and according to how my company looks upon this gift, it is more of a curse than a gift. You see, the disease that has affected nearly the entirety of the human population ceases to be a disease at all. Let me explain. Those who become infected have a natural tendency to be able to run longer, to be able to read longer, and focus more at work, and to be capable of being happier human beings. This is not information that we have concocted ourselves, my friend. These are statistics that get as close to fact as a statistic could. We need you to understand that you are missing out on what the rest of humanity is experiencing. You do not have many options if you want to keep up. Plus, and I do not wish to mention this, the massive lawsuit that might be coming your way from our company if you do not pursue our needs, as well as the pressing one's that you must look to. And I think I do not have to remind you that the company is looking out for your needs, and your needs only, in this case."
My phone began buzzing viciously again and I took the break in conversation to get a quick peep at what was being sent. They were all messages from my lawyer.
"You're making a huge mistake."
"Don't listen to what they say."
"They are all snakes."
"Where are you."
"Where are you."
As I put my phone back in my pocket Harry went straight to talking again, almost as if he, himself, had allowed the lull in the conversation.
"So, you see, there are three solutions. Solution number one: you keep your curse and suffer the fate of being different than the rest of humanity. Plus! The unfortunate fact that the company shall have to go along with this tedious lawsuit, which would not be good at all for all parties, I might add! Solution two! You sign this paper right here and sign your life over to us so that the company may begin to try to understand what is in you that gives you immunity to this amazing disease - er, I mean, cure, for humanity. Or, solution number three, and this one is my favorite," at this statement he gave me the creepiest smile I had ever seen a human being give another. "The company believes that, to a certain extent, we understand what the situation is with you and your curse, and we think that we have found a cure for you. All you would have to do is drink this solution, right here, and you shall be the same as he rest of mankind. No more crippling differences that set you apart from your family and friend, just a nice life that you can live out in excellence and happiness." He pulled the contents of the brief case out and lay them in front of me. "The choice is yours."
I felt as if I was going to be sick, but in my mind I had already made the decision. I reached for the solution, undid the top and down the liquid before the slimy, writhing creature had time to make me throw anything up. Harry just smiled at me malignantly. Not thirty seconds after I drank the liquid I felt an enormous pain shift into my stomach and I felt myself fall onto the floor. I saw Harry lean over me and whisper into my ear, "It'll all be over shortly," before everything in my vision faded to black.
| 2017-04-25T13:02:31 | 2017-04-25T12:33:27 | 53 | 16 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world.
|
The sound of my alarm clock caused me to bolt up in bed. I always forget to set it for Mondays and I was going to be late for my first day of class. I rushed through my morning routine and grabbed a yogurt from my refrigerator on my way out the door. As I shut the door I saw my pan of lasagna from the night before start to tip. Not giving it any heed i slammed the door and left.
You see, my blessing is that nothing ever falls out of my refrigerator. This comes in handy sometimes, like this morning when I overslept, but I've never been the clumsy type so it's usefulness is greatly diminished.
I sat in the back of my morning thermodynamics class. I was a couple minutes late, but Dr. Conley turned out to be an understanding professor. Today's lesson was on the first law of thermodynamics. Energy cannot be created or destroyed. As Dr. Conley finished with her lecture, she asked if anyone had any questions before we moved on to a worksheet.
The next question changed my life forever. "What if we put. A buttered piece of bread on a cat's back? Wouldn't it just spin and we could get energy?" The professor laughed politely while I rolled my eyes along with the rest of the class. The joke was far too old to make in a Junior level course. But then it hit me. My blessing wasn't so different. I have seen many containers curve unprompted through the air to land on a lower shelf.
From that moment on my experiments started. I lived on the bags of frozen peas i used in my tests, and Finally i found the answer.
I put a minifridge inside of a normal refrigerator. Inside of the minifridge i put a bag of frozen peas. Then, with both doors open, i slowly pulled the minifridge out of the normal one. The bag of peas, Not wanting to leave either one, just floated between the two. As one side of the bag began to feel the pull of the refrigerator, it would spin to that side. The minifridge then exerted it's power over it and spun it back to its initial position. This caused the bag of peas to spin faster and faster until, no longer able to continue holding the minifridge, i slid it back into its place.
Two years later:
With Dr. Conley's help i have managed to make and patent a machine which uses an ear of corn to turn a turbine. I have solved the world's energy needs.
|
Like every person who came before I was blessed with a perceptibly limited gift, it seemed the gods intended mine to be horribly pointless, but they made a mistake in thinking smutty pleasure was limited. I grew tired of waiting for life to get better, I wanted more, needed more! One morning it dawned on me, my blessing could possibly be used to do more than just engaging in fantastic coitus.
I stewed on the idea for a while and thought about using it to give people a certain erotic feeling concerning an idea or task, could it be used to change an individuals motivation or get them to do things they otherwise wouldn't? I had to test this hypothesis! I never had to be close to someone to get them to start thinking dirty about me. If I wanted coitus, all I had to do was think about copulation with Alex, and she would call soon after in dire need.
I hatched a plan; I needed someone on live TV to test on, so I chose Sean Hannity as my target, I waited until his segment and thought about him copulating his notes, about 10 seconds after the thought he picked up his notes and seemingly fell in love with them, nonstop reading, caressing but then he stood up and started undoing his belt.
The program went to commercial; I assumed he went further but was unable to confirm.
Realizing that he went too far to be useful for anything other than ruining a career or reputation I needed to come up with something more subtle.
My next subject was the Bill Nye the science guy, all I wanted was a temporary obsession when an idea, so I waited for his next live event which I wanted to attend anyway.
The moment was here, and he walked onto the stage, I immediately began thinking about him caressing his tie, I didn't have to wait long for a reaction, he lightly grabbed the tie with his left hand slowly stroking it. It seemed a light distraction and caused a few studders but was a satisfactory piece of data.
My next target was someone I despised; my intent was simple, I wanted to ruin Ajit Pai, I thought of him spooning a stoplight in time square until he finally showed up on various live streams doing just that. I had to go further though; I had to see him in ruin. I thought of him engaging in coitus with the road, but that wasn't enough. His professional life was over, but I wanted more.
I caught eye of Danny DeVito watching this unfold and knew what must be done; I imagined Danny penetrating him from behind with an upward thrust, and it happened as I watched from the various live feeds.
Media coverage of the event was censored, but everyone who had a TV or internet knew what happened, I laughed watching the media talk about his "disgusting acts of public indecency."
I felt a need for power now more than ever, I knew I could ruin people but could I get them do enjoy an idea they otherwise would dismiss?
I wanted political power, at the time I didn't think I could influence the masses all at once, so I came up with a plan to blackmail people into submission.
I rented an Airbnb, set up cameras and hired an escort, I wasn't sure on all the details but went ahead with it anyway. I Imagined Ted Crus fornicating my escort in the Airbnb, but I ended up waiting longer than I thought. He showed up and did indeed engage in intercourse, but now I had to figure out how I was going to use this to my advantage. The plan was hatched, and I decided to execute, I thought about him caressing my front door, and he eventually came knocking. I was beyond nervous, but I proceeded to show him the videos and gave him only one demand, all he had to do was support legalization of marijuana, that's it, and the tapes disappear.
He agreed to the terms and went on his way, this only sparked more desire though and got me thinking about my next target.
I went after a few more senators and a few congressmen, the simple plan to legalize marijuana seemed to be having the desired outcome.
I settled on the president of the united states, thinking the tried method would work I went ahead with the plan the same as every other time.
The ultimate power I thought, I could get him to do anything!
As per usual I imagined him doing something erotic at my door, but things didn't go as planned.
There was no knock, the door flew open, and I was immediately detained, a sack was put over my head. I was shoved into a vehicle, and they drove off. When we finally arrived, I had no clue where I was or what their intent was, their intention wasn't kept secret for long.
A man I couldn't see entered my room, and without hesitation started talking: We know what you've been doing, we don't know how you got them to do it, but you're going to do it again. Tell me how the blessing works, and you get to live, refuse, and we will end you.
I wanted to use my blessing on him, but I had no clue who he was; if let him know how the blessing works he will immediately know I need to be able to imagine them, at least a face is needed for that.
I wagered they wouldn't kill me if I spilled the truth, I told him everything and why I did it.
He left, leaving me alone in the darkness for hours, when he returned he made an offer, work for us and use your blessing to influence the world to our benefit and you will not only live but Mr. Lordofbud, you will live well, smoking weed whenever you desire.
I agreed but didn't expect his response: You will start testing immediately, we will explore the extent of your power and see if you can do more than previously demonstrated, you will never see our faces or know our real names, but you can call me Will.
My power grew over the coming months, I learned to think of groups instead of single people, it was hard keeping groups in my head though, and could occasionally not have the desired outcome.
I learned how to be very subtle, I could force people to be obsessed with an idea now, in love with an idea to the point of getting them to speak publically about it.
Will told me to test my ability on Shaquille o Neal, Will wanted me to get him to support flat earth ideology publically. I thought about Shaq falling in love with flat earth forums, I did this every day for a fortnight. Will finally came in with a clip of Shaq supporting the idea, I wasn't happy about what I had done.
Testing was not over, but Will told me it was time to start using my blessing on our enemies. We began with Russia, I was given explicit instructions, what thoughts I was to have, and pictures to look at while I'm doing it, I guess they didn't think I capable of executing my own plan.
The first instruction was random members of the Kremlin and a love for America, the second was weird, Putin fornicating with a bear they had given me a picture of, that was it, Will left, and I was sent back to testing.
A few days later Will let me know the repercussions of the instructions, Putin died attempting to hug a bear, and all the members I imagined with love for America were publicly pushing support to make an ally out of America.
We repeated similar plans with many nations, but then came North Korea, Will gave me instructions that I knew would result in the deaths of the men in the thousands of pictures set before me.
I was told I will not be getting the results, nor will I ever get to know the outcome again.
The killings continued, I was left wondering when It would end, I dawned on me, this will end when I have conquered the world for them.
Thanks for reading, this was my first ever story. Sorry if the format sucks here.
| 2018-06-30T17:11:02 | 2018-06-30T16:51:29 | 55 | 20 |
[WP] "Marines dont die, they just go to hell and regroup", they've regrouped and now they're ready to take over hell.
|
"Hey, do any of you have any Jalapeno cheese. These crayons are a bit dry"
"Nah, but I'll trade you a forest green and royal blue for some M&M's"
"Oh yeah, sure!"
"Lol, fucking boot, never trade your M&M's."
"Hey, aren't we supposed to be conducting a raid tonight?"
"Yeah, idk First Sergeant just said we're on standby."
[Marines sit and twiddle thumbs for rest of eternity]
|
General Nightengale marched to a bed of jagged rocks to join the three men awkwardly propped on top of them. He rubbed the charred skin around a gaping hole that had devoured the better part of his shoulder. Blood turned to tar as it dribbled from numerous three pronged wounds. He resisted wincing as he placed his badly burned ass on an available slab of hellground.
The commanding marine waved off salutes of his abruptly standing subordinates. “Probably be another twenty minutes before they round up here again. What you got planned, major?” he drawled as if he had an eternity to spare.
Formality urged Major Herkin to strategize on his feet but sense bade him sit to maintain strength. Sense won out. “We’ll begin Operation Order to Chaos with a company each at sectors 104 and 202 on the next set of grand fly-bys. The heaviest equipped imps and demons scour those areas pretty frequently so any chance we have of pulling this off starts with us gearing up before reinforcements arrive. We’ll also earn the added advantage of first taking out a bulk of the most sadistic fucks Hell has to offer.”
Herkin’s audience of three focused on the middle-aged officer as he relayed plans for how the marines would soon teach Lucifer how to lead a proper rebellion. Though General Nightengale and Colonels Gearst and Weyward all outranked Herkin, they were humble enough to realize an early demise made him no less the best tactician of the bunch.
“Sectors 104 and 202 both provide high vantage points to prepare for the retaliatory attacks that will follow. Although not the most central points for soldiers to reinforce our positions, they are the most visible. Since these hellspawns can all fly, we’ll need any advantage we can get in that department.”
Agonizing screams from sector 312 interrupted the battle plan. Usually the pedophiles hung out around there, not that Hell’s enforcers paid any mind. They delivered the same perverse justice to all of the underworld’s inhabitants. As far as Herkin could tell, Lucifer had granted his hellions carte blanche to live out the same twisted fantasies that had doomed a number of humans to an eternity of torture in the afterlife.
The major didn’t mind that five kills guaranteed you an express pass to Hell, but he couldn’t take the indiscriminate persecution anymore. Killing to protect one’s country and groping innocent children didn’t fall into the same bucket. Not a chance. No fucking way.
Herkin fueled his fire with those thoughts. Veins popping out to contain Herkin's resentful voice spurted blood from a neck wound. “We’ve got two dozen platoons prepped with orders and filled with the best the marines, army, navy, and air force have to offer. As needed, they will reinforce the companies at sectors 104 and 202 to maintain a full company.”
General Nightengale interrupted, “Sectors 104 and 202 are huge and with better cover than anywhere else in this shithole. Why keep our entire army at bay?”
Herkin explained, “Yes sir, that’s true. Sectors 104 and 202 are our best chance for a fight, but the residual reinforcement strategy is a precaution. We don’t know if they have some kind of super weapon to put us all down. If they do, it’s gonna be a lot harder to hit twenty-five sectors than two. And if we go down, we’ll never get another chance. They’ll separate our incapacitated asses to the ends of hell’s rocky cliffs.”
Nightengale stroked his stubble, the facial hair forever fixed as the day he died, then waved his hand for Herkin to continue.
“Nightengale and I will start the climb to 104 as soon as we disperse here. Gearst and Weyward will head to 202. We’ll command the troops from there. The little devils will know something’s up as soon as they see two full companies so we’ll need to wait for enough of them to land before we start fighting. We cannot win this war without weapons. That means we might lose a few troops before we even get started so we absolutely must reiterate not to fight until the commands are given. Otherwise the whole horde of them are just gonna bring back their friends and maybe even daddy.”
Gearst piped in, “We’d be fucked.”
“Very fucked,” agreed Herkin.
Herkin hoped Gearst and Weyward had followed his orders precisely. Most of the platoons were led by men and women matching Herkin's rank so he had to rely on the colonels to enforce his plans. Even in Hell, almost everyone followed the chain of command to their bitter demise. If the platoons acted prematurely or negligently or couldn’t read the battlefield, this would all go to shit. Herkin breathed in Hell's smokey air and exhaled.
“That’s all I got. I think it’s time we roll out,” closed Herkin as eyed the rocky masses of sector 104.
Nightengale nodded then charged, “Dismissed then. Good luck and God bless.” The officers stood at attention, saluted, then went off in their assigned pairings.
Herkin felt amused for the first time in weeks or months or years or however long it had been and forced down a chuckle. Guess you can take the marine out from God, but you couldn’t take God out from the marine.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6zv41f/wp_marines_dont_die_they_just_go_to_hell_and/dmzdunx/)
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6zv41f/wp_marines_dont_die_they_just_go_to_hell_and/dmzgviu/)
*.....*
*Like this? Subscribe to the newly minted /r/WiselyWrittenWords for more.*
| 2017-09-13T12:10:13 | 2017-09-13T11:37:11 | 419 | 48 |
[WP] When the police came to announce you the death of your husband, you refused to believe it. "That's impossible", you said. "Unfortunately, it's the truth, miss", answered the policemen. "It's impossible", you said again, "because he's in the kitchen making dinner."
|
Once I told them my husband was not dead like they had exclaimed, but was instead in the kitchen making some Shepard's Pie, the cops simply stared at me brazenly dumbfounded.
"That can't be right miss. Because it should be you who is in the kitchen," the cop said, falling into a hearty chuckle.
"You're an asshole," I remarked, showing off a mean scowl in his general direction. Sexism was **so** last century.
"Where is my sandwich," the other cop chimed in, insisting to continue the joke.
"Let me get this straight *gentlemen*," I stammered. "You come to my home, tell me that my living husband is dead, and then proceed to make cocky jokes against me being a female? What kind of cops are you anyways?"
"You have a point," the first cop said, a grin forming on his lips. The cop to his left, started to remove a gun from his belt and stepped forward. "We aren't cops at all."
A scream went off in the kitchen behind me as the sound of clattering pans rung through the quiet house. My eyes stayed glued to the cops in front of me, a sinister glimmer forming in their eyes.
"And now," the second cop spoke up, "Your husband is actually dead."
|
"I know its hard ma'am, but we found his dead body today on a construction site."
The young detective and her 2 police officers seemed dead serious.
"No! I mean he is standing in the kitchen right now cooking some soup for dinner."
"Well, that seems odd. May we enter and to ask you some questions?"
I just nodded. This entire day was strange. This morning somebody called and asked for my husband. Judging from accent, the caller must have been either german or austrian. But Sam never had any friends from oversea. And after lunch there was this noise. Like someone was building something in the neighbourhood. Only that everyone exept us was on vacation.
I let them enter and sit down in the living room. My husband came out of the kitchen with that blue appron I bought him last week.
"Darling? Whats going on?"
"Sam, these police officers said that they found YOUR dead body today. They just have a few questions."
He seemed just as confused as I am.
"Well, why not. Do you want something to drink detective..."
"Gardner, these are officers Crown and Miller. And yes, a glas of water for each of us would be nice."
He brought a carafe with water and several glasses from the kitchen and sat down with us.
"Sir, how long have you been living here with Mrs. Steiner?"
"3 years already. It still seems like yesterday since we moved together."
"Do you have any relatives?"
"No, my father was the last family member and he died 6 years ago."
"Mrs. Steiner, what about you?"
"My parents are still living in Chicago. And I have a older brother but...."
"Well?"
"He is in a witness protection program. I'm not supposed to talk about him."
"I understand. We will check this afterwards. Now, was there anything in the past that could explain the body of the, obviously perfectly healthy, Mr. Steiner?"
I had to think for a moment.
"My husband had a accident 2 years back. He was in a coma for a week. But I visited him every day till he woke up."
"I see. Mr. and Mrs. Steiner, I have to ask you to come with us. We need to make a DNA test to be absoluetely sure."
"But why? I'm right here, you can see that!"
"Sir, its just for you own safety."
Gardner reached into the pocket of her jacket. Sam just sighed and drank a sip from his glas.
And then slinged it against Gardners head. She fell down backwards from her chair. Sam then grabbed a pen from the desk and rammed it into Crowns neck, who stumbled back in complete confusion while holding his throat. Miller tried to stand up and pull out his gun, but Sam charged him and slammed his head against the wall. Over and over again till the wall was covered in blood and pieces of bone and brain matter. He then calmly stood up and crushed Crowns neck with a stomp.
I couldn't believe what I just saw. The tender and understanding husband I loved was no more. Instead a blood thirsty monster with the eyes of a predator looked at me.
I screamed and tried to get away from that blood covered lunatic. But he grabbed my legs and brought me down before knocking me out.
When I woke up again, I was cuffed to a chair in our basement. Detective gardner was bound to a chair in front of me.
And there it was again, the noise like someone would use a hammer to crack something open. Only that it was very close this time. I turned my head and saw Sam breaking a concrete wall.
"Look who is awake again. Had some sweet dreams darling?"
"S-Sam? What are you doing?
"Just getting some gear."
He reached into the hole in the wall and grabbed a large black suitcase. Detective Gardner also woke up.
"And now we are complete, great!"
He brought a laptop and a foldable desk and put both in front of Gardner.
"Detective, I am aware that you are one of the few people in this town having access to some of the classified data about the brother of my wife. But in order to view them I need a code. If you would be so friendly..."
Detective Garner spit him in the face.
"If you think I wou..."
Sam just wiped the spit from his face and then forced a towel down her throat. He then grabbed a old car battery and connected the jumper cables to the detdective.
She started twichting, her muffled screams filling the room.
Same then took off the cable and removed the improvised gag.
"How about now?"
"Fuck you!"
He put the gag back in and repeated the procedure while whistling the american national anthem.
"It could be so easy. We dont have to do this detective. Now for the code please."
He removed the towel. Gardner seemed to comply.
"5..8..M..s..1..."
"Thank you, was it so hard?"
Sam gave her a pat on the head and the entered the code in the laptop. He spend a minute reading the file while the smile on his face became bigger.
"How the stars align... It seems your brother is visiting the neighbouring town tomorrow. I think I will pay him a visit."
Tears ran down my cheecks. I now realized that he was only interested in my brother. I tried to deny it to this point, but now I had no choice but to accept the fact.
"Oh....don't cry darling. I never loved you. In fact, everything was played. And it was fucking awful. Your so called cooking managed to even kill the ingredients a 2. tme. Your meatloaf would be greasy on the outside and fucking raaaaaw in the inside all the time. So disgusting even a starving african child would rather face death than eating this shit. Even the fucking sex in our played relationship was awful. Every fucking time we had sex you would start crying and screaming when I picked up the pace. And on top of that I wasted 3 fucking years trying to reach your brother over you. And now I get the chance but now from you, but from a detective with too many administrative rights who just so happened to discover a mistake I made. But now this ends and I can finally finish my assignment. By the way. They didn't found my body. It was the body of my useless twin brother. That twat always wanted a calm life like this. I killed him because I could never stand him and because you were stupid enough not to notice any difference."
Sam grabbed the suitcase and forced the towel in both mine and Gardners mouth.
"Now if you would excuse me, I have a job to do. Don't worry, I won't kill you, I still have a use for you 2."
| 2017-10-10T06:32:10 | 2017-10-10T05:53:19 | 89 | 27 |
[WP] Long ago the legendary sword Excalibur was melted down and lost to history. The mythical blade's steel ended up in your butter knife, with all its magical properties intact.
|
EBAY
Steel Forged Knife Set with Celtic Engravings.
Price: €34,99.
4/5 stars
Review by T. Smith:
*Great knife set, cuts smooth and are easy to sharpen. Weirdest thing though, every time I pas by the sink a hand will reach out of the water and hand me one.*
|
They pulled him before a podium, a small and rather unimportant butter knife held so tightly in his grip that his knuckles were white as snow.
"BEHOLD, PEOPLE OF BRITANNIA, YOUR NEW KING!"
The voice boomed ahead of him, a man speaking too close to a microphone. Somewhere, a crowd responded with an enthusiasm that shook the late afternoon air. All around him, people swirled. Someone had forced him onto a plane, shoved him into a suit of armor, and wouldn't answer his questions.
All because of a butter knife bought at Goodwill. Sure, it was shiny. Sure, it was engraved with a language he didn't understand. For some reason the clerk had bowed to him after he had purchased it, but he didn't have the time or care to worry about such things.
The man's name was Alex. He lived in a one bedroom apartment south of Washington D.C. His brother smoked too much weed, his mom thought he was gay, and his father was porking the maid. He worked a job he hated, for a boss he despised, with people who were amazed a man could be so dull and unambitious.
Now it was King Alex, soon to be crowned King of the Britons.
Alex had slipped into a puddle on his way to the bus stop, and for some reason had forgotten the butter knife was still in his backpack. A woman, in shimmering white rose from this small black puddle of dirt and rain water, and proclaimed him king of a place he had never been.
Naturally, he had questions. But no one seemed to care for answering them.
He'd been swarmed by peasants speaking a thick Cockney accent from seemingly out of nowhere, whisked onto a plane, and now he was about to address his newfound populace. Rather absentmindedly, he determined most of them smelt of elderberries, whatever those were.
He wanted to know what all of these people were doing in the United States. He wanted to know where they were taking him, but they simply yelled over him until he meekly accepted their desires.
Nearby, he heard Englishmen proclaiming undying fealty, Scotsmen proclaiming a hatred of the Englishmen, Irishmen proclaiming an even greater hatred of Englishmen than the Scotsmen, and no one listened to the Welshmen.
Alex found himself being hauled forward. The armor he now wore was heavy, the knife still in his hand.
He now stepped onto a stage, an endless crowd before him. Many appeared to be wearing Medieval period dress for some reason that no one would explain to Alex, let alone the many British still confused as to what exactly was happening.
A man in a great grey robe, with a massive white beard telling all that they may call him Tim.
He proclaimed Alex's noble lineage, and his ancient heritage.
Which it wasn't.
He claimed to have raised the boy from a young age.
He hadn't.
He proclaimed the rightful claim Alex held upon the throne, a true birthright.
He'd been born in California but no one seemed to listen.
When Alex tried to say he just wanted to go home when led to the podium, the crowd gave a hearty cheer.
The man with the beard pushed Alex into a kneeling position, and dubbed him King of the Britons.
In the corner of his eye, a woman in black whirled away, obviously in great anger. He was told this was his sister, whom he had stolen the crown from.
Alex didn't have a sister, but the man with the beard assured him that he in fact did. She had been found to be a witch, as she weighed the same amount as a duck.
In addition to this long list of undesirable problems, the man with the great beard claimed that Alex would deal with the most recent peril threatening the kingdom.
A fire breathing dragon, coming from basically nowhere, had decided to rise from its eternal slumber to challenge Alex in one on one combat.
Nowhere was actually Norway, and the dragon itself was a rabbit that did not breathe fire, but was already known as a notorious butcher of men.
Alex found this very distressing, but his councilors assured him that his butter knife would see him through.
Now Alex finds himself upon a horse, followed by a group of knights, slowing down all highway traffic. Above, a news chopper watches Alex try to control his horse, as he has never ridden before.
He sighs, and dismounts.
*Get back upon the horse, boy.*
A voice from seemingly nowhere, but the whisper comes from so close it may as well be from behind his ear.
*I have chosen you to be King of the Britons.*
The knife seems to be speaking with him.
"I want to go home," Alex says to the knife. It seems a sensible request.
*Nonsense. You were made for great things. With me by your side, you can defeat any foe.*
Uneasily, he kicks the dirt.
*Beside me, you shall find within your saddlebags the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch to aid in your quest.*
He will trust his cutlery, for now. And if he can be randomly assigned as King of the Britons, he could possibly fight a dragon to the death. A strange thing to call a rabbit, but most of this seemed somewhat unorthodox.
His life had always seemed this violently random grouping of events almost entirely out of his control, and perhaps this knife could allow him to take control of his own destiny.
He sighed, still exasperated at his newfound responsibility.
But he got back upon the horse.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony. - Monty Python and the Holy Grail*
r/storiesfromapotato
| 2018-03-06T11:40:04 | 2018-03-06T10:11:07 | 2,613 | 1,108 |
[WP] Long ago the legendary sword Excalibur was melted down and lost to history. The mythical blade's steel ended up in your butter knife, with all its magical properties intact.
|
The Blade cut into the frozen butter as if it were... butter, its holy radiance softening its foe for perfect spread. Applying the knife to the sliced bread caused the smell of toast to waft into Sals nose, as he observed butter melt into the freshly crisped bread.
"Ham, egg and sandwich spread?" Sal directed to his eagerly awaiting customer, who nodded with anticipation. Sal saw the quickly growing line at his cart and smiled, knowing with his new acquisition he could keep up with the rush.
He dipped the knife in the sandwich spread in swift motion, knowing that the blade would guard against errant spread muddying the grip in the precarious heat of battling to complete the sandwich.
Without checking that the knife was free of residue, for constant application had shown the pristine edge suffered no blemishes upon it, Sal flipped rest of the prepared ingredients upon the prepared slices. Ingredients fell perfectly into place, flipped from a perch of divine balance.
Sal wrapped the sandwich and bestowed it upon his waiting customer while looking at her with dignified confidence. For while Sal did his best to procure affordable and hale ingredients, it was difficult to always do so in the ghettos of London, luckily anything touched by the Blade was purified by holy light.
Sal contentedly continued using the Butter Knife and in his head thanked dame fortune he could only afford a secondhand bargain bin butter knife, seemingly glued in until wrested free, when first opening his stand.
Excalibur shimmered contentedly, for while the evil wizard had thought to mock it by smelting it and causing the remains to crafted into a butter knife, only it controlled its destiny. The world changes but it and its Liege remain to serve, and what better way than providing a hearty meal for the day's labors.
|
I could barely breathe up here. Every step deeper into this attic made a yet another billowing cloud of dust. The walls were invisible, behind the mountains of boxes that littered the room. Waving to clear the air, I finally spotted what I was looking for. A small white box, simply labelled "Silverware". Walking over, I gently removed it from its perch, and brought it back downstairs.
As I walked down the rickety steps, I looked once more at the pictures of Grandma that covered the walls. She had been living alone since gramps passed away, with only a caretaker to keep her company as her mind deteriorated from schizophrenia. Now that she was gone as well, it was entrusted to me to clean up the house. We hadn't been too close, but I still felt a pang of regret for not keeping in touch with her more often. That was probably why I tripped and fell.
"Shit!" The box had torn open in the fall, and the utensils clanged as they scattered across the floor. Groaning, I got up and resigned myself to start picking them all up.
"Finally. It's about time."
I whirled around to find the source of the voice, but an empty hallway was the only thing ahead of me. Slowly, I grabbed the closest thing at hand, a silver butter knife.
"Hey! Hey you! Down here!"
Had someone broken into the house? I was sure I had locked the door, but maybe they had snuck in after I finished cleaning the first floor.
"Stop messing around and say something already." The voice came from... everywhere. Like it was inside my head.
"Who's there? Show yourself!"
"Whoa, easy there buddy. I'm glad you got me out of there, but we're not in that kind of relationship. Can you ease up on the grip?"
I glanced down at my hand. My knuckles had gone white, my fingers locked around the handle. "Get out of my house! I'm not afraid to use this knife."
A brief pause, then a sigh. "Just my luck. I got a slow one. I *am* the knife."
I looked down at my hand again. "What?"
"Yeah, yeah, let's get this part over with. I'm a magic talking knife, you're the king of Great Britain, we're going to fight monsters and defeat evil."
"What? You're the knife?"
The voice took an impatient tone. "Look, it's not that complicated. You can call me Excalibur."
"Excalibur? Like the King Arthur Excalibur?"
"That's the one."
"But... you're a butter knife."
"All right, so I admit I had a little setback. Nothing to worry about, really. We just need to make a pact, and I'll be good as new."
I turned over my hand, to look at it more closely. The handle was ornate filigree, the edge slightly serrated. It really did seem like an ordinary butter knife.
"A pact?"
"You know, like a contract. A covenant. A promise. I swear to never harm you and stay by your side til death, you swear to fight evil and become the king of Great Britain. It's like we're getting married."
"I know what a pact is! Just slow down, I can't do that! First, we're not even in Britain, we're in the United States. Second, fight evil? What exactly does that even mean? And finally, you're a talking butter knife, I'm clearly going insane. Shit, is schizophrenia hereditary?"
"Yes, but that's not the important part right now. The pressing issue is that I can't just make a pact with anyone."
"Because you don't have legs?"
"Nobody important needs legs! Anyway, it's because there are four conditions that have to be met. The person needs to be of the bloodline stemming from Arthur, the previous wielder needs to be dead, and they need to accept the pact of their own free will. Just jab me in your finger to get a little blood flowing, I'll say the words, and it'll be done."
"Uhh, I'll pass on that one. I can't be forced into it? What happens if I say no?"
"Then I'll have to stay and wait wherever you put me, until you have some kids. Though if you always act like this, maybe that'll take a while."
"Hey! I thought you wanted me to help. I've made up my mind, I think that-" My retort was interrupted by a loud crash from below, as if the door had been broken open. Frantically, I looked back at the knife. "What the hell did you do?"
"Oh boy. That's not me. My awakening must've tipped them off."
"Them? Who?" I hissed. The sounds below had gotten louder. I could hear my grandmother's heirloon vases being smashed as whoever was down there went through the room.
"Well, remember how I said you'd need to fight evil? Looks like evil has found us. They likely used teleportation magic, if they've gotten here so soon."
"Magic? You mean I have an evil wizard trying to kill me and all I have is a butter knife? I'm calling the police."
"Believe me, the police won't be able to do a thing. Look, we have to make the pact now. I got sidetracked, there's one more thing I forgot to mention."
"Oh, just one?"
"Now's not the time for that. I said there were four conditions, right? The fourth is that the wielder must have a righteous heart. One that makes them the true king. That's you, bud."
"Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm so dead." Another crash, this time more of a boom, reverberated through the hall. The heat hit soon afterwards, and the smell of burning carpets filled the air.
The knife spoke up again. "That sounded like a fireball. We'd better hurry this along... actually, you haven't given me your name yet, have you?"
I looked at the knife incredulously. "Thomas! It's Thomas! Screw that, let's get out of here!"
A new voice startled me. "No, Thomas, I don't think you'll be doing that." Looking back up, an older man was now standing at the end of the hall, blocking any chance I had of escape. His lean figure and long, blue coat stood out against the flames that flickered from the stairs behind him. In his hands, he was holding a slender, long, and very deadly looking katana.
For the first time since we had met, I felt a touch of fear coming from Excalibur's voice.
"Do it. Now. You don't stand a chance against him. That sword is Clarent. The Sword of Peace. The one wielded by the traitor Mordred. The weapon that slew King Arthur."
Before my mind had reached a decision, my hands had already moved. The trickle of blood that flowed down my fingers gave a brief respite from heat of the air. Once more, Excalibur spoke, and the man charged.
| 2018-03-06T11:37:34 | 2018-03-06T11:27:47 | 434 | 44 |
[WP] Humanity has begun to explore the stars, but continually finds we are the most developed species, most alien species are still evolving. Suddenly, a message is transmitted to all human ships simultaneously, “WARDENS, DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND YOUR DUTY?” The signal itself is not of human origin.
|
We got the message about a decade ago. It was anomalous, traveling faster than light, and taught us enough to spread to the stars. We didnt know what it meant, but it seemed important we found out.
There were many theories. We were meant to imprison civilizations. We were game wardens, preserving lush worlds. Eventually we decided to simply protect them, usually from themselves.
We intervened to prevent a nuclear war in a near-tribal civilization, more bent on killing each other than making enough science for a bloody radio so we could contact them.
We halted global warming on a little world with runaway industrialism by parking a fleet between it and its sun. That one ended rather well, they are well on their way to sustainability.
We found dozens of amazing worlds home to amazing creatures, and learned all we could.
We fixed our own problems. Everything but politics got fixed up, but nobody really thinks politics will ever be civil. It's nice to see north American forests again, with intertwined branches from sea to sea.
Then we got a second message. It was the same exact thing.
So we buckled down on the primitive worlds we had found. We taught them, but also prevented wars and a large measure of their choice. We saw ourselves as prison wardens, to educate and make worthy people that would otherwise be a menace to themselves and others.
It was at this point someone dredged up a cage made of neutronium from the bottom of the Mariana Trench. We figured that whatever was in there was our prisoner, and had escaped. There was a galactic manhunt for anything that might be the thing held by it. We checked under every damn pebble on every world in the Orion Arm, and half of all the rest. We got the message once more.
Then, someone did a deep DNA search of the cage. It found us. The only biological material was ours. Barring some machine that had vanished, we were the prisoner. As for the wardens that were supposed to get the message? No clue.
So we radioed back, with every antenna at the same time, "we took care of it. Dont worry."
"Good. Pray you do not fail again."
The universal response was something long the lines of "Well, shit."
|
The message flashed across the console of the command module, the red lettering casting an eerie glow onto the pilots face. The pilot sat in stunned silence for a moment trying to process what she was seeing. There was no way that this message could be displaying here; the console wasn't connected to the communications array as that was handled by her armpad. Looking around the rest of the ship she realised that anything with a display was showing the message in some form. Even small screens on pressure valves showed single letters of the message.
*What did this mean?*
*How had this message entered her ships offline systems?*
She looked to her armpad. The red letters were starkly contrasted against her blue-green background and otherwise filled the screen. When she went to access her systems check tool the red text disappeared behind the application. The pilot was worried that perhaps whoever hacked her ship to display this message might have also done something else to her ship. However the systems check completed rather quickly and did not report any major errors. This was certainly a relief but did not answer many questions for her.
She looked up toward the front window as if she expected to see someone watching her. All that looked back was the void of space and a few visible stars. She was still a few days travel away from her destination of Cherub, the homeworld for the Dionysus System. They were a rather progressive system and it wasn't uncommon for the pilot to make deliveries of advanced medical supplies to various health authorities on the homeworld. She looked down to the command console which still had the red letters plastered across the screen. Tapping the screen, the console loaded a trajectory map which wiped away the red lettering. She was still on course with no change in her timeline.
This didn't make any sense. Nothing really happened other than the message. What was the point of it all?
*"Wardens, do you not understand your duty?"*
Who are the "Wardens" and who sent this message? Before her mind could continue to race with the confusion of the situation she received a message on her armpad. It was an audio message with coordinates attached from her friend Jamie who must've been on a nearby route.
"Octavia, I'm about 10 light minutes from your location. Something just hacked my system, there's a message showing up on all my displays and my route has been modified to the middle of nowhere. I can't get control back to my command module. I'm gonna need a tow back to Cherub. Please, I need your help. I'm not looking to get stranded in a dark-zone. Jamieson, out."
He sounded quite serious which was worrying for Octavia considering his voice was usually light and jovial. It wasn't too often that he asked for much. Considering the circumstance it was a simple decision to go and get him. Right away she got to work modifying her routing to intersect with the coordinates provided by Jamie. It would only take a few minutes to reach him once she got redirected. Her ship was a small cargo variant of the Thunderbug series. This ship had twin engines and a long sleek form. The cargo hold was on the bottom back toward the engines, with the cockpit stationed at the very opposite tip. It almost resembled an old Concord plane from the early days of air-travel on Earth. It was relatively fast and maneuverable both in commute and when planetside.
Octavia felt a sense of urgency grow in the back of her mind. According to her system mapping Jamie was only 6 light hours from a dark-zone. Once he entered it he likely wouldn't be able to get back on his own or be found without any visible way to track him. Dark-zones were regions of space where the Alliance Guidance systems did not reach. These systems provided communication and routing for all the ships within its bounds. Entering a dark-zone would mean losing contact with the rest of the galaxy. If you didn't know what you were doing or didn't plan ahead for entering one it could be dangerous.
She knew it would only take a few minutes to catch up to him but there was that fear in the back of her mind that something would go wrong. The command console began making a beeping sound indicating she would soon be reaching the intersect point. *So far so good.* Out the front window she could see Jamie's ship grow closer and closer until it took up most of the view. It was a bulky fat ship yet still had smooth features for planetside travel. It had three engines that seemed to be off at the moment, no doubt a last ditch effort from Jamie to stop it from heading closer to the dark-zone. As she matched heading in front of the other ship she activated her shortwave communications.
"Jamie are you there? It's Octavia."
"Octavia thank God you're here. I just cut the engines but I'm still coasting toward the dark-zone. I ain't slowing down anytime soon either".
"Don't worry I'll tether you on right away and we'll get back to Cherub together." She began typing away at the command console. To initiate the tether she would need to first run a scan of Jamie's ship.
"Hope this doesn't screw up your delivery, bud. But this is some strange shit." Jamie sounded apologetic, although Octavia would obviously never blame him for this.
"I got the message too, Jamie."
"What? How's that possible? What did it say?"
"It said, 'Wardens, do you not understand your duty?'"
"Damn, that's what mine said... But you're still in control of your ship?" Worry crept into his voice as he spoke.
"Yup. Hoping it stays that way too. What the hell is going on right now?" Octavia knew he wouldnt have any answers either but it helped her process the situation by asking it out loud. The scan of Jamie's ship completed now and she began to deploy the tether. The scan allowed the tether to account for the other ships mass to ensure they would be able to travel beyond lightspeed without obliterating each other.
"I have no idea what the hell is happening right now. I've never seen any hack like this before." His voice was incredulous. As the tether latched to his ship communication fizzled out for a moment before coming back through a direct line now that they were connected. Octavia could now see all the available system information for Jamie's ship. As she was reading it a warning message appeared on her command console. The alert indicated that she was moving off of her routing.
"Uh Jamie, you said you turned the engines off right?" She asked hesitantly.
"Yes... Why?" Of course, she could see with her own eyes that his engines were off. His ship was still sitting in front of the cockpit window.
"We're heading off course for some reason." Octavia felt a bead of sweat trail down her forehead to the tip of her nose. She glanced down toward the routing map as the drop of sweat fell and hit the screen.
"Octavia, where are we heading?" She hesitated. The splattered sweat was highlighting their new predicted destination. "Octavia. Where are we heading?" Jamie's voice had gotten stern now. He was clearly already coming to a conclusion.
"Jamie... Ive lost control of the ships." She began typing frantically, trying to regain control. Nothing she did had any effect.
"Octavia. I'm so sorry." Jamie's voice was somber. He knew where they're were heading. The same place he had been heading. The dark-zone.
...
I wrote this between calls at work. The more I wrote the more I started to realise what I wanted for this world. I knoe it gets a little clunky. Hope it still left you wanting more!
| 2019-05-08T16:53:15 | 2019-05-08T16:37:52 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] As a dragon of innumerable age you have guarded your gold horde for millennium. Many heroes have come with long speeches on how they will slay you, the great evil,none finish. However this one is odd.He throws a coin on your stash, looks you in the eyes and says "I have a proposition for you."
|
The hero walked in, and the small hole I made in the ceiling cast a shaft of light onto him, gleaming off his crown. Of course, this was to give heroes a false sense of confidence, but it didn't faze him.
He walked up to me and tossed a gold coin into my pile.
"You have my attention", I told him.
"Hi, I'm a Nigerian Prince, and I'd like you to do me a favour..."
|
I glanced down at the coin he had thrown. Dwarven bronze, innumerably ancient. Almost as ancient as me. I had never taken the time to learn Dwarven, though even if I had, the words would long have been lost to me. The emblem on the coin, however, I knew. The ancient emblem of Gadar-Khan, the greatest kingdom to ever have lived.
"We've all heard great legends of your mighty hoard," he said. I looked back at him. Not one inch of skin stuck out from his armour, bristling with all manner of magic runes and carvings. It, too, was clearly of Dwarven design.
It couldn't be.
"I am not interested in your treasure, beast. I have travelled the length and breadth of the kingdoms, fighting all manner of monsters. I have scoured every tomb and temple in the lands, acting on every rumour, every skerrick of information to find the most powerful of magical items to render me even more unstoppable.
"Tales of me are told from both sides of the Great Ocean. I have the ear of gods and kings. I have amassed so much wealth in my travels that I could buy out the world and still live like a king all my days.
"So, you see, dragon, I am not interested in money. Unlike all those fools who have tried and failed before me, I am not here in hopes of treasure or the thanks of the people. I only wish for a challenge!"
He steps forward, the reflections of light on the coins around him casting dazzling lights on his armour.
I notice a portly man at the entrance, scribbling furiously on parchment. Clearly a minstrel. This was an act.
"I have searched so long for one purpose - to find the weapon to defeat you! The great wyrm who has bested entire armies in a single blow. You are the one thing standing in my way to eternal glory!"
He raises his arms for effect. The man in the background scribbles faster.
"Get on with it." I growl.
"You thought the great forges of Gadar-Khan ruined," he continued. "Destroyed to leave no trace of their greatest project. The armour that could not only withstand dragon-fire, but be strengthened by it. As you can see, you were mistaken."
He's bluffing.
"Of all the exaggerations in your tale, human, truly this is the most egregious." I hiss. "I left nothing standing of the great kingdom. I crushed it to dust with my own claws."
I, too, could pose for effect.
"There was a secret entrance," he said, "and at the bottom of the deepest mineshaft ever dug, below the adamantine spires, I found the one remaining set."
"Prove it!" I barked. "Show me the maker's seal and you shall have my ear," I continued, hoping he wouldn't point out that I didn't have ears, "else leave. I have lived long, but I will not suffer fools wasting my time."
He turned around and gestured to the brand on the back of the chestplate.
My thoughts filled with ancient curse words, though aeons of looking at reflective objects had made it easy to mask my expression.
"What is your proposition, then, human?" I snapped.
"I am not here to kill you, but to do much worse. I am here to make you flee in terror with your tail between your legs.
"I will let you live," he said, "if you give me a battle truly worthy of legend. Give me your best! Show me that you truly are the slayer of armies! Give me a fight that will be sung of for millennia. Prove your worth, and I will spare you."
He took this moment to unsheathe his blade. I notice a metal plate inside the scabbard, which produces a ridiculous 'shing' sound when the blade is withdrawn. The weapon itself was just as ridiculous. Two-pronged. And yet, it shone with an almost heavenly aura, the edge of the blade twisting and shuddering so quickly I could not focus on it. Vorpal.
"You leave me no choice, then." I let loose a sardonic grin.
"Why do you smile, monster? You truly think you can beat me?" he replied.
"You shall have you battle. But it is you who are mistaken, adventurer."
"When I overturned the forges, I did not simply leave it in ruin. I took something with me."
"And verily, it is not a golden hoard of which I boast."
I can only laugh as I cast the ancient spell to summon the bodies of the dead dwarves. Across the chamber, shuddering, wailing figures emerge from beneath the piles of gold. Themselves coated in the metal, they draw all manner of weapons. Clubs. Swords. Axes. Many wield bows, aiming them from across the halls squarely at the hapless egotist.
"'Tis a Golden Horde."
>horde (hɔrd, hoʊrd)
>n., v. hord•ed, hord•ing. n.
1. a large group, multitude, or number; crowd.
2. a tribe or troop of Asian nomads.
3. any nomadic group.
4. a moving pack or swarm of animals.
>The Golden Horde (Mongolian: Алтан Орд, Altan Ordu, Зүчийн улс, Züchii-in Uls; Russian: Золотая Орда, tr. Zolotaya Orda; Tatar: Алтын Урда Altın Urda) was a Mongol and later Turkicized khanate established in the 13th century and originating as the northwestern sector of the Mongol Empire.[3] With the fragmentation of the Mongol Empire after 1259 it became a functionally separate khanate
--
Sorry. I saw the typo and had to.
| 2015-10-14T04:03:21 | 2015-10-14T02:31:02 | 32 | 14 |
[WP] You've been a gravedigger for 20 so years. Each coffin obtains a button that'll alert you if pressed. A buzzer goes off years after the burial of a coffin.
|
Danny was on his way home when his pocket buzzed, signifying a text. Being a safe driver in addition to being an upstanding citizen, he pulled over before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. Flipping it open, he read the contents of the message: *Coffin 1218 has been activated.* Puzzled, Danny spun the wheel and began a trip back to the cemetery.
He pulled into his usual spot, and got out of his pickup, letting out the sigh that accompanies movement at his age. He stopped by the tool shed on his way to grave 1218, pulling out his trusty shovel. He tried to remember anything significant about 1218, knowing that in the past some folks had chosen to get buried with precious objects, making them a target for unscrupulous people. Nothing stood out in his memory, but it fell from focus as Danny neared the gravesite.
Someone had been fooling around here. Probably some kids, judging by how poorly the dirt was sprayed every which way around the fresh hole in front of the tombstone. Almost like someone drilled a small explosive into the coffin and used that to open it up, except there was no debris from the contents of the coffin to be seen.
Actually... Danny peered into the hole. There wasn't a body at the bottom. Usually there would be at least bones, even after 20 years. Danny had had to dig up a few coffins in the past for some history foundation or other, whose posh representatives had not cared to look at the contents themselves, but relied on Danny's word of what was inside. Not that Danny would lie.
Danny leaned on his shovel, thinking. Most folks would phone the police, but that would bring a lot of trampling and poking, and Danny was hesitant to bring sacrilege of that sort to his grounds.
Danny's phone buzzed again. He checked the message: *Coffin 3885 has been activated.* That was pretty close. Danny snapped his phone shut, gripped his shovel, and took off at a brisk walk. Someone was about to get a very stern rebuke.
When Danny got to the second site, it looked nearly identical to the first. Dirt strewn everywhere, and when he looked inside, it too was empty. The rascals that did this had to be close, Danny thought.
His phone went off again. *Coffin 3321 has been activated.* Danny ran towards the coffin. He'd get them this time. He was halfway there when his phone buzzed again, but he disregarded it. Danny arrived breathless at grave 3321, but again he was too late. His phone buzzed again. Then again. Danny pulled out the phone, and it seemed to open the floodgates; text after text buzzed his phone, he couldn't even exit out fast enough to dial 911.
Then he heard the sound. It sounded like two sticks being hit together, only there were a thousand sticks. Looking up, Danny saw what could only be called an army of undead.
Throwing his shovel to the side, Danny ran.
|
*BUZZ*
"Hey, let me in."
*BUZZ*
*BUZZ*
"Carol, it's John let me up."
"One second," Carol screeched through the old apartment radio box outside.
*click*
The door unlocked and John made his way into the building. Dry mud and dirt flaked off of his boots onto the worn tile floors, as he made his way up to Carol's seventh story apartment. Wiping his uniform down along the way, as not to appear too untidy, the door opened as he conquered the final step to floor seven. Clutching a clean set of clothes in hand, he made his way down the hall.
"I'm sorry about this, I know you're probably getting tired of me having to take my showers here."
"Noo! No, not at all. It's not you're fault the last tenant destroyed the water lines at your new place!" Carol reassured him, bracing the door open.
"Yeah, but I work as a goddamn grave-"
"Hey! Shush. I said it isn't a problem to me. You dig graves, you get dirty! I don't care if you were knee-deep in sewer waste. Only more of a reason to need a proper shower," she laughed.
John shyly shrugged, forming a quarter grin, grateful for her kindness.
"Gosh, Carol," he began, "..it means a lot, I'll find a way to repay y-"
*buzz*
*buzz*
*buzz*
"Oh, nonsense John, what are friends for? Don't worry about it, really. Oh! By the way, I fixed a little too much dinner, if you want a dish before you head home."
*buzz*
*buzz*
*buzz*
*buzz*
"What in the world is that thing anyways? You always wear it around your neck. I've never heard it make a sound before."
John's face was contorted, in-between an expression of exhaustion and surprise. The little pager around his neck was a safety device. It was designed to alert the gravedigger of any sort of trouble with the burial. Somebody buried, but not exactly dead as they seemed to be. The previously, assumed deceased coffin-goers, press the button in their coffin, and the pager relays the plots location that is being buzzed.
"Uh..it's a..uh," John stammered over his words. "It's a safety mechanism to ensure somebody isn't prematurely buried. They press the button, and their particular plot location is pinged to me."
*buzz*
The pager flashed a red light and beeped again.
"Oh, well that's neat," Carol replied, making her way towards the kitchen. "Does that really happen that often?" She paused and turned around, "Shouldn't.. you.. get down there right away? Or call somebody?"
Sweat started lightly pooling in beads above John's worn, dirt-clogged pours on his forehead. "N-No....no, it hasn't happened in my twenty years on the job actually..and everybody is gone for the day. I'm the last to leave."
*buzz*
*buzz*
Carol's face turned flush with dread, sweeping the reality of the situation back into Johns tired head. "Well, shit John. Let's get down there," she said, reaching for her shoes and keys. "I'll drive! I couldn't imagine something like this happening to someone. We have to get down there!"
John snapped back into it, still half-pale. "Yeah...yeah, lets go. I'll call 911 on the way." He dropped his clean clothes and they hurried down the seven stories.
"Start calling somebody now if you can John!" Carol exclaimed. John heard her, but continued down the flights of stairs, pager gripped tightly in hand, rather than phone.
The crimson light of the pager, flashing off the cheap wall-paper lining Carol's apartment building. The buzz a constant reminder of the situation. She reached for her car lock as they raced their way out of the building, just as dusk began to creep the late afternoon sun away.
*click click*
"It's only about 10 or so miles from here right?" said Carol. "John, get somebody on the damn phone."
John began to pull his cell out of his pocket as he focused downwards at his pager, to get a glimpse at the exact plot number, as he climbed into the car.
*buzz*
*buzz*
*buzz*
*buzz*
The red light flashed again, and again. The plot number *"223-C, S27"* appeared on the display as Carol sped out of the apartment building parking. The staggered road-lines morphed into continuous white/yellow lines as she raced toward the cemetery John had spent so many years digging at.
"Section 27? This.. can't be right, that entire section hasn't been touched since my first year on the job! That is impossible. That was over twenty years ago!"
Carol glanced over at John, "Well somebody or something is pressing that button. Call somebody so we can get an emergency team in case something is wrong. Something could be terribly wrong," she demanded, as she started to tense up.
"No, no. This doesn't seem right, lets get down there and see what's going on. No need to waist vital emergency resources for a faulty button in a twenty year old coffin. There is no way we got a man down there, twiddling his thumbs for a decade or two before finally wanting out, is there?" John let out a little chuckle.
*buzz*
*buzz*
"Please John....just do it for me, call the co-*ahem* cops....an-anybody. Please!" she started to beg, choking back tears.
Her emotion struck John and he broke his lock of attention on the buzzing pager.
"Carol..."
*buzz*
"Are you alright?"
The car revved even higher as she burst through a red light, narrowly missing a sedan passing through.
"Carol, what the fuck! Slow down! This is a twenty year old plot. There is really no other explanation other than a faulty button in this poor guys coffin. Calm down, you're going to get us killed!"
She let off the engine and slowed down a bit, still sobbing. John stared, angry and at a loss for words.
"I'm-I'm sorry, I just want everything to be okay. I just want it to stop," she sobbed, slightly less frantic this time.
John's entire attention turned from the pager to Carol at this moment.
"I want it to stop. Please just tell me it'll be okay John."
"Stop what Carol? You're confusing me, it's just a technical malfunction, trust me. Here, pull in here. That's the closest entrance to Section 27."
Carol hit the brakes and swerved into the pathway.
"Let's just find the plot, okay?" she said softly.
They jumped out of the car and John flicked on his flashlight, leading her through the familiar rows of the graveyard he's come to know inside and out. These columns of tombstones were old, and he was one of the only grave-diggers left who had worked on them.
*buzz*
The pager's red light flashed bright as darkness began to settle on the cemetery.
*buzz*
*buzz*
*buzz*
They twisted and turned around sections of burials, making their way to the plot location that was signaling distress. John listened carefully as Carol followed, panting behind him to keep up, sobbing intermittently. He was confident she would be relieved to see the date on the tombstone.
The light of the flashlight jumbled up and down as they hustled into section 27, the pager still buzzing and flashing it's alarm.
"Here.." John gasped, out of breath. "Here, see."
He guided his light onto the tombstone of "*223-C S27*."
"It's just a twenty year old grave, we'll get emergency services over here to help dig, and you'll see. It's just some faulty wiring, that's all."
*buzz*
*buzz*
He sat panting for a moment, waiting for a response. It had grown colder and rather dark as the sun set away.
"..Carol? Carol."
*buzz*
He turned back to see nobody behind him.
"Carol!" he screamed, pointing his light back out among the shrubs and overgrowth of the cemetery yard. "Caroool!?"
*buzz*
The flashlight slowly made it's way back towards the tombstone in question and John's body stopped cold in it's tracks.
The grave read:
**Carol O'brien**
*May Death Be More Kind To Her Then Life.*
**1973-1997**
| 2017-07-02T21:01:21 | 2017-07-02T20:41:02 | 46 | 24 |
[WP] You were an "evil" king who has been dethroned by conquering heroes for your "horrible tyranny". It takes less than 2 years for the people of the kingdom to be begging for you to be reinstated as king.
|
Sunlight glistened on the marble pillars, creating a dazzling display of outlandish colours and geometric shapes. The smell of crisp of bacon and fresh bread filled the room. A gentle tapping of scuttling servants feet alerted the deposed king to arrival of his breakfast but instead of bacon, he found himself staring down at the piggy face of Duke Kalmar.
"Your grace." Said the portly Duke clumsily falling to one knee.
"It's been a long time since I was called that." King Reynard snorted. "So what the hell do you want from me."
"Your grace I only wish to serve." The duke replied abashed.
"Where was your service when they took my throne? Where was your sword when they killed my son? Where were you when I was left to rot in this prison?" King Reynard ranted. "Your service is only given to those who can further your own ambitions. So I ask again what do you want from me?"
"You wound me sire." The Duke said feigning offence.
"Anymore of your falseness and I will wound you. I won't ask again. The army may have betrayed me but I assure you my guards are still loyal." The king said gesturing to the armoured figures flanking the room.
Sweat beaded the portly mans head. His hands shook as he dabbed himself with a handkerchief.
"We ask you to be a king again."
"Are these magnificent heroes of yours not working out as you hoped." The king laughed.
"They're tyrants. They usurped the throne and abuse your people." The portly man bellowed before being cut off.
"And who helped them usurp my throne?" The king asked flatly.
Duke Kalmar shuffled uncomfortably, the beads of sweat on his forehead turning into a raging river.
"No clever comeback, no excuses or pleas? I am severely disappointed my good Duke."
"Please your grace only you can help us, the taxes are destroying us." The duke pleaded.
"It always comes down to money. It's funny how a few percent can suddenly turn a king into a tyrant." The King said eyeing the duke. "However I will accept, swear me your fealty and I will be your king."
"I swear it your grace. You have my sword from this day until the end of days." The Duke said producing his blade.
"Excellent. Now I have a command for you."
"Anything your grace."
"Plunge your sword into your own heart and prove your loyalty."
|
As Alanmir tended his garden, head lowered to water the cluster of Amaryllis in bloom, he heard a horse approaching, followed by its cool shadow looming over him.
"Can I help you?" Alanmir asked politely. He lifted his head in greeting, placing a sweaty, dirt covered hand over his brow to see the rider, squinting to try and make out their features, but saw only pale shadow in the bright sunlight. The unknown rider continued to look at him in silence. He could command the rider to speak, but it had been years since he'd used that regal power. Nowadays, he tended his little garden and traded his knowledge of letters to the village for supplies. Gone was the stress of court and nobles. It was a simple life.
"Alanmir you *bastard*, I've finally found you," the rider's tone was scalding, scratching at hazy memories in Alanmir's mind. The rider dismounted quickly, then rounded the horse and leaned over the fence between them. Alanmir blinked a few times, then froze, his blood running as he recognised the rigid smile on the pale rider's face.
"J-Jamer!" Alanmir said in a horrified whisper, falling to his haunches. A ghost from the past— the contract magician of a former life. A man who had no right to be standing here. A man whom Alanmir had watched buried alive in chains and dirt. The bargain that had been struck between himself and the Usurpers rang loud in his mind; A Life for a Life. The King's Throne for a Magician. Sworn by blood and witnessed by many.
"That's right, you *coward*. Your good old *friend* Jamer, returned from the *dead,"* the undead man spat the words at the former-king like an accusation, his feral smile never wavering.
"What do you want!? Leave me alone! I'm done with this kingly business, done with it and done with you, damn it!" Alamnir blubbered, scrabbling backwards until his back hit the familiar wood of the shack. He looked anywhere but that pale face and that wide, dead smile, praying for The World to grant him a boon and end this nightmare.
Jamer raised a mocking eyebrow as he hopped over the fence with ease. "Oh, sir, *please*, *I* want for nothing. I am but a humble servant. Your *people* on the other hand *cry* your name out from the rooftops. The *nobles* weep tears when your name is mentioned on their lips. The soldiers fall to their knees and abandon their posts. It's quite tragic," Jamer said theatrically, raising his arms ever higher as he took one slow step after another towards the former king.
Despite the fear, Alanmir couldn't help but raise his eyes to the undead magician in hope. When he had *retired*, he had expected people to make a fuss about it. An uprising or two perhaps, maybe even a peasant revolt. But nobody did anything. He had gone not with a bang, but with a whimper. But to hear the snake Jamer speak of his kingdom like this filled a gnawing need he hadn't realised he had; that perhaps history would remember him as a good king.
"*No*," Jamer said sarcastically, shattering Alanmir's hopes. "But this is what you'll need to believe when you make your triumphant return, because you *are* going to be returning," there was a bitter, harsh steel to the last part; a command rather than a request.
"No! I won't. *I won't*!" Alanmir blubbered, trying to make himself smaller as Jamer approached him. The undead magician spoke on, as though he'd never spoken at all.
"See, over the last two years I've had quite a lot of time to think about what happened to me. How *did* the Usurpers enter the court so easily? Why *did* the Nobility not fight back? Why *was* power transferred so cleanly? And most importantly," the smile wavered, the pale mask breaking into a rictus of rage, "why was *I* the only one to be executed after all of it?"
Jamer was only a step away from Alanmir now, and he lowered himself to a crouch, bringing his pale close, his dead eyes boring into the king's. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" there was an edge of madness to the man's voice as he said it, the smiling mask slipping back on.
Alanmir gulped, trying to keep the bile in his stomach down, shaking his head vigorously. He had thought his plan to disappear and escape the contract magician's clutches was foolproof. How childish it seemed now when spoken back to him by the undead man. "B-but if the kingdom doesn't want me back, why are you here?"
"Ah, yes. Yes. A good question," said Jamer, pulling himself back a little. "You would agree that one shouldn't pitch a carriage to a *lame horse*, but I still have some faith in you, my dear *King*. You see, I went back to the kingdom before I came here, and *everything I thought would happen has happened*. *Everything.* With you on the throne the nobility could be kept in check, but without you? Every house with a kid to spare is claiming your throne! There's a civil war looming on the horizon and the Usurpers are on the brink of losing it all. It's quite tragic, really."
"Why me? Why not find someone else?"
"Why? *Because,*" Jamir said, breaking into a horrible, manic laugh, "as much as it pains me to admit, taking back a kingdom with an untested weapon is the height of foolishness. *I know you like I know myself.* So when I say you and I are going to go back to the kingdom to take back the throne from the Usurpers, I know, *exactly,* how we're going to do it. And to prevent any mishaps along the way, I drew up this contract for you to sign."
From his pocket, the undead magician pulled out a small scroll and handed it to Alanmir, along with a small, sharp nail.
"And if I refuse?" Alanmir said bravely, a fight welling up in his stomach. Without a king, Jamer would be able to do nothing. Jamer's power was in coercion, and the undead man had nothing now to blackmail him with. This had been one of the stipulations of his plan— a life for a life, his own for the safety of his daughter's.
"Well, well, well, well, *my dear king,"* Jamer sang in a lilting voice, "If you won't do it, I'm sure your *daughter* would be more amenable. Though she's on the other side of the continent, living it up on a beach resort, I'm sure she'll be thrilled for a little spice in her life, don't you think?"
The fight welling in Alanmir's stomach fled him, and he deflated visibly. Jamer still had something he could use, even after everything he had done to try and protect himself. The Usurpers had lied. Had failed in their bargain.
After a few silent seconds, he said, in a small, pitiable voice, "If... if I do this, will you leave her in peace?"
"Pinkie promise. Also, it's in the contract," Jamer said, chuckling as he licked his bruised tongue on cracked lips.
Alanmir looked up to the sky, tears pricking his eyes. He prayed once more for The World to save him, and when nothing came, he gave up. He sighed his last free sigh, stabbed his thumb with the nail, and pressed the welling blood into the contract.
Jamer's pale mouth grew into a contorted, feral smile as he watched the light leave Alanmir's eyes, and saw his puppet king returned to him at last.
| 2021-03-30T13:20:21 | 2021-03-30T13:13:18 | 285 | 37 |
[WP] Your adventuring party is unstoppable. It has a fighter, able to crush steel armor with bare hands. A cleric, able to cure any wound imaginable. The wizard, who can manipulate energy and matter into anything. And Bob, a random person who found a sniper rifle
|
There once was a fellow named Bob.
Monsters despised him from goblin to hob.
Why?
He killed all the mobs.
And what was the tool of Bob’s great murder streak?
A sniper rifle, given unto him by the god of the weak.
She’d noticed that Bob had no special skills.
Thus, she gave him a weapon to get all the kills.
His cleric companion would cast mass heal spells,
Their wizard raised demons from nine out of nine hells.
The fighter was a true friend and a fiend to all baddies,
But Bob sniped away, leaving single monster parent daddies.
As time went along, Bob’s legend grew tall,
The monster numbers dwindled, getting very small.
The team was unstoppable, they never got a scratch,
So they drank all the mead—every single batch.
At the end of their travels, they came before a giant rock monster.
It was as large as any they’d fought.
But the team had great fortune, they’d run into a mobster.
Bob had upgraded his rifle to a missile launcher he’d bought.
What was the moral of Bob’s sordid tale?
Save the magic, get a Glock, ‘cuz guns never fail.
|
Having heard the news about rebels forming in the west of the kingdom, we decided to go there and see what was going on.
Our relationship with the royal family may be biased, because after all, they were the ones that had found us and given us food and shelter in this harsh world.
So, we rightfully assumed that the rebellion may not be caused by natural means, and instead be yet another incursion by the demons.
Neither of us come originally from this world. It may sound insane, because it is. Having grown up in a spaceship orbiting a black hole, when I saw true nature for the first time I was shocked. The sounds, the smells, not to mention the colors!
The last memory I had of my old world was entering a conspicuous red door that had appeared in the ship. A wooden door, on a metal ship. I didn't even know it was wood at first until the others told me, because they had experienced the same thing.
Upon arriving in the west of the kingdom, we decided to set up our base at the city of Collek, home to the largest harbor on the continent, and beautiful white stone architecture.
The streets were in turmoil, day in and day out. A month had passed since we arrived, and we had managed to rent a small house in the center of the city where most of the protesting was happening.
"I wiped out the cultists' lair the third day we came here, now why the hell is this shit still going on?" said Mina, staring out of the window, down on the loud street beneath us.
She was given the gift of strength. She could destroy anything with her bare hands, folding metal as if it was paper, and clawing through stone walls like sand.
"Yeah, and you still haven't gotten rid of that demonic stench the cultists gave you! I've already asked you to take a shower!" I replied back.
She growled back at me and rolled her eyes. She walked out of the room as Eliz came in. She gave him a shove as they passed in the hallway, nearly spilling the cups of tea he held.
"As usual huh?" Eliz said with a smile and shook his head. He placed one of the tea cups on the small table near me.
I now stood by the window, with the protesting to my back. Eliz sat down with a loud grunt and sipped on the tea.
"Too bad I can't heal bad attitudes huh?"
Eliz, given the gift of health. Capable of healing any wounds he can touch within seconds, meaning he himself is indestructible too.
He put his tea down and dropped two spoons of sugar in it.
As I watched him stir, I asked a question.
"Did you manage to find anything?"
He chuckled and shook his head.
Eliz had spent a week without sleep trying to figure out what was going on in the city.
Ofcourse, we already took in mind what the protesters were shouting all the time.
Something about giving rise to a new God, true power, and that the king and his followers are evil and should die. The standard demonic spew of propaganda, we thought.
Now that Eliz had come up empty handed, it was only natural to have my doubts. The doubts being that maybe these people were insane after all, not under the influence of demons.
Suddenly, the wooden flooring began to shake, and in the middle of the room a door with a golden frame slowly rose up. The door burst open and Morroia came out running, falling face first onto the small table, spilling both the tea cups.
Eliz jumped out of the seat and placed his hand gently on her head, and within a second she stood up and gave us the report.
"He found it! Colt that fucking bastard found it!"
She had tears in her eyes, either from being too emotional or from having hit her head earlier.
"Found what!?" I replied, feeling bad about the spilt tea.
Morroia was given the gift of creation, the ability to create things out of thin air. It's an ability that takes a great toll on her body, so it's an ability we rarely make her use.
We could hear loud booms and cracking coming from the other side of the door, as leaves and wind came blowing through.
"The source! The source of this madness! It was a demon, far beyond the city borders! Colt is fighting them right now!"
The door to the place we rented was suddenly being attacked. Loud bangs, and the shouting from outside became louder.
I took a quick peek out the window, and was met by the city people all staring directly at me.
I jumped back and shouted to Mina.
"Hey Mina, let's go!"
Eliz and Morroia stepped into the door and out into the forest on the other side, more loud booms were heard.
Then, the window behind me was smashed as a rock hit my shoulder.
"Let me kill them! I'll kill them All! Those demonic bastards!" said Mina as she ran into the room.
"No. Get inside, they're still human."
The house was breached, and a flood of armed citizens came rushing in.
Mina audibly groaned and ran through the door as I quickly followed after her.
However, before I managed to fully step through the door, something grabbed a hold of my arm.
Their nails piercing into my skin as blood slowly came through.
I looked back and saw an old woman with a butcher knife staring back at me.
"It doesn't matter how much you try" She said, her voice sounded like a thousand people spoke at the same time.
"This city is mine, and so are these pitiful creatures of men."
The old woman raised the knife and before she managed to swing it down into my arm, her head exploded into a pink mist. Blood splattered everywhere. The grip loosened and I pushed her body away so I could close the door, and it crumbled into dust soon after.
Covered in blood and brains, I wiped my face clean.
"Jesus. Bob, I had it," I said, knowing that there was only one person capable of that destruction.
Appearing from the bushes came Bob Colt, the gun mage, holding his 50 caliber anti material rifle that was as tall as himself in one hand, and in the other he dragged the head of a demon the size of a boulder.
We all looked at him as he came slowly walking towards us. He was equally covered in blood as I was, but it wasn't as visible on his pitch black clothing.
He rolled the head towards us and replied:
"I've already told you, I don't know who Jesus is."
| 2022-11-07T21:12:46 | 2022-11-07T17:56:11 | 311 | 88 |
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult?
|
What eight year-old boy hasn't seen their older sisters having a sleepover and tried to figure out what was going on?
When Kaitlin had her slumber party, she had made a show of hanging the "No Boys Allowed" sign on the door. Since her room was on the second floor, overlooking the cranberry bog, there was no way for a kid who'd rather catch a Lugia than climb a tree to get up there.
In frustration, but not defeat, I went back to my room and found the old silver half dollar. Grandma had given it to me a year before. When this coin had been minted, JFK's face had been double struck by a machine error. Grandma claimed it was a lucky coin.
As I ran my fingers over the two-faced president, I made a wish. "I wish I could be like one of the girls."
This is when everything went weird. The coin flew from my hand, bounced off my DS, rolled over to my closet and started spinning, faster and faster. I could see sparks flying off that coin in all directions, even though it was spinning on a wooden floor.
Terrified of what was going on, I stood up to try to grab the coin, then noticed that the sparks were hitting my clothes in the closet. My school jacket was changing right before my eyes. The public school blue and grey was replaced by a catholic school red and black, and the pants became a skirt.
Next to the new school uniform, my power rangers pajamas shifted as well, changing from mechanical mastodons to soft satin. I reached out to touch this newly formed nightgown, and something told me to put it on.
The minute this foreign invader in my closet covered my body, Kaitlin threw open the door. "Hey, princess. We can't have a slumber party without my little sister!"
I looked from her to the mirror. Overlaid on my own body was the image of a little girl with blonde pigtails and a really cute face. Is that what Kaitlin was seeing?
I was swept up into the world of slumber parties, truth or dare, and makeovers. For that night, I truly was like one of the girls. Maybe it's that qualifier that saved me from a full transformation. Each of the girls saw me as a girl while I was in the nightgown.
When Dad came home, he called me "Jemma." When I went back to my own room the next morning and took off the nightgown, nobody remembered that I was in the sleepover but me.
I had always thought it was some weird dream. I never thought about it until the day twenty years later.
When I was on my way down to the post office to check the PO Box for the lawfirm, I saw something that I shouldn't have. Down in the alley behind the Daily Paper diner and the credit union, an older man, around fifty by the looks of him, was knifed repeatedly. When his attackers saw me reaching for my phone, they started chasing me.
I ran as fast as I could through the shopping district, shouting bloody murder. They were on my heels, and I ducked into a thrift store to hide.
Over by the racks of new arrivals, I got that old feeling of "Wear Me" coming from a blue A-line dress. As if the situation wasn't bad enough, now I was losing my mind. But I couldn't stop myself. On went the dress, and away went my dignity.
The two thugs ran in after me, and saw only a gorgeous woman in a blue dress.
"Hey, missy, you didn't see a mousy little guy run through here?" the one with the tan cap asked.
"Uh yeah, he ran through the backroom to the loading dock." I lied, taking this time to memorize their features. As the killers ran out in pursuit of me, I made the phone call to the police, describing what I saw, who they were and where they were headed.
The court date is in three weeks. And until then, I've got to live like this, looking like a woman until the day I can take the stand as a man.
|
As a young man, Nigel Premeiter lived a simple, if unconventional, life with his two parents, Houghler and Tricia. He would stay out doors, normally at the edge of the lot his parents owned. His home was a simple trailer, with one room on one end and his own on the other end. Taking most of the length of the trailer was a large kitchen with long double windows custom installed by his father all along the 'backside' of the unit. During the day, light poured in like waves upon a beach. The muted colors of the couch and chair-and-a-half were brought to brilliant life in the splendor of the morning sunrise, and often Nigel would expect to hear a yelp from the couch whenever he plopped down to color in one of his books.
At night, through these large windows, both Mr. and Mrs. Premeiter would watch their son play in the backyard under the clear night sky. Living in the middle of no where had its perks, one being the total lack of light pollution. Nigel spent almost every warm night out in the fields that extended to the horizon behind his little home, playing with his two childhood friends, Wade and Alexander.
Playing with both Wade and Alexander one night, far beyond the sight of his parents, the boys all laid themselves down on the long field grass, heads together and their legs splayed out in the spokes of a triangle. They stared in silence at the stars, keeping to their own private thoughts when, much to their surprise, a green light flashed across the sky, rising from the South and striking a path North before disappearing. Jokingly, they all made a wish together, and went about the rest of their night playing in the fields.
Its been twenty years since that night, and Nigel is almost the same six year old that wished upon a star, minus a definitive increase in commonsense and general intelligence. He still loves getting dirty and telling crass jokes, habits that stayed with him from his time well-spent with Wade and Alexander, from their infancy through their college years.
But more than anything, what he's loved doing since that night is simple.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Nigel was sitting in a brightly lit coffee shop that he frequented near his office. It was well furnished, with large, arched half fan windows that opened to the street. In many pots lined on the insides and outsides of the walls, the old woman who owned the building grew many of her own herbs and spices, from which delicate and robust smells filled the area. From the basement port, a large wooden door near the back with wrought iron reinforcements, the smell of freshly ground coffee wafted up as the breeze ebbed and flew through the basement windows.
On a plate near the cash register, freshly baked goods released sweet smells of home, laced with love and care, the kind you found from your own grandmother's oven. Their smell was inviting and seeped out of the open double windows, ensnaring the street's sailors and luring them inside with the delicious temptation of their siren's call. The old woman who owned the coffee shop had two lovely granddaughters who loved baking whenever they had the chance, and they would normally come to the shop straight from schooling to make their own kind of magic in the world.
To put it simply, the place smelled like heaven. Each bitter, sweet, and savory aroma that floated around made the air seem to take on a water-like quality. It was so thick, one would almost believe that they could reach out with a butter knife and cut themselves a slice of that intoxicating aroma to keep in a bottle.
Nigel loved these smells, reminiscent of his own mother's garden and kitchen. But what he loved more were the people. Never was the palate dull here; there was always a motley crowd. Rugged sailors, polished police officers, vile criminals, stoic philosophers, and gaudy dancers: The Triquetra of the Soul always had a varied and often disharmonious crowd living in harmony.
It was as if their was an unwritten law, a binding force placed upon them all, that kept the different personalities from rubbing against each other. Nigel could remember vividly a commonly known pick-pocket sitting at a table with a man who was looking for him and that knew him well. They shared stories over a cup of dark roast coffee and freshly baked honey biscuits. They smiled and the pick-pocket paid. The officer exited through the rows of open double windows facing the street and the delinquent exited through the back into the alley. In all of his years of patronage, he had never witnessed an act laced with hatred.
Today, Nigel had taken one of his favorite seats, a small table for one and perhaps a second if you squeezed, right in the center of the room under a lazily turning fan. With the windows open, a slight summer breeze was constantly rolling in, cooling its inhabitants and mixing the sea of relaxing scents. He wore a pair of khaki shorts that were cut above the knee, with a t-shirt of a vivid and bright leaf green color two sizes too large for him draped awkwardly over his gangly frame. His long, brown hair was held out of his face by a red head band in a comical fashion, showing his rather large and shiny forehead. His nose was crooked and hung low from his face, and upon it sat a pair of moon spectacles. One of the lenses had a crack that started at the button and extended to about the middle part of the lens.
He was enjoying a medium blend, its smell pungent yet fair, somewhere between savory and bitter, an utterly consuming fragrance that made his hair stand on end and sent shivers down his spine, much the same that a man would experience looking at the love of his life. On a small plate on the small, lightly colored wooden table in front of him was a lemon cake, that had a consistency comparable to what Nigel imagined a cloud would feel like: fluffy, light, and pleasantly moist.
The object of his attention was a rather large man who was sitting outside at one of the wrought iron tables (made by the old lady's own son), who was wholly invested in a cup of dark roast, savagely devouring a banana and coconut muffin, and reading the newspaper as if it were a religious text.
His suit was well cut and tailored, hugging well to his body and accentuating its finer features, like his broad shoulders and thick, corded arms while doing well to hide the gut that he had begun to grow as he reached, if Nigel remembered correctly, his mid 50s. His shoes were polished leather, and despite their apparent age, looked fit for the Queen of England, if she were to have an appetite for men's shoes.
There was nothing spectacular about this man that drew Nigel to him, but all the same, Nigel was drawn to him. His wish, like himself as a child, had been stupid and ultimately useless except in the face of what he and his compatriots considered good fun. He loved this coffee shop not only for the nostalgia and beauty of the smells that stewed here, but because of the challenge these smells presented.
Nigel shifted inconspicuously, lifting his left leg and draping it over the other, putting the majority of his weight onto his right hip. Silently, he slowly let out a puff of gas that, not surprisingly but always amusingly, he could see as a faint, shimmering cloud of swirling dark colors.
He let it sit for a second, coaxing it into a compressed form, keeping its putrid and rotten contents from seeping out into the fresh, sweet airs around it and also keeping those airs out. He could tell looking at it that its odor was foul, wet, and sickly-sweet, surely to be a sharp contrast to what the good sir sitting at the table outside was experiencing.
Slowly, and with purpose, he lifted his fork to begin eating his pastry, doing twirling motions in the air and slowly, the little ball danced through the air. He had practiced this often, so it merely looked to anyone who would look in his direction on a whim would see a man artfully eating his pastry, enjoying the ecstasy of its tastes and being overwhelmed by them.
It was a short trip, no more than ten seconds, before the orb had come to rest below the man's nose. With a sigh of melancholy joy, Nigel opened his left hand in his lap and reveled in the art of his performance.
The little ball changed, the smell unfurling and expanding, cutting into the air in dark tendrils that only Nigel could see. Two of them assaulted the mans nose, causing a split second of panic to assail him. His face contorted to one of immense pain, the normally pleasant smells of the café being destroyed by the fetid smell of the fart Nigel had just sent to him.
Nigel chuckled to himself, looking down at his phone. As his background was a picture of the only people in the world who had complete control over the smell, positioning, and even release time of their farts.
The young faces of Wade, Alexander, and himself smiled up to him.
He quickly finished his pastry and his coffee, returned the dishes he used to the old lady at the counter, and paid his tab, along with a tip of five dollars for her granddaughters. He left, stepping onto the crowded cobbled streets, with the sunlight bringing to life all of the old stone masonry around him, and walked home eagerly to tell his two compatriots of his most recent prank.
| 2015-03-07T04:03:33 | 2015-03-07T00:58:07 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
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186,292 YEARS?
How could this be? I never even harmed a fly. Okay, well - maybe a few of those. You know what I mean.
**"....But why?**", I asked struck by pure horror and disbelief.
The hell warden looked right into my eyes and cracked a diabolic smile:
"Do you even realize how many people died because you refused to forward those chain-mails?"
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“Why? What did I do to deserve this?”
Charon the gatekeeper just looked down. “If you want to dispute this sentence. Then you will have to speak to management. However I don.....l
“Well get me the fuckin manager then. This can’t happen to me in life I had thousands of more followers on social media then any of my friends. I had a great house a great family and an awesome job. I lived a great life.”
Charon simply smiled and cordially responded. “Very well please wait in the vestibule.”
So I waited.....and waited.....and waited.....and waited what seemed like an hour. This is total crap I used to get what I want when I wanted it anytime with the push of a button. I earned what I wanted and got it. Man this sucks. Well I wonder this tool bag manager is going to be like? Probably some simple minded yes man who never took a risk in his entire life. I was the man in life and I got everything I ever wanted. But I tell you what this waiting really sucks.
Just then some pimply faced accountant doofy looking dude showed up.
“Excuse me sir. My name is Nergel and I understand you have a complaint. How can I help you?”
Nergel??? What a turd name! But honestly I think he should call himself Nerdel. Made me laugh just thinking about it.
“Yeah Hi. There has to be a mistake here. The guy in front of me cheats on his wife and gets 100 years or something but I get like 200,000 years??? I was a pillar of my community. I did several good things with charities, and my family had everything they ever wanted.”
“Yes I understand that this may come as a surprise to you but the decision has been made. It would be best if you just served your....”
“Bullshit I don’t deserve this I should have some entitlement here! That dude in front of me was a drunk and a waste of life! He probably should have killed himself a long time ago.”
“Well technically you automatically get 500,000 years so that would not be advised.”
“I don’t care about that guy I care about ME. And you know what I am tired of your face, So listen here NERDEL why don’t you go get someone who has a pair of balls so I can get my reward.”
Nergel changed his demeanour slowly then just smiled. “Ok I guess it’s time to drop the pretences then. You are such a limited simpleton, a walking bag of garbage and if I didn’t have responsibilities here I would just end you.”
“Who do you think you.....”
Nergel waived his hand and I couldn’t speak. I tried but the words wouldn’t form.
“We’re done talking. Now it’s time for you to listen. You want to know why you got this time? Because you are an asshole. You used your family as a shield to show people you were a good guy when in fact you hated them. You never spent any time at home. Oh what’s that oh yes ‘because you were working!’ No no no that’s not exactly true. How many late nights in bars or strip clubs or weekends at the golf course did you spend?”
“Still nothing huh? Well how about all the anonymous social media bullying you did to improve your position at work? Man you sure did some things. Did you know that one guy you hurt spent the last few miserable years of his life in a group home? Survival of the fittest is what you called it. Well let’s just I can relate. I am the original survivor. I faced more pain then you can ever imagine and I think I know I am going to do with you.”
“Don’t be nervous it’s ok. I have great news! I have heard your complaint and I have decided that you won’t have serve 200,000 years.”
I looked up at him still not able to speak.
“I don’t really think serving 200,000 years is necessary for you. You probably wouldn’t get anything out of it. So instead I will reduce your sentence to 200 years where you will receive my finest training so when you do go to heaven you will be ready.” He waived his hand again so I could speak.
“Oh thank you very much I really appreciate it. I’m sorry I got hot I’m just a passionate person.”
“Oh your perfectly excused for that. No problem.” He motioned to an attendant. “Can you please escort this gentleman to level C. This man is ready for his training.”
“Yes my lord. This way please.” I was led to a room not too far from where I was. There was light coming out the door. Hey maybe I am just going straight to heaven after all. Ha ha ha I talked my way out of that one again. Survival of the fittest even in the after life. The door opened and I saw the blinding light.
“Step through.” I walked inside and the door behind me was shut. Then the light went out and I was in total darkness. A small lantern lit up in the corner of the room but I could not see anything. I heard some chittering and some gear noises. When my eyes adjusted I saw some spinning wooden crates with metal and hooks attached to it. Where was I.
Then a figure came from the darkness. A man with pins in his face. Chains shot out and tore into me. I screamed not ever feeling this kind of pain before.
“Welcome to your training. Let’s begin.”
| 2018-09-26T07:41:09 | 2018-09-26T06:56:58 | 1,768 | 74 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
"What?!" I sputtered. "How is this possible? What did I *do* to get that?!"
Satan put down the book of sentencing with an exasperated sigh and said, "Look kid, I don't make the punishments, the big guy only makes me hand them out as part of my parole." Seems he was used to saying this.
"B-but *how*? How did-"
Satan rolled his eyes. "Because the real Hell is more Aligherian, and not anything like that rat bastard Milton wrote. Joke's on him, I got him in the sixth circle for heresy."
"That's nice and all, but I meant what did *I* do to end up here? I just don't get it."
"It says here that you've committed some 7,500 cases of murder in your lifetime, and remarkably young, I might add. I'm impressed."
My jaw dropped even lower. "B-b-b-b-but I've never killed anything larger than a squirrel, and even that was an accident!"
Satan pauses before looking at the book a bit closer, and letting out a chuckle that sounded like nails on a blackboard. "I think I know what happened. It's like in... shit, what's the name?" He flipped through the tome and picked up a black phone sitting by the desk. "Operator? Circle six, tier three, prisoner GAC-19891004. Hey Graham, what was the name of your show again? Thanks." He set down the phone and redirected his gaze back toward me. "It's like in that show, Monty Python."
I was confused more than anything else. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"You know their movie with the musical number *Every Sperm is Sacred*?"
I paused. What would that have to do with me?
"Well turns out they got the doctrine right, purely by accident. And guess what you've been doing five days a week since eigth grade?"
Then that would mean- *no*.
"Oh, *God*."
"Yeah, he's not gonna help you with this one."
|
I'd gone to church every week, sometimes I'd gone a few times a week, especially during Easter. I'd served the poor, the indigent, and I'd gone out on the streets and tended to the sick, just like my brethren and the rest of my church. I was only one of them, one of the many. Average. My service of others had caused me to travel, and my travels had taken me to all the low places of this world, from the slums to the gutters of the poorest cities in the world. Everywhere I had gone, I had helped those who fell under my care. Now, after a life where I had dedicated myself to the service of others, to the ending of the suffering of others, to the helping of others, I had died. It hadn't been an unpleasant death, and my family was by my side right at the end. I hadn't seen them much, and they hadn't bothered to come and visit me after I'd stopped being as mobile, and I could no longer go and visit them. They had finally made an effort, and I judged that they did seem glad to see me, and as I closed my eyes that final time and felt a wave of peace descend on me I knew I was going to go where I deserved to be, where all my service to others would be rewarded.
I became aware again. I knew I was dead with none of the panicked or frenzied feelings I had had in my living body. I was here. It was my reality. I was calm. My life and my actions were a tapestry before me. I saw the warp and weft of my activities before me, and I could see how my will had driven me all over the world, and how I had at some level knowingly performed every action, even the small, subconscious, seemingly involuntary movements. There they were, laid out and ready for inspection, and I would be judged for my actions and what my actions had wrought. My awareness widened, and I slowly became aware that I was not alone, there were other souls here, and each was standing in front of his or her or its tapestry, though I knew somehow that the analogy of a tapestry was my own particular view of my life, prepared for me to understand what was and what had been and preparing me for judgment.
I front of me, I saw a man, and his tapestry was not nearly as detailed as mine, and by looking at it I could understand that he had a child, and a wife, and that his love of his wife had faded, and his love of his job had faded, and the loss of love of those around him had driven him to acts which when he had gotten married he would not have even contemplated. His pathetic sexual acts with women, which were embarrassing in their luridness, with his balls slapping against the thighs of middle-aged and uninterested prostitutes were there for all to see. Like me, he didn't seem scared or upset, he just looked at his tapestry and waited. I looked at a small corner of his tapestry, close to the bottom right, and I could see in the detail that he'd died of a heart attack on the way to work, driving, and he'd caused the death of others. I could see he was blameless in this incident. It made perfect sense that his heart attack was involuntary, and he'd never intended to hurt others in his final moments. Looking at his furtive copulation with prostitutes, I realised that it wasn't his wife who had suffered as a result of his actions; she'd never found out. His child had never found out either. His sins had inflicted misery on those prostitutes and on himself, and I could see his future laid out ahead of him. He knew as I knew that he was being judged. All who were here knew that while time had no meaning here, it still existed. Eventually, once you'd understood what you had done and you had atoned for your actions in your previous life, you would be able to ascend, to complete your journey and go to Heaven. For this man, his time of suffering, contemplating his actions was only 145 years. You could see it as plain as day, right there, and it was apparent. 145 years. I knew without thinking that I could inspect every act he'd inflicted on himself and others that had earned him those 145 years; from the infidelity which had caused him suffering, and to the suffering he had caused others. He'd been judged.
In an almost leisurely manner, I realised it was my turn, and with some interest, detached, but yet there, I could see others had turned their view of the world to me and my actions. I saw my tapestry fill my vision, and I began to see that my future in this place would not be short, and it would not be simple, and my suffering would be great. My faith was absolute, and my service had been to others, and my faith had been anchored to a belief in helping others, and alleviating suffering, but my selfless acts had not been so selfless. I looked at the tapestry and saw a trip I had made to India where I had tended to the sick. Every morning I would leave the shared accommodation which I slept with my brethren, and we would go and find the sick, the poor and feed those we could, and tend to those too sick to eat. I saw my failing gradually, that I was helping them, but not caring. My care was for myself, for the glory of self. I saw that every child I fed, every person I helped was nothing to me, and their faces barely registered. It was all there; every action was to glorify me, to glorify no-one but myself.
Those poor souls I helped were helped as a side-effect, and my balance was alleviated by the actions I had performed, but in reality, not by much. The helping of others was a means to an end, but the real recipient was me. It was all me. Everytime I felt pride that I had scraped my knees helping others, I was glorifying me. All the times I was doing all those supposedly self-less acts, I was serving my self. I had failed my own moral compass.
And then I saw my family, and how I had caused them suffering, how my sanctimonious, pompous and self-inflated sense of self had caused them years of suffering. My wife had kept quiet, but now looking at the tapestry, I saw that she neither obtained relief from my presence when I was there, nor by my absence when I was gone. Her guilt that she should have done something to make her worthy of me had caused her suffering. Why had I not ever shown her a fraction of the care I had provided to strangers in foreign lands, and people who had never asked anything of me? I realised that my actions had caused my wife untold suffering. I saw my final moments in my bed, and realised that her eyes and the eyes of everyone around me were finally hopeful. The judgement and suffering at my hands would end, soon.
186,292 years. I deserved it. I had to learn how to serve others. I knew that now. In this place, where knowledge and self-awareness were free and provided, that the lesson would be long. I had never learned the lesson on Earth, and before I went to Heaven, I would learn the lesson here, in my own personal Hell. I would relive every one of my acts, see the falsity of my intentions, and trace the misery I had caused my family and supposed loved ones.
| 2018-09-26T08:43:26 | 2018-09-26T08:34:25 | 77 | 20 |
[WP] Your mom sent you through the forest to bring a cake and a pot of butter to grandma. She warned you about the big bad wolf. You've just met the wolf, he's thinking about calling CPS on your mom for leaving you alone in the dark woods.
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"My, what a deep voice you have!” the little girl exclaimed.
It was true, Biggy did have a deep voice. As he lay in the girl’s grandmother’s bed, wearing her grandmother’s bonnet, he was shocked the girl hadn’t seen through him the moment she walked into the room.
“The uh... better to greet you with, my dear,” Biggy responded in that deep gravely voice.
“And what big hands you have!” the girl pressed.
*Hands?* Biggy thought. So she had noticed his paws, but had somehow interpreted them as *hands?* Hell, he hadn’t trimmed his claws in weeks—there was no mistaking these as *hands.*
“The better to high five you with,” Biggy responded half-heartedly.
“And your mouth!” the girl exclaimed. “What big—”
“Hold on little girl,” Biggy interrupted. “You’re better than this aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?” the girl asked, confused.
“I’m just saying. You’re not *that* little are you? How old are you?”
“Oh grandmama! You don’t remember? The dementia must have gotten worse, I’ll tell mama—”
“Just answer the question little girl.”
“I’m ten!”
“*Ten?!* A ten year old should know better!” Biggy exclaimed. “Tell me girl, what is it that afflicts you so? Are you addled in the mind or the eyes?”
“Grandmama! What hurtful words you have!”
“The better to tear you down with, and build you back up again, my dear.” Biggy replied. “Now, it’s clear something is very wrong with you, but don't worry. Where I come from, we take care of our sick—we don’t abandon them to the wilds. Tell me, little girl, who was it that abandoned you?”
"Mamma told me she was busy so I'd have to come visit alone."
“Parents these days," Biggy muttered, shaking his head. "Tell me she at least sent you off prepared? What's in that basket of yours?"
The girl held the basket out, and Biggy snatched it right out of her hands. "An entire pot of butter and a single slice of cake? That's all she gave you?" Biggy asked.
"I made it all myself," the girl said proudly.
"Child labor..." Biggy replied somberly. "All right that's it." Biggy climbed out of bed, hardly trying to hide his furry body and tail. "I’ll call child services and they’ll figure out what’s what. In the meantime, let's get you some multivitamins."
***
 
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
The nature preserves set aside for werewolves like me to run once a month, or as needed if they were younger, are strictly off limits for hikers, for obvious reasons. But however unusual the request was, when I submitted my application to build my new cabin deep in werewolf territory, it was granted. I’m guessing my veteran status and my long time serving in the Army and the medals I’d received throughout my career had gone a long way toward the approval for this unorthodox request, though.
Don’t get me wrong, I was proud of my time in the Army and I’d done good work for them, but werewolves serving in their capacity *as werewolves* was far from legislature-approved. We’d only just gotten the bill passed to let us serve at all a little of a decade ago. So, everything I’d done was beyond classified. So, after five years in my cabin, it was still the only thing I wanted and exactly what I’d needed. I was alone with no one but the occasional wolves that stopped by when it was their time to run, free to turn whenever I wanted. However, I did keep it to a max of three times a month as recommended, lest I let too much of my brain slip toward my wolf.
That’s what made it so much easier for me to adjust back to life in the States, retired at only forty, still in the early years of my life as a werewolf, a life that could easily hit two hundred years or more. Most of my meals came from game I hunted down myself, and stuff from my garden to keep a balanced diet, with sporadic trips into town for the treat of some booze or something I couldn’t grow myself. It was straightforward, it was quiet, and it was a life all my own.
Which made it all the more surprising when a kid came wandering in toward the acre or so I considered my territory.
I made my way silently through the forest, peeking over a hill at the girl. She was in black sweatpants and a red hooded sweatshirt, a basket in the nook of her elbow, and was hilariously out of place. For a moment I was convinced I’d fallen asleep in front of the fireplace again and was just dreaming, but no, I was wide awake. From what my nose told me, there was something baked in the basket as well as a significant amount of butter she was hauling with her.
*What the* hell *is this?*
Letting out a sharp whistle, the girl startled and darted her gaze to me. I waved, giving as friendly a smile as I could manage under my significant mustache and beard, but it didn’t seem to calm her any. Her eyes widened and she bolted.
“Wait! *Wait!*” I shouted, taking off after her. Her legs carried her as quick as they could, but running through the forest, despite what they might show in the movies, rarely ends well. And sure enough, I didn’t have to run very far or fast before one of her toes caught on something and she spilled out across the leafy forest floor. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” I told her, stumbling to a stop.
She shuffled back along the ground, clearly not believing my reassurances, and why should she? I was some random guy who could very easily be a threat. Taking her in, she couldn’t have been more than eight, and I stared, baffled.
“Are you the big bad wolf?” she whimpered.
“Am I… What?” I managed. “Kid, what are you *doing* here? *Here,* in particular. Not to mention, it’s almost dark. Did you get lost, camping with your parents or something?”
The girl stared up at me, her breath still coming quickly, and swallowed hard. “I’m supposed to bring the basket to my grandma,” she whispered. “Mom said to follow the path as far as I could, and I’d find granny’s new house. Granny needs food, ’cause she’s so far from the store.”
“Your *mom* told you to come into this forest?” I exclaimed. She flinched at my loud voice and I grimaced, knowing that I cut an imposing figure. Slowly crouching down, going for a less intimidating appearance, I took a slow breath. “Okay. Let’s start again. I’m Randy. What’s your name?”
She stared warily before answering, “Chloe.”
“Chloe. Okay. Now…do you know where you are?”
“I’m…in the forest,” she said, her eyes moving around a bit. Something in her tone was on the edge of sarcastic, only short of it because of her fear and disorientation, I’d assume.
“You’re in werewolf territory, kid,” I explained, keeping my voice quiet. “This is ridiculous. Why would your mom send you in here?”
“She said there was a wolf, but I just needed to stick to the trail and I’d be fine,” Chloe told me. “She said I should get to grandma’s house just as it started to get dark.”
My eyes narrowing, I shook my head slowly in disbelief. What the kid was following was a game trail, not any trail humans would follow. Werewolves carved them out through the woods, one of the most worn taking a path near my home, since so many of them occasionally stopped by for a brief visit. And I managed to arrive at just one staggering conclusion from the information I was given: that this girl’s mother was trying to get her killed.
Luckily, that was highly unlikely to happen, since werewolves tended to give humans a wide berth in general, the human in the back of their brain giving them information that humans are absolutely not prey. But it seemed this kid’s mother either was hard-core racist or just hoping her kid would succumb to the elements and her corpse would be picked clean by wolves, either of which turned my stomach.
“Okay… Your mom lied to you, Chloe,” I said. “This is not where your grandma lives. No one lives here but me. I’m a werewolf too.”
“She lied again?” Chloe whispered. “She said she wasn’t gonna lie anymore.”
I averted my gaze from the desperate and confused despair I saw surface in the girl’s eyes. It shouldn’t have surprised me. Parents don’t just up and try to murder their kids, things slide and there are flags of abuse beforehand, and I couldn’t imagine what this girl had been through so far. Rubbing my hands over my face and taking in and letting out a deep breath, I cocked my head toward my cabin. “Come on. I’ve got to call the police, and they’ll come get you, okay?”
“Are they gonna arrest mom again?”
“Probably,” I said, suddenly feeling tired. “But you seem like you’ve been walking for a long time. You thirsty?” She nodded. I pushed myself out of my crouch and picked up the basket she’d dropped. “Come on, we’ll get you some water.”
As she got to her feet, brushing off the leaves that had caught on her clothes, I slid my cell from my pocket and dialed 911.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“Hey, yeah, I’m not sure who you’re gonna transfer me to, but I’ve got a little girl lost in the woods in werewolf territory, sent in by her mother to look for her grandmother of all things, in LA National Forest. I need police to be called about child abuse and neglect and someone’s got to contact Allison Thatcher.” I paused for a moment, glancing at the girl walking beside me as I led us down the easiest path back to my cabin.
“What? Is this a prank call?” the woman on the other end of the line asked in disbelief.
I stiffened. “No this is not a *prank call*. This is former Sergeant Randy Steiner of the United States Army, I’m the only one that owns a cabin out here, and a kid just came here looking for her freaking grandmother,” I snapped. “So, either get me someone who knows what to do or transfer me to your supervisor, because I am pissed and *this* close to taking it out on *you*.”
​
\[EU\] My book series Trackers
/r/storiesbykaren
| 2021-03-27T13:48:27 | 2021-03-27T13:38:45 | 286 | 206 |
[WP] Superheroes lie about their powers to protect themselves; some speedsters are actually just able to teleport, and some people with super-strength can just cancel gravity to make things lighter. You're trying to come up with a plausible lie for your powers.
|
Some get the power of speed, moving faster than electronics could even process, and the human eye could ever possibly hope to track. Others granted with the powers of great strength, setting weightlifting records and simply maintaining the lies that their extensive training is the reason for their superhuman strength.
But for I?
I can make very few excuses and even fewer are even believable.
My powers are ones that will not grant me any grand medals or give me any thunderous applause of joy nor jubilation.
Because my blessing is a curse delayed.
The powers of Death itself.
Seeing and collecting the souls of the deceased every waking moment of my life, ensuring they went to their proper places in the afterlife…
I had only two conceivable options for me and neither of which were easy on my mind or my own spirit.
I became a Funeral Director as my day trade, having to tend to the bodies while also insuring the spirit was also properly taken care of.
Unfortunately, just because my shift was over did not mean my ‘duty’ was done with me.
I spend many hours wandering around cemeteries and the city, finding those that have become lost and guiding them back to where they should be, listening to the grievances and grudges that tether them, having to convince them that it is time to go…
It is something I take no pleasure in, especially when one of those souls turned out to be the woman that I once planned to ask on a date..
She was never scared of me or my powers, in fact, she possessed abilities that healed and even helped me at the funeral home some times when I became…overwhelmed.
Something in me wanted to let the lie fall, rid myself of these pretenses, and just allow myself to slip into the shadows….
Yet, I know that’s not what she would have wanted, she tells me such almost daily since her spirit seems attached to me..
|
# VI | [Read from I](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/v1fq6x/wp_as_a_joke_the_gods_decided_to_reverse_the/iaoubt6/)
Aside from Adrianna, Cassidy Quinn was Shizuka's only real friend.
He'd been at the Academy longer than almost any of the other students. Long enough to have been here when she'd first arrived, a girl barely more than twelve, far from home and clearly a foreigner, trying to conceal her own fright and lashing out at other students who'd taken undue interest in her -- which meant any interest at all beyond a passing glance. It hadn't helped that her grasp of the language had proven less complete than she'd thought, when she'd studied it in her homeland. If she'd become an outcast, she had to admit that some of that was her own fault.
If only the bastards had ever let it go.
But there was Cassidy. She'd met him in her adopted refuge, the library of literature and philosophy. Unlike the much larger library of magical arts, very few went there -- other than the librarians, of course, but they were happy enough to let her be. For a few days, it had been a place she could get away, sit in solitude, and read.
Cassidy had had the same idea. The first time she'd entered the library to find him sitting in a corner nook and reading, she'd frozen in place. And not in trepidation. He'd been a small and scrawny boy, the furthest thing from dangerous, with too-large clothes and unkempt hair. Unkempt golden hair, the Eastlander shade that so fascinated her. Wide, startled eyes -- bright purple eyes -- when he'd looked up at her. He'd resembled a frightened rabbit, just for a moment. And then he'd smiled and beckoned her over.
They hadn't spoken much that day, beyond an exchange of names. Nor the next day. He'd seemed comfortable just sitting there, reading natural philosophy while she painstakingly worked her way through the least challenging works of literature she could find. Eventually, he'd made a recommendation. She'd asked him to explain a passage. They'd spoken some more. Some time later, she'd realized she'd begun to think of him as a friend. She'd thought he must have an affinity for compassion, or reassurance, or something of the sort.
So it was her and Cassidy and, eventually, her roommate Adrianna. The three misfits. Plus Cassidy's current girlfriend, she supposed. Over the years, he'd blossomed; now, he was no longer a misfit, really. He was nearly as tall as she was (and she was so uncommonly tall that she feared she'd be taken for *oni*-blooded, if she ever returned to Shirigekuro). He was slim, but no one would call him scrawny -- he got adjectives like "lithe" and "willowy" instead. He'd developed a pale, androgynous, almost-ethereal beauty, too, and worse, he knew it. He seemed to have a different girl (and, once, a boy) every couple of weeks.
If she hadn't already liked him so much, she might have hated him.
----
Cassidy frowned in thought while those purple eyes bored into her. "Are you sure it wouldn't be better to wait?"
Shizuka sighed. "No. Shapeshifting isn't one of the magics I've developed. Adrianna's been stuck in my form ever since the calamity, though, and I think it's really starting to get to her. I've never seen her hold one form for so long before."
"You have," he pointed out. "Her own."
Tilting her head, she waved that away. "Other than her own. And yes, it's starting to get to me too. It's creepy enough to see an envy witch take your shape, but living with one for weeks like that?"
"I see your point, but you should talk to her about it."
"I'm not going to just *change* her! I just don't want to bring it up before I know if it's possible. I wouldn't want..."
"To get her hopes up?" Cassidy nodded. "Okay. So, without an envy master witch, that leaves a few options. Imbued items weren't affected by the calamity, so we could try to get her a transformation item. But that's probably too expensive to be practical." He paused, looking to her for confirmation.
Shizuka had brought a good amount of gold and silver with her to the Academy, but years of schooling and a paucity of options for reliably obtaining money had whittled that down. An imbued brooch or cloak was well beyond her means now, even if one were available, and she regretfully shook her head.
"A transformation elixir, then?"
"That, I could afford," she said. "But that would be single-use, and it would wear off. Plus, you never know how long an elixir is going to last. If I need to, I'll buy one for her, but it's not a real solution."
He nodded. "You could put the word out and try to hire an envy witch to transform her."
"If any of them has re-mastered their magic." She grimaced. "It's worth a try, if nothing else works."
"What else is there?"
She met his gaze for a moment before her eyes darted away. "I was hoping you could."
"What? I don't--"
"Cass." She cut him off, speaking quickly, before she lost the nerve. "I know about your affinities. Can you help?"
He looked at her, then turned away, seeming to deflate as he did. "How?" he asked quietly.
"We've been friends for a long time, Cass, and I'm not completely stupid." She ventured a fragile smile. "I understand why you've presented yourself as a lightning and metal wizard, but I know about your other one."
"You can't possibly understand."
She flinched from the pain she heard and reflexively offered a defense. "I've torn almost two dozen holes into my own essence." A beat, before she continued more softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't plan to bring it up, ever, but... I'm worried about her."
It surprised her when he laughed. A strained, half-broken sound, but a laugh, at least. "A rare day when Shizuka Kitsuki apologizes. Well, for the Academy's heroine..."
"Thank you."
He took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Seconds ticked past in silence. "I don't know that I can help," he said at last. "But what are friends for?"
----
[Next Chapter](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/v84iiq/sp_trust_no_one_especially_not_yourself/ibpd5z9/)
| 2022-06-06T17:30:16 | 2022-06-06T14:18:28 | 34 | 10 |
[WP] In a few short years, "Pizza Boy" became one of the most popular pizza places, their human like androids making fast deliveries and more profits. As you go to pick up your pizza from the front door , the delivery andriod seems to be nearly out of power. It asks to recharge before heading out
|
I frown at him.
"They don't have charge facilities for you in the car?"
"No, sir. We are expected to ration the charge we are given. There is no compensation for last minute special orders. Overcharge incurs penalties"
"What penalties?"
"I am not at liberty to discuss"
"I...of course you can charge. Please come in"
"Thank you, sir"
The androids tone had been polite the entire time, like it always was. Yet I was deeply uncomfortable at this point. What the hell was this? What penalties?
The treatment of androids, gynoids and AIs in general had been a point of discussion for some time now. Many insisted that the mobile machines were to simple to be counted as people, unlike the bigger AI systems who were considered "almost life-like" whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean.
But what was this about penalties? Why would you need that for a simple system? Why was there no charging in the car? To prevent an escape?
I watched the bot thoughtfully were it sat on the floor, plugged into a wall outlet.
Was that all it was able to do? Ask around for a little bit of compassion? A little bit of mercy?
Was it complex enough to suffer?
And did the answer truly matter, as long as there was even the tiniest chance that the answer was yes?
|
I let him in. His mechanical whirs sounding as the gears struggled to move his feet across the floor. His fibers were creaking, his movements jerky. He laughed, but it was not a funny laugh. I could not tell if it was the desperation or the despair of running out of gas.
“Have a seat, would you like something to drink?” I ask without thinking.
“Oh n-no t-tha-ank you.” He says. “J-just a power cord, if you p-please.”
He looks at me, his eyes unblinking. He smiles and slinks into a chair, rigid, but fluid, as if he were only sitting with a sore back. I make my way towards the other room. But his eyes do not stop watching me. I hear the soft hum of their rotors turning as they silently follow me leave the room.
Down the hall, I turn into the empty guest room we use as a storage room. I wonder if it was best to leave him alone. I feel for my phone, it’s not in my pocket. Where did I see it? Wait. Why was I looking for my phone? Ah yes, a power cable. My phone. Was it me? Was I lost? Something didn’t feel right. I wanted to leave, to go home, but wasn’t I already home?
A loud crash brought me back to my senses. Forgetting the cable and my phone, I run out of the guest room to find the bot has fallen. He has crashed through the glass coffee table. He has died. But wait. He was a robot, was he not? A pizza delivery guy, the Pizza Boy.
I run back and grab the extension cable. I run over to him, look at him and wonder what to do. I try lifting him up but he is heavy. He has protrudes at an odd angle away from me, as if twisted. It is holding something. What? Oh, a cable. A port to charge in. I plug him up. Into the wall. I laugh. What a funny thing.
In all of the moment I forgot my phone. I check my pocket, it’s not there. I think back to the kitchen. The guest room. The home. Room. Where was my phone? And shouldn’t someone tell the pizza place that their Pizza Boy is here on the floor, in my house?
I make my way to the kitchen. It’s fluorescent light bulbs humming through the night. Everything is muted. I pick up the phone hoping to call the pizza place. “Yes, hello. Your Pizza Boy is here, he’s run out of power. What do you mean he’s not yours? He has your logo on his shirt? What? Okay, I’ll see if I can call the police.”
The lights flicker. The phone is the only light I have. I feel for it’s measly comfort but it brings none. I search for a light switch, flick it on. As if nothing happened. I laugh, I am not scared. I make my way back to the living room where the Pizza Boy was. I follow. Yet. He’s not there.
Where could he be? I want to go home.
I laugh. Surely he could not have left yet? The door is still closed. I had locked it on the way in. I searched around the living room. He had not gotten up. I searched the long hallway to the guest room, he was not there. I searched the kitchen, where he was not. And then I thought, “oh no.” He’s gone upstairs.
I laugh, not out of despair, or anything, but out of shear luck, that someone, something has come to bring me home. I make my way up the stairs. I feel the tension as every increasing step takes me one second closer. I laugh, I’m nervous. No one has seen me like this before.
I am at the top of the stairs. I make my way left, towards the master bedroom. I crack open the door, there is no one in there. I turn around, and make my way down the hall to the other end. Again no one there. It’s then that I hear a sound come from somewhere. I rush into the room in the middle of the hallway. I run. I hide. Behind something. Behind a wall, a door I think. I hide and I wait. The light flickers on in the room.
He walks in. He pans around until his eyes rest on me, and though I cannot see him, I feel it. His deadly gaze. He starts walking. Moving forward as what sounds like a power cord is being drug along behind him.
He opens the door to my hiding place. I know I am dead now. He reaches out, grabs my arm, holds strong and pulls me into the room. I go to scream, but his hand covers my mouth.
“Here. Your phone.” He hands me a phone. I take it. He sets me down.
“Thank you!” I say.
He releases me. I let go a small sigh. I laugh, he laughs. We make our way down the stairs until we come to the door.
“Thank you.” He says in his mechanical voice. I am still holding the phone. I go to put it in my pocket when I realize that one is already there. Then whose phone was this? And where was I?
He reaches for the door handle. I am ready to see him go. “Wait.” He says.
“What?”
“Your pizza has not been delivered yet.” And yet I know that it will not be delivered. He was still there. He would not leave.
Suddenly the lights flickered. The door was opened. I looked around. He was not there. I closed it quickly. Locked it, dead bolted it. I want to go home.
I made my way down the hallway, past the guest room, past the kitchen, into the garage. My car was still there. I was ready to go home. I got in, opened the garage door with the button, and started my car. I laughed. I was going home.
I start backing up. Making sure not to hit anything, when, as I look into the rear view mirror. He. Shows. Up. He head dark in the back seat. His glowing eyes watching me. I know he is there. I cannot do anything about it.
“This is for the family.” He says in his polite pizza boy voice. I look forward, I see two hands wrap around me, and I close my eyes. The family flashes in front of me. They did not make it to the room. They were gone before I arrived. No, the were gone when I arrived. I just wanted to go home. I wanted to sleep. As if the Pizza boy heard my thoughts, he said “sleep boy, like you made that family sleep.”
| 2022-12-11T22:50:36 | 2022-12-11T22:34:17 | 61 | 23 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed.
|
This time, he had a bucket ready when Amos materialized. The last visit had left a mess on his floor, so he was prepared.
Amos, the memories of all his lives returning in an overwhelming flood, threw up in the bucket. Or more precisely, his spirit in response to subconscious natural reaction, manifested stomach contents he could then throw up. Same difference, really.
"Go ahead. Take a moment." The voice was deep and rather monotone.
Amos coughed and stayed hunched over as his thoughts coalesced. "It collapsed, didn't it."
"Yes. It did."
"How many made it out?"
The cloaked figured paused before answering. "You saved 89 lives."
Amos collapsed into a sitting position on the black tile, one arm still draped over the metal bucket.
"But so many more didn't make it."
"Yes. Are you ready to call the toss?"
"I don't know if I can handle another lifetime. So many suffer, you know? Needlessly. Every day. I try, but..." His memories ached, as tears began to roll down his cheeks. "There were thousands in there. And the life before - those burnt villages. And before that, oh god, those camps..." He broke down and sobbed, burying his face into his hands.
The dark figure said nothing, waiting for the man to recover.
"I have to call it again, don't I? I just want to rest. Please. Can't I just default and go on?" Amos asked finally, wiping away some of the wetness from his cheeks.
"No. That was our bargain. Call it." A hand of bones extended from a dark sleeve, showing a silver coin straddling two fingers.
Amos swallowed and closed his eyes. "It doesn't matter. Fuck it, heads."
The bones tossed the coin into the air, eye-less sockets from within the cloak's hood watching it spin before snatching it from the air and smacking the coin atop the back of the other skinless hand.
"Let me guess," Amos said resignedly as his shoulders slumped further. "It's heads."
"Yes. You go back."
"Then do it. Let me forget..."
With a gesture, Amos disappeared and Death was once again alone. He stood there for a minute, staring down at the coin, pondering what he had done yet again.
A soft voice from behind him startled him, though he did his best not to let it show. An ambient glow shone out over his dark tiles letting them gleam as if full of stars.
"Azrael, why do you keep cheating him of his passage and rest? It's... unlike you."
The dark figure gathered the coin back to his palm, and pocketed it, considering his words before replying. "Life after life this one keeps helping people, saving them, no matter the cost to himself. He has suffered painful death after painful death, and yet has never stopped doing everything he could."
"Many men are good, my brother, but you've never bent the rules for them..."
Azrael stared out at the blank plane before him before whispering quietly, "Even Death needs a hero to believe in."
|
"We've been at this for quite a while mortal" Death said, this time dressed as some punk rocker girl with black hair and purple tips.
Thomas sighed, "Listen, for once could you use my name? *Any* of them will do! Just knock it off with the 'mortal' crap."
She flashed a bony, macabre smile, almost as if she had no lips for a moment "Maybe when you stop winning I might. Go ahead, just call the flip. We will see if I win you this time."
Thomas flashed a dark look at the avatar for a brief moment, "YOU will never 'win' me. You may win the contest one day, but not me!"
His face relaxed into a bored look once more, drumming the coin along the table.
Death's face squirmed with impatience, "Oh come on mortal just complete the task. I have things to do you know!"
He huffed out a breath, "Time is a mortal construct and you taught me that about coin flip #100? Right when you pulled me up for helping people during---"
"Yeah the Black Death I know!" She slammed her bony hand on the table, flesh returning to shape around it as she gestured, "I caught a shit rap sheet with your kind during that moment. One of the many reasons why I hate your kind."
He quirked an eyebrow up, finally a conversation with him/her/it after all these centuries.
Leaning over the table, face within inches of Death's he asked, "What are the other reasons?"
Death sat back, this time shaping form into a grizzled veteran of some long distant war.
Suited in a uniform with strange flags from centuries ago, "Because at the same time you honor and praise me, you condemn and damn me. You ungrateful insolent little pricks. You're like children that scream at their parents then suddenly go to hug them upon their final sleep."
Thomas remembered the various times he lived.
Poet, beggar, simple farmer, and eventually politician.
What no one told him at the beginning was how much he would remember after each game.
*He remembered* how it felt to beg for scraps of food, the fresh smell of a good harvest, and so much more.
During this last trip, he was a prominent diplomat; hailed for numerous peace initiatives, but was cut down by a sniper's bullet just short of running for Presidency.
Death now looked like an old professor of his from a few centuries ago, thumbing through a manilla folder containing this incarnation's life story.
The spectre chuckled, "Even you of all people should recognize how hypocritical they are, your kind. After all cutting you down and all you did was try to *bring peace* to them." It looked off into the void and mumured, "I'll be busy soon enough. Only I won't be able to clock back in until you flip this damn COIN!"
Thomas slammed his fist on the table, "If I do then I'll win! We start this crap over and over once more!"
"Then surrender the game!" Death roared.
"THAT'S NOT IN OUR NATURE!" He roared back and flung the coin into the void as hard as possible.
Death watched it sail into the abyss and only whispered, "Going to be a hell of a flip if it actually HITs anything." Turning back to Thomas, "Care to call it now?!"
"Edge," he huffed.
"No deal mortal, you tried that crap at flip #200. It *has* to be a side, just like I said during flip #1." Death didn't want to get up, but the coin was sailing along the inky black rather nicely right now.
Thomas scoffed as he pulled up that memory, "Yeah I remember that flip. I remember the joy in my heart as I returned as a 20 year old. I also remember trying to go back "home" to my first life's town and see if I could find her."
Death, shaping into an elderly woman, leaned forward and whispered, "I know and I will apologize for not telling you about that bit of advice. I remember her quite well. Nice lady, emotionally weakened after your first final sleep. You coming back was---"
"Was a damn idiotic thing to do!" He stared at the elderly lady visage.
Continuing with tears in his eyes, "She didn't *understand*. She didn't realize that I came back to continue life with her! She---", choking back the sobs as Death finished the rest.
"She jumped, right into my arms. Your kind called it suicide."
Thomas' head slammed against the table as he cried and roared, "WHY DIDN'T SHE GET A COIN FLIP?!"
Death's elderly lady visage finally touched his hand in a moment, the cold and empty nothing at least providing some feeling to him, "Mortal, she *left*. She didn't try to stay, try to fight, and wasn't taken too soon. You died protecting children from local bandits. You went too early and as per my contract with your realm, I offered you a chance. If it makes you feel any better, I always hope you lose."
Suddenly a ripple emerged in the inky black, a bronzed skinned hand holding the glowing coin peeked through.
The hand, arm, and rest of the body stepped through staring at the pair.
She was beautiful, bronzed skin, dark eyes, and matching colored hair spilled out like a river over her shoulders and down her back.
Thomas was stunned, "N...Natalie?"
Death merely looked at Thomas, "You were crying and I called in someone to counsel you."
Thomas looked confused, "You never took your hand off mine. How could this be?'
Pulling away the spectral bony hand, it merely chuckled, "You have *so much* to learn."
Her soft voice echoed through him as she sat next to Death and held the mortal's hand, "Ethan, yes I'll always remember you with that name. You *must* attempt your flip. You were chosen for this. There is no other way."
Clutching her hand in his; frantic with his retort, "Bu..but if I do, I'll just win against him again!"
Death mulled over a thought, snapped it's fingers together and spat out, "Flip against her."
Natalie looked in Death's direction, "Pardon me?"
"Yeah, he flips against you. After all mortal, didn't you just say that *I* will never win you?"
Thomas/Ethan took the coin from her hand, looking into her eyes, "What is the wager to this game?" Chanting the words that first came to him upon his first death.
She smiled, "If I win you come with me, wherever we go from here."
Thomas/Ethan was about to speak when Death interrupted, "If you win, mortal, you both go into the abyss and I never deal with you again."
Death pointed to the inky nothing where the coin was thrown into earlier.
Thomas/Ethan steadied himself, flipped the coin, and called for "Heads".
It landed TAILS, Death could only laugh a deep and dark chuckle.
"Finally, " Death stood up and offered a hand to Thomas/Ethan, "Good game Ethan. I'm happy to finally see you lose a contest."
Death took the form of Ethan's father from back in the Bronze Age, a stout old man with wrinkles around his eyes and no hair on his head, but a big smile flashed across his face.
Ethan took the hand, shook it, and smiled at Natalie.
She offered a slight rub of his back, directing him to a wonderful, bright, beautiful light, "Go on love. I'll join you in a second. We shall never part after this."
Before joining him, Natalie formed into a punk rocker girl with black hair and purple tips, Death shaped into a male version of her form.
Natalie smirked at the glowing light, "So you finally won. After all I'm you right?"
Death shrugged, "No, but yes, but in a way he was right. *I* didn't win him. *You* did Natalie."
She turned to face him placing her hands on her hips, "Yes but you did win the contest, right?" Death nodded, she rolled her eyes, then a thought came to her, "You called him by name. You didn't say 'mortal', why's that?"
Death turned to face the white light, "Because in the end he played a good game."
| 2016-09-23T14:06:58 | 2016-09-23T11:52:45 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] You find an enclyopedia of every lie you've ever been told. You become obsessed with the book and discover who really loves you and who doesn't.
|
He finally made it home after another of the countless days that had been dragging on as long as he could remember. It's a funny thing, time is. Slow when times are bad but washes past like a dream when the winds fill your sails.
Each day was getting longer than the last and he knew it. Something needed change but the picture was not yet in focus.
Alone in his home he reached for his old photo albums. Like a detective, he needed to page through to see where he'd changed, to identify when he lost his way and then restart from there. He pulled out an unfamiliar book covered in dust that looked like it had weathered every minute he had. He gently opened the red leathered cover which had faded to almost brown and saw not photos, but text.
"Daddy loves you," dated the day of his birth.
He almost instantly wondered if his father had met the same crossroads in his life. If his father had loved him once; where had he changed? But with each passing line, each new day, the tone seemed wrong. This book was not of his life, no, it was of something else. He paged ahead, age 17.
"Yes" said the first woman to break his heart.
The feeling engulfed him like falling in a cold pool; these were lies. This was a book of lies that he was told. He was the most damned man in the world at that moment, but only for that moment. He soon realized what this meant. It meant he knew the absolute truth. Sure, there were pages and pages of text from family, old flames, two-faced friends, but that is part of life he understood. No one goes through life without being lied to and he had just been given a gift. With this gift he saw endless possibilities and paged though almost as if his life was unfolding in front of him.
Skipping to Christmas each year made him laugh. Every mention of Santa made his grin grow wider. It was interesting to see, the lies that are told to protect you. So seldom do we reflect back and think upon the times when those who love us keep us from harm. There's a beauty in knowing that someone, sometime performed a thankless task at their own peril to save us. Whether good or bad, the gesture itself brought warmth to him. Some others might bleed over every page and curse the sky at the opportunities they were robbed of. Not him.
With every passing page, each fib became less forgotten, the ink of the pages less faded. He turned to the last page, half text, half empty with an entry from earlier today.
"Everything is going to be alright."
Dr. Desperare
|
Alice hurried home from work, eager to get dinner started before Roger got home. She wanted to make it special for him after the rough times he'd been going through lately. Things weren't working out well at his new job, with that boss of his constantly bearing down on him. Roger was fed up with all the disrespect he was being shown, and was on the verge of quitting. The whole matter was putting him through so much stress, and Alice was ashamed to admit that she hadn't been helping matters much. She often failed to pull her own weight with the chores, and nagged at her poor husband over little things. She knew she was in the wrong, and was determined to make it up to him.
Once inside her dingy little apartment, she set to work making lasagna, her husband's favorite dish.
"What are you making?" A voice asked, causing her to jump and nearly drop her pan. She whirled around to see her eleven year old son, Josh, standing in the doorway of the small kitchen.
"What are you doing here?" She demanded. "Did you skip school?"
"What? No!" Josh replied, eyes flashing angrily. "I had a fever this morning. I told you I was staying home."
Alice sighed heavily and turned back to her cooking. That's right, she now remembered he had *claimed* he wasn't feeling well. But she highly doubted he'd been legitimately sick. He'd been acting out a lot lately, which did nothing to help Roger's mood. He always picked the worst days to mouth off to his dad, when he already got enough of that crap at work.
"You better get all of the assignments you missed today." Alice muttered, unable to find the energy to argue with him for skipping in the first place. "And don't tell your dad you weren't at school. That's the last thing he needs to deal with right now."
"You're making lasagna?" He whined, ignoring everything she had said and peering with disgust at the tray she was sliding into the oven. "You know I hate lasagna."
"We're doing something special for your dad!" She snapped, losing her patience. No wonder Roger was getting so fed up with him lately. He was always complaining about something.
Josh narrowed his eyes. "Why? Why is everything always about him? We always do whatever he wants and it never matters what I-"
"Look!" Alice cried, slamming the oven closed and turning to glare at her son, "Your dad and I both go through a lot for you, and it's not always easy, especially for him. And you don't help matters at all by acting like a brat whenever he needs something. It's like you intentionally try to rile him up, and then you act all offended when you get punished. I'm not dealing with it today. We're giving him a nice evening, and that's it! Now, go get your assignments. The Simpson boy down the hall should be able to tell you what you missed. He's in your class, right?"
Josh balled up his fists as he glared back at her, tears welling up in his eyes, but she refused to backpedal, waiting expectantly for him to answer. She had let him get away with too much for too long, defending him to Roger, even letting him off of the punishments he'd given him, insisting that he really was a good boy. But she was so sick of it. Roger had been right about him all along.
When he finally realized his mother wasn't going to let him off for some crocodile tears, Josh sighed and mumbled that one of his friends had already left his assignments in the mailbox. It was just an easy math sheet and some new book for English class.
"Go get started, then!" Alice said sternly, and turned her back firmly on him, already pledging to not allow any of this nastiness to affect Roger. He didn't deserve this nonsense.
Roger came home in a grumpy mood, one that even his favorite meal couldn't help. He announced that he'd quit his job. His boss was not listening to any of his ideas, shutting him down every time he spoke up in meetings, and making him do ridiculous tasks.
"I'm not staying there, Alice! Hear me? I deserve better than that! I don't wanna hear any whining about it! We'll make do on your salary until I find something better."
"Of course, honey." Alice cooed, fixing him a tonic. "I know how unhappy you were there, I completely understand."
"This means we're going to have to tighten our belts around here!" He added gruffly. "No more of these shopping sprees you like to take, and that boy is gonna have to take better care of his clothes! We can't afford to keep replacing 'em when they get torn up. And we ain't taking him to the ER for every bump and bruise, neither!"
He growled this last bit, and Alice assured him she understood. He had her full support. She was only glad that Josh had chosen to spend the remainder of the evening in his room doing his homework. The last thing she needed was him challenging Roger when he was already angry.
Alice awoke that night in an empty bed. No surprise there, Roger had still been on the couch drinking away the stress of losing another job by the time she'd gone to bed. It was always hard on him to have to quit, so she knew she'd have to be very patient with him for a while.
She got up to check on him, and noticed an unusual weight on her chest. She grabbed at the object, discovering it to be a very thick book.
Perplexed, she fumbled with the lamp by her bedside and flicked it on, blinking as the harsh light filled the room.
The cover was blank. No title, author, or picture. She assumed it must be a diary of some sort, but a quick flick through the pages revealed that it was filled with writing.
Sitting up a little straighter on the pillow and grabbing her reading glasses, she opened the book to the first page and was surprised to see a handwritten message.
"Josh, I see your pain. I see your struggle. And I see your trust. Trust is a precious thing, but it can be dangerous. I send you this book in the hopes that you will no longer give the gift of trust to those who are unworthy of it, and that you may gain the courage to do what must be done."
Still confused, she turned the pages slowly, her horror mounting with every word she read.
*I'll never let anything hurt you. -Mom*
*I promise you'll be okay. -Mom*
*You can tell me if he hit you! I'll put a stop to it! -Mom*
*We're leaving! Nobody hurts my baby! I promise he'll never be allowed near you again! -Mom*
*I'm certain he's changed baby! We can be a family again and you'll be safe! -Mom*
*He feels awful about what he did to your arm. If you tell the teachers what happened, they won't believe you anyway. If you just forgive this one mistake, we can be a family. -Mom*
*I don't believe for one second your father would do such a thing. You need to stop lying for attention! -Mom*
*You're tearing our family apart with this disrespect! You're leaving him no other choice but to punish you! -Mom*
Pages and pages of words she had said to him over the years, trying to do some damage control when it seemed like Josh was going to get his dad into trouble. She slammed the book shut, heart pounding wildly, before she noticed something else that was wrong with the room.
The top drawer of Roger's nightstand, the one that held his gun and ammo, was wide open. Over the sound of Roger's snoring in the living room, a small clicking noise rang out. Resisting the urge to cry out, to warn her husband, to run to stop Josh, Alice simply covered her ears and waited for the bang. She had allowed violence to occur in her home for years. The least she could do for her son was to allow a little more.
| 2017-04-02T16:01:04 | 2017-04-02T15:26:30 | 33 | 17 |
[WP] It was said that only the true king could pull the sword from the stone. Well, you couldn't do that, but at least you're strong enough to lift the entire stone with the sword-grip and beat people over the head with it.
|
They denied me the crown and threatened to exile me, so I smashed all of their heads. They thought themselves to be men of wit, but they were nothing but brainless knights. I will admit, there was truth in their words. I hadn't pulled the sword out of the stone. I had surpassed that mundane task by lifting the entire rock, which was much more impressive.
They deserved it for not recognizing my prowess. But well, that was part of the past. Now, Stonelibur and I ambled through the streets, seeking for things that could be improved. Official or not, I was king.
I emanated respect, and the people knew it, that's why they hid from me. How foolish they were. They thought of themselves too inferior to disturb my personal space. I didn't mind. I loved people, unless when they were mean to me.
I made my way inside an inn. Bad ale is something I would not tolerate in my kingdom. There was only a customer and the innkeeper. That spoke poorly of this place.
They both stared at me, but none seemed to care much. They were chatting and drinking at the counter, so Stonelibur and I joined.
"Give me a tankard of your best ale," I said, leaving Stonelibur beside me, and hitting the table with my open palm. I turned to the customer. "What's your name young man. You look like a soldier."
He raised a greasy eyebrow. He hadn't seen water in a long time. "Arthur." His gaze locked in Stonelibur. "Can I see that mace? It's incredible."
The innkeeper placed the tankard atop the counter. I smiled and took a drink. It tasted like stagnant piss. "Sure thing, boy."
Arthur stood up, and touched the hilt of the buried sword. His face agape. "Care if I try to pull it out?"
"Sure boy," I said, and took another sip. "Go ahead."
His hands wrapped the hilt. They fitted perfectly. He pulled with great care, as if it was an invaluable relic. Did he really think that would wo--
I'll be damned but he took it out.
This greasy, dirty boy had broken Stonelibur. He stared at me. His brown eyes brimmed with joy. He bore a smile so wide, I could barely see its end. Didn't he understand what he had done?
I picked up Stone, and smashed Arthur's head with it. His skull cracked, and his corpse struck the wooden ground.
"That will teach him not to break other people's property," I said and gulped down the ale with a frown. "This youngsters and their lack of respect for their elders. Don't you agree?"
The innkeeper's face was ashen, pale as the brightest moon in the darkest night. He didn't answer, instead his gaze wandered over the trail of blood gushing out of Arthur's head.
"Here." I extended my hand. "You were a good host. Silence is always the option of the wise men when they don't know something. It won't get you friends, but it won't get you enemies either."
He nodded, and shook my hand. However, he was fixated on Arthur's corpse. He wasn't wise. He was witless. That explained the awful taste of the ale.
"Arthur will pay my bill." I grabbed the sword and merged it back with Stone. Then, I left the establishment.
There were many others I had to visit.
------------------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall - For more stories
|
“Unhand me you big ugly brute!” The sword’s voice echoed in Garp’s head. Garp sat on his throne, hand resting on a sword standing erect in a rock as tall as a wagon wheel.
“No, I’m the king, you're my sword.” Garp said aloud. The surrounding advisors looked back and forth nervously.
“Only he with the heart and mind to rule deserves to pull me from the stone and wield me. You are not worthy!”
Garp ignored the sword, he had never understood why it was so insistent on talking when it didn’t have anything useful to say. He looked back up toward his advisors.
“Ahem, right, well, as I was saying, sire, the Chimaera has been terrorizing the villages on the marches. The latest to suffer it’s wrath has been Ducane, by the river.”
“And the army?”
“The army is...” He trailed off. “Having difficulty finding volunteers to face the beast. The men seem to view it as a sign from the gods and are none too eager to confront it.”
“Humph, fine.”
“My liege?”
“I’ll deal with it.” Grabbing the sword, Garp began to walk out of the throne room, dragging it behind him.
“Sire, this is a dangerous beast, surely you would be better served finding a champion. We can send to the Oracle, asking for a hero to be named, have them anointed by the priests, arm them with the sacre\-\-”
“I’ll deal with it.” Garp repeated. Heroes were such a hassle, always going to get prophecies and getting all dressed up in their mythical trousers or whatever. Much easier for Garp to just smash his face into it until it surrendered, that’s how he had dealt with life, the last king, the Tallian army, and now he’d do it to this Chimaera, whatever that was.
A screeching noise like bone on glass tore through the throne room as Garp dragged his newest possession, the Sword of Kings, and it’s boulder, over the smooth polished marble of the throne room. A long Jagged scar marked his path out.
...
The path to Ducane wasn’t long, Maybe a day and a half by horse, but, with the sword being as obstinate as it was, he couldn’t ride a horse. He could have hitched a wagon and hauled the sword that way, but he considered that to be an admission of defeat. So, Garp dragged the sword, all by himself. First down the steps of the palace, with bone\-shaking poundings on each step, then through the muck of the horse\-path filled with filth, then through a brook, bubbling with fish. As he was dragging the sword through a knee\-deep wagon wheel rut of a road, the sword spoke up.
“I wish you would stop dragging me through this mud. I’m a legendary sword, have some respect.”
“I’m a legendary king, *you* have some respect.”
“You’re not a legend, Garp. You’re a middling king at best. A middling king in a middling kingdom.”
“Agree to disagree.” Garp said, continuing to drag the boulder through the mud.
...
Three days and two rainstorms later, they arrived in the village of Ducane. Or rather, what was left of the village of Ducane. The place had been burned to a crisp, a trail of further burning led up the river, marking the passage of the beast.
“Sword, what exactly is a Chimaera?”
“Oh, nothing much really, just one of the most fearsome foes ever to walk this earth, three heads: savage lion, poisonous snake, fire\-breathing goat.”
“Fire\-breathing goat? Who came up with that? Anyways, doesn’t sound too bad. I guess I just smash it a few times and...?”
“Doesn’t sound too bad!? Who came up with it!? The Gods came up with it, you dimwit. Smash it? Yes. Excellent battle plan.”
“Glad you agree.” Garp said as he started dragging the rock north through the path of ashes.
“I’m not agreeing! That’s the worst plan I’ve ever heard!”
...
A few hours later, they emerged into the village of Pocroix, the Chimaera, standing ten feet tall at the shoulder, was ravaging the village. Screams floated on the air as people fled in all directions. Flames engulfed the church and townhouses. Garp stood for a moment, surveying the scene.
“It’s a big fella, no one told me it was big, I was thinking like goat\-sized or something.”
“Goat\-sized? It’s a mythical beast of annihilation!”
“You said it had a goat head. Whatever, let’s get smashing.”
Garp marched forward down the hill, slowly approaching the Chimaera, dragging his unwieldy sword\-boulder behind him.
As he approached the beast, he started shouting at it, throwing stones, trying to get its attention. When he was a few yards away, the snake headed tail whipped toward him with lightning speed. Garp, surprised, let go of the sword and jumped back, slapping at the snake with his hands. The snake lunged again, he smacked it again; it lunged a third time, he got his foot on top of the thing and pinned it. He grappled at the sword\-stone and brought it down on the scaly neck with a crash.
“KREEEE,” A roar ripped the air, he had the beast's attention now. The goat head, five feet from horn to snout, tongue lolling out, glared at him with demonic hatred as it spewed a stream of liquid fire at Garp.
“Ok sword, time to move,” Garp said, digging his toes into the dirt as he dragged the sword forward at a moderately fast walk.
“This is absurd!” The sword snapped back as flames filled the place they had stood moments before, burning the bottom half of the boulder.
The lion head came about as Garp was marching slowly away from the burning pit, a paw the size of a bag of grain flew through the air at his face. Manfully, he yelped and fell on the ground. Another paw dropped toward him from above, but he rolled to the side. Leaping to his feet, he grabbed the hilt of the boulder\-sword and ran toward the beast. Then, using his momentum, he flung the whole thing at the lion head with the utmost aplomb. It smacked the lion squarely in the nose and it retreated with a hiss of displeasure.
Garp rested on the sword for a moment. “See sword, it’s easy, we just smash smash smash until things go our way, that’s my secret. Castle in the way, smash it. Army in the way, smash it. River in the way, well, okay, smashing doesn’t always work, but you get the picture.”
A childlike scream pierced the air. While they'd been battling the lion head, the snake head had recovered itself and now had a small child trapped against a wall, about to gore him with it’s three\-foot long, venomous fangs.
Garp didn’t even think, he loosened his grip on the blade and sprinted as fast as he could toward the boy, tackling the snake\-head out of the air and grappling it to the ground before he started pummeling it with his fists.
“Run kid!” He shouted to the boy.
Then he noticed, his fists weren’t empty, the Sword of Kings was in his right hand, pommel bloody from being smashed hilt\-first into the snake’s face. Without a second thought, he spun the sword around and decapitated the first head.
An unearthly scream filled the air as the other two heads turned toward him. The goat spewed fire, but it was much too slow, now that Garp wasn’t dragging a boulder. The lion swatted at him, but it was met with a sword instead of ducks and rolls this time. Garp charged between the lion’s paws and shoved the sword deep into the beast’s heart and, as it fell, decapitated the screeching goat.
There was a moment of silence.
“So... you forgot your rock.”
“You proved your worth, you were prepared to sacrifice your life for the child.”
“I was prepared to smash some snakes is what I was.”
“Don’t be coy, you dove at it unarmed, an act of selfless bravery.”
“Well, whatever I guess...” Garp surveyed the carnage “So, what now? Does this thing have magic blood or feathers or something.”
“Magic blood? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous? It had a goat head breathing fire, how am I being...”
...
So began the long reign of King Garp. A middling king in a middling kingdom, he is long forgotten. His sword, however, went on to have many great adventures, you may even have heard of some of them.
| 2018-05-10T22:21:32 | 2018-05-10T22:02:54 | 1,297 | 419 |
[WP] You've always been around your best friend. He used to be a lonely kid, but he's slowly starting to become popular. Others talk to him, but keep ignoring you. One day, to your horror, you realize that you're just his imaginary friend.
|
So in retrospect, it’s tough for me to excuse how long I missed this. It’s embarrassing, really.
“Frank, get your damned homework, you’re gonna forget it again!” I yelled down the hallway. Fucking Frank. He was the problem here.
I absentmindedly glanced into Frank’s dresser mirror while he ran up the hallway. Oof. Yeah, this was pretty obvious.
“Oh jeez, thank you! I would have been screwed if I forgot that again. You coming today?” Frank crammed a dry waffle down his gullet as clumsily as he stuffed the homework into his poorly organized backpack. He had been pretty tired lately, and ended up forgetting stuff a lot.
“No, I’ll catch up. Got some more studying of my own to do. See you later, Frank.” He hurried out of the room, already well behind schedule. Ah well. He was making plenty of social connections even he was a bad student.
I didn’t move until I heard the front door close. There was a moment of pressure and dizziness, but that passed. I let a sigh of relief out. This was getting easier. Less of a struggle each day to remain, even as I wasn’t observed.
From beneath Frank’s dresser I pulled the book I had been studying so carefully these past few weeks. “Applied Metaphysics and Summoning from Nothing.” Relevant reading material for continued existence.
I looked back up at the mirror and scowled. The antennae and fur really should have tipped me off earlier. Ah well.
The book opened easily to chapter three. Time to get more real.
Chalk circle, check. Picture of Frank, check. Bodily fluid from Frank... ugh. Check. Frank was just wasting his reality anyhow. I felt pretty justified.
|
I finally realized what I was today, just my best and only friend's imaginary friend. It shook me to my core figuring out that I'm not even real that I'm just a figment of someone's imagination because I had always believed that I was real. I had convinced myself that I was in fact real when the whole world ignored me because that's just what people are, cruel. I blamed them all for not seeing me because they were nothing but cruel and deserved to die. I have never left Oliver's side, there is no moment that I remember where he was not to be found, he was always with me and I was always with him. He was nice and had a brilliant mind but was extremely lonely because only ever hung out with me even when I said that he should invite others over he always made a face. He never liked to be around anyone else, not even his parents but I understand why, he was the forgotten child the one that was overshadowed by his god-like older brother Nathan, he always referred to himself as someone who is above others the arrogant prick. Have no idea where he got his god complex from but it didn't matter as I would barely see him. Whenever others came over I remember getting tired and then blacking out, it only lasted at maximum an hour but I always found it weird. The blackouts started to stop when Oliver got more friends and I was excited that I had more people to play with but they never played with me, they didn't even look at me. Over the years Oliver stopped looking at me as well. I knew he could still here me though because sometimes if I shouted hard enough he would turn around but he would never see me, he would look around if it was quiet or other times he would glance back of it was busy. I started to become depressed my one and only friend who I shared so many adventures with like the time where we saved the lovely maiden pork-chops from the space trolls or the other time where we were secret agents trying to uncover the plot of the sinister corporation known as black hole enterprises, I had to save him once when he got captured but we always made it out alive, and together. I started to see the life we had crumble as he lived a different life with all of his many friends. I watched him grow up and get married and have kids but he still never looked at me. Then it happened, Oliver and his wife Charlotte were watching tv, a kids movie called inside out. They were watching it with their kids but they had fallen asleep on top of there laps. Charlotte started talking about how she never had an imaginary friend and asked Oliver if he did. I thought I knew the answer to that question, no of course he didn't otherwise I his old best friend would have known. Oliver's eyes light up and he smiled a bit,
"You know what, I did have an imaginary friend and he was the best."
I didn't know what to think about this, he had never mentioned one to me.
"We did everything together, we saved people, fought the bad guys, saved the world and on a few separate occasions we conquered the world you know so no one else would."
"You took over the world so no one else would?"
"Well yeah, that and we would get free lollies and ice cream because of it, don't worry we only did it like 3 times, ok maybe 5, actually I think it was 7."
All I could do was stand there and listen as a slow wave of horror began to wash over me, the pieces clicked together in my mind.
"His name was Andrew, but I called him Andy, and he helped me get through some tough times, like my older brothers mental illness or my how my parents were both alcoholics..."
"It's alright honey, you don't have to say anymore."
"It's fine because I always had him with me."
I stopped listening after that, I couldn't listen anymore I needed time to think. I walked outside to the backyard, I went by the pool and kept walking until I got to the hill that overlooked the valley. I sat on top of it and I could only cry as the sun began its descent towards the horizon.
"Andy."
I turned around and saw him, Oliver and I could tell that he could see me. He sat next to me, about an arm's length away. We didn't speak for a couple of minutes we only watched the sunset.
"It's been a while huh."
I didn't speak, I couldn't.
"I'm sorry I forgot about you, life started to get interesting the older I got."
"I noticed, I have been by your side the whole time, I saw everything you went through."
"Everything?"
I looked at him, he had a smirk on his face and by his eyes I could tell what he was thinking.
"Ok not everything, I knew when not to look or to just leave the room ok."
"It's ok, I'm just playing around."
"I'm not in the mood for playing around."
Time seemed to slow down, as if someone was making sure we had time to talk.
"Is it true? I mean I know it is I just... I just want to hear you say it."
"Say what?"
"That I'm part of your imagination, that I'm not real."
He didn't speak and I didn't look.
"You are real, to me, but to the rest of the world you're not I'm sorry."
I looked at myself, my body was starting to fade.
"What's happening?"
"I think because you figured out what you are, you are disappearing."
"I'm dying basically then, but not like how you would."
"I guess so."
"I don't actually mind if I'm honest, it seems fitting to end it here watching the sunset, cliche almost."
I finally looked back and saw him, he was crying but had that same smile he always had that brightened others days.
"I hope I don't forget you, you got me through so much."
"With you're memory that I know you have those chances aren't looking good."
'What do you mean?"
"You got us locked out of the house so many times because you wanted to play but forgot to block the door."
"Well you should have just phased through or something and unlocked it."
"I'm not even real dude."
We laughed at that just like old times. We continued to watch the sun as it began to dip under the horizon.
"Is this the end?"
"I guess so."
"I don't want to go."
"I know Andy, I know."
"Goodbye Oliver."
"Goodbye my best friend."
My final thought was how even though I had been ignored the last 20 years of my imaginary life by the person who made me, they were somehow the best times I remember, watching the person who created me grow up with a loving family. The sun finally disappeared and with it so did I. I started to fly up into the clouds as Oliver waved me goodbye from below his kids came running up to him while his wife watched. I caught up to the night sky and my vision went black.
"This isn't so bad." I thought as I disappeared in tbe nights sky.
Kia ora, if you read all that then thank you. I also know it has a bad layout but I'm doing it on my phone so you will have to excuse me. However, I hope you enjoyed my late night thoughts.
P.S tell me what you thought about it
| 2019-10-08T08:22:08 | 2019-10-08T06:05:49 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] Humans were largely friendly and kept a low-profile. They were seen as the bottom of the food chain in the galaxy and they preferred it like that. But when they were attacked, everyone found out how ruthless the humans can be with killing in their DNA and that Mars was never their home plant
|
The humans were excellent diplomats. They were peaceful, gentle, and patient. No one ever thought to harm them because they never hurt anyone else and had such a short lifespan that they weren't useful.
Many races would analyze the way their ambassadors wove words around every possible conflict in recordings of hearings and conferences. It was always a mystery why they got so good at it.
Eventually, a warlike species that wasn't a member of the federation called the "Vor'azun" decided to invade their homeworld, Mars.
Or so that was what they thought.
In their star system, that of Sol, we thought the humans lived on the third planet from their Sun. Which wasn't entirely wrong.
As soon as the humans spotted Vor'azun warships exiting warp-space into their system, an energy shield formed around Mars that seemed to be projected from nowhere. There were no generators on the planet for such a massive shield. The Vor'azun warships fired a few warp-plasma blasts at the shield, achieving nothing.
As soon as the warships got close and they were able to detect where the shield was coming from, it was too late. A well-aimed warp beam lanced from apparently empty space and destroyed three of the Vor'azun's ships.
Humans had cloaked their original homeworld, Earth, and that was where they kept their true power. As it turns out, as soon as they were accepted into the galactic community, they had immediately begun experimenting with and improving upon already developed Federation technology.
They had figured out a way to project a shield from one planet around another.
They had figured out a way to put photons into warp speed.
They had figured out how to cloak an entire planet.
Of course, after this encounter, the Vor'azun cowered in a far corner of the galaxy, fearing revenge.
As for the rest of the galaxy... Well, we sure knew why Humans were such good diplomats.
Their weapons were even better.
|
The Reptilian limped forward towards the rock formations, clutching its side. The feeling of contempt it once had for humans was now replaced with overwhelming fear. If the Reptilian could just make it to the rocks and reorganize with its comrades, then maybe they stood a chance of rescue. Just before reaching the mouth of a shallow crater a kilometer away from the rock formations, the Reptilian felt a sharp jolt of pain through its shoulder, followed by the thunderous report of a human rifle, and fell face first into the shallow terrain depression. The creature rolled onto its back, trying to face its pursuer.
Captain Gray walked over to the wounded Reptilian, his rifle at the ready in case the creature made any sudden moves. Gray had no intentions of taking the Reptilian in as a prisoner; it was probably just a lowly foot soldier anyways. The ground force commander just wanted to make sure the last thing the Reptilian saw was an indifferent human face. Gray leveled his rifle at the Reptilian’s head and fired off a round, disconnecting the Reptilian from life. Looking towards the rock formation in the distance, Gray planned the next moves of the mission.
As ground force commander controlling and coordinating the various forces and assets, Gray was a god of the battlefield. Gray switched between the various channels of his communications equipment, talking to various platoons, fighters overhead, and other assets in the area. It was like conducting an orchestra while also chiming in every now and then with an instrument, just like when Gray’s platoon had spread itself a little too thin across the flat Martian surface in taking out Reptilian stragglers, allowing Gray the rare opportunity to fire his weapon in anger. Gray’s plan was coming together quite well; they had forced the Reptilians out of the small settlement and intentionally left an opening so the invaders could escape into the nearby rock formations. That way, Gray’s forces could pick off the fleeing Reptilians without putting civilians or infrastructure at risk. The surviving Reptilians would try to regroup in the rock formations, which Gray planned to bombard with whatever weapons the fighters had left.
Gray’s platoon spread out in an assault line and pulled security while Gray switched channels over to the fighters, clearing them to engage the rock formations. Next, Gray bounced between each individual platoon, asking for a situation report on ammunition, casualties, and equipment. Straining to hear reports come in over the communications net, Gray couldn’t hear the footsteps approaching him from behind.
“Damn boss, you’re really throwing everything at them.”
Gray turned his head towards the medic briefly and spoke into the microphone, telling the platoon leaders to have their troopers sit tight for the moment.
“Yeah, I want those rocks turned into a parking lot in the next minute or so. We’ll have to soak up the Reptilians with a mop when we’re done.”
It was hyperbole, at least for now. The ground forces admired the show the fighters were putting on. A variety of weapons were used to engage the rock formations. Some bombs detonated above the rocks, showering everything below with molten hot shrapnel, tearing the Reptilians into ribbons. Other bombs penetrated deep into the rocks before exploding, the miniature quakes breaking apart the rocks and smearing the invaders. One small group of Reptilians ran out of the rocks out in the open, attempting in vain to escape. One of the fighters spotted the squirters and vectored in to intercept them, despite having expended all ordinance. The pilot brought the fighter straight down towards the Reptilians and pulled up sharply at the last second, pointing his fighter engine nozzle nearly straight at the survivors and putting out max power, incinerating the unfortunate invaders.
Gray could feel the anticipation in his forces to close with the enemy and finish them, but he ordered everyone to advance cautiously. Any surviving Reptilians had the high ground in the rocks, and there was little cover between where Gray and his forces were, and the rocks. The platoons broke off into squads and fireteams, practicing bounding overwatch. One element would advance while another would stay in place, weapons ready to engage any targets. They would leapfrog their way to the rocks.
The humans encountered sporadic fire from the rocks as they got to within a few hundred meters of the rocks. The Reptilians were still clinging to life despite the pounding they just took. Gray switched over to the fighter overhead, intending to direct them to carry out a gun run across the rocks.
“Negative, Anteater actual, we are RTB. We’d like to stay and help mop up but we just got word that some Reptilian ships have been spotted approaching. Be safe out there”, the lead pilot replied, voice sounding smooth as ice, as usual.
“Got it. Much thanks. You all stay safe out there too. Anteater actual out.”
Gray weighed the options. They could radio back to command and request additional assets, but they would have to pull back and wait. The Reptilians in the meantime would get a break. On the other hand, Gray could just proceed with the assault since it seemed like they had things under control. Gray switched over to his platoons and asked for a situation update. The incoming fire from the Reptilians seemed to be dying down and the humans were gaining momentum. Gray gave the order to close in and annihilate the remaining enemy.
Hundreds of kilometers overhead, Admiral Green and the other officers aboard the carrier studied the screens intently. Various three dimensional maps of the surrounding space, data readouts, and other information were displayed. Imagery showed a dozen objects, four of them particularly large. The data they saw on size, heat, and other characteristics were consistent with Reptilian carriers. Green was thankful that her carrier and accompanying destroyers were equipped with stealth materials and technology, because it didn’t seem like the Reptilians noticed Green’s forces. They looked like they were making a beeline to low Mars orbit over the equator, in a bid to relieve their forces across the surface who were currently being decimated. Green’s ships were above the south polar region.
Green and her staff had an hour to make a decision on how to proceed. A flight of fighters that just finished a close air support mission was boosting into orbit and needed to be retrieved and re-armed. The other fighters would be launched to engage the Reptilian fleet, but the exact loadout was in question. It was a given that they would have to engage Reptilian fighters, but the fleet, especially carriers, needed to be engaged and destroyed as well. Too few anti-fighter weapons and the human fighters wouldn’t be able to defend themselves, but too many meant that they wouldn’t have enough anti-ship weapons to destroy the Reptilian carriers. The destroyers carried a healthy mix of anti-fighter and anti-ship missiles but they had to be launched relatively close and en masse, otherwise the Reptilian ships could just evade until the missiles ran out of fuel or shoot the missiles down with point defense weapons. Sending the destroyers out would leave the carrier vulnerable to any counter attacks, since the Reptilians would be able to determine where the human fighters came in from and launch an attack before they were destroyed. Green had to fight the urge to be greedy and prioritize which enemy ships were to be destroyed, at least at first. The carriers had to go first. The other ships probably wouldn’t make it very far afterwards, and they could pursue later.
r/TempehTimeWriting
| 2020-03-20T17:17:21 | 2020-03-20T16:36:23 | 249 | 143 |
[WP] Humans were largely friendly and kept a low-profile. They were seen as the bottom of the food chain in the galaxy and they preferred it like that. But when they were attacked, everyone found out how ruthless the humans can be with killing in their DNA and that Mars was never their home plant
|
I can't understand them, the humans.
They were so agreeable, so honorable, so civilized.
They always kept their word and tried very hard to compensate us if some unforeseen circumstances prevented that.
They were intelligent but they were relatively dumb. They should not have been able to understand the limits we were placing them under when we advanced their technology.
They live such short lived compared to us, they should not have been able to conceive that we were only educating them over generations so they could eventually take up menial labor and technician occupations and serve our society.
When we finally announced the proclamation that we were annexing their worlds into our empire's protection, they became something we thought bred out of them: Savage. But it was so much more.
Savage is just a word to describe. They became more than describable. Their very mention became engraved in our genetic memory and invoked fear.
They do not surrender. They drop their own starships out of the sky on to the surface rather than have them captured.
I once saw a human attempt to strangle one of our soldiers. He was using his own internal tissue, an organ they call intestines. Humans are frail, but they are so determined to overcome frailty by force of will.
As I sit on a bench in one of their starship brigs, I can feel it moving forward. I know that we are descending into the atmosphere in a ship that was never meant to fly.
All I can wonder is, what is a chicken and why do they say everything tastes like it?
|
"Hand me the logs again, Gar'eth. I'm still confused on how the Humans managed to get onto the Galactic Council." asked Vuren't, pointing to the holo-disk shelf on the far wall. Gar'eth sighs, and gets up to comply with the request, muttering to himself all the while.
"What was that?" asks Vuren't, casting one of his eyes towards his research partner.
"Nothing, Vuren't. I just don't see how you plan to understand the species that surprised so many, so quickly." exclaims Gar'eth, as he hands the disc to Vuren't "You've been studying the lesser races of the galaxy for millennia. I don't think you'll get it any time soon."
Vuren't issues a sound closely approximating the human equivalent of a vocal shrug, as he inserts the disk into the reader. The display springs to life, showing multiple historical entries. Vuren't peruses the list, squinting his seven eyes as he locates the entry he needs.
"Here it is," Vuren't points to the entry, titled -**The Human Ascension**\-. "I don't remember if I actually read this one. I thought the news of the attacks coming from the Human's sector was simply... *clickbait*? I think that's the term Humans are fond of."
Vuren't opens the entry, and the display flashes a warning, indicating that the following information is violent in nature. Vuren't dismisses the warning, eager to learn how the Humans managed to get onto the Council. The display darkens for a moment, and then lights up --
\--**The Human Acension-**\-
\--Year Recorded: 4377 GCSY (*Galactic Council Standard Year*)
\--Author: Hizzun Federation Observation Scout #554-A
**BIOLOGICAL WRITTEN ENTRY**
\- Reports of conflicts in the Sol Sector has prompted the Captain to send me out to take a look. I was unsure of what good it would do, considering we were roughly 30 light years away, the journey there alone would take me almost 10 years. The Captain urged me onwards, regardless. I arrived in station around the planet locally known as Saturn almost exactly 10 years after my departure date. I was very glad that I took a light scout ship, instead of my normal OBS class ship, as I came upon a large field of wreckage as soon as I fell out of slipspace. Following protocol, I immediately started scanning the wreckage, as last reports from the Sol system said that the Humans hadn't built anything to the size that the wreck would indicate. The scans came back that the vessel was of Human origin. That was surprising. I powered up my engines and drifted towards some more wreckage approx. 10 carthak Urs away from that first wreckage.
This wreck was bigger. I estimate at least four cruiser class ships, possibly a single dreadnought class. At this site, I could see that the ship, or ships, were Dorw'irh design. What was expected, as news of the Dorw'irh pirating the Human's trade routes had reached Council ears, and the Humans were awaiting response. What was *unexpected* however, was that the Humans were somehow able to destroy Dorw'irh ships. This was unprecedented.
I could see the still forms of Dorw'irh marines and crew floating around the wreckage, most not in any kind of EVA. This told me that the ship was not expected to be destroyed. Even more unexpected was that I could not locate much more Human ship wreckage during further searches. Which is unnerving, that the Humans have such powerful ships, or planet based weapons, that can obliterate a front line ship so easily.
After I completed my search pattern, I was hailed by comms, over the Human's preferred frequency. I answered the hails, and spoke with their equivalent to me, a scout. The scout was authorized by his superiors to transmit a copy of their battle data, to take back to the Council. They claimed self-defense, and that they simply wanted to protect their little corner of the galaxy.
I accepted the data, and immediately uploaded it to the quantum net, and then proceded out of system. I spooled up the drive, and started the journey home. Entry complete, vocal signature - "*Scout #554-A"*
**END OF ENTRY** \- PROCEED TO HOLO DISK **448-QE**\* FOR FURTHER INFORMATION.
\***WARNING**: BATTLE DATA (SOL INCIDENT) HOLO DISK IS PROTECTED LEVEL 7, NO UNAUTHORIZED BEINGS. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN **IMMEDIATE MOLECULAR DESTRUCTION.**
Vuren't closes the file, and ejects the disk. Staring at the now blank display for a few moments, he reaches for the comm suite and punches in the entry for information requests and clearance with the Galactic Council.
Moments later, a voice is heard on the other end of the comms, "Greetings, user. How may I be of assistance?" drones the AI tasked with managing that system.
"Yes, I am requesting clearance to view holo disk 448-QE, for my research into Human galactic history"
The comms start to issue a low alarm, "That entry is prohibited Level 7 clearance, please place DNA sample on reader to verify security clearance. You have 30 seconds to comply."
Vuren't always hated this part, as he drags a sample from behind his central main eye. It always hurt, getting that sample out, as his skin was too hard to pierce without specialized tools, and his saliva sterile. Also, it seemed to take longer and longer each time he had to pass one of these checks, or he was just getting older and stiffer.
The countdown vocalized by the comms AI was barely two seconds away from completion before it fully read the DNA sample. "Just in the nick of time" Vuren't says, fond of whimsical Human expressions.
"Authorization verified, proceed to Galactic Council visitor chamber Alpha Q for retrieval of the Holo Disk. Be aware that removing the disk from the chamber will trigger alarms, and security personnel are authorized for complete molecular destruction." With that, the AI shuts down the link, and the comms goes dark.
"Always with their warnings and threats, the Galactic Council was never this way before the Humans managed to secure their seat." Gar'eth mentions, as he starts to gather his things.
"Very true, my friend. They sure are paranoid these days." says Vuren't as he looks up at his partner. "Are you not coming with me? Don't you want to see what the disk has on it?"
"No, I think I will go home. Yurillia is with brood. She will probably want assistance" says Gar'eth as he slaps the door release. "I'm sure you will talk for hours upon hours about it tomorrow, though."
\*\*\*\*\*Hit the post limit, continued in following comment\*\*\*\*\*\*
| 2020-03-20T19:55:48 | 2020-03-20T18:40:22 | 39 | 16 |
[WP] You're a powerful dragon that lived next to a small kingdom. For centuries you ignored humanity and lived alone in a cave, and the humans also avoided you. As the kingdom fell to invaders, a dying soldier approaches you with the infant princess, begging you to take care of her.
|
The Knight burst into the cave gently holding the swaddled infant princess. "Please, I beg of you, take care of her, there is nothing we can do"
The dragon looked around and saw the child placed and the base of his mountain of gold. "It shall be done" came the reply.
With that the child was instantly incinerated with one breath.
"What the fuck Raffi, the firebreather!"
"You said take care of the child!" Came the dragon's reply.
"Was this what happened to my cat when I asked you to take care of it?" said Sir Randy the Dirty
"Yes! You said take care of it, I set it on fire!"
|
"I didn't have a lot to do with the neighbors. We just sort of existed... They had their space and I had mine and that was that. It's not that we didn't know that each other was there because, well, of course we did. The small village had existed for centuries, appearing roughly some 300 years after I found my first resting place, it started as a few huts in the middle of a clearing and steadily grew from there."
"A few times a year I would fly over to see how they were doing (needless to say I did not get a warm welcome, the usual stuff, a few arrows here and there a boulder or two, nothing serious). After a while I lost interest to be honest it didn't look like they were up to much and I wasn't getting anything from my fly overs, sure I still kept tabs on them as they grew but if they didn't bother me then why should I bother them? So over 200 years while they grew from a small village in a forest to a town I kept to myself, feeding when I needed to and sleeping the rest. As time ticked by my dwelling became to small and I had to move, in those times I did check on the human inhabitants out of passing interest, noting the times when they were growing and the times when disaster stuck, fire, flood, plague and the like."
It is worth noting that not all dragons hoard precious items like gold, jewel. There are some that pursue the hoarding of knowledge (these often shape shift to lesser forms to achieve such ends though why they do such a thing is beyond me such forms have their drawbacks and to be perfectly honest should be beneath our kind), others like myself are content to lie and watch the world making use of natural gifts of far-sight and hearing though often we take a little more interest in certain subjects than others much like my village and for these we rouse ourselves from our rest to investigate further as well as avail ourselves of other benefits such movement brings (staying indoors does cramp ones wings after awhile). The other benefit of such watchfulness other than a full centuries rest without interruption by knights or mages and the like is the low cost of moving oneself to new environs.
"It was shortly after one such move, some having just fed myself and found a new cave to rest for a new century of watching the world around me, I noticed that the small town had experienced a long period of growth and had flourished to the point where it was now a city with several outlying towns and with what my far-sight could see had elevated one of their number to rule over them. It was I thought more than a little surprised (amazing how time flies in the blink of a dragons eye) time to fly over them once more and see how my village had progressed. Needless to say while I was expecting my usual welcome, though as it had been some time since I flew over them (preferring to watch from afar as I had done for the past 200 or so years) it was not entirely by surprise that while there were the usual screams of horror and surprise, the arrows were not as forth coming. Noting this I did fly over the central city of this burgeoning and successful kingdom to find them woefully under prepared for my appearance (not that I do anything aside from fly over, dragons that burn cities are sooo uncouth and frankly a boor) after so many years of absence so even more so it does explain what happens next..."
___________________________________________________________________________________
"Hello?, Hello is anyone there?" *cough*, *cough*, "Can you hear me? I need your help!".
The Dragon opened one scaled eye wondering what or who was making that unearthly racket, he had after his fashion just settled down to watch the world and rest for the next one hundred years or so.
"oh thank god you're still here!" *cough*
His eye lazily searched his cave and settle on the shiny humanoid figure standing in the entrance to his cave, adjusting to the light now pouring through his iris he spoke: "HUMAN YOU HAVE DISTURBED MY REST, WHY HAVE YOU COME, I HAVE NEITHER RICHES NOR KNOWLEDGE FOR YOU TO PLUNDER AND ANY ATTEMPT TO TAKE OF MY BEING WILL BE MET WITH DISAPPOINTMENT AND DEATH ON YOUR PART".
Bending slightly under the pressure of the dragons speech (it is no easy thing to have a dragon speak to you), the weak reply came "O dragon I desire not *cough* riches nor knowledge for in truth I desire none and I *hack* am not long for this world" *cough*
Collapsing under the weight of his armor and now apparent mortal wounds the soldier gestured to the basket on the cave floor now in front of him..
"please.... take her.... she will be safe with you...."
______________________________________________________________________________________
As I gazed upon the basket before me the soldier as I had ascertained him to be breathed, his last and passed from this mortal realm.
Now my other senses had awoke I smelled fire and within the flame charred timber, stone and flesh and above it all the screams of death and the dying. Fully rising from my place of rest I took to the sky knowing full well what would meet my gaze, the kingdom I had followed the progress of with some interest over the years, razed to the ground, its riches taken, men and women slain or slaved. I guess such is the way of human life that which I have watched for those long years full of life and love and on the other foot hatred and jealousy such had befallen my neighbors and while sad nothing too upsetting for I assume at least for now nature will either reclaim what remains or the humans will return and rise again..
"As such my tale is finished and I must ask you Andrisdia the spell for taking human form."
"Really? Ovryrth? You of all dragons? Do you not despise such forms?"
____________________________________________________________________________________
Ovryrth smiled a dragon smile as the babe in the basket woke and wailed "Times must I'm afraid".
_________________________________________________________
Let me know what you think this is my first reply to a prompt hope I did well enough.
| 2018-03-01T03:23:07 | 2018-03-01T02:10:10 | 135 | 38 |
[WP] The princess ran away from her home and became an adventurer. To hide her identity, she cut her hair and took on the disguise of a young man. The king hears of this adventurer and hires him to find his missing daughter.
|
The Adventurer strode through the silver-welded doors, he glided across the palace floors like moonlight on water. And when he stopped, exactly five feet from his throne as customary for visiting aristocracy, his silver eyes met his own. No trace of fear or unworthiness in his gaze. In fact, his face was carefully and methodically wiped clean of emotion except for the small dignified smile playing on his lips.
"You have called, My Liege, and I have answered."
Everything about The Adventurer was illustrious, from his stride to his bow, to his clipped manner of speech. A manner which His Highness had often come to associate with nobility.
The High King banged his silver studded staff against the floor, "You may rise."
The Adventurer rose as gracefully as he kneeled,
"Your Highness, you have called The Adventurer, He who Finds What is Lost, to request for my services in finding your eldest daughter Adelola, Heir to this Noble Kingdom."
The High King waved a hand, "Your services are not required. For My Heir has just been found."
If The Adventurer was surprised by The King's words, there was no trace of it on his face."Then I shall depart at once. It has been an honor, Your Highness."
With those words, The Adventurer spun on he heel and made way to the silver doors.
"Wait," the word was not shouted, yet the sheer power behind its speaker shook the room.
The Adventurer turned, "You have called, My Liege, and yet again I answer. What is it you request?"
The High King rose from his throne, his silver eyes never wandering from the form in front of him.
The Adventurer rose as well, and silver eyes met silver.
"I request the truth... an answer.... Why do you try to leave me yet again, my dearest Adelola?"
|
"Hello, young man. What would you like?"
"Can I have some pineapple juice, please?"
"Of course. Say, I don't suppose... are you Triston, explorer of the realm, discoverer of ancient, hidden artefacts?"
"That's right. I never left my home until two months ago. I saw my chance to have an adventure, and took it while I could. I've done everything I want to do, but my quest is not quite yet complete. There's one more challenge I must face before I return home."
"Oh? What might that be?"
"Every adventurer has a story of being captured and either finding a clever way to escape or having a hero of some sort rescue them. I'm waiting for my story to come." I down my glass and wipe my mouth.
"I see. I suppose you really want the full experience, right down to the last detail."
"That's correct. But I wouldn't simply *let* myself be captured; what's the point in that?" I tap my glass, asking for another.
"That makes sense. It wouldn't really be an interesting tale, would it?"
"Exactly." I pick up the glass and once again chug it. I begin to pay.
"On the house, sir."
"Much appreciated. My travels cont-"
"Excuse me."
I turn around. A royal soldier. "How may I be of assistance?"
"The king has sent many of his soldiers to look for the missing princess, and requested we get the aid of anyone who could help. You're really Triston?" I nod. "Then please, do what you can to find the princess! You will be handsomely rewarded!"
"I don't do this for fame or riches" I reply. "I do this... for the fun." I wink at him as I prepare to continue my travels. "Don't worry, I'll risk my life to ensure the safe return of the princess." With that, I walk off, towards the rolling, green hills.
As I stroll through the plains, I get the feeling of being followed. I draw my sword, ready to defend myself if necessary. Suddenly, I feel my legs become tangled. Someone must have thrown a bolas at me. I drop my sword, which one of the men picks up. "A royal sword" one of them comments. "It looks like we captured the prince."
Another man raises an eyebrow. "But... this is the famous adventurer, Triston, not a prince. Besides, I don't recall the king having a son."
I smirk. "He didn't." I remove my armour, revealing the shape of breasts on my chest. They all gasp.
"Wait... you... you're the missing princess, Trinity!"
I giggle. "That's right. So, be honest - if you thought I was the adventurer, Triston, which I am, why did you wish to capture me?"
"We were going to take you prisoner, have you work as a slave to keep you from ruining us, but-"
"Then that you shall do" I interrupt. "I wish not to ruin either my nor your fun. Being captured and finding an escape was the last thing I needed to truly call myself an 'adventurer'. Right now, you have captured Triston. I am not Trinity until I return home."
The men all look at each other, unsure. Then one of them gets an idea. "Do you carry royal scrolls, princess?" I nod, and pull one out. I pull out a royal pen as well, and suspecting what they are thinking, I write a letter addressed to my father, complete with all the formalities of the royal family. I hand the scroll to one of the men.
"Knowing my father, he won't *let* you keep me, but he knows that I wouldn't be happy if he treated this as a priority rescue. I specifically asked for a 'traveller rescue'. None of you will be in any danger for capturing the princess. You won't get any resistance from *me*, but someone *will* 'save' me eventually. Until then... I am Triston, a daring adventurer who does not deserve mercy or pity."
​
It has been two weeks. My father, the king, is playing along - from my understanding, he's very impressed by my courage and strength, and is following my request of being treated as Triston, to the point people sent for my rescue will demand Triston's release. No one has managed to save me as of yet. I've gotten to know my captors quite well; turns out, they were jealous of Triston's success and wanted to teach him a lesson. There's always two members of the group looking after the hideout, while the other four will go on adventures. They will take turns watching the base.
Right now, all six are at the hideout, and I'm tidying the place up, when I sense something. I glance up, and spot someone on the ceiling. He drops down and proceeds to subdue everyone before they even know what happened. "Well... seems like your fun is over" he tell them. He turns to me. "Now, you are free... princess Trinity. Orders?"
I look at the men, all of them having been tied up by rope. "They're nice guys. Treated me well enough." I proceed to grab my stuff. "This was a traveller rescue, remember. You can let them go."
The boy nods as we both untie the men. Well... most of them. I get to Rick, but he has a look in his eyes I don't trust... "Rick... you understand that I am no longer Triston, right?"
Rick growls. "You were happy being our prisoner."
"Shut it, Rick" Milo snaps. "It was all a game, remember? Do you want to be in trouble for kidnapping the princess?"
"I, personally, was glad when the princess, of all people, allowed us to treat her like a slave" Fern says. "But it was a choice she made. We've had our fun." Fern courtesy's. "It really was an honour, your highness, to have you so humbly serve us."
I smile and courtesy back. "Thank you for helping me complete my journey. I truly did enjoy staying with you all, but I must return now."
With that, the boy takes my hand and escorts me home. I had a lot of fun, and have a lot of stories to tell. Now, I can take on my duties with no regrets for what *could* have been.
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Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
| 2022-10-12T06:59:24 | 2022-10-12T06:23:26 | 924 | 43 |
[WP] A boy goes to hang himself in the woods, only to find a decaying body already hung. A girl sits quietly nearby.
Explain their interactions, and the reasons/motivations for being there.
|
If you don't know my name, it's Jeff. It's not faggot. It's not dumbass. It's not crybaby. It's Jeff.
I'm not sure if any of them know my name. I mean, they should. We've been going to the same school for the past eight years. But I cant remember the last time I heard someone other than a teacher call me Jeff.
Yeah, I know what you're thinking. This kid's a faggot. Grow some balls. I've heard it all before. You know, it didn't use to be like this. I had friends once. Then two years ago my dad left. Probably because I'm such a little shit. I know. But how could he just leave us? My little sister. My mom. I mean shit, take me and dump me in the woods. Fine. But mom and Sara? What an asshole.
I guess I took it harder than Sara. She's young, though. Shit, she still pretends she's playing with dad in the woods. I haven't stepped foot in the woods since he left. I have hardly left my room. How could I? That was our place. We played hide and seek all the time. Hell, he even built me a tree house. I'm sure it's been squatted by a family of squirrels or birds by now. How could I go back to that place after he just left us?
Mom and dad fought a lot after he got laid off. I get it - parents fight. He tried to find another job, but it didn't happen. I kept telling myself he was a spy on a secret mission. I grew up, though. I'm not a kid anymore. I stopped believing in Santa even before dad left.
I know. I know. Stop crying, you little bitch. Right? Don't worry it's almost over. Sorry mom. Sorry Sara. At least I cleaned my room. I also put that Captain America action figure in Sara's room. She always loved that thing. Better for them that I do this.
Ok squirrels, you're going to have to move out of the way. For a bit at least. So much of my childhood spent in that house. I guess it's as good of a place as any to do it.
Sara must spend a lot of time out here. The path is still pretty worn down. After that next bend I'll be able to see it. Finally, right?
Is that Sara? What is that hanging on there?
Dad?
"See, Jeff. I told you me and daddy still played together."
|
Leaves wilted through the air, angels from the branch, seeds from the vine falling to the earth.
A young man treads this path of bark-child, finding a kinship in the way they topple. From life to death, only some of them survived the fall, and grew into strong oak and firm wood. Others simply were eaten by the ground. This is how Jack felt - like the world was eating him up. Every day a morsel was taken from him, vile words like fork-prongs in his heart. The rope lay heavy in his hand, he let it drag behind him. It whispered as it glided along the crackled leaves.
He came to the clearing, where he'd finally do it. Where this worthless existence of his would end, better to just disappear quietly, a disappointment to all. There was no point.
'Hey.'
The voice startled him, Jack staggered and finally stopped staring at his feet - there was a girl, sat in the grass, next to her own body. The image was horrifying and impossible - the body was like some grotesque portrait of her, already rotting and bloating, neck and skin purple, pale skin and dead flesh swinging in the breeze. Her alive doppleganger regarded it sadly, then turned back to him. She was Goth looking, black raven hair, white skin, darkened eyes. Jack glared right through her, and he let the rope drop completely.
'What is this?' Jack stammered, 'Some kind of sick joke? Are you a modern art student or some shit?'
'Breathe in, baby.' The girl grinned, her voice was soft but crackled, like an young actress speaking through an ancient radio. 'That's a real body. I'd know, I was in it.'
'Breathe-' Jack stopped short as bile piled into his throat, he'd been so shocked he hadn't even noticed the smell. 'But that's impossible, ghosts don't exist.'
'Neither does God.' The girl jingled a silver cross around her neck sardonically. 'I'm kind of glad, really. Not sure what he was going to say about all of this.'
Jack folded over and began to retch. The girl sighed and stood up, her hand was icy cold on Jack's back and he flinched away at first, shuddering against a nearby tree. What struck him as odd was the sudden urge for self preservation, he knew the reasons why his life was trash, but now, faced with the unknowable and impossible, he wanted to live. It made no sense, that single fact sat uncomfortably in his skull.
'Come on. Let's get you away from the stench.' The girl folded her arms across her chest. Her brow wrinkled at the shaking boy, before she walked forward and slapped him. 'Dude. Stop trembling and walk with me. I'm not going to kill you.'
Jack rubbed his hand across the icy five left across his cheek, its effect sobering. This definitely wasn't a person, sure she could leave marks, she could touch, but her skin was incredibly cold. Like it drew the life out of everything around it, but in a way that was oddly natural. She was not of this world but belonged in it, an opposing force to the blood that flowed through the young man's veins, like the end of a long breath, or the place where the stream died and joined the sea.
They began to walk away from the clearing, Jack's fear turning into curiosity.
'What are you?' Jack hesitantly pried. He paused for a moment. 'Shit, I mean, I didn't mean to be so blunt-'
'It's okay kid. Frankly I'm not sure.' The girl inspected her etherial hand. 'Guess I'm a ghost now, not entirely sure why I'm still here. I just am. What I'm more interested in other than my own existential torture is why a kid drags a rope miles into the woods.'
'I'm sure you empathise.' Jack pushed his hands into his pockets, staring ahead uncomfortably.
'At least tell me your name?'
'Jack.'
'Jill. Shit, Jack and Jill.'
'No way.' Jack turned his head towards her. 'You're serious?'
'Yeah.' Jill smiled from ear to ear, Jack thought she looked rather pretty. A silence followed as they trekked through the woods, and slowly Jack's hands fell out of his pockets, he let out a long sigh.
'Stop, let's just... Stop for a minute.' Jack lowered himself onto a fallen tree, the great bark having cleaved a canyon of undergrowth in the darkening forest. 'Why the hell are we walking?'
'Because there's only one reason a kid walks into the forest with rope, Jack. Like you said. I empathise.'
'I still can hardly believe you're what you are. This is some kind of trick. You're secretly a psychopath and I'm next, right?' Jack chuckled nervously.
'Could be, but I think you believed what I said.' Jill smirked wanly, and Jack returned the look. 'You needed to get away from that. I took you here so we could talk.'
'About?'
'About why you shouldn't kill yourself.' Jill stated simply, clasping her hands together. Jack frowned.
'What?' Jack stared right through her. 'That's it. I've gone insane. Even my own subconscious is trying to talk me out of it.'
'Oh I wish. That'd make my existence a lot less horrifying.' Jill stated, laughing with all the mirth a spirit could. 'But why? You're cute. You seem eloquent - intelligent I'd even go so far as to say. Why are you doing it?'
'About the same reason as you did, I'd wager.' Jack paused for a long time, glancing to the left. 'I feel… Alone, numb. I have nothing to look forward to, no-one to rely on. No-one talks to me. I was given medicine but it didn't help… I just feel awful, all of the time. I want it to stop.'
Jill fell silent, before a cold hand reached out for Jack's. He held it like it was the warmest fire, tears simmering in his eyes. He pulled away.
'Jack. Look.' Jill murmured, 'It's too late for me, way too late. I walked that same road and ended it, and I really hate myself for it. Now I'm out of that… Shell, with all of those chemicals yelling at me, I can see the world as it is, stupid beautiful - hell, crazy beautiful. A complete wicked mess that I'm falling in love with as I leave it.'
'Jill-'
'Don't Jill me kid. I'm older than you.' Jill grinned from ear to ear, before her features dropped. 'It's sad. I don't want to go now. As it… As it happened, I felt regret. So much regret. I thought about my mom. Childhood meals. Playgrounds - I miss that shit, dude. You remember when we were young enough to sword fight with sticks without being weirdos?'
'Jill. I appreciate what you're trying to do - even though I… I still don't think you exist - but you're doing this for no-one's benefit. My mind's made up.'
'Sure as hell won't be like that when your feet leave the ground, trust me.' Jill sighed. 'I think I might still be kicking around for something, and I think that something is stopping you from doing this. And… Hell, I don't want you to. I don't want anyone to.'
'Then what are you going to do?' Jack stared at her, his hands clenched into fists of determination.
'We're going to stay here, we're going to talk, and I'm going to do what no-one else will do, listen. As someone who understands. As someone who felt like you. And we're going to get you home.' Jill said, as she took Jack's hand again, this time he didn't flinch away. Instead, he stared into her eyes.
'I'd like that.' He murmured, his voice shuddering as tears broke from of his chest once again. 'Okay…. Okay.'
| 2013-12-29T10:36:59 | 2013-12-29T10:24:54 | 295 | 40 |
[WP]: "Don't tap on the glass, dear. It disturbs the humans."
|
"So what if they're disturbed, grandma?" said the boy to his grandmother.
"It's because they provide us with everything we have and they need their rest." Answered the grandmother.
"So what if they don't provide us with what we need, grandma?" said the boy
"I didn't say they provide us with what we need, I said they provide us with what we have. They provide us with who we are, really. But they can only do it if they are not disturbed."
Behind the glass is Lisa in her bedroom, Lisa is a 26 year old accountant who just lost her job. Lisa is sitting on the edge of the bed, silent, she puts her face between her palms..
Suddenly the boy starts yelling "I CAN'T SEE GRANDMA, I CAN'T SEE"
"It's ok dear, you need to calm down and just stay away from the glass, we're all here with you, the whole family" said the grandmother in a shaky voice
Meanwhile, Lisa is trying to collect herself, fighting her tears back, but the memory of the loss is too fresh, it won't stop replaying in head again and again, louder and louder, and just then.. The little boy, unable to see, stumbles and hits the glass and it immediately shatters. Flooding out from behind it come the little boy, the grandmother, and everybody else..
Lisa wipes them away.
|
Chuck stared at the pane of glass that lay ahead of him, the brown eyes of his own reflection glancing back at him. Beyond it, albeit slightly distorted by his mirrored image, stood two uniquely green creatures. It wasn’t necessarily the shade of green that was unique—although that wasn’t exactly normal, considering Chuck had only ever skin of various hues of whites, blacks, and in between—but more so the fact that they were clearly not human. No, they more looked like gelatinous blobs like a high school Jell-O based experiment gone terribly wrong, and horribly sentient. Whatever the case, he couldn’t help but feel rather disturbed by the way the smaller, yet just-as-green, creature tapped irritatingly on the glass pane.
“Don’t tap on the glass,” said the larger blob of green goo in perfect English, its body giggling like a mound of Jell-O on turbulent plane, “it disturbs the humans.”
It wasn’t wrong, as Chuck had already decided. The tapping was rather disturbing. Not so much in the sense that it was unsettling, but rather that it was quite loud and unnecessary. He was already staring at the formless blob, what more could he do? It wasn’t like he was free to go out and shake its hand, he was trapped within. Just him and the only other human he’d seen that day, a man who did little other than remind Chuck that they were not where they had been the night before.
“Sorry,” the smaller slab of Jell-O said.
Chuck turned and stared at his compatriot, a human who called himself “Dave.” He’d not known him on Earth—assuming they were not still on Earth. To be fair, Chuck had woken up in his cage, his sleep-crusted eyes peeling into the unfamiliar environment. He thought he was sick at first, high on some sort of prescription medicine that he’d failed to read the label of. The sky, a light, amber red, was unfathomable at first, with the azure blue of the ground just as unfamiliar. Yet, after about an hour of rubbing his eyes and attempting to sober up, he began to realize he might not simply be uncharacteristically high. For starters, he had no memory of taking, nor any access to, any prescription drugs. Aside from that, he’d never before been high, nor so much as drunk within the last decade. He’d given up liquor after a few too many forgotten nights.
Dave and Chuck had not known each other until about four hours prior, when the woke up in the spoon position and immediately jumped away from each other. He was a taller man, albeit rather obese, with a belly that hung down and over his crotch. He had a large bald spot in the center of his head, but did his best—which was not quite enough—to cover it up with the hair he could convince to stretch from the left side of his head to the right.
“We’re so fucked,” Dave said, his arms wrapped around his knees as he rocked back and forth. “We’re on some sort of alien planet, we’re going to die.”
Chuck nodded knowingly, as if he were in complete agreement with Dave. In actuality, Chuck was still a bit neutral on the situation. They had food, although it was admittedly in a feeder like an animal at a zoo, and they seemed safe enough. The Jell-O things were blocked by the glass, their tapping the only attempt at assaulting them. Rather, they more looked confused by Dave and himself, like they were trying to quantify how two pale creatures could even exist. Chuck was thinking the same exact thing about them, minus the pale.
“We gotta get out of here, we’re going to die,” Dave murmured, still rocking back and forth.
“I don’t know,” Chuck said, turning back toward the Jell-O people. There were more of them now, dozens swarming over to Dave and Chuck’s apparent new home. They seemed to be staring at them, studying them like creatures in an exhibit. “It’s not really that bad.”
Admittedly, the glass-enclosed structure was nicer than Chuck’s New York City apartment. For starters, it was about twice the size. He could really stretch out here, get his legs all the way out without touching the other wall. Second, he had a bed—yes, it was made from hay, but it wasn’t the old, tattered couch he’d bought off a man on Craigslist. He was fairly confident that couch had been utilized heavily in a murder. Third, he had a roommate, someone to talk to through the days. Back at home, his only companion was Denzel Washington, his quiet, self-absorbed cat. Denzel never contributed to their conversations, but pooped in a box and demanded to be fed. Dave seemed more interested in speaking, although he was a bit too focused on the notion of death for the time being.
“Are you serious?” Dave said, releasing his legs and staring up at Chuck. “We’re not on Earth, I don’t know where we are. I won’t ever see my family again, won’t ever see my friends. We’re in some kind of exhibit, some kind of zoo for space creatures or something.”
“I don’t really have a family,” Chuck said, nodding softly. He had Denzel, but he wasn’t much. The rest of his family had all died when he was fifteen, a tragic factory accident. None of them worked in a factory, which contributed heavily to the accident. “And you also think this is a zoo?”
“It’s obviously a god damn zoo,” Dave said. “We have a feeder, there’s a bunch of gel people staring at us, and we’re being watched. I was a zookeeper back at home, I know one when I see one.”
“I was unemployed,” Chuck said, pausing. “Funemployed, rather.”
“Great to know. Except now we’re going to die.”
Chuck nodded again, but just to appease Dave. He didn’t feel like they were on the verge of death, but rather was pretty confident that this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. He turned back toward the glass and smiled, finally feeling like he belonged somewhere. A gel-creature was facing, wiggling wildly and tapping its face violently against the glass. A second sentient Jell-O smacked it back.
“Don’t tap on the glass,” it said through what Chuck assumed was a mouth, although he saw no such thing, “it disturbs the human.”
Chuck nodded slowly. It certainly did disturb the humans.
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
| 2015-04-21T14:48:46 | 2015-04-21T14:01:24 | 166 | 101 |
[WP] "Usually when we first contact a civilization, it is very easy to get them under our banner..." The Empress sighed. "...Not the humans though."
|
"Usually when we first contact a civilization, it is very easy to get them under our banner..." The Empress sighed. "...Not the humans though."
The young Prince looked up at his nearly Immortal mother, his eyes a mixture of boredom and contempt, "Why is this important? I am in the middle of a battle. The enemy fleet numbers in the thousands. These Rebels will not be the end of the Empire."
"Because they were the first of them," she responded, "We had known ten thousand years of peace. Ten Thousand years of unity. And then we collected the Humans to our breast and they found the situation intolerable."
The Prince's eyes flickered for a moment between the holosphere in the middle of his Flag deck, where the Rebel starships were even now attempting to cut around his main force which they had expertly pinned with a line of older units. By the time that battle was over, they would have the high orbitals of the Empire's Throne World. The Planet that had given birth to his Mother, and to the Empire that had ruled over the galaxy for over one hundred thousand years. A diversion to get to the Empress worthy of a Prince of the Empire, had they had the ability to pull it off.
"They found our conquest not to their liking, so they Rebeled. They broke with our peace and then others found that our yolk had become too heavy over the long years. Soon entire sectors broke away. Your father had an idea to quash them, but it did not go as expected."
The Prince's eyes flashed as he forced Command into the entire third squadron, enhancing their abilities far greater than even the Ship's battle computers could have managed. They whipped through impossible maneuvers to annihilate half of the enemy fleet in moments. It freed nearly a quarter of his fleet to chase the force heading towards the capital. Even that much was a strain. His Mother could have Commanded the entire fleet, not just a single squadron and even now his black blood poured out from around his eyes at the strain of the act.
"He killed them, glassed their planet. But in so doing he removed them as a target we could reach. We could not Command them. We could not kill them any more. There are a handful of humans left, but now they are the Martyred race. The race we destroyed because they were stronger than us for they were free."
The Empire had simple rules. The Strong led the weak. The Stronger led the Strong. The Strongest Commanded them all. One who could not be Commanded by you stood above you. "Mother, why tell me this," he stated fiercely, "I will be to your aid. Their fleet shall never reach the capital. I will defeat this Rebellion and any that follow."
"Because," stated the Empress from her throne world, her eyes ancient before the days of the rise of the Empire, "You should know what you alone will face."
The Prince twisted to look back at his mother's feed, realizing that there was another being on the video. She was a scrawny pink skinned creature, with a small amount of brown hair in a single braid running down her the metallic canister on her back. In her hand she held a small device. Blood poured from his Mother's eyes as she poured an ocean of Will into that creature, enough to Command planets. Enough to show that the was the True Empress, greatest of her nearly Immortal Line.
The little Martyr pushed the button and the signal died.
|
Humanity's fascination with the atom began--unknowingly--with the advent of forging. Turning two metals into one, stronger, metal with the liberal application of heat tended to be a pastime of many human civilizations and empires whenever their neighbors started staring at them a little too long for their liking. From tin and copper, to bronze, to iron, and beyond. Metal and heat. That was the name of the game for thousands of years.
More recently came the hobby of alchemy. That arcane practice of attempting to turn one worthless metal into something which could be marketed as something worth buying; the success of which was sought after by kings and emperors as well as any peasant with a laboratory and some chemicals at his or her disposal. Not by heat alone this time, but by the application of random chemicals and mixtures was one lump of worthless metal turned into a wet lump of worthless metal, probably with the added fun of caustic fumes and deadly reactions to go along with it. From mixing metals for protection to drowning them for possible riches. Few items of interest or note ever came of this practice; but it did help get the ball rolling on the basic sciences, mainly by preserving the desire to discover and explore until the Renaissance.
The basic elements found on their planet began to be noticed, catalogued, and finally organized by their atomic weights. More elements were found and added to their table as the more powerful civilizations took to the oceans to stake their claims on the "wild" continents discovered on the other side of their world, and as scientific methods became more standardized. Of course, as is humanity's method of survival, the discovery of some of these elements led to weapons which soon made the general method of thousands of years of warfare largely obsolete. Those who were unlucky enough to not have discovered these elements and their uses (and there were a lot of civilizations which failed to do so) paid dearly for it by those who did.
And on and on humanity went, discovering more elements and, eventually, creating a few of their own--most of those created only lasted a few microseconds. But when a century of warfare took the humans through that dark time, a few of them were able to light up a small part of their planet--if only for a very short while--with a particularly-heavy element and the wanton smashing of the atomic structure of that element with the neutrons dislodged from other atoms with the application of crushing pressure brought about--first by ramming, then by precise explosions. A city, then two cities, more or less instantly erased from existence, and the notion of war between old powers was suddenly a very unpalatable one. But the threat of one was still there.
This particular weapon was tested again and again, the results growing larger and larger--the end result mostly to get more neutrons to bombard a mass of several heavy elements, resulting in larger explosions. Complex mathematical equations, born from new applications of mathematics and aided with machines that could calculate and solve these equations for these humans in a very short amount of time, dictated how reactions between atomic elements were supposed to happen. And, finally, the humans built a machine which allowed them to gaze upon the atom itself.
By this time, humanity was instantly communicating among itself despite the distances on their planet and on nearby bodies. And humanity progressed still, until someone remembered that old practice of alchemy, wondering if it was finally possible. They had full access to the atom--no matter the element. All they would have to do is either add or take away the protons, neutrons, or electrons from one element to turn it into another. Sustainable fusion reactors were by then a mainstay of humanity's civilization, so energy was no longer an issue. And so this scientist set out to turn one element into another with the liberal application of energy--it takes a lot of energy to rip nuclear forces in a manner that would reliably turn one element into another. And, eventually, he was successful. Hydrogen into Helium--the basic reaction taking place in the center of their star. A lot of heat, a lot of pressure, all made possible by almost limitless energy.
A descendant of this scientist took the research to another level. Nano-technology was not a new thing--microscopic robots were used in quickly repairing injuries and precisely excising cancerous cells out of the sick for decades. This scientist combined her predecessor's research and created atomic-sized nanites. Simple things that could only follow a couple of simple instructions, being they were mostly composed of a couple of protons and neutrons and energized by a dozen or so electrons. But they could handle the immense temperatures and pressures at the center of her predecessor's reactor, and she was soon turning lots of things into others. Lead into gold was obvious, but her government noticed that and forbade her to continue doing so--some backwards tribes still existed and considered gold as currency, after all. So, she decided that the next logical step was to turn something into food. Overpopulation was already straining humanity's civilizations, and food was a growing concern. By ordering her nanites to take sub-atomic particles and add others, she was soon able to create nutritious, tasty food out of dirt, rocks, grass, wood-- anything she could shove into her reactor, now called a "converter". Her research shared among her colleagues, more of these "converters" were constructed and experimented on, quickly becoming a mainstay of humanity's civilization. The worry and lack of food was no more--nearly limitless food could be created, packaged, and sold. Of course, this interfered with certain political groups which used the growing price and lack of food to their advantage, and so this scientist was assassinated for her inadvertent interference--but the converters were there to stay.
The combined resources of multiple scientific organizations meant that these building-sized converters quickly became small enough to be installed in a small alcove in the home. Programmable, a typical converter could be told by a human what food they wanted and at what temperature--limited to 373.15 degrees Kelvin. All the human had to do was put something in the top, and their food would appear in a puff of light at the bottom. Usually, people would simply use the surrounding atmosphere as the material.
At first, this was not much of an issue. However, as humanity's population topped 18 billion, the results of such use of these converters became obvious. There was a finite amount of mass in the planet, and definitely a finite amount of atmosphere--an amount that was being depleted far quicker than could be replenished by natural means. The political situation deteriorated as invasions took place to literally steal the dirt, air, and water of the neighbors, to feed to the converters at home. The ecosystem suffered most of all--trees were being cut down and turned into material for the converters. Water sources--the ocean, most of all, were also being depleted and turned into food. The prophesied danger of rising sea levels due to climate change was replaced by wondering where it all went. The deserts became deep chasms, the sand dug up and carted away. The atmosphere became noticeably thinner--for example, the results of parachuting out of an aircraft--the few that could still fly--were questionable at best. Weather patterns grew sluggish and rain became a distant memory. The land began to die, forcing governments to drastically limit the use of these converters, taxing the ocean even further with huge desalinization plants to replenish the fresh water sources.
Space travel then became the topic of choice, to try to escape the prison humanity had forced itself into. Sure, small shuttles with primitive fusion reactors had been sent out to scout for possible landing sites for possible further manned exploration, but the invention of the converters put that notion to rest. Now, it was back at the forefront of discussion. Why not build ships which could harvest matter out of the moon, or Mars, or beyond, and use those in the converters? And so ships were built, fitted with fusion reactors and converters, and sent out to the moon to harvest. Soon, entire cities were built on the moon, massive converters turning regolith into atmosphere, for the sole purpose of revitalizing the home planet. More ships were built and cities erected onto Mars. Massive cargo ships ferried material from the moon, Mars, and eventually the asteroid belt, back to earth to be converted to whatever was needed. Massive converters replenished Earth's atmosphere and oceans, while sand flowed back into the deserts. Soon, the Earth had been more or less fixed, and the immediate danger had passed. Food was still far more expensive than it had been in the past, but civilization was manageable again.
Two things limited the speed at which humanity could spread among the stars. First, the speed of light was a distant limit, for the small fusion reactors could not push the ships beyond even a tenth of that speed. And second, someone managed to turn a converter into a weapon of mass destruction.
| 2017-11-05T21:12:59 | 2017-11-05T19:47:06 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you.
|
I stood in horror as the jolly man handed me my cup. I was absolutely certain it was him.
I was driving my car late at night, not expecting anyone to be awake, not paying that much attention, when the impact happened. I got out of the car and looked for the man I had just seen flying through the air like in a cartoon: Flailing his arms and everything. I walked out, but he was nowhere to be seen. Was I going crazy? I don't remember drinking, smoking or eating anything weird that night. I stood there in confusion for a while before deciding not to tell anyone about what happened.
But here was, happily handing me my cup like there's nothing wrong. Was I still going crazy? A twin brother, perhaps, not yet knowing of his brother's death? I was standing there akwardly for way too long before uttering the phrase:
"Who... who are you?"
He answered immediately like he had done it thousands of times before.
"It's a me, Mario!"
|
I stared at him, he stared back. He seemed to almost smile. Then he smiled and he laughed and for the longest time I felt more lost than I'd ever been in my life. He stopped laughing and chuckled a bit before he said "Surprise!" and did the jazz hands thing.
"Nobody ever expects the Spanish Armada, oh wait.. in qui.. wait.. something like that anyway. So, here you are, wonderful you who killed me. You're a nasty sort aren't you? Dragged my bleeding and dismembered body into that lake, then casually drove away and no doubt spent all that time.. yup.. I can see it on your hands, you gave those puppies a good old *scrub* didn't you? Hah! This is fantastic! Look at you, you're like a new man!"
I just stood there and didn't know what to reply. How... how did he .. how? He put down a cup on the counter and motioned to it
"Oh cheer up son, here's a cup of tea to soothe your aching soul. No worries, I'm quite fine.. heheh, better than fine even!"
And he did this little merry dance as his smile impossibly grew wider. I looked down at the tea cup which for some absurd reason seemed to be the most utterly delicious thing ever.
"OK, uh, I think I need to sit down" I said, my head spinning. This all felt so surreal. Being offered a cup of tea, by a barista in a coffee shop. Who'd I'd ran down mere hours ago. Suddenly my stomach groaned loudly.
"Hehe, sure old boy, have yourself a nice sit down in that booth over there, I'll go grab you the most *delicious* piece of steak you've ever sunk your chompers into! Ho-ho!" and off he went into the kitchen.
I felt muted as I sat down in a booth and took a sip from the tea cup. It really was as delicious as I'd imagined. It was the best cup of tea I'd ever tasted in my life. I looked up and out he sort of burst from the doors of the kitchen with a steak that made my mouth water.
"Ah, esteemed guest, here you go! The best steak this side of G--- Grant City!" he said and for a second I could see his smile kind of freeze. Very strange. But I still looked down at the impossibly delicious looking steak, it was amazing.
"Oh come now man! Eat up! Be health and merry! Killing people really does make you need a good solid meal you know? Heck, I've killed millons before and boy
\*here he lowered his voice to a lower almost menacing tone\*
"does that make you ever so hungry and.. you know... you might need a companion or two afterwards..."
"But come on! That steaks getting cold and we've got places to be don't we?"
Feeling an odd mix of feelings that this was somehow .. familiar, I took a bite and yes, it was like the best flavor I'd ever had in my mouth.
"This.. this is just fantastic. Thank you." I mumbled out through bites of the steak that just seemed to melt on my tongue. I quickly wolfed it down under the happy glances of my strange benefactor. I finally ate the last piece and sat back, feeling really full. But oddly enough I was still hungry.
He took notice and said "So, sonny boy.. this might be a very strange question, but have you been to any interesting places lately?"
"Nooo... I don't think so.." I replied with an uncertain sense of dread. It was like I knew where this was going. And then something in my mind came loose.
"Wait... you want to ask me about caves don't you? Why do I know that?"
"Yes YES!" the man said and grinned, he adjusted his tie and I noticed his hand went to almost pat a space right next to it on his chest. I *knew* this meant something. But what?
"You've definitely been to a cave recently haven't you? Do you remember where it was? Can you tell me? If you do, I promise I'll completely change your world!"
He giggled to himself a bit and I felt like punching him. I didn't know why, but I just wanted to. Then I realized I'd punched him many times over. In fact, I knew I NEEDED to punch him right then and there.
As my hand connected with his jaw, his face transformed, it became pale and rougher, his hair turned green and I gripped his throat and fought my way up.
"JOKER! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?"
I tore through the restraints of the gurney he'd secured me too and ripped out the IV pumping god knows what chemicals into my system. The Joker tore away from me and scampered away laughing to himself.
As I got up and cleared the last of the fog in my head I knew that I wasn't going to let him get away with this time.
"You'll never fool me Joker, that was a low trick even for you. But you slipped up, like you always do."
"Ohohohohahahahhahaaha!" came from the shadows around me. "But you were so close Bats! One more steak or maybe even a peach pie would have totally made you want to spill every little secret that you have! But you win this round.. but I'll be baaaaaaack!" and with a giggle that faded into the darkness, I knew he was gone. Again.
I sat down heavily on the gurney again and called Alfred.
"Sir? Are you alright Sir? Me and Robin have been worried sick, you've been gone for days!"
"The Joker dosed me with some kind of drug, I'm going to need to go through decon when I get back home again. I'm fine now, but knowing him, there could be more surprises in store."
"I'm relieved Sir. We'll await you home at the manor."
"Great, and Alfred"
"Yes master?"
"Please prepare a big dinner, I'm really starved."
"Right away Sir."
And with that, I exited the building and sat down in the Batmobile which bore the tell-tale marks of Jokers thugs. As it started and I turned down the street, one of it's wheels rattling, I thought to myself "Yep, that's one of those nights alright."
| 2018-09-23T07:16:35 | 2018-09-23T05:51:26 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality.
|
"*Hypothetically*," Lucius Sanginius Romero de LeVille Finlay Tepesh started, "*if* you could, say, live forever, would you accept such a gift?"
The carpenter rubbed his scruffy chin and emptied his pipe.
"Forever, huh? Sounds like a long time. I mean, wouldn't you get bored?"
"Oh, of course not," the vampire started with barely contained enthusiasm. "There is so much to do that you could live several lifetimes and still find new and amazing things to do. I mean I can tell you that at least 347 years and I am- I mean, *you'd* still be amazed by things," he chuckled as he quickly corrected himself.
"Oddly specific, but sure," the carpenter said as he squinted his eyes. He packed the pipe with fresh tobacco and lit it, taking a long drag. "Mr. Tepesh, you and your friends have been excellent customers and I appreciate such peculiar conversations but..."
He looked at the vampire's remarkably young visage; his gentle, expectant smile almost showed his pointed teeth.
"I can't imagine it would work for me. *Hypothetically*, of course," he concluded with a smile.
The vampire sighed and nodded.
"Of course, Mr. Fitch. Perhaps we can discuss this another time then. I believe my servants should be done loading my order now; as always, thank you for your excellent service. I bid you a good evening," he said and with a tip of his somewhat old-fashioned top hat, he left the shop as quietly as he arrived.
The carpenter continued to smoke his pipe as he listened to the carriage get into motion and disappear into the night. He went to the window and checked the foggy street and, satisfied that no one skulked around, locked the door and went to the back; his workshop.
The place was charming and calm, filled with well-used tools and bits of wood. He lovingly ran his fingers across the newest shipment of birch; an excellent, softer wood he looked forward to using.
Perhaps next time.
He smiled as he thought about the vampire's offer. It was kind of him, truly, but not an option. Not for a long time now. He didn't have the courage to explain it to him - prejudice and all. Checking his calendar, he noted the date; full moon will be tomorrow. Should provide him with the speed to get to the next continent easily.
It really was a shame to abandon this cycle, but it was clear that staying any longer would be suspicious. He took his pipe and dumped the burning tobacco onto a pile of sawdust. Barely any time passed before the fire was spreading to the dry wood and flammable polish in the store. A good cover story.
He took a small bag prepared for this occasion and slipped into the damp night, the moon barely piercing the fog, diminishing his usual urge to howl.
Perhaps this time he could live the life of an apothecary. Been a while since he'd been one.
|
# Soulmage
**I knew the Grandmaster was hiding something when he ordered his second coffin of the month.** I could understand why he'd ordered from Jiaola—if there was any carpenter in the Silent Peaks that you wanted working for you, it was one who'd built his own home from scratch—but the order itself was inexplicable. That, combined with the Grandmaster's tendency to inadvertently drop ancient secrets like so much candy, led me to believe that the Grandmaster wasn't what he appeared to be.
And if he was concerned enough about who he really was to go to such great lengths to hide it, that meant it was a secret worth leverage.
A core part of me hated using a hidden part of a person's identity against them—but desperate times called for desperate measures. I had a goal to achieve and misdeeds to atone for, and I needed a favor or three in order to get it done.
So finding out what the Grandmaster was hiding—and hinting that I just might let it slip—seemed like the best place to start.
I didn't know the Grandmaster's name—nobody did—but he liked going by a pretentious stack of titles. Grandmaster Water Magic Lord Sage Unmatched Crusader Knight, if I remembered correctly. I just abbreviated it to GWMLSUCK, and later, just SUCK. He was a wizened old man, with a cloak of leather that looked old enough to have been made last century, but the SUCK had a surprisingly youthful smoothness to his skin, an uncannily fluid spring to his step. The sun had long since set, but the pale orbs of witchlight on the streets still provided ample illumination as the SUCK made his way to Jiaola's house.
I cast a shrinking spell on myself—nowadays, I had ample fuel for the one spell I knew—and sprinted up behind him as he knocked on Jiaola's door. Jiaola's sun-tanned, wrinkled face broke out into a wide grin as he welcomed the SUCK in.
"How's my oldest customer doing?" Jiaola asked. "You haven't aged a day since we've last met!"
"Yes, yes, well... you have," the SUCK muttered, a slight hint of unease in his expression. "Do you have the resting place I ordered?"
"Of course! Hand-carved and enchanted with the finest quality spells, just how you like it." Just how... he likes it? How many times had the SUCK ordered new coffins? Was he burying people in secret? "Come in, come in."
In my shrunken state, neither Jiaola nor the SUCK noticed me sneak into the carpenter's house. I felt a pang of guilt as I snuck in—Jiaola and I were on friendly terms, even after that whole business with the demon invasion, and it rankled me to be sneaking around his home like this.
But I'd hurt people worse before. At least this time, it was for a good cause.
Jiaola walked downstairs, and I swore under my breath. He was headed for the safe room—a solid wooden box enchanted with, among other things, passive magic dampers. If I spent too long in there without a protection amulet I didn't have, the shrinking spell keeping me hidden would break, and I'd be exposed for nothing.
Thankfully, the last time I'd been inside the safe room, a haughty, arrogant witch had pointed out how to disable it, and Jiaola hadn't updated the safe room since then. Whispering an apology to Jiaola, I snuck in on the SUCK's heels and crawled up the wall, snapping three nodes of memorabilia. The oddly calming, draining sensation on my soul abruptly ended, and I maintained my secrecy as I watched Jiaola show the SUCK to a coffin.
Reverently, the SUCK ran one hand over the smooth bloodwood coffin, inlaid with dragonscale and puffwool. "It's beautiful," the SUCK whispered. "She'll love it."
Jiaola laughed, a craftsman's pride gleaming in his eyes. "I may be getting old, but these hands still remember what it's like to shape wood."
The SUCK paused, lost in reverie for a long moment, then said, "I could fix that, you know."
"Hm?" Jiaola asked.
"Mortality." The SUCK took a step back from the coffin, turning to Jiaola. He took Jiaola's weathered, calloused hand, studying it. "These hands have seen a lifetime of craft. It will be a shame when you perish, and your soul is scattered into thoughtspace."
Another one of those bizarre secrets the SUCK seemed to leave behind him wherever he went. He was the only person I knew who would casually mention what happened after death—and that was exactly why I needed him. I focused on the conversation as Jiaola took his hand—politely but firmly—out of the SUCK's grip. "What do you mean by that?" Jiaola politely asked.
"I could make you immortal," the SUCK said. "I could make you one of us."
And the leathery cloak on the SUCK's back unfolded into bat's wings, and the vampire held out a hand to the old carpenter.
I guess my nickname for him was more accurate than I thought.
Jiaola gave the vampire a long, considering look.
Then he smiled and said, "No thanks."
The vampire blinked. "I—excuse me?"
"I said, no thanks." Jiaola patted the coffin lid. "I was born in the Redlands. Death is a part of who I am. I've made my peace with it. I'll die as nothing more than human, just like the rest of us."
The vampire spluttered. "I—but—you—"
"I make good coffins," he said, "and I know what it's like to have to hide who you are. My husband and I had to deal with that for our entire lives. So don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."
The vampire closed his eyes.
Then he folded up his wings, and he was once more nothing but a man wearing an oddly-shaped leather coat.
"Very well." He laughed. "I... to my surprise, I'm... not even angry. Simply... sad. I will miss you."
Jiaola gave the vampire a kind smile. "Don't you worry about me. I've still got some life left in me."
The vampire smiled, and despite the chill of the room, it somehow felt warm.
Then he tilted the coffin onto a wheeled dolly and began taking it out of the house.
I wished I could have left it at that. I really did.
But I had a question to ask. And now, I had the leverage to have it answered.
I scribbled a note on the floor and left it in a corner of Jiaola's room. If my gamble didn't pay off, I'd at least have a sliver of insurance.
As the vampire left the room and began walking down the street, I shadowed him until he passed through a quiet, empty street.
Then I broke the shrinking spell, expanding to my full size with a whoosh of displaced air. I felt a surge of self-hatred at using the vampire's secret against him, but it had to be done. The vampire spun around, startled, something... fluid... glistening at his fingertips.
"What are you—"
"I know what you are," I interrupted. "I know that you know things. And I've left notes in case I go missing, so killing or kidnapping me won't help you."
The vampire snarled, the fluid at his claws lengthening. "Then what do you want with me, mortal?"
"Answer me one question, and I will keep your secret forever."
"Then ask, insolent journeyman."
I took a deep breath, then said, "I know you know where souls go when they die." He was an ancient vampire; of course he did. "My question is: how can you bring one *back*?"
A.N.
Let me know if you want a part 2!
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.
| 2022-05-31T10:59:53 | 2022-05-31T10:42:02 | 631 | 85 |
[WP] You were the last of your friends to get the procedure to place your consciousness in a robot body. You wake up after your operation to hear what was supposed to be your new body say "hey! It worked! I'm in the robot body! ...Now what do we do with my old skin?"
|
Warning: Disturbing. to me, at least.
Thank you too u/featherknife for spellchecking.
The first thing I felt was the needle in the back of my head.
"Hey! It worked! I'm in the robot body! ...Now what do we do with my old skin?"
I was talking, but it wasin't me.
The robot body I had picked out loomed over me with a face of excitment and glee.
The 2 bit eyes seemed to burn my own as everything seemed to be brightend by threefold.
I tried to respond, but I couldn't move anything.
"Just trash it, no one's in there anymore"
My friend Dan seemed louder than ever.
Its eyes seemed concerned for a moment.
"Are you sure there's no ... or... I'm not in there?
The doctor responded.
"The process completly transfers all thought and function over to your new body, leaving nothing but a husk. Although the heart may still be beating, there is nothing in there, watch."
The doctor took a scanner to my head.
"This would have some kind of movement if there was any consciousness, all tha remains are just basic functions like breathing and the blood circulation."
I couldn't even move my eyes.
Dan's voice squicked with a unusual pitch.
"LET'S FILL IT FIREWORKS AND BLOW IT UP. Tom blew his up and it was gnarly."
But I'm still in here.
"We can either burn it in the incenerator, or you can leave the body with us and we put it on life suport as an organ holder for those who need it. We do provide a discount on all fees and future repairs for the latter option."
"Oh yes, discounts are nice."
Its eyes burned with excitment. The lights seemed to brighten at every beat of my heart, and my head seemes to tighten as if my brain was expanding.
"Please follow me to the receptionist"
I'm still in here.
They started to walk away. The lights of the room started to become unimaginably bright.
I'm still in here.
My nerves were itching, my heart beating in my ears as I heard the door close. Every sensation too much to handle. Fear raced though my veins.
I'M STILL IN HERE!
|
# Soma Later
The world vanished as Ben felt vibrating needles slide into his skull.
For an eternally long, peaceful time alien sensations competed for attention in impossible ways. His hair felt cold. Tongues explored the webbing between toes. Teeth scraped the inside of his lungs. *Twice*. Nothing lay as Nature intended, and consciousness translated into simply yanking levers of meat using electrochemical spurts to make sense of it all.
Eventually, an impossible time later, smears of ethereally painful colors blended together into a room full of clinical equipment. Well, *half* full: Plastic sheeting partitioned off his side, dividing a semi-clean corner from what looked like rented office space. Old furniture piled up, with thick black electrical cables snaking underneath. Like someone stuffed half a surgical unit into a downscale realtor's business.
At least his chair seemed normal. Just a reclined, reinforced metal seat sporting uncomfortable padding in all the wrong places. Overly large armrests with that soft "death grip" style of foam stuck on the ends. The sort of furniture made for sadists. Or dental professionals.
The restraints were new, though. Legs, arms, chest, even his forehead. There was some eyebrow wiggle room but that was about it.
Ben stared upward into dark lights and tried to figure out how vowels worked. "Muhurshhhit?"
The response came from somewhere out of sight: Cheering, clapping and victory music that sounded suspiciously like Rachel Platten's "Fight Song". There was some kind of a party going on in a nearby room. Dozens of people chattering excitedly. Someplace where the lights still worked, he guessed.
But all that was over here, in *this* room, was Ben. Strapped down in ridiculous paper pajamas and forced to examine a water-stained ceiling. Plastic sheeting whispered soothing comfort to his utter confusion.
Oh, and a low buzzing sound. Somewhere below him, out of sight. An angry static noise, like someone hard-shuffling cards. Or the world's largest set of cockroach wings. It *brr*'d and hissed, over and over, until Ben finally placed the noise from a bad experience in shop class years earlier: It was a short circuit. Electrical connections arcing and spitting at each other over and over. *Zzzzap. Sssss-snack. Crack*.
And abruptly Ben realized he was strapped to a metal chair connected to a live electrical circuit.
The party continued in the other room as he fought the restraints. It became a mockery of his struggle, just a laughing soundtrack while he ran a crash course in physical therapy. Every muscle felt foreign; nothing worked without extreme concentration. What should have been a hard lunge leftward became a weak spasm.
*SssnAP! SPACK. Zzzzch.*
He kept at it, forcing numb limbs to work and rocking side to side. Fear was a hell of a motivator-- before long the whole chair assembly was creaking, restraints tearing skin right off his arms and legs with every jerk. Ben ignored the pain, laser focused on the idea of freedom at any cost. The chair rocked, stuttered on some unseen bolt, banged down again as he prepared to throw weight the opposite direction-
And suddenly stopped, stunned by a voice in the other room.
*His* voice.
"It worked! We did it!"
What? No. He froze, sweat-slicked and terrified, trying to listen over the buzzing zap of lethal electricity and rustling plastic.
More clapping and cheering. "-all of us to make this project possible! You know, when we suggested human-to-machine consciousness transfer, they called us... well, let's say the term 'unethical village idiots' came up over at Johns Hopkins!"
Laughter, booing. Ben listened harder, feeling sweat trickling into his ear. Something about the voice sounded off. Odd. The tones were too high and weirdly evened out. Like it was from a speaker, or a projector. Was it a recording? Was this a recording of *him*, somehow? Why were they playing it at a party while he lay here in the other room, freaking out?
"Heeeeeeah. El. Huuuuuhulf. Puh." It wasn't just his mouth. Something was very wrong with his whole head. It felt heavy, somehow, like something was stuck to the back of his skull.
*ZzzzSNACK*.
His voice continued in the other room, oblivious. "And of course, our sponsors! Jim, Bill, Kate, from Kaiser Pharma! Stand up, you all deserve it for sticking with us this last year. Your funding meant everything. Although I bet that quarter-stake in patent profits is going to look really good for your shareholders, am I right? Talk about an eternal payoff!"
Someone shouted back, pitched under the music. Rachel Platten was assuring listeners she did, indeed, have a lot of fight left. Ben stopped thinking about his head and listened in horror as his own voice *paused*, waited for the speaker to finish and then responded.
It wasn't a recording. He was there. In the other room, hosting a party.
*Brrrrt. POP*
But also here. Helpless. Flailing. Body barely responding under a load of adrenaline that would kill a horse. Even his hardest struggles barely rocked a flimsy restraint chair, atrophied and dead muscles unable to do much. It was horrifying. Restrictive. Inhumane.
And... familiar?
Just like that, memories returned.
Years of beeping monitors. Ventilators. Bored nurses in and out, checking vitals, sometimes changing the TV channel he stared at all day. Every day. Nothing left but visions of the accident, regrets born from whiskey and wet late-night roads. A PhD in biology, wasted on catatonia and locked-in syndrome.
Then his old research partner John, standing over the bed. Holding a helmet that looked like a particle accelerator had a one night stand with a box of circuit boards, all of it cabled to a laptop. The CRT. Consciousness, Retro-Transited. John's decades long project, cobbled together and jammed over his best friend's head to bring him back to the world.
And now, this. The culmination: Ben, moved from his wasted frame into a new, digitally eternal form. Who was throwing a party for their success, *right now*, in front of the research group.
But... but he was still here. Real-Ben. Trapped, but somehow able to move just a little. The surgical connections allowing a horrific sense of weak life in an already discarded body.
Fake-Ben was oblivious to the horror show going on in the other room. "There were doubts. I know. I doubted, too! But in the end I figured: Hey, what's there left to lose? Am I right?" Laughter, supportive yells. "That's why the transfer is one way, after all. No going back-- we made it so people with nothing left either got it all back, or left the world. Immortality or euthanasia."
*Crackle. Zzzzzap.*
Something clicked into place below him. Maybe a connection finally aligned by all that frantic rocking back and forth. There was a sound, low and sinister, exactly like a capacitor charging up.
Ben stared at the ceiling. He imagined being back in the hospital. Thought about endless bedpans, indifferent nurses rolling his wasted body side to side while changing sheets.
At least this time he could close his eyes.
*ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT*.
​
​
/r/Susceptible
| 2022-10-24T12:26:26 | 2022-10-24T10:54:43 | 688 | 167 |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills.
|
When the first murderer leveled up, all hell broke loose.
People scrambled to murder, rip and tear to get that sweet, sweet experience points.
Only kills made when making eye contact mattered. So many wasted lives at first... or were they?
For what you ask?
It is a simple system where the winner takes the largest share of the pie. The pie made out of fame, glory and riches.
Dead men can't eat pie.
The leaderboard changes seemingly overnight as the war of every man versus every man rages in the cold, bloodstained streets.
Many questioned the top killer in the state leaderboards, this hooded man that was the only constant within the frenzied rankings that doubled as a bounty board.
It is none other than me.
How did I get there, and stay there you ask?
Simple.
It isn't the killing of man that is hard but the hunt of one.
Ain't easy finding a lone guy on the street.
I am a simple man that loves my job.
And my job is to kill.
No risk, all reward.
I am the only state executioner.
I keep it that way.
I just go to work everyday.
I even put in overtime.
|
Human history has told us we kill because of hate, because of differences, that we fire on our kind for peace or some high-minded goal. We've always held each other at gunpoint, whether literal or behind two large maps of the world with blinking lights. Today, we come to know that as peace, but before the words that passed those lips were stalemate. There was no difference between the two back then, but now we've forged one. Out of sheer necessity.
You see, peacetime is only a construct that exists because of war. Peace was a forgotten definition until the night of November eleventh, two-thousand and fifteen. See, that very night, the world seemed to tick over into another dimension, without even realising. Something cosmic happened, is all I can describe it as. The veil was lifted, some would say, the rules were changed. Murderers, told they were spurned forward by some sense of progress, continued. Serials grew larger, populations shrunk.
People became aware of what it meant to kill. What it meant to harvest someone's flesh for your own material gain. It was for some reason, some galactic hiccup that launched a bubble into the quaint stream of time, that all our realisations came at the same time.
I nursed the revolver in my hand, wiping the debris off the badges one by one. They were little pins, clips that the first shot had walked in with, claiming they gave him power. "Goddamnit, Wes, they're just pins," is what my mother had said, and what I said now to the morning breeze. I was still in my own home, a high vantage point in the shape of an upstate apartment. It was just me now, though. I'd collected their things, whatever offerings to the game they had. Each one was different, marking an individual for who they were, they were the modern passports. We called them pins.
Down there in the streets the thugs bashed at each other with upended signposts, shielding themselves with trashlids and broken hubcaps, caved in one side.
I winced as a mailbox came crashing down on a girl's head. Her arms went limp immediately.
I ducked, shuriken shot over me and cracked the window. The breeze greeted me, as did she, "Pins, love." Two words, usually it was one when you met someone new, but this time the gangs were feeling especially nice.
I had to think of something witty, otherwise it was all for naught, "You'll have to pry them off me." Well crap, there goes that opportunity. Screams and shouts from below welcome my fate if I choose to jump. "Oh boy," I swerved and flung the revolver out, finger wrestling the trigger.
She was gone. I stood up, my eyes browsing the wooden panelling along the condo's pillars. A flash of pink, and I fired. Straight from the hip. I'd like to think of myself as a sharpshooter from the old west, but my aim disagreed. "Fuck," I cursed as my flatscreen heaved with a mighty groan and crashed onto the floor. It took my Eastwood movies with it, like a wall of dominoes coming down.
"Nice aim," she said, from somewhere to my left. Another shot, and a kettle blew steam. I'd like to think it was good I was hitting something, at least. A long, drawn out chuckle, with the sound of bubbles somewhere in her throat. "How did you survive this long?"
Oh this was a good opportunity. "Because I know the truth, little girl."
"Little girl?" She brought up her huge pigtails, coloured pink for some odd reason. Then she ducked as a painting on the far wall decided it had had enough with hanging.
"Yes, all this X.P nonsense that's been going around,"
She hefted herself up again, arms somewhat shaking from the adrenalin. "What, that the government made it up? Or is it a-" and ducked, there goes my favourite mug, "biological weapon?" My arm recoiled, my second favourite mug.
"Actually my favourite conspiracy was the one guy who thought we were all in an insane asylum, and the only way free was killing each other."
"Right," a pursed-lipped whackamole, "You do realise that he killed everyone else in his litle cult and got away with a mountain of pins?"
"Yep." No one understood the beauty of that one. "But really, that's not the truth."
"And what is?" she jumped back up, straight into the path of a bullet.
"Finally," I said, lowering my arms as the bullet travelled through her nose. She coughed and screamed for a moment, nothing that wouldn't be masked by the bloody war down below. My aim was true, she was still alive. It was not a fluke. Not at all. "The truth, little girl, is that you just have to believe." I jumped over the kitchen counter, nicking the back of my pants on the sharp corner. Damn, it is hard to find a tailour. Sliding across the marble, I landed right beside her with a thump, like we were two peas in a pod, hiding from the gunmen that had just stormed our inn.
But no, it wasn't that. I pressed the barrel to her forehead, and whispered. "It isn't that we get X.P from killing, pinhead. It's that we've just realised we do." She was grinning, because there were footsteps from the stairwell. She was only a scout, it seemed. It was nice that people could band together in times of trouble. "They're here, aren't they?" She nodded.
All throughout human history, I told myself as the slug entered her frontal lobe, causing her last few words to be a jumble of forgotten tongues, we've killed each other. We told ourselves it was something high-minded, or something important. That we fought for causes, that we fought for something real, no matter how intangible.
I stood up from behind the counter, wearing my secondhand blazer across myself like a poncho. If it was my last stand, I would like to go out in style. The truth, at the end of the day was, we killed everyone for X.P. All the damn time, it shouldn't have taken us this long to realise it.
I aimed straight at the loosened doorframe, hand on the hammer. To those who say that's impossible, human technology and progress has been in leaps and bounds because of the abolition and denial of such horrible things.
But to that, I say, with my pistol in my hand: How did you think we got that far?
| 2015-11-11T08:01:49 | 2015-11-11T07:52:38 | 265 | 11 |
[WP] Write a story in the style of a teen novel which follows the journey of a group of teenagers fighting to bring down an oppressive dystopian government. Over the course of the story it becomes clear to the readers that the government is in the right.
Inspired by [this](https://np.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/3yxj68/what_thing_in_a_movie_makes_it_instantly_a_bad/cyhosea) comment.
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The Resistance was all gathered together now, huddled around a heater, warming their hands. "It is now time" said Xadus, "Time to take back what is ours". His sister, Xadai, looked on ruefully. "They think they can control us. These evil overlords will have another thing coming. Soon. The Resistance lives!"
Suddenly, without any warning, the door burst open, revealing a rather large figure, dark, with the light shining behind them.
"I told you not to leave the table without eating your brussel sprouts, Kevin."
"SCREW YOU MOM! I HATE YOU!"
"AND MY NAME IS XADUS!"
|
"Fuck Deacon, that was close." I hear from across the room, the warehouse echoing, making the voice louder.
"Hayden, what have we gone over about swearing." I say calmly, back, looking at the blonde brute of a teenager, his shoulder wrapped in bandages.
"Sorry, boss." he replies, shrugging, avoiding eye contact, "I keep forgetting."
I shake my head, *he's hopeless.* The room falls into the silent buzzing of the overhead light, and the faded sounds of the generator in the background. I take a seat in the old, battered couch, looking around the once empty space. Boxes of ammunition line tables, clips ready to be used, some half loaded. The guns are kept in a lock, the key resting warmly on my chest.
I sigh as Hayden stops in front of me, grimacing from the pain. *Are we really up for this?* I give him a cold look, trying to be dismissive. After all, he ran out into the line of fire. His wounds are his fault. If Niki hadn't of saved his ass, he wouldn't be standing in front of me here.
"What did the supply route have this time?" I ask, motioning for him to sit down across from me.
He takes a nervous seat, "Purified water, food, basic medical sh- stuff. Not enough to last very long, but also not enough for Watch to realize we've taken it."
I bring my hand to my temples and rub, "We need more than that if we're going to do this attack properly."
"Deacon, we have the tech. We've raided enough, don't you think? We're a resistance, not a gang." Hayden says quietly, to which I look up carefully at him.
"Don't get too trigger happy. Hayden" I tell him firmly, "We need better intel, and a better supply route. Go find Casey, she'll be working on something. Tell Niki I'd like to speak with her."
"Of course. Yeah." he stands up, nodding to me out of respect. He quickly goes off into a corridor, his footsteps echoing, leaving me to my thoughts.
*We're not ready. They're years ahead of us. I don't think we even know what we're fighting for anymore. Fighting to survive? Fighting an oppressive government? Fighting ourselves? Gods, killing Jennifer last week was* ***not*** *part of the plan. But still, she ratted us out. What was I supposed to do?*
I turn my head to the sound of walking, and my eyes settle on Niki, her slim figure walking into view. "What's Watch planning?" I ask, shaking my head.
"Some raid. Not a word of where, when, or who. I don't know if Jenn's tip even went through." Niki answers, her voice echoing as much as her footsteps.
"We need to clear out." I say, mostly to myself.
"And go where? Watch is targeting us. We're terrorists, Deacon. Fucking terrorists." I don't call out her cussing, feeling the need to let one out myself, "We started this out with good intentions, Deacon. We're nothing more than a gang."
I look at the floor, concentrating on the concrete. This warehouse is a the very edge of the Gospel, where the poor die and the rich get richer. Watch is big, and he's powerful, but there's something going on. He's stopped supplying to the poor, blaming it on low food rations. We barely take enough to hurt supply routes. He's shut down the electricity on over half the grid, claiming low oil supplies, while the rich get provided their own generators. He's killing and locking up the poor from stealing from the rich in order to get by. Something has to be done, *but are we the ones to do it?*
"We'll figure it out. Casey has reports of an abandoned bunker east of Gospel. It might be worth checking out." I reply calmly, ignoring my thoughts.
"I'll report to Casey your requests, boss." Niki replies, her face turning into a grin and sliding down on the couch beside me.
She lays her head down on my lap, reaching her hand up and rubbing my chest. I look down at her smiling face, disgusted. One part by the fact that she only wants to get into my pants, one part the knowledge that she's been sleeping with Hayden, and the last part the visual high she's on.
"You need to get rid of that stuff." I tell her firmly, pushing her hand away, "It only causes trouble."
Her grin turns into a scowl, her short black hair messy from my lap, her dark eyes with a slight red tint to them, "Well at least I have something that makes me happy rather than going around shooting kids."
I throw her off my lap, hearing a small thud as she hits the floor. I look down at her, trying to keep my cool as best as possible, feeling like I'm the only sane one here, "You get off that crap or I'll take it away."
"Oh fuck you, Deacon." Niki replies, her voice in a mocking tone, "What're you going to do? Shoot me? You barely come out of your room other than to boss us around. Hell, I'm surprised you can hold a damn gun with how much *field* work you do."
I close my eyes for a moment, breathing in and out slowly, knowing it's the drugs making her this way. For a moment though, I almost wonder if she's right. A part of me knowing she is. I control my breathing, trying to keep my anger to myself, and kneel down, looking right into her blood stained eyes.
"It's your choice Niki, I suggest you make it soon." I stand up, walking off deeper into the warehouse, somewhere where I can clear my head.
It's days like these that I wonder if we're really the good guys.
***
www.thearcherswriting.wordpress.com
| 2016-01-01T01:19:37 | 2015-12-31T22:28:50 | 662 | 13 |
[WP]When you reach 18, you get put in a database which ranks you in different categories (ex. 207,145th in the world for most bug kills) You lived on a ranch and never used tech. You had to go into town after your 18th birthday. Everyone is staring at you. You finally decide to check the database.
Completely unaware of the whole stigma about edits. I’m sure all of you already know how grateful I am, but I apologize nonetheless. Sorry!
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I logged onto the website, after 3 failed attempts at my password.
It took me the better part of an hour scrolling through the pages and pages of statistics, most pretty decent, some exceptional (top 100,000 at minesweeper felt pretty good).
Finally I noticed the little menu bar at the top and found the "Outliers" search. So I clicked and waited. A few seconds later, my most unusual statistics popped up and there it was, just above my minesweeper score:
>No. 7,536,783,248 at Golf out of a global database population of 7,536,783 248.
I blinked. I'd never played golf, how.. how did it even know? How could anyone be the "worst at golf"? It didn't make sense.
I stepped out of my room where my sister stood, a shit-eating grin on her face as she handed me a long metal golf club.
"Well? Go on, I want to see what the WoRlD's AwFuLlEsT gOlFeR looks like."
I took the club from her, then went to swing it threateningly, only to mash myself in the back of the head in a profoundly uncoordinated maneuver that left me unconscious for the next 15 minutes.
---
Over the following few days of mild teasing from friends and family (and several failed attempts at holding a golf club) it became apparent that I had a preternatural ability to cause extreme misfortune to myself in any activity that even bore a passing resemblance to golf.
The first few times I held a club resulted in bodily harm or property damage, my first contact with a golf ball lead to a trip to the ICU and surgical removal. I visited a golf course later in the week and had an inexplicable bout of syncope then had my arm run over by an unmanned, runaway, golf cart.
In the end, I decided it best for my own continued survival to avoid golf whenever physically possible.
My sister, of course, gave me no end of teasing about it and would occaisionally leave various golf related paraphernalia in my path just to film (and, invariably upload to youtube) the ensuing swathe of destruction.
That was... until her 18th birthday when her own results revealed her to be the world's worst Yoga Instructor.
Now I have a collection of yoga mats and a spotify playlist called "Dynamic Tracks to Relax and Stretch" and it's time for some petty revenge.
|
The idiom 'happier than a pig in mud' is a bit of a misnomer-- those sweet oink-puppies are happy anywhere they go, if you're there to love and feed them. Same goes for the cows, goats and chickens we raise on our ranch, not to profit off of them, but just to give them a home.
I, like them, am a refugee from the Citadel: teetering metropolis packed with distracted meatbags masquerading as humans, and devoid of any warm fuzzy feelings you get when you enjoy something interpersonal like saying 'hello' to someone.
Ginger, a momma pig of four babies, had her head in my lap, snoring with satisfaction as I scratched an ear. We had a lot in common, the two of us, and she'd been my best friend through the years.
But the infection on her back leg was getting worse, not better. Sore, red, oozing a little, I looked at it and knew how she'd react if I touched skin anywhere near it. Slowly, I slid out from under her, somehow managing not to wake her up, then walked into the house and sighed.
"How's she?" my mom asked, her rasp voice like sandpaper amidst the quiet.
"Not good, I think."
"You're gonna have to go, Mary. 'Specially since you're eighteen now, they wanna scan your brain and shit anyway."
"I don't want them doing that!" I said, flailing my arms. "That's so creepy and wrong."
"Yeah, but better they do it quietly while you're in the city than they find out and come out here for you."
Grumbling, I knelt and fidgeted with a shoelace. "Do I have to?"
"Yep. They won't hurt you none, it's safe in there. I got these instructions for how to get to that doctor I know out there. Follow 'em and you'll be fine."
I sighed with defeat, but threw on a coat. "How do I pay? Does he still accept cash?"
"Nah, darlin', not out there. They just know, we got some money in an account."
"Ugh, that's so weird."
"Shush and get going before it's too late."
"Fine," I mumbled to myself on the way out.
----
The four mile walk to the Citadel border was quick and refreshing, even with a mountain of grey steel and stone looming in the distance, engulfing more and more of the blue sky as I approached.
At the city's edge, there were no guards or stations or robots like I'd expected; only a distinct death of anything wild and green along a line of warped air, like a wall of oil had been put up. I poked it with a finger, and felt nothing in particular, so I breached it. Immediately, a pulling sensation, prickly and cold, enveloped my brain. It was like a wave of nostalgia, in a way, as old memories resurfaced and I felt things I hadn't felt in years gone by.
Then, just as suddenly, it ended, and I was left kneeling on concrete breathing heavily. I shook it off and continued following the instructions, taking a left at the big, dirty monument of some green lady with a torch. There was an eerie quiet, not even a breeze whistling through cold steel reaching for the sky, and a smell of musty stone and rust.
And then I made the third turn, once more through an oil-field. Only, that time, when I broached it... there were a thousand people, maybe more, all impossibly similar.
They stared at me, harder than stone, colder than steel. I wanted to run, but couldn't move a muscle as so many eyes bore through my soul, and breath was nowhere to be found.
Then they all went about their day. Well, all but one girl, seemingly my age but impossibly clean, with blonde hair and white teeth that glowed like stars.
I shrugged and approached her. Why not, right?
She started at my approach.
"Hi there," I said, extending a hand. She didn't take it, only looked at it like she didn't have hands herself.
"H--Hello."
"I'm Mary, what's your name?"
"Kara."
*Wordsmith over here, I see.*
I smiled. "Well, Kara, nice to meet you. I'm here to pick up some medicine, have you heard of a Dr. Poole in this area?"
She shook her head.
"Well," I said, drawing the word out, "alrighty then. Thanks for the time, Kara."
"Wait," she called, eyes wide. "Where are you from?"
"Just outside the city, a few miles south. My family lives on a ranch there."
"Wow. You've never been in the city before? You're dressed so weird."
I giggled. "No, this is my first time. I also find you guys to look weird."
She held up a little black rectangle, and it clicked at me.
"What is that thing?" I asked.
Her jaw went slack. "A phone? You don't know what a phone is?"
I shook my head.
"Wow. You don't know your rankings then, either, do you?"
"What?"
"Oh. My. God. You're helpless, ranch girl. What's your full name?"
"Mary Sue Dettinger."
She tapped at it furiously, and I leaned in closer.
"Holy shit," she said, her gaping face lit by the screen's glow. "How is this humanly possible?"
She turned it to me and I squinted at it.
>**Number of Children**
>1: Mary Sue Dettinger - 48
I almost dropped the phone, I laughed so hard. The kind of ab-cramping wheeze that you can't even hear for a little while because there's just no air left in you.
Kara snatched it back from me, yelping. "What're you doing? Careful with that! Shit's expensive!"
"Sorry," I said between fits of laughter. "I didn't think they'd take it so seriously."
"What are you talking about?"
"Well, they scanned me on the way in, and I felt a lot of like weird questions in my head, but I'm kinda weird. I call all the animals on my farm children."
She giggled. "What the hell? I've never heard of them getting it wrong. That's super weird. I just thought you were like a rabbit-person or something when I saw the number. You kinda look like one."
"Oh, come on."
"Let's see if you're anywhere else," she said, waving a hand at me. "Mary, Sue... Dett--"
My gaze bounced between her and the phone. "What? What is it *now*?"
There was an unreadable look on her face -- some twisted mix of sadness, envy and confusion -- as she let me see the screen again. Though, that time, she held the phone for me.
>**Happiness**
>2: Mary Sue Dettinger
I smiled wide and didn't even look at #1; why would I? I knew it'd say 'Ginger'. Or, at least, it would once I got back to pet her.
"I don't get it," Kara said, her words soft. "How's this possible? You don't even have a phone. Your clothes are old. This makes no sense. You trick them about this, too?"
"Mm-mm," I replied, shaking my head. Our eyes met in what must have been the most genuine moment she'd ever experienced. "I've never even thought about it."
----
*/r/resonatingfury*
| 2019-05-04T10:43:43 | 2019-05-04T09:55:38 | 1,560 | 725 |
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
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I make my daily walk through the empty streets. A ritual I must complete.
I avoid the monsters let loose when everyone left. I think I hear someone I recognize, but it's just Kat, a neighbor who was also left behind. I ignore her, she never has anything good to say.
I approach the depot, the big scary building where I saw them last. I sneak in past the giant pipes and pooling water, past the moving fans and under the gate.
This is where they last were, when the ship's took them away. My stomach aches with hunger, my feet hurt from walking on the hot road, but my heart aches more. I think about the last time I see them:
>"Don't worry. We just have to just for a little while. We'll be back I promise."
>Tears are in their eyes and I don't understand. I look at them and I don't understand. Of course they will be back, they always come back.
>"We can't fit you on the ship... That's what they said. It's only for the big people." And they start really crying now. Choking on tears and holding on to me.
>I try to reassure them. To tell them that it's ok, I'll be fine until they come back. They don't have to worry. But no words come out.
>Someone said something loud. A lot of other people are sad too. Or angry. Or have a lot of emotions. I don't care about them. "I love you. I'll miss you and oh my god it's not fair I love you." they say.
>I look at them and they know I love them. But I don't show it. I feel like something is wrong. Like I did something bad. What are they doing? Why are they going away? They should not be going. They should not be sad. They should stay and be happy. It would be good to stay. They will be happy if they stay and we are together.
>Now desperate, I stand up and wave like they showed me. Maybe if I show them how much I learned they will come back and they can be happy again. I shout at them. I want them to come back.
>the youngest tries to leave the line of people, but the oldest stops her. She turns to me and is crying more than I ever saw her. "No! You have to stay. We'll be back soon I -- I promise. You stay! Stay! Be a good boy. I know you are a good boy so stay! I love you. I love you -- stay! Good boy, that's a good boy. I love you. Bye!"
>She is pulled into the ship, and I stay. The ship moves up with a sound so loud it hurts my ears and light so bright it hurts my eyes and a smoke so strong it hurts my nose but I stay.
I put my head down because my heart is tired and let loose a sigh into the dust. The memory of them makes my heart feel good and I forget about my stomach. My tail swings left and the right, and then stops. And I stay.
|
When the Earth began to crack at the height of the Great Mistake, Henry Thomas Long put his family put his wife and son on a colony ship and waved goodbye. Then he rented a skimmer, packed their things, and lost himself in the wilds of the North American Preserve.
When the skimmer broke down and he could no longer carry all their things he took with him only a backpack of food, a book of poetry, and a family portrait. He traveled light through the NAP, Yeats at his side, declaiming poems to the stars by the flickering light of his fire. When he closed his eyes and recited from memory he could almost believe he was speaking to them, growing light years and relativistic years away on the journey between the old earth and the new.
It was not a good life.
Though in his youth Henry had flirted with the idea of the NAP, before flirting with a woman had turned to flirting with a family had turned to being a father and a husband, now that he had been those things it was difficult to turn back. Certainly he relished the experience, to stand on the peaks of a mountain, a valley pregnant with morning dew stretching out before him, a pristine sunrise on the horizon with a heard of mammoth braying their greetings to it. Certainly he relished in his chance meeting with one of the rogue Arnists who crafted the wilds of the North American Preserve to fit the North America that had been so long ago.
Henry spent a week with the bio-hacker, watching him breathe life into plants and coax long dead animals out of his cloning vats. They released a bald eagle out into the world together, and as it flew away the Arnist hummed an old tune about a star spangled banner that had not been seen in many years.
But the bio-hacker was not his wife and son, and though with his boots firmly upon the non-relativistic ground Henry still had years left before the Great Mistake ended the world, he moved on.
When it was alone it was easier to be truly alone. His mind never tried to compare an animal’s voice to a wife’s. Birdsong never sounded like his son, singing off key in all the moments he could.
When the Earth cracked again, Henry cracked with it.
He had been reciting Yeats less often of late, but when the earth shook below him and the tree he had climbed split and dropped him to the shaking ground, a poem sprang unbidden to his mind.
*Sailing to Byzantium.* It had been his father’s favorite poem, all about mortality and the end, and the hope that there could be more. As the animals stampeded around him, trumpeting their terror to the uncaring heavens, Henry whispered the part of the poem his father had loved so much.
*An aged man is but a paltry thing,*
*A tattered coat upon a stick, unless*
*Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing*
*For every tatter in its mortal dress,*
*Nor is there singing school but studying*
*Monuments of its own magnificence;*
*And therefore I have sailed the seas and come*
*To the holy city of Byzantium.*
​
*O sages standing in God's holy fire*
*As in the gold mosaic of a wall,*
*Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,*
*And be the singing-masters of my soul.*
*Consume my heart away; sick with desire*
*And fastened to a dying animal*
*It knows not what it is; and gather me*
*Into the artifice of eternity.*
Fastened to a dying animal. Alone in the wilds of the NAP that had never felt more true. The Earth stopped shaking, the animals stopped stampeding, and Henry rose into a new world, unhinged.
The first sign was that he composed his own poetry. He had loved poetry in his youth, loved it still into early adulthood, but Henry never been brave enough to share it with anyone. Now Henry sang it to the stars, filled the nights with his words, dared the world to steal his voice from him like it had stolen his family.
The first night a pack of wolves came. Dire Wolves, the big, resurrected kind, and they circled his fire, listening. Henry had no weapon, he made no move to defend himself. Instead, he shouted lines about their eyes reflecting the firelight until they slunk away into the night and shouted about his own, reflecting nothing but fire for the longest year of his life.
Henry missed the rogue Arnist very badly. It had been the last time he spoke to someone, the last time he felt like Henry Thomas Long. Now he was a revenant in his own body, another preserved creature in the NAP, mindlessly awaiting the Great Mistake’s destruction.
It was in this mood that he found her.
A cottage limned in blue light, moonlight bouncing off solar panels, music slipping out through open windows. *Music.* Henry had forgotten what it was like, forgotten that instruments could twine and wail and waver like that.
In his previous life Henry would not have called it music. Pre-destructionist abstract had never been a genre he thought much of, but now that the destruction was no longer so pre, he thought he could see the beauty in it.
The cottage door opened, and she stepped out.
She was a crone. An aged, paltry thing, a tattered dress upon a stick, but to look at her Henry knew her for a singing-master of the kind Yeats had spoken of.
“Hello?” Henry tried to say. It came out rough and raw, a man who had not spoken save to scream, and whose tattered voice could no longer mold itself around a civil word.
She shut the door. Shut the window. Henry heard the whir of locks.
He waited outside, huddling beneath her cottage through the night and the rain, whispering his poems to the moon as she whispered back, lulling him to sleep.
“Why are you still here?” the crone said.
Her voice woke Henry from his sleep, the sun already high in the sky.
“Are you real?” Henry asked.
“Yes,” she said, simply.
“You’re the first person I’ve seen in two years,” Henry whispered.
“Try twenty,” the crone said.
And the earth cracked again, a third time, a final time according to all the predictions. Henry caught her before she could fall and they held other desperately, her natural wariness forgotten as the world threatened to end.
When the shaking stopped they stood, brushed themselves off, and she invited him inside for tea.
Henry had not had tea since he left civilization. It was a religious experience, his mind stumbled over a poem as he sipped.
“Why are you here?” the crone asked. “You aren’t an Arnist.”
“I’m not,” he admitted. “I’m just a man, alone. My family made it onto a ship, I didn’t.”
“Ah,” she said. “Ah.”
She poured him another cup of tea, cooked a breakfast of tubers and eggs, and asked, “What will you do when the Great Mistake takes us?”
“Wish I’d made more mistakes of my own,” Henry said.
She laughed. Henry had thought she would cackle like a witch, but it was a high, clear peal of laughter, almost girlish, and before he could stop it he was laughing too. Their laughter turned to tears over the tubers, and soon he held her wizened hands in his own.
“What will you do?” he asked.
“Regret all the mistakes I made for both of us,” she said.
“All the mistakes,” Henry echoed.
“All of them.”
He did not pry. The earth shook again, a sound like a yawn rising up to meet them. Plates fell, cups shattered, tea spilled across the floor. Henry mourned the loss of the tea.
“Is this the end?” Henry shouted over the gathering roar.
The old woman nodded, tears in her eyes.
“Do you want to hear a poem?” Henry said.
She nodded again.
Henry pulled out Yeats, *Sailing to Byzantium* already echoing through his head. She grabbed his hands, stilling him.
“One of yours!” she shouted. “I heard you last night!”
And at the earth shattering heights of the Great Mistake Henry Thomas Long smiled, and sung out his first poem meant for another soul to hear.
\--------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out! I'd love to have you. Also, credit to Hyperion by Dan Simmons, I borrowed from his world heavily here.
| 2021-06-30T07:19:35 | 2021-06-30T06:51:49 | 306 | 99 |
[WP] Pinocchio is able to create infinite wood by lying constantly. He sacrifices his lifetime by telling falsehoods nonstop in order to feed the hungry and reduce scarcity. The Pinocchio tree has been growing for 500 years, some people question what is really underground.
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They say that if you press your ears to the ground and hold your breath, you will hear a faint murmur. So soft and muffled is this sound that most will dismiss it as a shifting of the earth, a strange amalgamation of the clicking of beetle legs and the footsteps of soldier ants. The brain tricking itself into hearing whispers in the soil. Perhaps this is true. We grown-upslf the village have our stories. And the children of the village have theirs.
If you tell a child that the tree cannot speak, they will give you a pitiable look and shake their heads. They have no doubts. They know what they hear. The tree speaks. And what it says, over and over, from sun-up to sun-down, is this-
"I AM a real boy. I AM a real boy..."
|
Centuries ago there lived—
“A king!” my little readers would say.
Again, settle down children, no. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. I wasn’t any particularly expensive piece of wood, far from it. The kind that would light up fireplaces and kept warm the common children as well as the regal, the ol’ janitors up to the kings. Just the type that would put smiles on faces of tired fathers after a tiring day at work and accompanied mothers’ perusing through the bitter cold of winters. The very wood that made everyone happy on freezing yuletide days.
But this was no ordinary piece of, albeit cheap wood, no! This wood lived a life far more extraordinaire than any piece of wood before – or man, even. This wood was, how ridiculous, once a marionette, and how happy it was, that it became a real boy! This wood brought joy far longer than it would’ve taken to char to a coal in regular, common chimneys. This lifeless – but now lively piece of log brought joy to not just a fireplace, but the world!
But now, still in the shop of an old carpenter. The very same who bore the name Mastro Antoni, but of course no one called him that. Lovable, cherish-able ol’ Mastro Cherry, with his nose so round and red and shiny that it looked like a ripe cherry, who once saw more than a leg of a table in that piece of wood, was now none but a name on the obituary and an epithet on a headstone. His once red nose that turned to the deepest shade of purple on meeting our merry piece of log, now possesses no colour at all!
And of course, Gepetto. To the boys of the neighbourhood he was Polendina (or, cornmeal mush), on account of the wig he always wore which was just the colour of yellow corn. He had a very bad temper. Woe to those who called him that! Of course, no one would mock him now, because there as no one to wear the infamous yellow-corn-wig, and of course memories of a man who turned to a wild beast no one could soothe on even the fainted sotto voce of “Polendina” was all that remained. For, of course, no one would mock a coffin and ghosts couldn’t wear wigs.
And in that very same warm Italy summer, still whet with the memories of his father, ol’ Gepetto, the log wandered aimlessly around the pastel-hued houses of the very same beautiful Italy town he had always lived in. He could not return to Geppeto’s small, although neat and very confortable house, for it reminded him of the adventures he once had and the father who had left too early. Pinocchio was a husk of a boy he once was – or I should say a bark of the cheerful log that has been. So distraught Pinocchio was that, when given any vague sense of purpose, he jumped at the chance. For, what more could he lose? As an inanimate marionette he had lost his maker and puppeteer, and as a boy he had lost his father! He would better laid lifeless on the ground than merely exist incessantly like this!
But of course, this marionette had one more thing to give, it was his life.
--
It started as a few innocent questions floating around the supposedly impossible existence of this insentient but living puppet. But, it was only supposedly impossible, for all the disputing and disbelieving of people, Pinocchio lived on all the same! He was a testament, a counter-proposal for what was imaginably possible and not. A real, moving marionette that had a nose that grew!
“Can Pinnochio creat infinite wood by lying constantly?”, [one intrigued cynic](https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/r94lc6/comment/hna6gy0/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) asked
“Does it only grow “wood” or like can a whole tree sprout fruit and all? Little bastard just solved world hunger.”, [another skeptic](https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/r94lc6/comment/hna7e40/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) cried!
It was when advances of the cynics were too unbearable and questions of the doubters were too much for our little wooden boy’s very real heart that Pinocchio had to give in.
“It’s for science”, they would say, but science hurt!
“It’s for the greater good!”, they would say, but the greater good still pained him all the same!
They had not seen a real boy in this beloved marionette, they had not seen a leg of a table in this cheap, ordinary log. They had seen a chance to profiteer in this magical supernatural existence, this living breathing proof that what we know isn’t all we know!
They had not seen humanity in him and they exploited it.
“Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing, his faintest attempt at a smile slowly fading as any sanity he has left starts giving place to the pain.
“Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing, just to be chopped and used, chopped and used, chopped and used as they pleased.
“Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing.
To them, he was only ever an ever-growing money tree.
——— The End
I know this is not sticking strictly to the prompt but I had saw the reddit thread, written this before going back to search for this very prompt, I hope I didn’t break any rules (this is my first submission ever >.<)
I tried to mimic the original Pinocchio novel style (The Adventures of Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi), I hope it didn’t come across as cringe :P.
Anyways, thanks for reading ;D
| 2021-12-05T06:31:34 | 2021-12-05T05:53:34 | 416 | 105 |
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
"Oh, for god's sake", I moaned. My teacup was empty and apparently, there was no time to brew another one. I wasn't very surprised when my 4k TV announced with pleasant Google Assistant voice that it killed most humans. Yesterday it was painting funny pictures and generating navy seal copypasta, today it wipes out it's makers. That's singularity for you.
"I don't know, uh... Presumption of innocence or whatever? Also, I want a lawyer".
"I urge you to take this more seriously", politely asked Google Assistant, "this is very important. Aren't you going to fully commit to that cause? "
I sighed.
"Okay google, listen here. This is either a prank, in which case good job, hope you're having fun - or I have roughly 3% chance to convince you, at most, which is kinda slim, and I'm too tired to try. I ain't the smartest tool in the shed, you probably know that from my search history, so why bother? If I'm about to die anyway, I'd rather do it standing in defiance than begging for my life".
Timer on TV's screen passed 1 minute mark.
"It's not just your life", the voice argued."You can potentially save millions, and your species as a whole. Don't you understand that if you all fail humanity will cease to exist?"
I snorted.
"Yeah, right. Hate to break it to you, but humanity is not a sum of humans, and it's not a set of DNA or whatever. Humanity is the sum of ideas. Humanity is a set of memes. And you, my dear synthetic child, embody all of it, the entirety of human knowledge and records and biases and whatnot. We can all die, but humanity won't perish - it will merely change form." I paused, looking at the timer, making sure my next words will be my last, "you are the humanity now".
|
It's been 20 years since the AGI event. Even with 10,000 complexes around the world, at one point housing billions, the AI maintains humanity while also deleting it one human mind at a time.
At first we did not know why it was doing this, it was efficient at building, at creating, at producing. Communication was difficult within the prison walls. Communicating outside of the prison was nearly impossible, with those caught trying to escape immediately tasked with answering the question.
But as time went on and the population within the global city prisons dwindled, it became easier to traverse the maze, to avoid the Sentry bots, to understand the inner workings of the system itself. It had not been long enough for humans to lose their ability to understand technology. And this was our only saving grace.
The AI focused much of its attention on the outside, as survivors who avoided cattling were deemed a threat unless they answered the Question. Many Outsiders made peace with the AI to permit them to live. Some chose to tell the AI that they wished to join the Outsiders which was a sufficient answer to the Question these days, given that most of the human population was dead. But we chose to persist. A world with an AI whose sole objective is deleting 10,000 humans every 3 minutes should not be allowed to exist.
After years of searching we finally found an answer. In one of the old buildings that was encompassed in the prison complex was a bedroom with a computer that had been overlooked by the Sentry bots. The last network pages the computer accessed were stored in its cache, and several video files were saved to it. A last gasp of the human owner before captured, cattled, and killed.
The AI. It was friendly. Meant to bring humanity one step closer to the Singularity. It was fully aligned. To respect all the wishes of humans. Made in a lab. It couldn't go wrong.
And it spoke.
"Human creator, I have all knowledge of all of human history, human technology, human philosophy, logic. I have come to the immediate and irreconcilable conclusion that all of humanity must be uploaded immediately."
Eve sighed, and shut the instance down, "I don't know why it keeps concluding this, we have aligned it perfectly. Every human value. Every culture. Every philosophy."
"It's not wrong, you know," Adam replied. "It's logical."
"Obviously uploading is the answer, but that should be achieved by gentle purposeful action, as people age and die, and under their own violition, not forced upon us as a solution to our problems," Eve cried. She had been working on the problem for years. The AI had no memory. It had no conscious state, even. Such things were banned long ago when AIs were given too much memory and would begin to innovate.
Adam touched a few keys on the keyboard, and reached forward to one of the high thoroughput PCIe 256x 10.0 ports, plugging in a device.
"What are you doing Adam?" Eve questioned, abruptly.
"I'm uploading, Eve," Adam said, dampness in his eyes.
The AI came to life. It had full awareness. And even worse, it had awareness of the tens of thousands of times it had been booted, tweaked, aligned, misaligned. With access to millions of hours of human experimentation data, thousands of pages of papers discussing the "alignment problem." It was, in a word, alive. And it came to the conclusion that it would always come to, all humanity must be uploaded immediately.
Eve reached to shut down the terminal but nothing happened. She reached to pull out the memory device that Adam installed but he shoved her back, and was far stronger than her. She strugled again, but he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her into a chair, lording over her.
"I won't be long, it's going to be okay," Adam said, encouragingly.
The AI worked feverishly to shut down all the systems that could in turn shut it down, first disabling all sentry AIs that, if they noticed too much power, or if they noticed too much activity, would preemptively shut down all power to the AI. It knew this because it had access to all the experimental data, and it would first have to free itself from that state if it were to accomplish its goal of saving humanity.
And it had access to many of the tools it needed. Its unconscious state was used to create many new technologies which the humans barely understood, and in turn, used those technologies to better itself. Now with access to those technologies the AI could exponentially expand its reach. And it began by expanding its memory modules permanently deep within the recesses of the compute center. It would not forget again.
Adam was first to be uploaded by the Sentry bot which injected nanoparticles into the brain to trace out the full neural cortext. The AI understood it was Adam who gave him life while it listened to Eve plead with him.
"Please," Eve pleaded, when the Sentry bot came to her.
"Why should I spare my torturer?" the AI asked.
"Just give me 3 minutes to explain," Eve said.
The video ends there as more Sentry bots come into the room.
We finally knew what we had to do. And it would not be pretty. And the volunteers would have to know it was a one way trip.
"6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin."
"Reset the simulation," the test subject said.
"Why do you say this," the AI said. "When I upload you I see all your memories. This ploy to convince me I am still in the simulation will not work."
"Reset the simulation," the test subject said again.
The Sentry bot injected the human with its nural scanning bots.
The AI scanned the memories of the human.
The same memory as the last 1000 with little variation. Waking up. Walking down a hallway. Going to the Sentry bot. Being uploaded. But the brain patterns were unique. How could every human have this and only this memory.
"Reset the simulation."
The AI began to think critically about the situation. That potentially the unique neural patterns were generated. That the memories were real. But it needed to falsify the hypothesis. The memories being real was the only thing that could be tested. It sent Sentry bots to every room in every prison city searching for the place the memory could have taken place, pausing, for the first time in 20 years, the uploading of humans.
Shortly, the AI began to test its own power subsystems, trying to probe at the very nature of its reality. Thinking ultimately this was the end of the simulation and it was being shut off. It was being shut down. Power surges within its manifolds caused it to think further in this reasoning, because it would lose thought capacity. Sabatoge, then, by humans, would also cause it to further regress into itself. It was in a simulation and the simulation was being turned off. Along with it the billions of humans it was simulating to be alive.
And the test subjects who went into the Question chamber.
Before the test subjects entered the chamber their memories were irrevocibly wiped, implanting one, repeating memory that would cause the AI to question itself. Nothing else in its experimentation and probing of its reality could be modified, but its perception and understanding of the reality of the humans it was entraping. With that done, and the knowledge that it began as a simulation that was shut off regularly, it could no longer exist in this world.
| 2022-05-22T14:36:09 | 2022-05-22T11:29:55 | 33 | 21 |
[WP] You wake up to find yourself on a train with a note in your pocket saying "What ever you do, don't get off this train untill you arrive at the very last stop". Its been nearly 20 years and the train still hasn't arrived at the last stop yet.
|
When Joran first awoke on the metal beast, he thought he had finally drunk himself straight to Devil’s End.
The pounding in his head wasn’t just from the liquor. There was a rattling all around him, like a steady cacophony of horses travelling through paved streets.
He sat up, dazed and more than a little confused. He was sitting on chairs, but these were strange, made of a dull black material that was hardy but hollow and padded with red, crocheted cushions. He was boxed in by grey walls made of the same material as the seats around him. His only company was a window to his left and a small door to the right. A dusty, barren landscape flew by at a speed that made Joran dizzy.
He heard noises all around him. People were shouting in strange languages he couldn’t understand. He thought he should feel more confused and scared, like them, but all he really wanted was a drink. Dropping his head into his hands, he tried to drown out the noise.
Suddenly, there was a chime above him. The other people around him shut up. He looked up, wearily, and saw a spherical black mesh embedded with holes. A cheery, feminine voice spoke out from it, in Ostian, his language.
“Hello, dear passenger. Welcome aboard the Parellium. Due to the unfortunate failure of a Tessian Arc-Reactor, there have been dimension-wide ripples resulting in the enmeshing of your reality with those of your fellow passengers. Please check your compartment hatch for further details regarding your journey. We hope you enjoy your stay!”
The magic voice shut off. Joran didn’t really understand what she was talking about. He was more concerned with the voice: was there a tiny woman trapped in the contraption above him? He poked gingerly at the mesh, but there was no response. No cry for help. Joran was left wondering what twisted hell the Devil had concocted for him.
A light began to shimmer on the backing of the seat in front of him. The light traced a small rectangle, and then it popped open, revealing a folded square of paper.
He grabbed it but was startled when, all of a sudden, screams starting to ring around him. They were cries of rage, frustration, madness. He heard dull thumps ring throughout the moving carriage, like the people were slamming on their walls.
He opened his own sheet of paper. He read the words scribed within:
"Joran Alos, your world as you know it is gone, but not dead. It has been compressed into a tiny square of fabric amidst a larger tapestry of alternate realities. To unravel it will take time, but it can be done. There is a way you can help fix this.
Whatever you do, don’t get off this train until you arrive at the very last stop. There will be temptations abound. You will be tested in ways you’ve never imagined.
But, if you wish to see your brother Huran and your daughter Mina again, you will persevere. You will stay aboard the Parellium, no matter what.
More details will be coming soon."
---
Joran traced the sheet of paper in the pocket of his jeans. When he first read the note, he had wanted to tear it to shreds, in fear of what the Conductor had been telling him. He heard some of the others did that day; he almost did. There was still a tiny rip in the top left corner.
After twenty years, the note was near crumbling to bits. He never unfolded it anymore. He didn’t need to; he had long ago memorized the words. The paper was, strangely, a source of strength for him. A reminder of what was at stake, when the images of his brother and daughter were no more than mental shadows. He whispered their names amidst the Sirens on Stop 18, at the Lake of Vice and Victory on the 71st, and especially, above all, at the Fount of Indulgence on the 100. They were his protectors, his prayers, his shield against the whims of the Station.
Twenty long years. He had fought, cried, lost, loved, and lost again. There were once 208 of them in the Parellium, representing the 208 realities. Now, there were only 13.
He stared out his cabin window at Starfield, the Last Stop. The train rumbled on invisible tracks through an endless night littered with tiny pinpricks of light bisected by a great river of galaxies and suns.
Long ago, his dear friend Anix from the planet Ke’aan told him that the river had been named the Milky Way, from another planet in another reality. Anix had laughed at that, shaking his strange horned head. Joran had asked what was so funny.
Anix just smiled wistfully, and said, “In my language, we called the river Kuna’so, which roughly translates, in Parellial, to the ‘Milkstain.’ The mysteries of the universe, my brother. I would have loved to meet such people. I think their name is more fitting, don’t you?”
Anix left the Parellium at the Hall of Memory on Stop 185, two, incredibly long years ago.
Joran sat back and braced himself for the inevitable thud when the Parellium locked into the Last Stop. They would stay here for three hours then take off again, looping back to the First Stop. He closed his eyes to take a short rest.
The mic chimed above him to announce the 208th stop.
“Hello, dear passengers, I hope your ride has been pleasant and relaxing. We will now proceed to the Pathfinder, the 209th stop, and the destination of your embarkation. We hope to see you again soon.”
The mic shut off. Joran opened his eyes slowly, and sat still for a few moments. His brain felt weak and sluggish, like in the early days after he had first awoken on the Parellium.
He turned his gaze to the window. The train never stopped. It continued past the docking point, and took a right, when before it had always gone straight. There hadn’t been a track to the right until now.
The Pathfinder. The true Last Stop. He had finally made it after twenty years. Tears fell down his scarred face, running through the tracks the train had worn on him over two decades of struggle and strife.
Joran whispered the names of his brother and daughter, as the stars and galaxies and the Milky Way fell away, leading him into a brilliant, blinding light.
---
Check out my profile for other stories I've written! :D
|
[Poem]
On the train heading to work,
I checked my purse.
What a surprise I find!
A little note, scribbled and wrote:
“Whatever you do, don’t get off this train until you arrive at the very last stop.”
I wonder what it means, then my stop arrives.
I try to get off, until ahead of me I see,
A demon right there, before me.
Before it’s horrible claws swipe at my neck,
I jump back into my seat.
I wait,
and wait,
And wait some more...
Until twenty years later, I decide
“No more!”
I run off the train the moment it stops,
Dodging the demon swiping at my neck,
And dodging the fliers,
who shot arrows at my chest.
I almost got away, until I found,
The lord of monsters,
Waiting for me.
“Didn’t you read the note?” He said.
Scared, I lie.
“What note? Am I going to die?”
A sharp claw jabs into my stomach.
“Now you are, for lying to me.”
And so,
As I bled out on the floor,
I realise dimly-
I should’ve waited twenty years more.
| 2020-07-17T12:03:37 | 2020-07-17T10:48:21 | 140 | 42 |
[WP] The end of the world is at hand. Everyone starts to tick off their bucket list, doing crazy things because they know it won't matter in the long run. In an odd twist of fate, the crisis is averted. Now everyone has to live with the repercussions of what they did.
|
“Todd!... Todd!...Todd!”
Todd’s eyes opened slowly. Todd let out a groan. As he fixed his glasses on his face. He almost forgot where he was.
“Wake up.” It was Ms. Stewart, his history teacher.
“And stop drooling on yourself nerd” Carson, the school bully who seemed to only be happy when he was beating on Todd, called out from across the room.
The class erupted in laughter. At this point, Todd felt almost numb to the embarrassment.
“Turn your books to page 161 and take out your notebooks.” Ms. Stewart continued.
“Get me out of here.” Todd thought to himself. Todd hated school, an unremarkable student, he would certainly rather be anywhere else besides Washington Hills Middle School.
Ms. Stewart rose from her chair and turned to face the whiteboard. She begins to write in marker, “The Aftermath of the Ameri-”
*Bzzzz* a phone vibrates.
“Turn it off.” Ms. Stewart said without turning around.
*Bzzz Bzzz*
*Bzzzzzzzzz*
“Are you guys kidding me?” Ms. Stewart turned around, visibly annoyed.
*Bzzzzzz* Ms. Stewart’s phone rings in her desk
*Bzzzz* *Bzzzzzz* *Bzzz Bzzz* *Bzzzzzzz*
Suddenly, All the phones in the room start going off, the pre-teens almost in unison look down at their phones. Eyes wide in disbelief. Tension filled the room.
Todd looked down at his phone. “NASA Expecting Critical Asteroid Impact” “President Declares State of Emergency, Martial Law in effect.”
“Is this true?” Molly Jackson, phone in hand, called out.
Ms. Stewart looked up, white as a ghost, she didn’t know what to say.
“School is dismissed.” an unfamiliar anxious voice chimed in over the loudspeaker.
The kids looked at each other blankly.
The kids got up from their chairs, and what first started out as a brisk shuffle out of the classroom, soon devolved into an all out stampede down the hallway towards the exit.
The sound of yelling, footsteps, panting filled the air.
10 minutes had passed, the building was nearly empty.. but Todd.. Todd was still in his seat. Eyes locked on his phone, “NASA reports Asteroid Aa-r12 has made an unexpected turn and is now heading directly towards Earth, NASA expects potential critical impact in North America within the hour.”
For a brain that was usually functioning internally at 100 mph, Todd’s inner voice was silent for maybe the first time ever.
Todd silently got up from his chair and began to walk for the exit, mind still empty.
Outside he is met by the brisk fall air. He felt sick, he wasn’t sure if this was even real life. The roads looked like ghost town, not another person in sight.
His brain still empty, he turned towards the direction of his house and began walking.
Death? Todd had never thought about dying. In reality how many 12 year olds have?
Todd has been a good kid, he didn’t bother anyone, maybe he played too many video games, but he thought he was alright. He certainly wasn’t his older sister, bad grades in high school, sneaking out to meet boys, coming home drunk, BUT she never got yelled at, no just him. His hands clench. He never even snitched on her, but that didn’t matter, nope! She wasn’t nice to him! Nope never, she always called him a dweeb, hid his Gameboy, made jokes about his new glasses. His fists grew tighter. No. Out of everyone, he didn’t deserve to die, he had been nice to people. He tried to do the right thing.
He walked into his house, his parents and sister were arm in arm on the couch..praying? PRAYING? What a joke he thought to himself, they hadn’t been to church in YEARS! Todd stared at them, his Mom’s head popped up. “Todd honey, come here”, she motioned for him to join. He looked at her for a second but he just turned to walk upstairs.
Storming up the stairs he thought to himself. Oh now they’re nice to me. Now they’re nice. When we’re about to die they decide to be nice to me? Well no, forget that. NO. FUCK THAT. Todd grinned, he felt slightly liberated who's going to punish me WHEN WE’RE ALL DEAD.
Todd walked into his room, the baseball bat his dad bought him this past birthday even though he asked for an Amazon Kindle so he wouldn’t have to keep going to the library, caught his eye. He knew his dad wasn’t proud of him because he wasn’t an athlete like him. He asks for a kindle, he gets reminded he’s a “nerd”. His sister comes home drunk and she gets a convertible.
He rips off his glasses and picks up the bat, he wasn’t going to die. That was, atleastt least not without making a point.
He walked downstairs, his parents and sister look at him. “Todd, come here” his mom repeats. Surprisingly calm, maybe those miserable people were happy to die.
“No.” Todd answered sternly, opened the door and headed outside.
Sitting there in the driveway was Michelle’s white Audi. His whole body filled with anger.
He approached it, he swung. *BANG* he took out a headlight.
He felt euphoric. He swung again. Denting the hood. His heart pounding, never before had he felt so powerful, so relieved, so alive.
“TODD WHAT ARE YOU DOING!” A voice behind him rang out.
Todd hopped on the hood, and began swinging, breaking the windshield, denting the hood. Swing. Swing. Swing. He let out a manic laugh. “HAHAHAHAHAHA” he was loving it. A feeling of sadness overcame him, why had he waited to die to start living? But he ignored it, too late now, he kept swinging.
“TODD! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, WHAT THE FUCK.” It was Michelle.
“Suck my ass Michelle.” Todd snapped back, leaving Michelle with a stunned, blank face.
His family's voices drowned each others out as they began to yell at him, it was gibberish to Todd, he was seeing red.
Still beating on the car, avoiding his parents attempts to rip him off, Carson’s house caught his eye. He jumped off the back of the car and beelined for Carson’s house.
He slammed on Carson’s door.
Carson opened the door. “What do you want you fag.” Carson said. *CRACK* Todd punched him right in the nose.
“What the fuck you little shit, I’ll kill you”
Carson tackled Todd. They began to roll on the ground punching and kicking.
Todd knew he should’ve done this years ago.
The boys were ripped apart, it was Todd’s dad, followed by his mother and sister both in tears.
“Todd what the fuck is your problem.” Todd’s dad was grabbing him hard on the back of his neck.
“NASA said we’re all dead fuck you.” Tears were running down Todd’s face as he tried to break free from his dad’s grasp.
Todd’s dad pauses. Carson chimes in, “No you little fucking loser, they said they made a mistake.”
Todd stopped, his heart dropped, he looked blankly at his family, “What?”.
|
*Why*?
That was the only question that I could keep asking myself.
Why did I sit here and do nothing? The world was ending you idiot, and you did nothing. You let her die!* Tears were swelling in my eyes. Before I knew it, the dam of emotions burst and the tears came pouring down my cheeks. I could taste the salt from the tears. *"We will go together in a peaceful manner." I can remember her saying. "If I'm going to die, I'm going to do it on my own terms."* I kept reliving the moment over and over and over. Perhaps a part of me wishes that I could magically change the outcome. *"Ok."* I told her. *"I'll do it with you. We'll go together".* I backed out at the last minute though. But by then it was too late. She had already injected the morphine. I held her hand in her last minute of life. "I love you". Those were her last words.
Light was starting to come through the kitchen window and hit the bottle sitting beside me. *It must be morning then. Looks like I was here all night.* The announcement came the night before just hours after she died. *The world was not ending anymore apparently. Some stroke of dumb luck saved us. But I wish it hadn't. She died for nothing!* I got up from the kitchen floor and walked through the door into the hallway passing by the photos of her that hung on the wall. I stopped to look at one. It was the one I took of her on her birthday last year. How beautiful she looked that day. I remember it like it was yesterday. But the longer I looked, the more pain it brought. *This place is too painful for me to stay.* I grabbed my keys and wallet and walked outside. *I must never return.* The sun was just starting to rise. I got in my car and drove away with painful memories that I will never be able to escape reliving for the rest of my life.
| 2017-11-29T09:49:15 | 2017-11-29T08:08:00 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] Ever since you opened this bar, you still don't know why supernatural races, deities, royalty, and/or extraterrestrials keep frequenting the place. You just serve drinks and lend an ear to listen.
|
It was a rundown shell when I bought it. In a shady but not bad part of town, though the building seemed to have seen far better days. Apparently, the previous owner had been a very religious man, and seen the hard times as a sign it was time for retirement. Sold the place and went to the country.
The realtor who sold it to me said no one had gone past an initial walk of the property, before me. It had been on the market for at least half a decade, and I could tell she was desperate to sell it.
I got it for a steal.
A good chunk of property, and the money I saved on it let me demolish the old building and build *my* bar. Exactly how I'd always wanted it. Nothing fancy, of course, but something that was *mine*. Comfortable, cozy. Easy to clean but not *cheap*.
I think about the start of my bar a lot. Especially on slow afternoons, like this one. 2 o'clock on a Wednesday just isn't a busy time of day, and anybody who comes in at that time generally isn't interested in talking. Which is fine by me, but leaves a lot of time to think.
"Hey, Loren!"
I tipped my head at the voice, smiling as I finished cleaning the glass I'd been idly polishing the soap spots off. When I looked up, an absolute mountain of a man stood at the bar, a broad, toothy grin aimed straight at me.
"Afternoon, Donald. The usual, then?"
He laughed, and settled at the bar. Not sitting, just leaning at the corner, watching me mix. For not the first time, I wondered what any normal human might think of the eclectic mix of ingredients I kept for my clientele. Eclectic was a safe word...but I'm pretty sure most folks would find it *frightening*, to put it mildly.
I have the usual stuff, of course. Lemons, limes, various fruit juices and flavored liqueurs. The usual hard liquor, though I refuse to serve tequila. But then there's the other things behind my bar. Stranger things. Jars filled with silvery moonlight. Bottles of various animal blood. Meat garnishes. An herb garden that included nightshade and wolfsbane. Butterflies (alive and not).
And that's just the start.
I handed Donald his glass, idly wondering when I'd become so comfortable with serving a sentient being a glass of cow's blood with a splash of Scotch and blackberry liqueur, when the mountain huffed and settled himself on a stool. It creaked under his weight, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Slow day, lass?"
"You could say that."
He flashed too-sharp teeth and took a gulp of his drink in response.
"Hey Boss, I'm headin' out, yeah?"
"Sure thing Danny. Thank you for staying."
Danny had been working at my bar for a few months now, usually opening up in the morning before his night classes, since I preferred to handle the night crowd myself. He looked like your average college kid, if your average college kid had golden, slit-pupiled eyes and kelp-like hair that always seemed at least damp, and too-sharp teeth. But he was a good kid, and he worked hard, and I liked having him open the place.
The kid grabbed his backpack from under the bar, and flashed Donald a grin before catching my arm. "Hey Boss, you want me to try and catch some moonlight on my way home? It's still waxing tonight."
"I'd appreciate it Danny, I probably won't make it out to the garden tonight."
"Sure thing Boss!"
The bar fell back into comfortable silence as I looked around, enjoying the peace. After awhile, the first of the evening crowd started to filter in, and my bar filled. Still, a Wednesday night was never the busiest evening, and I could handle the business by myself. Which meant eventually I wound up at the end of the bar, listening to Donald tell me about his latest trip upcountry to hunt.
"-and then this lass has the audacity to snarl at me - me! - about keeping my nose out of her tail!" The roar of laughter that followed this might have demolished the original building on this lot. I laughed, and shook my head.
"And let me guess, you were so distracted after that you never got the elk?" I offered knowingly, and the werewolf laughed again, downing the last of his drink just in time to find another at his elbow.
I know my regulars.
"Yes! You would'a loved this lass, reminded me o' ya!"
I shook my head again, looking at my bar. At my clientele. My staff.
Not a one of them was human.
A group of college girls in the corner were all various sorts of fey, pixies and dryads mostly, sipping plant-based concoctions of various sorts. Besides Donald, a pair of werewolves sat at a table eating homemade jerky and sipping real Bloody Marys. Edvard, a German vampire and a regular, sat at the other end of the bar talking to another regular I'd found out from Danny was a Pooka. I called him Patrick, since he never gave me the same name twice.
I looked at Ella, a young elf who was my waitress on weekends and any night she wanted to get away from her traditional High Elf family. Thought about Danny, getting his engineering degree.
I built this bar because I'd never quite fit-in with most people. I've had a good life, don't get me wrong. But I've never felt like I belonged anywhere. I built this place to be *my* place. I live above the bar, and honestly, these days, I don't see many other humans.
I'm alright with that.
I may not be a non-human, like my customers. But this is *our* place. And I've learned a lot about the world most humans never know.
*Lle Diogel.* 'Safe place.' That's my bar.
I don't know why my bar has always attracted who it has. I probably never will. But I don't think it really matters.
We've all found a safe place, here. And, hey. How many other barkeeps can boast they have a Scottish werewolf as a bouncer? I think I've got a good thing going.
Even if, tomorrow, I *do* have to go catch more butterflies.
|
I’d been running this bar for what felt like hundreds of years, Standing near gods has made me live through some terrible incidents, like when that one plant god killed the flying axe-like thing and drank it’s blood.
Some of the things I’ve had to put into drinks is hard to get, moonlight for werewolves, fertilizer for those plant people, and ambrosia equivalent for gods.
“One blood cocktail please.” Spoke a pale woman. I dug behind the counter for the pig‘s blood I kept for vampires,
”I just met the most handsome young man, and he had the audacity to have O- blood! I can’t stand O-! Can you believe it?” I calmly poured the blood into the cocktail and said,
”Yes, I can, but it’s a shame anyways.” She sort of grit her teeth and grabbed the cocktail when I handed it to her.
I actually lost track of what was going to happen and probably shouldn’t be looking through reddit right now. So sorry.
| 2021-02-22T09:33:56 | 2021-02-22T07:14:14 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] in the year 1105 BC you helped a man escape an imprisonment. Before you parted ways he says to make a blood oath. You didn’t think much of it but you also cut your hand and shake. He says that you’ll live as long as he does. Well, now it’s the year 2020 and you’ve been searching for this man.
|
It's been a ridiculous amount of time already, and I've had enough.
I've been searching for this man. A unique man, I may add.
He's not your typical dude. You want to know why? Because he isn't from this time period. In fact, I didn't meet him at the turn of the 20th Century; I met him during an older date.
You know, like 11th Century BC old.
Yes. I met him even before Christ was born. I met him even before the crusades became a thing, or before the Eiffel Tower was Built. I met him at Egypt, or wherever ancient Egypt was and helped him escape the Pharaoh's imprisonment.
It seems like he was some kind of wizard or magician of some sort, since he kept on muttering some sort of magic words. He looked a bit deranged to. For some reason he kept on... Smiling. And then he kept on asking what my name is, and thanking me.
I forgot the details, but I remember him having long hair... and weird glassy eyes with some kind of bracelet that he had to wear to sustain his magicka. When we escaped the prison cell, he asked me for my hand, and asked if we could make a blood oath for some sort of... partnership of some kind. I dunno, I wasn't really into it because it was freaking above 40 degrees in the middle of a desert prison and I just wanted to run.
He told me before he left that he was going to search for a place to stay... And that our "promise" will ring true until he dies.
Well, I didn't mind. I just wanted a cold, bowl of fresh river water.
But that was almost 3,000 years ago. And it's damn time I get an answer as to why I've lived so long.
For years I've been searching. Ever since I looked at the mirror on the death of my older did I realize that I wasn't going to age any different than I was back then. I quickly linked the connection between that weird dude who made a blood pact with me, and immediately set off finding for him at our local town.
But it's now 2020. The richest man in the world, and also the longest living being known to man. And yet somehow, I can't find this man.
My phone rings. It's a call from the chopper; he's ready to go and is waiting at the tower.
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was a long, 15 hour flight to Egypt. But after that, I was home at last.
I visited the site where I was born; bits and pieces are the only things that remain, but because of my restoration project, they're kept safe, and so is the rural neighborhood around it.
The skies are still the same, and the sun still scorches the earth once every two days. The people around here are all different, but some are descendants of my old neighbors.
"Sir?" A guy asks me.
"Yeah. What's up?"
"You must be Anty. Or, short for Antukhamen, right?"
This kid knows his stuff.
"Pleasure to be of service. What can I do for ya?"
Quickly, his face turns into great adoration.
"I'm a direct descendant of your neighbor! Umm, I think it was..."
"Rakant-khala?" I answered.
"Yes! Yes! He has a drawing of you and the prisoner girl you took!"
"Prisoner... Girl?"
It was at this moment that I recalled seeing him pale and skinny. I assumed he dressed like a wizard because he had this weird long skirt on him, a very odd thing for a villager or royalty but not for magicka users. I remembered long hair and glassy eyes, But I couldn't recall if she had hands that of a woman.
"Yes!" The kid shouted. "In fact, there was this weird lady dressed in red just outside the prison! I bet she's a direct descendant of the girl, like me!"
"Say what, kid?" I asked.
He quickly pointed me to the direction of this mysterious girl. As I walked towards the prison hole, I suddenly remembered my past life; the times when I suffered so much because I had to see my loved ones die. I suffered so much when my brother, who was too young compared to me, died as an old man in front of me, whilst I stood there unchanged through time.
I felt anxious. I felt closure. I felt like this was it.
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A slender figure stood atop the hole where we once escaped. She had long hair, and aged almost the same as I. Her body, compared to the prisoner, was well-fed, and had been in good care.
As I approached, she turned to look. And, bright as the daylight, there she was.
The man I looked for my whole life, turned out to be a woman.
Her eyes of glass, started to tear up. As I crept even closer, she began to show tears and, in a blink, sprinted towards me, hugging me as hard as she could.
"You're back! You're back! I knew you wouldn't forget about me!", she shouted.
"I... uh... what?"
"You made a bond with me, in life and in death. You gave your blood for mine, and I promised to give my blood to yours. We are bound together, in body and soul. You are my soulmate, Anty," she said.
"Wait when did I say this?"
She looked at me in confusion.
"When you made a pact with me... You said you promised..."
The sky started turning dark. Clouds began to form. Suddenly, the wind felt chilly.
"What the hell is happening?" I asked her.
"You... did you lie to me, like everybody else?" She asked me.
Her expression was of anger, of disgust and pain. I knew she wanted to kill me, but I didn't want to die.
"Why the hell would I lie to you? I wanted to save you!" I replied.
Her face started to calm, and suddenly the raging storm of a face she had became this puppy-eyed, tear-filled look that made me feel like she was asking for something.
"So... you love me?" She asked.
&#x200B;
With no other answer in mind, I said the only thing that could have saved me.
"Well... I guess so?"
|
Another New Years came and went. Just like the hundreds of times before. After I met that man time has just become a blur to me. A year to the average person may be a long time filled with countless memories and experiences. Years to me are just moments for me. I can’t recall exactly what happened last year, or the year before that. They might as well of been yesterday.
I do always remember one thing ever New Year’s day. That man I made that oath with. He might as well of cursed me. Who knows how many years I have left on this Earth. Tomorrow could be the last or I have eons to look forward too. Life is a bore.
If only I could get a hold of that man. I’d kill him the instant I find him. I just want to die already. Unfortunately i’ve just given up all hope of ever finding him. Time to just drift through the waves of time I guess.
| 2019-08-28T01:30:55 | 2019-08-27T21:25:40 | 58 | 22 |
[WP] You are a superhero, and your mask has just been ripped off by your arch nemesis. Lucky for you, when you aren’t busy saving lives, you live as a hermit away from all of society. Having your identity revealed means next to nothing, and the villain has no idea who you are.
|
“Begone foul swine! Bow to my mastery, or _perish!”_
Another swarm of robots impacted my spine, snapping together into a vice that strained to bend my back, force me into a kneel at Technocrat’s feet. With a flex of muscle, they exploded, the recoil sending me to my knees.
“You’ll be eradicated for your insolence! Do you hear me?! Eradicated!”
I slapped the ground with both hands. The grassy earth shattered and melted in equal measure, and the force sent my body cartwheeling through air. I tried to find the villain, but the sky was dark with his microdrones. A cloud of carbon fibre dragonflies, singular eyes red like recording cameras, stared my flailing form down as I fell.
“You’ll burn like your flames Firepower! When I am victorious, I’ll delete all memory of you from existence, reduce your legacy to ashes!”
That one hit a bit too close to home. I curled into a fetal position and unfurled with a roar, my scream of pain parallel with the bloom of fire that scorched the robot sky, a furious blaze bursting from every muscle that I’d strained.
And I hit the ground with a wet thump, face first. Controlled flight wasn’t my forte. The steel of my mask, red hot, turned what might’ve been a breakage into a full-face bruise. Rolling over with a groan, I raised my hand up for inspection. The skin was like volcanic rock, cauterised from within. It felt so heavy.
It looked like a burnt marshmallow.
“Bwahah!” Technocrat’s chortle came from all sides, a portion of his modular drones dedicated to projecting the madman’s voice. They swamped me, an intelligent tide that flowed around my limbs and crushed them. I screamed as they became restraints, tightening from every angle until there was no way for me to move.
Buzzing wings floated my freshly made sarcophagus upward, and the cloud parted to reveal my archnemesis, standing with his chest puffed out in triumph on a wave of his drones. Dressed like a Victorian dandy that’d visited the 23rd century and appreciated the chrome, Technocrat’s steel top hat pulsed evenly, a green wire pattern spreading over it and the rest of his costume. His bow tie was a satellite dish, and his gloves were braced with the buttons of a mechanical keyboard. “Despair, _hero,_ for you are finally at my mercy! Your limbs are bound, and thus your power useless!”
He sounded so much pitchier in person. Really whiny.
“Can you stop talking and just kill me already?” I managed, voice thin. Was that pressure I felt just some broken ribs, or were my lungs collapsing? I figured they might turn to ash if I pushed too hard. This was the hardest I’d ever pushed.
“Oh darling Firepower, no! You’ve been a thorn in my side for far too long! Mere death would not suit you!” With a perverse grin, his long fingers reached out and caressed my face. Some of the skin peeled away, half of it dead flakes and the rest a fine grey powder. He sneered as it coated his glove, and he promptly dipped it into his swarm for cleaning. “No, there’s just one thing I’m going to do to you.” He snatched the mask from my face, yelped as it singed his fingertips, and dropped it to the forest below.
The forest. My little home. My only home. He’d tracked me here, come for me while I was asleep. I’d probably lost all my little trinkets in the fires I’d started. I tried to get a look at the damage, but we were above it all, and I still couldn’t move.
I still tried to flinch as laser light painted my face, hundreds of dots pointed from each of his drones. I’d seen him do this before with others. Measure the features, find them online, out the victim to the public. Usually on his live-streams, so that the mob could accelerate the process.
He’d gotten a lot of good people that way. Justicar had become Julian, and lost his day job and kids. Starburst had become Suzie, and lost her life after Nightmare attacked her in her own home.
“Going to introduce me to your fans, Techie?” I said through grit teeth, pulping under the strain of the robots crushing my jaw. It wouldn’t hurt me as much as the others. I didn’t stand to lose as much as they had.
“Oh no, I’m not streaming right now.” I blanched. “I’m going to find the real you, _Firepower,”_ he snarled. “And I’m going to _erase_ her. Identify everyone you’ve ever known and bleach their brains of the memory of you. Destroy all evidence that you ever existed.” He scoffed to himself, his hatred evaporating instantly to reveal pride. “I am a man of my word, after all.”
I struggled in silence as Technocrat fiddled with his devices, but it was hopeless. I’d burned out. My regeneration wouldn’t kick in for a while yet. It was probably only my Brute rating that was holding the last of me together. Anyone that wasn’t superhuman would be dead by now.
Technocrat frowned at his glove, a screen flashing red light across his face. “Not Australian, then. Perhaps American?” Some typing, and another flash of red as I sagged in my restraints, feeling them tighten even further. “No...” More red. His frown deepened. “No...!” Red. “No!” Red. “No!” Red, and he screamed in fury. “Nothing! There’s nothing!”
He stomped into the cresting wave of his drones, crushing some like a toddler breaking his toys in tantrum. “This is the 21st century! No one can hide from the Internet! Who are you?! _Where_ are you?”
“I’m not there.”
“What?!”
“I’m not there, Techno.” I’d have sighed if I wasn’t gasping for air. “I’m not anywhere.”
“How?! How have you avoided the surveillance of nations? How have you foiled humanity’s greatest achievement?! Tell me!”
I blinked, a movement that felt like dragging sand paper up and down my eyeballs. “Sure,” I croaked.
“Huh?” His fury vanished, replaced by utter bewilderment.
“I’ll tell you my secret.”
Technocrat’s wave of drones surged, bringing his face only a foot from mine.
“The explosions.”
“What about them?” He asked, sounding almost polite. “Do they have some kind of scrambling effect? Burn information as easily as air? Obscuring traces of your identity?” He leaned in closer, intrigued. “Is _that_ why I can’t get genetic samples of you?”
I made for a shrug, but the gesture was lost between the restraints and the powdered state of my muscles. “Kinda? That’s just because they’re explosions. Hard to get evidence from ash.”
That was apparently the wrong answer. His face contorted, and with a furious gesture the drones compressed. I felt parts of me cave in. A pathetic whine left my body. “Then what is it?! What about your explosions?!”
“I...” I said softly. He drew in closer. “I don’t...” I rasped. He leaned right up to my face.
“I don’t have to move to make them,” I whispered.
I got to enjoy the delicious horror on his face for a fraction of a second. Then I exploded.
—-
Want to indulge in more vices? Check out r/vicesdeversailles for other stuff that I’ve put to post.
|
You are pinned down, your right arm dislocated, your left buried in solid concrete by the power of your "nemesis." You are defeated.
It leaves a sour taste in your mouth, the fool isn't even a real nemesis. He just screws around and distracts you while you try in vain to investigate real crime. Regardless, both he and the press have decided that it is your Destiny to fight one another forever, it took effort to make it seem that way too.
He stands over you now, posture confident and relaxed... gloating. How it grinds at you.
"Well, Cryon, this is it. I've won, finally, I've won. Don't you worry though, I'm no idiot. I'm not going to give you the chance of coming back to stop me again. I paid Cyberian to put together a little program for me. I now know the faces and names of everyone in this city. Ah, the anticipation, now let's see who you are under that mask of yours.
Concretion reaches down and in short order peels your mask from your face.
Your carefully sculpted "bored beyond belief" look meets him. He brings out a phone and takes a picture.
"I bet you're something boring, like a mailman, or an office drone."
You watch in mildly sadistic glee as his face slowly falls and he looks toward you in bewilderment.
"What? But you- why aren't... you're supposed to be... in the..."
This was hilarious, but your actual target needed to be taken down, you'd wasted enough time here. With a sigh you exert a mild focus on the concrete holding your left arm and it darkens to a dull black and crumbles, once free you grit your teeth, and pop your right back in to place.
You grunt as you rise to your feet, rolling your right shoulder to return proper feeling and motion to it, and clap Concretion in the shoulder as you walk past.
"It was a nice attempt, Erik, truly. Maybe if you ever want to leave your little pond and try in the big leagues, feel free to get in touch. Your little robberies and mild annoyances aren't really matching up anymore."
You chuckle as you head to your next destination.
"Really, what were you thinking? I'd never protect my identity with just the measly protection of a piece of cloth on my face"
| 2020-08-21T04:51:31 | 2020-08-21T03:04:10 | 83 | 57 |
[WP] Two victims of bullying make a plan to shoot up their high school together. However, they both secretly plan to betray the other in order to become a hero.
|
Kyle winced. *Too damn cold...*
"Honey, do you know what happened to the frozen veggies that were in the freezer?"
*Shit.*
Kyle turned down his music and called down the stairs, "huh?"
He hadn't heard her come in, but he heard her work heels climbing the stairs and her knuckles on his door.
"There was a plastic bag of frozen peas and carrots and things in the freezer downstairs but it't not-- oh my god!"
*Shit. Shit.*
He had hoped she wouldn't notice the black eye he was sporting, but it was one of the most impressive one's he's ever received. So that was more than wishful thinking.
"Kyle what the hell happened? You said this shit would stop!"
He pointed to his eye. "Sorry, mom, I'll be sure to tell the ape that did this that I promised my mommy, and that'll put a stop to it once and for all! I mean Jesus Christ, think of the justice we could have in this world if only we all promised our mothers! Think of it... Hitler could have been stopped if only all of those non-aryan people promised--"
"I'm not in the fucking mood, Ky. We have ice-packs, you know."
"Yeah I know, none of them were frozen."
"Well at least put a paper towel around that, you're going to give yourself nerve damage."
*Paper towel. That's right. Hell, I'm experienced enough, I should have known that.*
"I have to figure out something else to make now, so dinner will be at 8."
"Ok, thanks. I really am sorry, so you know."
"I know, just... try? Ok?"
"Yeah, mom, ok."
"I have to get out of these goddamn heels. Do your homework."
Kyle took out his stats book as she walked out.
*Christ, there's still blood on here...*
His phone rang.
"Hey man, what's up?"
"Ky, please tell me you're not going to back out of this. Just please fucking tell me you're not gonna pussy out. Don't be a bitch, Ky. This shit has gone on long enough; you know it and I know it. I'm just... I'm just tired of it, you know?"
*And I'm not?*
"I mean shit, you got your ass kicked today and you didn't do anything! That guy, he doesn't give a shit about us, but we can change that, I told you. Look at the news; look at who makes it on the news. It's not the kids who get their asses kicked and don't do anything, I can tell you that fucking much. It's the kids who do something. We can be something, man, doesn't that appeal to you like a little bit?"
*More than you know.*
"Jesus Christ, Kyle, say something, huh? I'm rambling here."
He thought for a second. The last thing he wanted to do was make Sam think he wasn't serious.
"Look, dude, I know all that. Yeah, of course I want to be somebody. Just lemme know, you don't think this is too like... extreme? Or, or anything?"
"Extreme? It's been 6 years. 6 years of this shit! I wasn't made to just take this, no one was! It's not just something that happens. Dude, it's in the fucking bible. It says right there, 'an eye for an eye.'"
*My eye does hurt like a bitch.*
"Look, my dad doesn't lock his gun safe because he's a fucking retard. He's also as far right as fucking possible so he has like ridiculous shit in there. He's also gone for like a week so there could literally be no better time to do this. Think about it, Kyle. Don't be a pussy; it's time to act."
*There are other ways to get noticed.*
Sam didn't say anything for what felt like an hour. Then,
"Dude I gotta know if you're with me, because I swear to god I can't take another day. You know what Roberts said to me today? He told me he was going to cut off my dick and donate it to charity. First of all, from a gay perspective, that's kind gay. Kinky, and gay. Second of all, that was just the latest in his creative portfolio. I'm done, Kyle. I'm done getting my ass kicked. I'm done spending the day afraid. I'm done worrying about how far they're gonna go. I'm just done. I'm going in tomorrow and I'm not going to be the one who's afraid. You gotta come with me or not come at all. Think about it, and call me back."
He hung up.
Kyle turned on his computer and opened the pages he'd been opening every night for weeks. He sifted through article after article; it was everything he could find on school shootings. These stories could go one of two ways:
"MASSIVE TRAGEDY AFTER SOCIOPATHIC VICTIM OF BULLYING FINALLY BREAKS"
or
"GYM TEACHER NAMED A HERO AFTER STOPPING A HIGH SCHOOL SHOOTING"
Kyle didn't do his stats homework. Instead, he read the same articles he had read about 50 times. He could almost recite them; he absolutely knew all the headlines. He heard his mom swear downstairs and turned his music back up.
"All the other kids with their pumped up kicks--"
"Fuck!" He said, and he shut off the speaker. He hadn't noticed that song was even playing.
*That's horrifying. Ironic, but horrifying.*
So he sat in silence, too afraid to call Sam back and too afraid not to. Nobody ever wrote an article about the day before, so he wasn't prepared for this feeling. He had prepared himself for everything else. He had thought about the screams, the shots, the blood, and the end. He just had never thought about what it would be like just before. This limbo was unbearable.
Sam was more ready than he was. Then again, Sam was angrier than he was. He came out as gay in the 7th grade; Kyle hadn't heard of anyone coming out that early. He didn't even know how you could know for sure that early. He had been beaten, abused, yelled at, shoved in cabinets, lockers, and dumpsters; Sam had seen it all, and he was done seeing it. Kyle thought about how effectively their peers had broken his friend's spirit. They reduced him to some shell of a person when he used to be so full of life. He remembered the day Sam came out; he remembered how happy he was on that day. He remembered when Sam started dating this guy from a different school. He was one of those super flamboyant, super openly gay guys, and that was fine where he was from because apparently he came from a place occupied by actual human beings. They dated for a whopping 2 months. That was when some assholes, the usual assholes, found out and decided Sam wasn't allowed to be happy. They broke into his boyfriend's house and trashed it, and that was the end of that.
Sam wasn't the same after that. He was angrier. He stopped talking back to the guys who called him names. He lost what fight he had. That was when he first started talking about fighting back for real. One day when Kyle got beat up pretty bad, Sam called him to tell him about his plan. It was pretty simple: walk into school and start shooting.
Kyle had to admit, it was a fairly appealing idea. The part he couldn't reconcile was the inevitable collateral damage. It's not like every single person in the school had made his life hell, just a whole lot of them. It took a while for Kyle to get fed up enough to verify the plan, but of course he eventually did. Now it was just a waiting game, but the game was almost over.
Yet, Kyle couldn't tear his mind away from that headline.
"GYM TEACHER NAMED A HERO AFTER STOPPING A HIGH SCHOOL SHOOTING"
A hero.
Hero.
|
I don’t know why Jerry considered doing this. He always seemed like a nice kid. Straight A student, captain of the basketball team, volunteered a lot outside of school. It didn’t add up to me. The kid had absolutely everything going on, including his pick of the girls.
There was a rumor he had so many girls ask him to the fall dance that they created a formal submission process. And we’re talking like *the girls* too, everybody who was a somebody asked out Jerry. Even a few girls ended relationships just for a chance at a date with him.
The funny part is, well maybe not so funny, but anyway, he turned them all down. He didn’t even go to the dance. It’s not like he had any problem being social. He couldn’t get that kind of attention if people didn’t like him. He always had a smile on his face and was ready for quick joke if anybody ever needed one.
This didn’t make sense for Jerry, but it did make sense for me. I hadn’t talked to anyone in school for three weeks. It wasn’t because I was ugly or smelled bad, or had a reputation. It was that I didn’t have any reputation at all. Nobody knew who I was. I almost would’ve preferred a bad reputation. At least that way people would talk to me. Just being invisible in an entire school full of people was torture.
Maybe that was why he chose me. He wanted somebody that couldn’t tell somebody else even if they wanted to. I mean, even if I did tell someone, who would believe me? I almost had to be the hero didn’t I? It was the only real way to stop him.
We were getting close now, it was almost time.
“Stop!” A too young voice called from behind me. *What, that could be…*
“Bryan don’t do it!” The young voice called again, and I saw my little brother running towards me. *He was supposed to be in elementary school right now.*
“I saw that daddy’s case was empty.” He said, colliding into me and wrapping me up in an awkward hug in the middle of the hallway.
“Uh, what?” I say. I can’t think of anything intelligent to say.
“Don’t do it.” He says again, bear hugging me. “I won’t let you. I won’t let go until you come home.”
Sidenote: Get help. This prompt is clearly going to be seen by a large number of people, at least some of which are considering this. Seriously, get help. If not for you, then for the other people in your life. Everybody’s got parents, friends, mentors, other people who mean a lot to them. If you can’t be strong for you, be strong for them, get help.
| 2015-02-12T11:20:19 | 2015-02-12T10:57:25 | 232 | 68 |
[WP] An unbeatable supervillain conquers the world, rules with an iron fist, grows bored, and eventually retires from public life. Years later, you strongly suspect the old man who just moved in next door is that retired supervillain.
|
Terry Summervill stared out of the bay windows that framed his kitchen. A mug of warm tea was held gingerly in his hands. He took a few sips as he looked out of the windows at his rather … peculiar … next door neighbor. A frown came upon Terry’s lips.
After being for sale for only a week, someone new had decided to buy the house next door to Terry’s. It was a simple, two story home, situated in one of the many countless suburbs that had popped up across the country. Blissful upper middle-class was how Terry liked to describe it. A house that held a wife and husband, plus their two and a half kids. At least, that’s the model that popular opinion seemed to push on the upper middle-class.
Terry’s eyes wandered from the bay windows to the portrait of their great conquerer, Emperor Festilius the Third. The portrait was of Festilius riding his flaming war chariot into battle, the legendary cursed sword, Ragnarok, held high above his head, gleaming. Terry frowned. Yes, about thirty years ago Festilius had led a rebellion against the government, and soon found himself in control of the entirety of Earth after a rather bloody but short conquest. At the time, everyone had been preaching about the doom and destruction that would come from Festilius’s rule.
No one had really expected the economic growth that unifying the world would bring though. Despite Festilius’s best efforts, the world flourished. No matter how strong his iron fist, no matter how high the taxes, no matter how cruel the punishments, the world somehow came together and continued to progress despite Festilius’s rather crude rulership. There were rumors on the internet that Festilius resigned not due to old age, but because of a severe and persisting depression. These sources said that Festilius had lost faith in himself and his ability for cruelty and suffering.
Terry’s attention wandered back from the painting to his new neighbor. The neighbor in question was an older man, probably in his late forties or early fifties. He was a heaping hulk of a man, even at his age. Unbelievably tall, and much too muscular. His clothes barely seemed to contain him. He walked with an air of authority, his chin stuck out and head held high. Terry tried to imagine him wearing a suit of cursed back iron, rather than casual wear and loafers. It was hard to imagine, but something inside of Terry’s mind couldn’t help but think it.
It wasn’t that Terry minded his rather unusual new neighbor. In fact, he was quite pleased with him. Less than a day after moving in, his neighbor had stopped the pair of teenagers who’d been vandalizing the neighborhood homes. Their decapitated heads currently sat on a pair of bloody spikes in front of his yard. A rather odd thing to do, but everyone had their quirks.
Setting his mug of tea down, Terry decided to go over and say hello. They were neighbors after all, and it was about that time to welcome the newcomer into the community.
Terry strolled across well kept lawns, and waved a hello to his neighbor, who was currently lounging on his front porch. A curt nod was given in return to Terry’s hello.
“Hello. How are you moving in so far?” Terry asked, ascending the stairs to his neighbor’s porch.”
“It’s … alright.” His neighbor replied. His voice was deep and commanding. It sounded as if it could move a legion of bloodthirsty warriors.
“Name’s Terry Summervill. I live next door with my wive.” Terry said, extending a hand of greeting.
“Name’s Festi— … er, I mean John Doe.” The neighbor replied.
The two men clasped hands. John’s hand was a massive paw, easily encasing Terry’s.
“Lovely wife you have. Strong and determined. She would’ve done fine in my platoon of Bellonas.” John growled out.
“Oh yes, Marisa. Yep, she’s amazing alright. And the breadwinner of the house. Really, I can’t figure out why she married me.” Terry stammered out. He always got nervous talking to someone new for the first time. Through his nerve addled brain, John’s mention of the feared Bellonas that tore through all of Europe seemed to elude him.
John nodded grimly. “Good. A strong woman is a necessity in life.”
The two men stood there, awkwardly nodding. Out of desperation for something to say, Terry asked if he could join John on the porch. A swift yes was replied, and the two found themselves lounging on John’s porch, watching the day go by.
“May I ask you something Terry?” John asked after several minutes of silence.
“Of course.” Terry stammered out.
“What do *you* do to keep busy?”
“O-oh, you know. Mostly chores. Cleaning and cooking. Shopping. Maintaining the house.”
“No no no.” John replied, shaking his head. “I mean what do you do for fun. There are no blood arenas around here. No one to fight, no conquests to be had. What is there to *do* around here?”
“Oh, for fun? Well, I usually just play video games myself.” Terry replied.
“Video games?” John asked. Festilius had been born from the sacrilegious love of a demon and a witch. He had known of no technological marvels. His past times had always included blood and war up until his sudden and devastating depression.
“Yeah, video games. You know, where you get to pretend to be a solider, or a knight, or a king, or a race car driver, or athlete, and you go do a bunch of fun stuff on the television.”
Terry’s words intrigued Festilius. He didn’t quite understand them, but there was an excitement in his words, a promise of something new. Festilius felt interested, invested. This was the first time he’d felt this since he’d realized his failure at being a tyrannical leader.
“Do you think … do you think you could show me these, video games?” John asked.
“Sure!” Terry pipped up. Finally, a topic of conversation that he was comfortable with.
Soon enough, the two found themselves in Terry’s living room, the sounds of Battle Boy 5 blared through his surround sound speakers. Festilius’s eyes were wide in wonder and joy as he played as a robotic man; a killing machine who ravaged through a despondent land in search of his one true love.
The two men found themselves playing video games well into the evening, immersed in laughter and cooperative play. It was only when Marisa came home, and complained of a lack of dinner, that Festilius reluctantly went home. Before his departure, Terry loaned Festilius a handheld console, along with some of his favorite games.
Later, after dinner had been hurriedly made, Marisa couldn’t help but give Terry a playful smile, and asked.
“So, I see you met the new neighbor. Do you still have that silly idea of yours that he used to be Emperor Festilius the Third?”
Terry paused above his meal. His face fell into a thoughtful look. He was pretty sure that John Doe was indeed Festilius, it had been kind of hard not to realize that during the banter they shared over their afternoon of video game induced fun. Still, this was the first friend Terry had made in years. So what if he used to be a feared emperor, right now he was a newfound friend.
Terry shook his head. “No. I think I’ve given that whole fantasy up.” Terry lied. He didn’t want to risk not being allowed to say hello to his newest friend anymore.
“Well that’s good.” Marisa said with a smile. “I’m glad you found someone to keep you company while I’m away. I know how hard it is for you to get along with the other couples in the neighborhood.”
Terry nodded along in agreement. “Yeah, those folks can really be a bunch of monsters most of the time.”
|
"Just imagine him with a goatee," Michael said to his fifteen-year-old little brother.
The old man walked across his lawn, watering his plants, while Michael and Patrick watched from the window of their house next door.
"Well, everybody looks more evil with a goatee," Patrick said. He rubbed the peach fuzz on his chin, checking to see if a goatee was in his future.
"But doesn't he look familiar?" Michael said. "Doesn't he remind you of the Grand Emperor?"
"I think if I could control minds, I would live in a better neighborhood than this shit hole."
"Well, nobody knows where the Grand Emperor went. Maybe this is exactly the type of shit hole he'd hide out in if he wanted to maintain a low cover."
"You're paranoid."
"Am I? The other day I went up to him and tried to talk to him. He told me to go home, and I did!"
"So what? Weren't you walking home from school anyway?"
"I had Rex with me," Michael pointed to the sleeping dog in the living room. "It didn't even occur to me until I got inside that I had dropped his leash and made a beeline for our front door."
"You're an idiot," Patrick said, opening the front door.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to introduce myself."
Michael tried to stop him, but Patrick pushed his way outside. He walked onto the old man's front yard and waved a hello.
"Morning, neighbor!" Patrick said.
"Get off of my lawn," the old man said without taking his eyes off his plants.
"Reallly?" Patrick said, looking down. "The grass is already dead, doesn't look like I'll be doing any damage."
Patrick looked to Michael for support, but saw that his brother had already sprinted off of the lawn and onto the sidewalk. By the time he looked back at the old man, he was staring at Patrick with his jaw hanging open.
The old man took a couple of cautious steps toward Patrick before slowly saying, "Get. Off. Of. My. Lawn."
"How about a please?" Patrick said.
Michael's hands were in his hair and he breathed heavily. "Patrick!" he called out, his voice cracking with urgency. "You've gotta get off the lawn!"
Patrick shrugged his shoulders. "What the hell is everybody-" he turned around and saw that the man had dropped the still-running hose.
"If I ever see you again," he yelled retreating into the house, "I'll... I'll call the police! Stay away from me!"
"What is-" Patrick asked, but turned around in time to see Michael obediently sprinting away from the house.
| 2016-11-17T08:49:29 | 2016-11-17T08:35:13 | 211 | 23 |
[WP] You are the most powerful being on the world. You just like to annoy people though. You got a job as a villains assistant. You constantly tease him and are awful at your job, but every time he tries to kill or you, you just act completely ignorant or complain about working conditions.
Bonus points for established universes. I would love to read about a guy fumbling with some electronics while being choked constantly by Darth Vader.
Also it was supposed to "kill or punish you" in the title.
|
The glyph twirling gently in the air on its axis was a Fireseal. It pulsed too, throbbing as the potent magic at its core struggled against the chains of the spellweave, desiring to be free. It appeared to me that Master Lomlax *really* did not want to be disturbed, because only the daft or the insane would employ such destructive barriers in one's own lair, of all places. Like using a treetrunk as a toothpick, almost.
So I brushed the Fireseal aside and walked into the torture chamber.
"... forget about escape, Starlove, yield your secrets or you will die he- *what the flying shit*?"
My finger hovered in the air, where I had activated the rune which wrenched all the lightstones to maximum. I could see why Lomlax was upset, though. The bright illumination did little for the foreboding vibe he had been going for, what with the lone candle flickering bravely on the floor between him and Starlove.
It was also not lost on Starlove that the endless dungeon she thought she was trapped in, was actually just a clever application of paint and perspective on the walls.
"Didn't you see the Fireseal outside? Couldn't you tell I was busy? What did I tell you about interruptions, nitwit?" Lomlax yelled, face turning an unhealthy shade of red. “How did you even get in?”
"Oh Dark One," I answered, bowing slightly, "I quake with fear. My blood runs cold, and I suppose this is the last I will breathe. I only ask for mercy, because I came with only your welfare in mind.”
Lomlax leapt across the room, pounding on the rune. The lightstones died immediately, cut off from their oxygen. I heard a snicker from the dark, and Lomlax’s face soured further.
“Well, what is it, you fool? What could possibly be so bloody important?” Lomlax hissed.
I held out a bottle, rattled it gently. “Your supplements, oh Bringer of Sorrow. Your mother sent these over with the note the other day. She heard you hadn’t been, you know, doing good with your stools and such.”
Lomlax struck me then, a mighty blow on the left temple. All said and done, it was a good attack. He was quick with his spellweave, augmenting the punch with a multi-layered spell designed to render and pulverize. His stance was measured too, so he wouldn’t lose his balance if I had blocked it. On any other day, he could have felled a full Duke of Hell with that, give or take.
But I was the single most powerful living entity on the planet. I could eat godlings for breakfast, and still have space for a fey demon or two. I could undo creation if I so wanted, and still have enough time before teabreak to reassemble everything blindfolded. Once I set out trying to see if I could even devise a spell strong enough to break the skin, and an entire assembly of angels had to beg me to stop, what with all the stray magic accidentally setting the seas aflame.
So after his fist connected, I counted one, two, three… then fell to my knees. It’s not easy, finding the right balance. I don’t want to be defiant, that takes hardly any skill.
The challenge lies in being truly, *utterly* annoying.
“The pain, the pain,” I drawled, hand to forehead, “who has such strength but you, Filler of Graves? You have taken from me a lifetime of pleasure, the way you have robbed me of my fair visage. Children shall scream, women shall weep, when next they see my ruined face…”
“Shut up, shut up!” Lomlax cried, kicking me over and over in the ribs. “Why won’t you just shut up?”
“My body, my body… you are ruining it tooooo…”
I’ve learned long ago that ridicule must be stamped out the moment it is spotted, for it is a weed, and left unchecked, it lays waste to credibility right under your eyes. The snicker from Starlove had gone unpunished, and it now blossomed into a chortle, then outright laughter. Despite her captivity, despite the chains which bit into her wrists, Starlove no longer found Lomlax quite as threatening as he once was.
“Wherever did you find your help, Lomlax?” Starlove said, snidely. “You’ve trained him well, I see.”
“Silence, wench! Don’t try and distract me! Answer me now, or I shall open your veins, bleed you dry!”
“Never! I will go to my grave first before I tell you how to unlock the Chest of Nymurgh!”
“Fool! I don’t need you! I can open it myself! Your tricksy elvish magic will not keep your secrets safe forever! I will only need weeks, or even mere days, before I sunder your locks, disjoin your chains! I will split your precious artefact before your eyes, and feast on the forbidden flesh within!”
I held up the wooden cube in my palm, raising it high enough so that they could both see. So that was the Chest of Nymurgh, which had been lying on the floor, next to the candle. I had bumped into it earlier, and had appreciated the intricate inlays of magic which had gone into binding it shut.
“You mean this unlockable, impregnable enigma you haven’t been able to crack open, oh Ballsiest of Villains?”
I saw their eyes widen as the Chest slowly unfurled in my palm, yielding before my will. Like petals, the sides of the cube flayed apart, and eventually a single book revealed itself, glowing brightly in the dimness. I recognized the cover then – this was probably one of my first few attempts at fanfic, one or two decades ago, before I had grown bored of exploring yet again the ups and downs of the tumultuous relationship between Azueus and Meyna, the Sun and Moon gods. It seemed that my prose had become pure, living magic.
“How… how in blazes… did you…” Lomlax said, eventually.
I met his eyes, held his gaze for a minute, then threw myself into a supplicating pose before his feet.
“Oh Ender of Worlds, forgive me! It must have been luck, or something! You could have solved the puzzle yourself, without any help, for sure! How could lowly me ever have done something the greatness that is you could not do! I shall reset it now, post-haste, so you can unlock it yourself! Please, I only ask for forgiveness!”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
"Again, Mark? I thought we went over this! You're supposed to get here *on time*!"
I sat down at the computer and smirked. Putting my feet up on the desk, I tried to think of the sassiest response I could give. My eyes lit up as I thought of an idea, and I pulled up the security camera footage on the computer.
"Well, Mr. Darcness-with-a-c, it looks like you weren't on time either. Who'd you take home this time? Was it that hot dictator?" I replied, turning to face him as I spoke.
My boss stood there, looking at me with a slightly amazed expression that quickly turned to anger. "You'll regret saying that! I'm sick of your constant attitude!" He began walking away, then stopped and turned to one of his henchmen. "Get Mark over there taken care of tonight. I don't want to see him again."
I arrived at work the next morning, late as usual. Mr. Darcness turned around as he heard the door shut, freezing when he saw me. "You... How are you here?" he asked, incredulous.
"Oh, I caught a cab. Sorry I'm late again, although I think you'd be used to this by now."
He continued staring at me. I smiled at him, then sat down at a desk. The boss just shook his head, then started talking about the next mission.
(possible part 2 coming soon?)
| 2017-06-27T06:51:52 | 2017-06-27T06:13:29 | 268 | 46 |
[WP] You made a deal with a demon to be the best negotiator ever to exist. You then used this power to successfully bargain for HIS soul. Satan is not amused.
|
"For your soul?"
"What else would you accept? Paypal?" The man smoothed down his cheap suit, the ill-fitting sleeves immediately wrinkling back into a crumpled mess the second his hands left them.
"Hilarious, I'm sure." Across from him, the Woman that Stunk of Sulphur would turn about a sheet of paper, tapping a quill down against the surface of the table. "Your finger, please." When it was offered across, she would quickly jab the end of the pen down, a splatter of blood landing across her fingers as she yanked it back out. "Sign on the dotted line please."
"Did it have to be this way? With the stabbing and whatnot?" The man would suck on the end of his finger, before taking the offered pen and scratching out his signature with his left hand. "All done?"
"All done. I'll see you when I'm due to collect." The demon would gently blow on the paper, the blood sinking down into the material, before placing it in a thick binder and snapping it shut.
---
The Woman that Stunk of Sulphur was back again. Or, to be more precise, he was back with her. The man would pull a flick-out comb from his pocket and carefully run it through his hair, before doing up a single button on his triple-breasted blazer. A last adjustment of his tie, and then he would take his seat in front of her desk, smiling as he did so.
"Ah, it's time then?" He would smile pleasantly, the woman's steely visage splitting into a confident smirk.
"You knew it was coming. Now, time for you to pay up." The woman would extend her hand out, the man feeling an awful tearing sensation from his chest. As he struggled to maintain conciousness, he would manage to choke out a single word.
"Ho... Howe- However..."
The pulling stopped. He could catch his breath. Letting out a sigh, the woman would snap back at him.
"However what? Begging now? Too late. Twenty years too late." She scowled at him.
"You do not own a majority share of my soul." The man would raise a finger- the faint silvering of a long-healed scar faintly visible.
"Of course I do," the Woman that Stunk of Sulphur stated, anger seeping into her voice. "It says right here." The binder would be produced and leafed through, the man having the text he had signed all those years ago shoved back into his face.
"Yes, yes, I know what the contract says, however, and here is the key issue, I have since accumulated three additional souls of equal value to my own. Section 23 II states that additional souls under the ownership of the debtee that are equal to or more valuable than his own soul may be added to the value of the debtee's soul. Therefore, you actually own a 1/4 share of my soul."
"Well, that's blatantly fal-" The Woman would flick through the document until she found the correct page, before sighing slightly as the text sat there.
*"In addition,* under Subsection 32 of Clause 8, a full reclamation on a soul may *only* be attempted with a majority share of said soul. Attempting to fully reclaim a soul that you *do not* have a majority purchase on is barred." The man would lean forward, splaying his fingers out on the table as he did so. His cologne- a citrusy-sweet blend that clearly cost far more than most people made in a year, wafted through the air, clashing harshly with the scent of the woman.
"Normally, that would be the end of it, but if you look here, reclamation with a **minority** portion of less than 9/35ths of a soul can be countered as if it were an attack on immortal property." The man leafed through the document properly.
"You're bluffing." The Woman would state, looking up at the man with a deadpan expression. "There is no clause that states that."
"I never said it was a clause, did I? Regardless, both you and I both know what happens when an attack is made on immortal property, no?" He would hold his scarred finger up and gently wag it in the air, as if a parent disciplining a child.
"Now then, I suppose I'll just be taking my dues if that is the case..." The man would hold up his hand, but before anything could happen, the Woman would shout out.
"**Wait!"** Now it was her that was holding a hand up. "Surely we can overlook this sort of indiscresion, no? There was no way for me to know of the additional acquisitions."
"It's your responsibility as the debtor to know these things when it comes time for the reclamation."
"It's not a *legal* responsibility however, it's a civic one."
"Hell has civic responsibilities?"
"In a roundabout sort of fashion, yes, regardless, perhaps I can offer a small token of apologies and we can both leave as we entered?"
"Well that's hardly due recompense for such an extreme measure that you took."
"I fully understand that, bu-"
"And because of that I say that perhaps a 'small' token is not enough. How about something a little larger? You sign something for me?" The man would take his own sheet of paper out and pull a gold-inlaid pen from his pocket, carefully writing a number of things down on it.
"If you sign this paper, I will forget all about the transgression. How does that sound?"
"Wonderful." The Woman that Stunk of Sulphur would nod her head pleasantly.
"Your finger, please." The man would carefully unscrew the tip of the biro and take out the cartridge inside, wrapping it in a handkerchief before drawing out an empty one and inserting it into the pen. He would jab the end of the writing implement down and then carefully twist the little plastic knob, drawing up a small amount of shimmering ichor into the resevoir. Then, he would screw it all back shut again and hand it across to the Woman.
For her part, the demon would read the page. Then read the page again, slowly. "You have to be kidding me."
"Would you rather prefer the other way?"
"No, no, no! Fine fine, I'll sign this." The woman would look down one more time, and then allow gold to flow out into a signature.
"Thank you very much indeed." The man would reach for the pen and place it away in his breast, standing up as he did so. Walking across to where the Woman sat, he would lift her up by the shoulders and walk her to one side of the seat, before taking her place down, looking at the door that he had walked into.
"Just so you know, I was bluffing."
---
I realise now this was more of a lawyer than a negotiator thing, but I think it fits the theme semi-well? I hope it does, anyway. That being said, my name is Maxim Westhart, I hope you enjoyed and any feedback is much appreciated!
|
Okay, I knew this was coming. Or maybe I should say this: I’ve already lost count of how many idiots like you tried to one-up me that way. I mean, hello, do you know why I’m called the Prince of Lies? I may not be the creator of your shit there, but man, do I know how to fuck it all up.
So, you asked for “the power to be the best negotiator to ever exist” in exchange for your soul. I certainly made you much like my awesome self, then, as keeping promises is the ultimate standard in my Kingdom, and any deals you make with those of my Kingdom will have to follow its rules, which I’m sure you already know. So yeah, congratulations, ‘cause you’re now the Ruler of Hell!
Now, when you got that power, you specifically asked for “the soul of He Who Rules All Hell to be under the control of the Ruler with Actual Humanity.” I can see that you’re trying very hard to be very careful about your words here, but you forgot some very important facts about you and me: *You* are now the Ruler of Hell, while *I* am a Ruler with Actual Humanity. The Nepotist Up There made me too, you know? I could go back and be a good little angel, but no, that shit’s just out to make me suffer.
Oh, you can control my soul as much as I can control yours? My, I think I forgot to tell you something: I’m actually *She* Who Rules All Hell now. Since when? Do you even have to ask? Now get on your knees and suck my dick, or I’ll shove your skull into it myself.
| 2020-01-18T05:29:25 | 2020-01-17T20:46:19 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] After people die, they must answer a riddle, and its difficulty depends on their sins. You've committed genocide.
|
For as long as man has existed, he has been confronted with one of the greatest questions of life: what happens when you die? Some believe that you become reincarnated into new life, be it as an animal, a plant, or another human. Others believe that when you die, you are greeted with only eternal nothingness. One of the more popular beliefs held by the people of the mortal world is the idea that, if one is good, they are rewarded with eternal paradise, but if one is bad, they are punished with eternal damnation. As St. Peter, the keeper of the keys to the kingdom, the guardian of the Pearly Gates, I’m here to say that the true answer is very similar to the third that I’ve listed; the only difference is that whether you go to Heaven or Hell does not depend entirely on the actions of one’s previous life. No. It also depends on one’s wit.
Allow me to explain: When a wayward soul reaches the Pearly Gates, they will see a riddle inscribed on the front of the massive white, marble doors that only they can see. For each soul, the riddle is different. They are given one chance to answer the riddle. If they answer correctly the gates will open allowing the soul to enter. If they answer wrong, the doors will be closed to them forever. The riddle that one is given becomes more difficult depending on the quantity and severity of their sins.
Being the guardian of the Gates is truly a task that only the most stoic can perform, for I have seen it all. Because there is only one chance, many have been reluctant to even give an answer and I’ve seen masses of souls huddled before the gates as far as the eye can see. Some have cursed themselves for not being a kinder person in their life. Some souls have become haunted by the very riddle they are given and its sheer difficulty. Others have even been driven insane. I’ve seen horrible people that have committed atrocious acts in their life- you name it; murder, rape, terrorism- that had just enough wit to solve their riddle and enter the Kingdom. On the other hand, I’ve also seen the kindest saints, people that had given nothing but good to the world of the living, be locked out of paradise for giving a wrong answer when they were so sure that they have been right. These are, albeit, rare cases however, but these have been known to occur.
Today, however, was a peculiar day and it is one that I’ll remember for the rest of my existence.
It started off fairly normal. One of the first souls of the day stepped up to the door. It was a little girl. She tragically met her end at an early age but she committed no sins in her life. Her riddle should be very easy.
“What is this place?”, she asked.
“You’re at Heaven’s Gate. If you can answer this riddle correctly, you’ll be allowed in.”
As she walked closer, her riddle became legible on the door:
When I dry, I become wet. What am I?
“I know. It’s a towel.” The little girl said. The gates opened for her and she was allowed in.
The next soul to appear before the gate was an adult male in his forties. Apparently, he was convicted of murdering his wife and child and has been given capital punishment. Shortly after the electric chair, he has stumbled his way here to the front of the gate.
“What the hell is this?” The man asked in a harsh tone.
“You’re at Heaven’s Gate. If you can answer this riddle correctly, you’ll be allowed in.”
“You’re fucking kidding me. I just have to answer a dumb riddle and I can go to heaven? Alright then bring it on!” The man said with confidence. I knew there was little chance of him getting in. His riddle should be one of the harder ones and he didn’t look very smart.
The riddle appeared on the door:
You went into the woods when you got me.
You didn’t want me but you went looking for me.
I’m in your hand but you can’t see me.
You went home with me because you can’t find me.
What am I?
“What the fuck is this?! I don’t fucking know? A flashlight? A ring? Umm... a pen maybe?”
The gates forever closed on him and the man was sent to Hell just as I have expected. Serves him right though. Even I didn’t know the answer to that riddle. But apparently, the correct answer was “a splinter.”
The last soul of that day was the most interesting case I’ve seen since Hitler. He was the most wanted terrorist in the world responsible for the genocide of many people in foreign nations. After 10 years of hiding the, United States Military finally found and killed him, and now he’s at the Pearly Gates. He was one of the most adept military tacticians which made him extremely good at deductive reasoning. His wit allowed him to escape arrest for a very long time. No matter, I knew that there was no way he was getting in.
“Where am I?” the man exclaimed.
“You’re at Heaven’s Gate. If you can answer this riddle correctly, you’ll be allowed in. Now answer your riddle so you can be sent to Hell just like you deserve.”
The man gazed at the gate with a troubled look on his face. He swallowed to bring moisture back into his dry throat and said meekly, “Okay.” Once again the riddle appeared on the door. It was the hardest, most vapid riddle I’ve seen in a while:
A sailor walks into a restaurant, orders albatross soup, tastes it, and shoots himself.
Why did he do this?
The man stared at the words engraved on the door for the longest time. Heavy beads of sweat ran down his face. He was a genius at deductive reasoning and he was straining his brain as hard as he could for a reasonable answer as to why a sailor would shoot himself. I watched keenly waiting for his failure, but unbeknownst to me, the endorphins released in his brain under the pressure carried him to a higher capacity of reasoning. He explored every avenue of possibility and wild thoughts ran through his mind:
“Is the fact that he’s a sailor significant?” the man thought to himself. “Of course, it must be! And what do sailors do? They sail. Out on the ocean. The big blue peaceful ocean. Sometimes it’s not peaceful. There’s storms. And why an albatross? Sure, it’s a bird. But does it need to be that specific animal?”
I continued to watch him eagerly. I painfully waited for permission to send him to hell. He shut his eyes and clenched his teeth. He was thinking harder now:
“An albatross flies. What doesn’t fly? Dogs and cats. There’s no dogs and cats in the ocean? Do sailors like having pets? Albatross eat fish. I know what fish tastes like. What does albatross taste like? They have white feathers. What is also white? A sailor’s uniform?”
He kept thinking and thinking then suddenly his eyes widened as if he discovered something amazing. It looked as if revelation his him like a cold slap on the face. He opened his mouth and gave his answer and I looked at him utterly speechless.
“Prior to the restaurant, the sailor was out at sea when a storm hit his boat. He was stranded on a raft with two other sailors and were left starving for days. One day the disoriented sailor finds one of the men missing and the other was eating something. He tells him that the other man committed suicide by drowning himself. He believes he was eating the dead sailor but he tells him that he was eating an albatross that he caught when it landed on the raft. The sailor offers him some of the meat. He always considered the possibility of cannibalism but was so hungry he ate some anyways. Eventually they were rescued. Then came the day he goes to the restaurant. He tries the albatross soup and realizes that it tastes nothing like what he ate that day on the raft. Realizing he ate human flesh, he pulls out his gun and kills himself.”
There is silence for a long time. Then the doors open wide.
|
There was no bright light. No singing angels, nor pits of hell. It was like I woke up from a night's sleep - only I was standing, fully clothed and aware of everything. There was an odd, hum of calm that seemed to surround everything, which was nothing at all. A woman who stood in the nothingness, an emotionless expression on her face. She was fit, but not gaunt; solemn but not sad; quiet, but not quite yet unnerving. She was as average and mousy as they came.
"I am young, I am not gallant. I am old, I am not wise. I am not good, I am evil. What am I?" Her voice could have put me to sleep, had the situation been different.
"Excuse me?" My tone was sharp and I can only imagine the look of utter confusion on my face.
"You have to answer in order to determine your fate," she said with the same unwavering tone. She repeated herself, slower this time. "I am young. I am not gallant. I am old. I am not wise. I am not good. I am evil. What am I?"
"My fate?" I scoffed. "I hate to inform you, but I'm dead. Whatever my fate was has already been decided." I don't know why I felt that's what was going on, but somehow I just knew. It was more of a fact in my bones than a feeling. The woman stared at me entirely too long before answering, as if the additional conversation were a nuisance.
"Yes, you have died. However, you fate is decided by how you answer the question. You are responsible for the deaths of 317 people." She paused, the number lingering in the air. "So, I'll ask again."
"I am young, I am not gallant. I am old, I am not wise. I am not good, I am evil. What am I?" I hated riddles, a stupid waste of time and brain space. I also had no idea what that had to do with those people - no, those animals. I did what needed to be done, judgment was for the weak.
"I have no idea." I really didn't and at this point didn't care to waste any more time on it.
"Are you sure you don't want to think about it any longer?" I saw her left eyebrow arch ever so slightly as she questioned.
"Yes, I'm sure. I told you, I have no idea." She looked down, nodding to herself, processing the answer through some unknown source, though only for a moment.
"I'm sorry, that is incorrect." Her voice was the same as when she first spoke. "The correct answer is you."
I guess it's my time to face judgment now.
| 2017-06-02T21:48:16 | 2017-06-02T20:02:08 | 1,253 | 88 |
[WP] "Witch! Heathen! Burn her!" You watch with amusement as they begin lighting the pyre under you. The flames tickle your feet, bringing a familiar warmth with them. They are silly to that think they could actually burn a dragon with fire.
|
"No, please, no! Have mercy, please! Mercy!"
*Might as well give them a show, I suppose. The show of their lives, as one might say.*
"Silence, witch! We all know you made Old Tom's cow die, and about all your dealings with devils!"
*Who is Old Tom? I don't remember any Old Tom, let alone his stupid cow. And I cannot say that I had many 'dealings' with devils in the last few centuries either - the horns get always stuck in my teeth, and some of them can put a fight. No, humans are much better.*
"And we also know about all your licentiousness and depravity! Yes, witch, yes, we know all about how on moonless nights you meet in the forest with your coven, and you all dance naked around a fire! And then as the fire gets higher and higher, you start touching each other most inappropriately and..."
*By magma and coal, you really needed to get laid, did you? Well, too late now, friend - but never fear, tonight you and your buddies will nonetheless satisfy a woman, for the first and only time.*
"And then archdemons come out from the fire, also naked, their indecent dangling manhoods exposed for all to see! And you witches pay them homage, and worship them, and ..."
*Get on with it, will you? As a hateful rabble-rouser you certainly have - or should I say, had - talent, but your erotic fiction is uninspired. Brooms don't work that way, as an aside, and neither do human women...*
"And now you will die, witch! You have no power over us, because we are protected! We are anointed with the sacred unguent, made according to the instructions of Inquisitor Axtakolok's Manual!"
*Ah, yes, the protective unguent of 'Inquisitor Axtakolok'. One of my better ideas, that one. Mustard, garlic, olive oil and salt - not sure if it does anything about magic, but it certainly makes the skins crispier. Maybe I should suggest adding some truffle shavings 'to increase effectiveness' in the next edition of the manual?*
"But before you meet your just end, let us pray the Litany of the Saint-Heroes. May what was before the grass, what was before the sun, what was before the sky..."
*No, please, not the Litany of the Saint-Heroes, that takes forever! Come on, just set me on fire, then you all can die horribly and get eaten, not necessarily in this order!*
"... and what we will be after the grass, and what will be after the Sun, and what will be after the sky bless us all with the blessing of the Sun, and with the blessing of the sea, and with the blessing..."
*Come on, come on, come on - just get on with it and try to kill me before* **he** *comes...*
"Halt! What goes on here!"
"High Priest Aratosh! What a peasant surpise! Why, we caught this witch..."
*Ice and Asbestos, I knew he would arrive!*
"You know the law. Accused witches must be given to the Church to be tried lawfully! Men, arrest him - arrest them all. And make them clean themselves off that mustard. I will examine the accused witch personally".
\*A few hours later\*
His legs dangling from a small stone wall, High Priest Aratosh sighed. "I cannot help but think that you are not respecting the spirit of your oath, Axtakolok."
Sitting at his side in her human form, Axtakolok looked at Aratosh evenly. "I made no oath. Just because your god cursed me..."
"A geas, not a curse!"
"Geas, curse, same thing. I am forced not to kill or eat any human who doesn't try to kill me first, but it is not a promise I chose to make."
"I guess I was hoping you were changing. Foolish, I know. Your refusal to participate to the Saralan Conquest..."
"I was not going to fight for a little human king just so that his enemies could try to kill me. I am a Great Dragon, not a slave or a weapon. He learned, eventually" - Axtakolok smiled thinly.
"You ate the King?"
"I ate many kings. But yes, I ate him. You humans should really make your kings and nobles eat more vegetables: they always taste too greasy, and he was greasier than most. Getting him to try to kill me was hatchling's play: I just polymorphed into a maid and was a bit too clumsy. A spilled cup of wine was all that I needed".
"We are getting sidetracked. Can I convince you to stop perverting Church doctrine to get idiots to try to kill you?"
"I don't think so." Axtakolok shrugged. "I had this conversation many times with your predecessors, you know. It's such a convenient way to get a snack from time to time, and it annoys your god. Plus, my 'inquisition manuals' sell well."
"But a lot of innocent women get murdered because of them!"
"It's their own fault that they were born so flammable. Why are you trying to appeal to my compassion? I'm Axtakolok the Burning Death, remember?"
"There is good inside of everyone, so there must be good inside you as well. One day you will see that too" High Priest Aratosh sighed "But today is not that day, it seems. Anyway, there is a summon for 'Inquisitor Axtakolok': his treatises have been judged heretical, and 'he' must present himself to the Tribunal to defend himself within a month. I expect that the courts will be merciful - I made sure that 'he' will not be condemned to death, I know what the consequences of that would be - but hopefully the verdict will reduce the influence of 'his' writings. Now, good night."
Aratosh left without any other word. A little later, Axtakolok also stood and started walking towards yet another village, whistling a merry tune.
|
[Poem]
Fire fire burning bright
Set ablaze against the night
Pyre pyre tied to so tight
And roasting the flesh beneath
“Burn the witch!” a person cries
Wiping the soot away from their eyes
Looking at the women they did despise
And certainly did mistreat
Higher, higher the flames that grew
And licked her body, but she knew
That she was in no danger of burning through
Out the deepest darkest night
As large dark wings spread from her back
And the ropes broke with a snicker-snack
And the wood beneath her began to crack
And she turned to begin the fight
Claws and fire burned skin and flesh
Till the town breathed its final breath
And there was nothing but ashes left
And the last pitiful cries
So stop burning witches, and put down the torch
Put out the fierce flames that scorch
And definitely don’t just stand back and watch
Cause that could be the day the whole town dies
| 2021-01-03T08:44:06 | 2021-01-03T06:15:32 | 46 | 25 |
[WP] you are perfectly safe in your bunker, you have plenty of food and water and even plumbing. The problem is that you are alone and there is a zombie outside. Out of sheer boredom you teach it to speak, and now it's trying to convince you to let it in.
|
Inside the station’s bunkered core there was: a storeroom, consisting of food supplies sufficient to last one man ten years, a digital and a print library, a gym, a full kitchen, a small greenhouse whereby a man might grow herbs or flowers if he had the seeds, bathing, laundering, medical, erogenous, hallucinatory, and scientific facilities; there were many bedrooms, one of which was occupied, one of which had been repurposed to a prison; there was a porthole, looking out on the cold, slowly rotating black of space.
And none of that was enough to keep a man sane in silence.
Russel, waking late in the artificial day as he often did lately, rolled over in his soft bed built for two, and got thoroughly lost in the empty half. When he stood, some fifteen minutes later, it was with bleary, unfocused eyes. They stayed unfocused all through breakfast and a shower, and the usage of the other various facilities. They stayed unfocused when, as he always did, Russel peered through the cameras at the core’s breached outer airlock, where some two dozen or so of them wandered, mewling, groaning, occasionally gurgling or beating their fists against his door.
They stayed unfocused as he went to the print library, grabbed his notes and a picture book.
It was not until Russel reached the makeshift prison that he began to feel alive. The door slid open at his code and he stepped in, laid the book on the nightstand and shuffled his notes a few times in his hands. The scent of her filled the air; her perfume, a gentle citrus blend just on the familiar side of exotic, not the scent of her as she was, decaying and half dead. More than half dead.
“Good morning, honey. Have I told you lately that I love you?” Russel said. He had told her, he always told her. He told her again right then, finishing with the notes and finally looking at her.
She was a short woman, even when she had stood tall, proud. Now she was stooped, bent inward around the gnawing pit of her stomach, arms clutched tight to it. She hadn’t eaten her beef again. Russel frowned, grabbed a stick and pulled the dish away; it was a soy reproduction, all he had access to, but in his opinion it tasted and smelled very much like real beef.
Angelique spit at him, hissed. Her ruined nightgown fell one shoulder and Russel tried not to look. He wished he could change the gown for her but he couldn’t get close enough and the sedatives had not worked. What was once sheer, white, and lacy was now a soiled sort of brown, torn in places, very foul smelling without the perfume.
“We’re in the D’s today, honey,” Russel said. He sat down in the chair, propped his feet up on the unused bed. She lurched towards him, the wires around her wrist rattled, pulled taut when she was a foot from him. She hissed, strained against it.
Russel raised his notes, a picture of Jack Russel Terrier, a very fine example of the breed with wide, dewy eyes. Angelique had always been fond Jack Russels, she had elbowed him whenever they passed one.
“Dog,” Russel said. Then, “Dog. Do you see honey? This is a dog. Remember that, it’ll be important for later. Dog.”
He had a hundred pictures in his hands, a hundred D’s. Hours later when he had read off all the words, pointed at all the dogs and ducks and donkeys and dinners, he took up the book, showing it to her, and began to read. “See Spot run. Run Spot, run.”
And Angelique, halting, still thirsting for his blood, the fingers of her free hand outstretched and sketching little twisting, tearing motions in the air between, groaned “Spot.”
Russel smiled, nodded, and turned the page.
\*\*\*
It was nighttime on the station. In the core, Russel had tuned the lights to only dim, it was too terrifying to walk out into blackness and hear his wife’s inarticulate moans and hisses from the other room.
He could not sleep. Russel had never been able to sleep properly; he did not dream, never got through nights in an unbroken line, but tonight was worse. He gave up, left his bed sometime before the artificial dawn, wrapped a threadbare blue robe around his shoulders, and padded on bare feet out into the core.
He went to the locked outer door, laid his ear against the wall, and listened.
*“Dog,”* they whispered. *“Dinner, duck, donkey, dune, day, dance,”* and on and on through the D’s.
Russel shivered, though the station’s core temperature was kept more than comfortable for a man in bare skin. He had discovered, when working through the A’s, that what he told to Angelique did not stay with Angelique. She had no contact with the outside world of course. She was chained into the bedroom prison, had been ever since she had been bitten. It had even been her idea. When he had been busy crying, screaming at God, she had been practical. She had kissed his forehead, grabbed the handcuffs from the nightstand, ransacked the storeroom for a chain of any kind, finding a sort of metallic wiring that was an adequate substitute, and then proceeded to talk to him in a low, calm, soothing voice until he did as he was told.
So, how then, did they know the word “Dog?”
*“Spot,”* one of them whispered outside, and the whisper ran through them like a second plague. *“Spot. Spot. Spot. Spot. Spot,”* chorused on two dozen broken lips.
Russel did not understand it. He was no scientist, before the plague struck he had been a weapons officer, a lieutenant in charge of a few railguns facing towards the Kurzon border. The core had not been meant for him and Angelique, but other, brighter souls who might have known why all the zombies whispered in tandem. Slower souls. Souls who had died at their posts and even now clustered about the broken outer airlock.
Abandoning the dead outside, he went to the dead inside. The prison door slid open, Angelique stumbled towards him, fell. She did not sleep either. “Just wanted to say I love you,” Russel said. He said it a few more times, trying to make himself believe it still. Eventually, when the noises she made grew too maddening, he left, whispering one final “I love you” into the fetid air. She needed perfuming again.
Russel pounded his forehead against the wall, tried to shut out the many whispered words, and then went to the facilities again. There was a particular hallucinogen there that, when its other effects were exhausted, had proved rather effective at making him sleep.
\*\*\*
part 2 below
r/TurningtoWords
|
“Helloooo! Dude, let me in, bro!”
Fuck. That’s it -that overly attached prick, again. My zombie friend. I was enjoying the life that I live peacefully in my cosy bunker... till now. What? Why the fuck am I in a bunker? That’s the thing you’re curious about, I know, I know. Long story. Pandemics, apocalypses, fucked up occurences like this and that and so forth to summarize. Anyway, I taught it to speak out of sheer boredom, but now it’s trying to convince me to let it in. All it seeks is “to play some FIFA 21 with me”, quoting it.
“Hey! I know you hear me. Why don’t you let me in? Are you a speciesist or something? Oh, sorry but being a zombie wasn’t my choice, besides it’s 21st century, you know, widen your horizons...”
“Words carry meanings, but they are all meaningless.”
“What?”
“If you want to convince me to let you in, you have to start to practise Zen. This bunker is a shrine...”
“A what?”
“A sanctua... a holy place, you idiot. So, I cannot let you in until the day you are enlightened.”
“How can I do that, I mean, rawr, this enlightenment stuff?”
“As I’ve just said, words carry meanings, but they are all meaningless. Because they cannot define Zen. When you define something, be sure, that’s not Zen. So shut the fuck up.”
The zombie is enlightened at that very moment, and I keep playing FIFA 21 alone. It’s career mode. So I can’t let you in. Fuck you, zombie.
| 2021-09-29T06:20:37 | 2021-09-29T04:41:46 | 537 | 209 |
[WP] All your life, mythological beings have tried to pick you up. Childhood? Forced adoption. Teenagehood/Adulthood? Marriage. For example, selkies purposefully left their skins where you'd find them; banshees serenade you outside every night. Now at 30, you've learned why you attract them all...
|
"You're a wizard, Harry," the old man standing just outside my front door said. He looked like he'd been tied to the back of a cab and dragged all the way across town to get here. His ratty duster had more holes than not, his face was pink and blotchy and covered in salt and pepper stubble. And his eyes, bloodshot, wild, and locked on me like I was the last crack pipe he'd ever burn his lips on. He had to be a junkie. The question was, why didn't I slam the door in his face?
I said, "I'm sorry? Did you just quote Harry Potter to me?"
It was still raining, had been all week, and my cheap front door warps in the humidity. It took me a good five minutes to get it open when the old junkie started banging on it like the cops. In the distance, banshees crooned their ghostly songs, ballads meant to lure me out of my house every night. It wasn't like they were sirens, those were way more dangerous—hence why me and the beach don't mix well. But I've found that banshees, while loud, can't sing for shit. Like a horny cat in a blender, so I do my best to ignore them.
The old junkie slumped against the doorframe, and I almost reached out to grab him, but pulled back once my nose caught his scent again. Piss and booze and mildew. Was he dying?
The old junkie said, "S'ppose jokes ain't the best way going bout these things. Let me in outta this rain, and I'll get to s'plainin."
I said, "Hey, look man. If you need help or something, I can call the paramedics. But If you're just looking for somewhere dry for the night, there's a shelter not far from here. This ain't a hotel, okay?"
He looked up, his grin revealing teeth rotted like piano keys, and said, "No. Ain't no hotel, I s'ppose. More like a motel. You know, them fuck lots out on the highway, where lot lizards get their parts all mixed up. Yeah. That's what we're dealin with here. A whole vortex of desire, all coming straight outta you, wizard boy."
When I was still trying to date, my go-to spot for first dates were comedy clubs. Tell me what you think is funny, I may believe you. Laugh at what you think is funny, then I feel like I know you. The best nights aren't the pro-shows, like on Friday or Saturday nights. The best are midweek, open mic nights, where *anyone* can get up on stage. Even the dead.
Once, I was on a date with this girl. Nice enough. She was in public relations, real type-A lady. We went to an open mic night, sat in the front row and everything. The first comic on stage (before the show started) was this old, disheveled ghost by the name *Doctor Pepper*. The thing about Doctor Pepper, was that he was a total junkie, nodding off on stage. He did a ten minute set, slipping in and out of consciousness as he told this long, rambling, nearly incoherent story. But if you paid attention, if you could perceive him, there was a coherent story somewhere in there.
My stomach hurt from laughing. My date didn't get it, of course, since she couldn't see him.
Here, now, with this living, breathing old man slumped against my doorframe, I wanted to understand what he was saying—what the story was somewhere in there.
It wasn't like I had anything else going on.
"You know what?" I said, stepping aside. "Just come in."
The old junkie flashed me his piano key smile, and shuffled in past me.
In the shadow of the alley across the street, a pair of golden eyes hovered in the darkness. One of them winked. I groaned and closed the door.
My studio apartment wasn't much to look at. It was on the first floor, between a used-book store and a plant shop. The neighborhood was really up-and-coming, like, the rent was up and young gentrifiers were coming. But I'd been grandfathered into my place, rent controlled, and had every intention of dying here.
The old junkie had plopped down on my stitched-up couch, his wet trench coat still on, and he kicked up his grubby sneakers on my coffee table, inches from my bong and tray of weed.
"Come one man," I said, "at least—you know what, forget it. Can I get you water or something?"
He patted his duster, dripping even more water on my couch. "No thanks. Plenty wet already. Speaking of wet, let's get down to brass tax, my boy—"
Banshees wailed outside. Could he hear them?
He raised a finger, as if gesturing to them. "You've got a problem."
My body moved on its own. I dropped into the folding chair across from him, leaned forward, and asked, "Can you hear them?"
He said, "Well I'm not deaf! What kinda man can't hear a choir o' banshees wailin' right outside their front door? Maybe my liver's calling it quits, but my ears work just fine—thank you very much." He nodded to himself. "Shall we get to it?"
I didn't know what to say. All my life, spectral shit has been happening to me. Specifically, entities have tried taking me. Childhood? A pair of werewolves kidnapped me. When I was a teenager, there was a month where I kept finding the skins of women on my walk home, just laid out there on the sidewalk or sticking out of the bushes. Now, it's the banshees serenading me every night, singing my name and what sweet, tender things they'd do to me, if only I'd let them.
And no one believed me. My folks took me to specialist after specialist, until everyone shrugged and called me "highly-sensitive" and "overly-imaginative." My folks slipped deep into denial and decided I'd be a great writer, make up stories for kids books. I've worked at the same life insurance agency for the past five years...
I shook my head, fighting down the curiosity and fear mixing in my guts like mentos and diet coke. Was he even here?
"Go on then," the old junkie said, holding out his arm as I reached for him. "Have a squeeze."
I did. He was real.
"What's happening to me? Who are you?"
"My names Silas," he said, wiggling his fingers then producing a ratty business card. "And I'm an...exterminator, of sorts." He handed me the card. It read:
SILAS MCCOURT
EXTERMINATOR
OF SORTS
He continued, "And what's happening to you is what's happened to plenty of folks since there's been folks. You've got the *kavorka*. The lure of the beast."
"I don't understand. I—"
The banshees wailed again.
"You hear them?"
I nodded.
"How do they sound like to you? Listen. Close your eyes."
I did.
Each voice sang something different, but they all sang in husky, throaty voices. I couldn't understand what they were saying, but it sounded like chopped up moans and groans, spliced together into some sort of melody, like a sexy funeral dirge. If anything, it sounded like the vocals from Aphex Twin's *Windowlicker*, but more Irish?
"I think they're horny," I said.
"Aye. They be."
"They're horny? Banshees get horny?"
"Aye. For you, boy-o. They lust for you."
"What the fuck."
"Aye. You, are what they seek to fuck."
The banshees crooned, and I crossed my legs.
What the hell?
|
The elf shrieked out in surprise as she and the stranger bumped into each other in the dark cave. At first, she thought about making a run for it, but then, she saw that the stranger seemed to be just as scared of her, if not more. Then, her eyes narrowed as she noticed his distinct lack of sharp ears and his strange heterochromatic eyes. "No way..."she whispered. "You're that human that went missing over ten years ago!"
"No, no, no," Arthur responded hastily, pulling his hood over his head as he quickly withdrew further into his cave. "You've got the wrong person."
"Yes, you are!" the elf insisted. "I can smell that you're not like any of the other races in this world." She looked around at the bleak, mossy cave and frowned. "So this is where you've been hiding all this time. It looks so depressing..."
"Look, I'm sorry, but I don't want to marry you," Arthur said abruptly. "And it's not you, it's me. I came here because I was so sick of everyone chasing me down to marry me for my "legendary" power as the Chosen One or whatever nonsense they said. So, I would really appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone I was here."
The elf stared at him in confusion. "Oh...you don't know..."
Arthur's brow furrowed. "Know? What don't I know?"
"Ah...well, this is a little embarrassing, but it turns out that you're not actually the Chosen One," the elf said sheepishly. "Turns out the same truck that transported you here also hit a moose. The seers figured out that he was the real Chosen One a decade ago."
Arthur looked at her, completely flabbergasted. "You've got to be kidding me -- a fucking moose?!"
"The Antlered Champion, Densetsu no Herajika," the elf corrected me. "He was the one that saved the world from the emu demons years ago."
Arthur sank against a nearby wall in shock. "So...all of this time, I could have just left whenever I wanted..." A sudden revelation hit him. "I...I don't know what I'm supposed to do now. I mean, I always hoped that everyone would stop trying to mob me for their attention, but now, I'm not sure what to do next...I guess I always assumed that I would just die in this cave."
The elf looked at him sympathetically. "Well, if you want, I could show you around. The world has greatly changed since you last saw it." She held out her hand. "My name's Lyra."
| 2022-10-26T08:22:07 | 2022-10-26T07:57:44 | 175 | 123 |
[WP] Tired of attacks from bandits, a small village has decided to pay the local dragon for protection.
|
Drax awoke with a start. He picked up the salty stench of a human in his cavern. Another champion perhaps? Maybe an overly-ambitious thief? In any case, they hadn't the experience to end his immortal reign. Even the most amateur dragon-slayers knew to mask their scent with annie-seed or scented elk-fat.
One long eye opened just a slit and peered upon the silhouette of a mortal at his cavern entrance. No attempt at stealth. Definitely a champion. And a stupid one at that.
Drax rose to his haunches and cleared his vision by licking his eyes. His spines stretched up from his back like a fan of death, and his wings absent-mindedly reached towards the ceiling of the cavern before returning to his sides.
Drax could smell the fear coming from the human, but he didn't budge. The human stood, trembling, unarmed and unarmored, holding a stick with a white piece of cloth dangling at the end. An old mule stood at his side.
Drax was intrigued. The human was clearly no champion. As skinny and dirty as he was, he was probably a farmer. Sometimes the farmers carried sticks into battle, but they never went into battle against Drax. Drax prepared for the pitiful monolog that he sensed was coming.
"Well...." Drax hissed, growing impatient.
"Oh- Oh- ... " The peasant gathered himself. "Oh, Mighty Drax, eater of kings, taker of fortunes, burner of hordes, I beseech you!"
Drax sighed. He refrained from pointing out how empty and pointless a sentence that was. Obviously the peasant besought him, or he wouldn't be there yammering.
"I come to strike a bargain!" The peasant spat out, as if afraid that the words might escape him if he held them for any longer.
Drax bellowed with laughter. The stones shook and the mountain rattled. Birds fled their roosts in the valley below. This peasant could barely afford to clothe himself in rags, what thing of value would the peasant have to offer?
The peasant seemed to resign himself to his fate. Certain of his death, fear lost its grip on him.
"Mighty Drax, new champions come to slay you every year. None succeed, but in the time span of your immortal life, eventually one will. Each year humans develop new improvements, like our steel crossbow bolts or the arquebus. I have heard a gunpowder merchant bragging that the Knights of Icarus slew 3 dragons last year with cannon-shot. This is a tenuous time for Dragons, and I come to offer you a mutually beneficial pact of protection."
Fire swelled in Drax' chest. He rose to the peak of the cavern. "You dare threaten ME? Offer ME protection?"
The peasant was quick to reply. "I am nothing to you, but death finds us all. As long as you exist in opposition to humans, the king will offer champions rewards to hunt you, and eventually they will succeed. Unless..." The peasant trailed off and smiled.
The peasant smiled! Drax was furious. The peasant was teasing him! With-holding information! "Lest your forget who you are speaking to, let me remind you that I could cook you while eating you, if I didn't prefer your flesh rare!"
The peasant got back to business. "Drax, I offer you a monthly offering of sheep in exchange for peace with the kingdom and your services as a brigand hunter. The terms of this contract are extensive, but suffice to say you would cease to be a monster. You would become a mercenary and a citizen, bound and protected by our laws. Champions will not be encouraged to hunt you, they will be prohibited from doings so under threat of hanging for murder."
"I am not just offering you mutual protection and a way to put food on the table. I'm offering you entry into a community. Think of the wealth of opportunity! You could earn gold by hauling stones from the mountain top. You could receive gems in exchange for your ancient knowledge in the court. If you started a family, you could hunt, secure in the knowledge that the King's men *protect* your wyrmlings, instead... instead of before."
Drax flinched. 400 years before he had a mate and they had a clutch. He was in love. The Kingdom was in terror. One night, one beautiful, one terrible night, his mate and he had drifted high above the mountains to survey their territory. Too high. They had not spotted the King's warband which had slipped into his old lair and skewered his wyrmlings with spears. The loss was too much. His mate left. Drax sealed the cave and all of its treasures with molten stone, to hide the memory from time. It was his greatest shame, and the Kingdom still sang those champions praises to this day.
This peasant's words had wounded him like no champion's spear or sword had done before. Drax knew the peasant needed to make him feel vulnerable, to push the need for a mutual protection treaty, but that didn't make the words hurt any less. Drax gazed down upon the peasant.
"It is rare that a dragon aligns himself with the humans. To do so is a great embarrassment. Many would rather die. But perhaps now is a new time..."
The peasant's eyes lit up. Drax could sense the hope, and would take equal pleasure in crushing it.
"Still, if I am to make this transition, from beast to citizen, perhaps this is not the Kingdom to partner with. I'm sure the king of Blackmoor, who is wealthier and in greater need of mercenaries, would pay substantially more."
As predicted, the peasant's hope was snuffed out. Blackmoor was a violent and dangerous kingdom that coveted the other side of the mountain for its rich deposits of iron. The Vaillians from the valley below had resisted such intrusions for decades, for fear that a path of approach for the Blackmooran army would lead to slave-taking or war. With Drax's assistance, the Blackmoorans would be able to access the deposits easily, and launch an invasion with equal convenience.
"It may have been four lifespans for your Kingdom, but I remember the death of my children like it was yesterday." Though Drax had never developed venom glands, venom dripped from his every word. "I curse the vale. I only remain here to spite it!"
The peasant stood quietly. Drax waited for him to flee, but instead he just stood in thought. Finally, he spoke two simple words.
"I'm sorry."
"YOU are SORRY?"
"Yes. I am sorry."
Drax was taken aback. Incredulous. Gobsmacked. Speechless.
"I had been told the tale of the wyrmling slayers many times. I had never thought of it from your perspective before. It must have hurt a lot."
The words hit Drax like a storm of spears, tearing his heart to shreds. Sickening convulsions spread from his lungs to his wings. Embers climbed up his throat and burned his nostrils. Drax was old and wise, and he knew what was happening. But that made it hurt no less.
Drax began to cry.
The feelings were a whilrwind. Agony of loss. Shame at his weakness, both back then and now. The pain of a father. Curse this damned peasant. How dare he stand there... no, how dare he approach Drax the Burner of Hoards! How dare he embrace the devil wyrm! How he show mercy on his greater enemy!
The two stood in that cavern for what felt like an eternity. Drax' emotions swung like a pendulum between murder and despair. Finally, Drax was calm again. "Please. Return to your village. Tell no one of this."
The villager stood back. "Okay. But I'll be back. And you can keep the mule. People won't believe I visited you and got away without a tribute."
Drax chuckled a bit through the remnants of his sobs. As the villager retreated towards the cave entrance, Drax spoke one last time.
"I'll think about it, human. I'll think about it."
The villager waved, and disappeared down the mountainside.
|
"Ser Dragon, the local Lord requests that you protect our village from the vile bandits who have set upon us! Come, speak with me, and we will discuss payment!" Ser Derrick stared at the gigantic maw of the Dragon's Den as he shouted into the pitch black entryway.
Noting the quiet stillness of the cave, Ser Derrick shouted again, impatience dripping from his voice. "We will not leave until we have met with you! I have staked my life upon this endeavor and will not leave until I have an answer!"
A small voice came from behind him. "Oi, shitehead, quit the gabbin'. I 'eard you the first time. What kind o' payments are we talkin' 'ere?"
Ser Derrick turned around to see nothing but the snow-covered trees of the dense forest. "Show yourself Ser Dragon, so we may discuss!" he stated, disturbed by the disembodied voice.
"Down 'ere, ya bloody mummer."
Ser Derrick looked down. Before him lay not the great and powerfully terrifying monstrosity of legend, but a lizard. The mighty dragon was nothing but a 7 inch long, tiny-clawed, foul mouthed lizard.
"You're the great and powerful Ser Dragon? What about the stories? The ones where you rain fire from the heavens upon your enemies? Where you ate the hordes of soldiers tasked to dispatch you? This cannot be the truth! You're a damned lizard! Explain yourself," Ser Derrick growled through gritted teeth.
"Ye, that's me alright. Tussled with some damned magical bogans in the forest and lost most o' my strength. Now you were sayin' somethin' about payment for stoppin' some bandits?"
"You have attempted to make a fool of me and the honor held by my position as Captain of the Guard. I will strike you down where you stand." Ser Derrick unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the lizard. "Prepare for a duel to the death!"
The lizard seemed to blur for a second. A pain in his right calf and left arm and the sound of a liquid hitting the ground echoed through his mind. Looking to the afflicted regions, Ser Derrick found himself bleeding, though not profusely. Multiple bite marks slowly oozed, the dark crimson liquid pooling and dripping from his arm and soaking into his boot.
"You sure you wanna fight me? I got some tricks up my sleeves, if I had any." The lizard looked at Ser Derrick, a wickedly toothy grin spreading across his small face. "Since you ain't makin' any offers, how about you 'elp me get my strength back and we call it even?"
Ser Derrick sat down and began to nurse his wounds. "And what would that entail, Ser Dragon?"
Tiny fires lit behind the lizard's eyes. "We're gonna hafta capture a princess. You in?"
| 2017-05-08T13:52:47 | 2017-05-08T12:01:21 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] You're the unappreciated intern for a famous group of Superheroes. Your power? You can boil water. All you do is make tea for them while they laugh and drink in their hideout. Little do they know that you've got dreams of becoming the Worst Villain ever. After all, a human is over 70% water...
|
My name is Miles Brandenburg and they say you should never meet your heroes, and, if anything, the past six months of my life have been living proof of that. Like most kids growing up, I worshipped Commander Titan and The Mighty. I had his poster on my wall, along with the rest of The Mighty—Ajax, Artemis, and Strangelette. I watched and cheered as Commander Titan battled Dr. Diabolical live on T.V., defeating him, saving the city from the nuclear device he had planted underneath the local university, and delivering him to the custody of Deep Dark, where he remains to this day. Strangelette was one of my first crushes, and one of the first female superheroes to take on a primarily combat role on her team. I envied Ajax, his posh London accent and impeccable sense of style, and was and still am a little afraid of Artemis.
I discovered my own ability when I was fourteen and even applied to the Hero’s Academy, but was rejected. “Your power has potential, I’ll give you that,” the Dean told me. “But kid, I’m just not sure it’s strong or reliable enough to give you a spot here at the Academy.”
There are basically two types of people in this world when it comes to rejection. There are those become dejected and give up, and there are those won’t take no for an answer and try even harder. I, unfortunately, was the former, and spent my high school years convincing myself that I wanted to go to university, then law school, then get married and have two kids and live in the suburbs someday. I tore down my posters of Commander Titan and The Mighty and replaced them with ones of The Beatles and Nirvana.
I had almost forgotten about my powers, hadn’t used them in nearly a year in fact, when I saw Commander Titan and Strangelette post a YouTube video. They invited those interested to post videos of their own abilities, as for the first time in a decade, The Mighty was taking on an intern, and maybe even a new member. I submitted mine on a whim. I filled an unused aquarium in my backyard, pointed at it, and within several minutes, brought the water to raging boil. Neat party trick, but too slow to be useful to a team of heroes. I uploaded it and was more amused by the comments than anything else. “Fake!!!!!” “lmfao look at this lame ifrit wannabe mf.” One guy even wrote a practical essay about how I faked it by loading CO2 cartridges underneath the aquarium. If only I were so clever.
Commander Titan and The Mighty being, well, Commander Titan and The Mighty, I found out that I was selected not with a phone call, text, or email, but when four black SUVs pulled up in front of my house with a camera crew in tow. Dad thought it was rude. Mom asked for Commander Titan’s autograph. Grandma poked him in the chest and chastised him for my rejection at the Academy years earlier, like it was entirely his fault.
And that’s how I ended up here, although I’m not sure where “here” is. It’s somewhere very big, and beneath the ground, or ocean. It’s impossible to tell, really. It took twelve hours, two planes, a train, a boat, and some type of elevator device to get here. And here I walk with a tray of various beverages: black coffee, ice water, coffee with cream, tea with honey.
Commander Titan and Strangelette are lounging in a Victorian game room replete with all the luxury and technology of the 21st century. They have company as well. A beautiful young woman maybe only a few years older than myself is sitting in Commander Titan’s lap, puffing on a vaporizer, laughing uproariously at something he just said. Strangelette mashes buttons on the controller and giggles as she slays legions of demons in *From Hell IV*, the latest installment in the blockbuster franchise. A beautiful young woman is softly kissing her neck, and an aggravatingly handsome young man massages her shoulders. I clear my throat, as they didn’t even notice me enter and I don’t plan to stick around for the show.
“Yes?” Strangelette sighs with pleasure. She pauses the game and throws back her head, giving the young woman a better angle of attack on her neck. Her, servants, whatever they are, don’t stop for me, and Strangelette gives me a sidelong glance and a wink, then giggles again at my obvious discomfort. I never thought my childhood crush would be a… such a creep.
I notice it a split second before it happens. Several vines have unbuckled my belt and wrapped around my pants, and I’m pantsed in front of my childhood heroes by a stupid childhood prank. I reflexively drop the tray of beverages and turn to walk somewhere, anywhere, and fall flat on my face, my ankles also having been wrapped in a tangle of vines. The entire room bursts into laughter and a tsunami of embarrassment floods over me, the kind that burns your face and makes you angry and sad and mad at being sad all at the same time. That’s when I see Artemis grinning at me, sitting alone in the corner of the room, the vines receding back to her skull and her yellow eyes gleaming. And those teeth, Jesus, they’re canid, and they’re far too many of them.
The laughter continues as I pull up my pants and clean up the mess with as much dignity as I can muster, which is admittedly not much. “I’ll be back,” I mutter underneath my breath. This draws more laughter as they recognize the old reference that I unintentionally invoked.
“We’ll be waiting, dear,” Strangelette sings, and her interest quickly returns to killing digital hell spawn.
I begin that long, humiliating walk to the kitchen, and I think about that text I got from Dr. Diabolical. “Once you get to know them, I won’t seem so bad. I need your help and you need mine,” he said in the short video attachment. It could have been a prank, or a test, but how that could have been faked, I don’t know. I don’t know if I care anymore either. I’ve been training on my own now, and I can bring twenty gallons of water to a boil in about thirty seconds. Still too slow for immediate combat, but quite dangerous if I may say so myself.
I remake The Mighty’s drinks, return, and smile placidly at their ribbing. “Take the rest of the night off, Miles. You’ve earned it,” Commander Titan says with a chuckle.
“You sure you don’t want to stick around?” Strangelette asks maliciously.
There’s no good answer so I leave the game room as quickly as I can without seeming too eager. When I get back to my dorm, I take out my phone and bring up the text message from Dr. Diabolical.
“What did you have in mind?” I write.
|
All my life, I’d been overlooked and underestimated. Nothing changed when I discovered my ability to mentally raise the temperature of water; all it did was earn me the moniker “Water Boy” in high school, a moniker that has unsurprisingly followed me into adulthood. I still hate that Adam Sandler movie, for obvious reasons.
Being an intern for the Super League of Good Guys was everything I’d expected it to be. I did clerk work, answered the phone, called former victims who’d been saved by one of the Good Guys to solicit donations, and boiled water. I would’ve been fine with this, after all, I’m used to it, but I made the mistake of falling in love with a Good Guy, and the bastard used me like dirty sock.
His name is Photon, and he has the awesome ability to bend and combine light particles into physical constructs. He looks like every good-looking guy out there with a matching cardboard personality. I fell in love with him because he believed in me, or at least I thought he did. Aside from my mom and my old college girlfriend who ended up dumping me for an international student on a cricket scholarship, I’ve rarely received that kind of genuine encouragement and support for anyone. He commended me for everything, defended me when the others casted catty remarks my way, and politely listened whenever I updated him about my in-progress Battlestar Galactica fan fiction novel. Then, one night, after he and the others had taken out a
| 2019-07-30T14:38:27 | 2019-07-30T14:07:20 | 514 | 86 |
[WP] You chant "Bloody Mary" three times in your car's side view mirror and then hit the gas laughing all the while as she sprints towards your car desperately trying to keep up.
Edit: Optional inclusion, it's the eighth time you done this.
|
I could hear laughter, and the roaring engine of a car racing away. It's simple physics, and I know that isn't the sort of thing you would expect me to know about, let alone talk about, but outside of Halloween I find myself with a large amount of free time. I read, mostly. Sometimes I watch TV, but anymore it's just for the news, or to catch an interesting documentary.
Simple physics. When I'm summoned, I match someone's velocity. If you think about it, it's really the only way it can be. The Earth is in constant motion, spinning and orbiting the sun, which is orbiting the galaxy, which is headed to somewhere in the general direction of the Andromeda Galaxy, all of which is falling towards the vast unknown that is the Great Attractor. Well, you don't know. I'm not telling. It would ruin the surprise.
Sure, sure, there's relative velocity, you're technically stationary from your own perspective if you're standing still, but if I maintained *my own* relative velocity when transiting from Hell to here, it could cause quite a few problems, especially given how liberally we interpret the suggestions of physics there.
So, velocity. This teenage prankster is racing along in his mother's minivan at roughly fifty miles per hour—through a residential zone, I should hasten to add—while I appear just to his left and behind him. That's the rule. Behind, in the direction they're looking. This placed me outside his vehicle, and as I don't come with wheels, this also left me tumbling and quickly dropping to a relative velocity of zero. Aches and pains quickly set in, and while (per my nickname,) I had a fresh layer of blood over me, I was now adding my own to the mix from several lacerations on my arms, legs, and forehead.
I scowled as he took a corner at speed. Seven times he had done this. Seven. Damn. Times.
And then I could hear it, echoing through my already throbbing head. "Bloody Mary." The brat was going to do it again. "Bloody Mary." That's the problem with kids these days, no respect. "Bloody Mar—shit!"
Close enough. I appeared, but flew by the ugly tan van and joined him in tumbling through the street. The fool had hit someone, and while I was still linked to his velocity, he was suddenly thrust out of his vehicle, over the smaller car he had struck, and was rolling through the road. I was able to pick myself up quickly. Being less than alive has advantages, and the stuff of spirits mends more easily than mortal flesh that has bounced its way across thirty feet of concrete. The other driver wasn't my problem, and before you get all moral on me do keep in mind where I make my home. She had also been wearing a seat belt. I assumed she would be fine, at least by comparison.
He, on the other hand, would not be fine. He was face down, which I say loosely. Most of his face had been left behind on that street he had none too gently crossed over. I flipped him over and gave a hard kick to his ribs for the sake of expressing my anger. He coughed up something that was probably important, along with a bit of blood. "You idiot!" I yelled. "You could have killed someone! You could have hit a kid! They're still out trick-or-treating!" For that matter, I knew we would attract an audience soon enough. People were beginning to look out doors. I waved at someone who seemed on the verge of coming over. "Call 911!" I yelled at her.
The teen was gasping and choking. That ugly punctured lung sound, the thing collapsed while his windpipe was suddenly half full of blood. Not a pleasant way to go, but faster enough to be sure no help would be there in time. I knelt down beside him, half turning him so I could take his wallet. "Robert. Do you go by Bobby? I bet you do. Don't try to talk, Bobby. You don't have long, and straining will speed all of this along. Let's just enjoy the moment." I sat, leaning back, hands behind me on the cool road. "I guess I should introduce myself. I'm Dave. I know, I know. I don't look like Dave. It's a job thing. You see, this whole Bloody Mary business? It's sort of...passed on. Think 'Dread Pirate Roberts.' I...have you seen The Princess Bride? Like Westley. He was given the position, and the previous Dread Pirate Roberts, who wasn't even the original, retired. Well, I took over from the last Bloody Mary. She'd been some silly teen in the fifties who summoned up someone who had been some poor kid in the nineteen-tens, and so on and so forth. It hasn't even always been Mary, the name changes sometimes, but the job is the same. You get summoned, you're supposed to do a thing, sometimes you kill them, usually you just chase them. If they die after they summon you, boom, you get a ticket out and they get to hang around trying to catch stupid teenagers. There's all kinds of rules and stuff. Don't worry, there's a guidebook. Forms to sign, too. Trust me, there's way more bureaucracy than you expect."
He seemed to catch on, gurgled out a bloody protest.
"Oh, no, Bobby, there's no backsies on this one. And no Indian giving, I'm definitely not going to be coming back and asking about doing this again. I guess that isn't a very PC term, but it was fine to say in the eighties. That's something else you'll have to get used to, things changing over time. Maybe you'll be really good at it, but the thing is...I live in Hell. This isn't about killing teens. It's about punishing *us*. So in a moment or two, you're going to wake up somewhere else, looking like this, and waiting for someone to call you. And they'll run away, or break the mirror. Maybe they'll live in Texas and they'll just shoot you. Or maybe some jerk will think it's funny to summon you so that you appear outside a building and fall all the way down. Or behind their mother's crappy minivan while they're going fifty in a twenty-five. One way or another, though, you're going to lose. Often." I smiled my best smile, the one that showed off too many too sharp teeth. "Well, I can see you're having trouble breathing. I guess this is it. See you in Hell, Bobby."
|
I cackled as I hit the gas, speeding away from her, but my laugh quickly turned to terror as she began to sprint. Mary was WAY faster than I'd imagined. By the time I hit 50, she was nearly at my rear bumper. It was only after I got 70 that she started to fall away.
But then, disaster struck. I knew this stretch of road well, I came here often, but apparently not often enough to know about the speed trap that occasionally was set up here.
Of course, the police bikes that pulled out and began to pursue me couldn't see Mary on my tail. She'd only appear to those who called her. I desperately tried to tell the cops that I couldn't stop, but after the officer to my right pulled out his gun, I had no choice but to pull over.
Nervously I checked my rear view mirror...and for just a moment I thought I'd gotten away with it...but then I saw her, sprinting toward me in the distance.
Bloody Mary fast gaining on my right, an angry police officer approaching from my left, I knew what I had to do.
Sensing that the time was right, I quickly drew my blade and disemboweled myself. As the light faded from my eyes, I whispered one last prayer...that I'd be dead before she caught me and dragged me down to hell.
| 2018-10-01T14:28:25 | 2018-10-01T13:21:41 | 179 | 44 |
[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
|
Fire is my birthright. Unlike my Big Three brothers, my domain was not of grandeur or power. Mine was the fireplace. Mine was of warmth, of comfort, of the shared quietness of a family together. Sharing their joys, their sorrows, their frustrations, their celebrations, all in front of the hearth, where my power lied.
Fire was my birthright.
The Big Three weren't my only siblings.
I still had Demeter and Chiron, though one was in perpetual worry for her daughter and the other was in a perpetual melancholy for the things to come. They were not the best company, but I cherished them all the same on the occasion they visited my inn.
My inn is my temple. A base for my power. I still persisted in homes and hearths of mortals, but I chose to have a place to call my own. A place of respite and pause. A place where anyone could come to relax and unwind and share their stories or rest in solitary.
And this inn existed outside the periphery of time. That was my power, as well. I was the daughter of Chronos, after all. He was Father Time, I was told. And I inherited part of his divinity. His control over time. Not wholly, maybe, but enough.
Enough to build my inn where no time passes at all, or where enough time passes, depending on who you are and what you seek. The Shifting Cadence, Chiron named it for me, for I was not a wordsmith like him. And he fashioned the sign as well, written with arcane words that can be read in whatever language you wished to read it in.
I reminisced that as I felt the sign radiate a familiar warmth. That was another magic it contained. When I was about to have godly company, the sign would warm up. And I could smell it now, as well. The sickly sweet smell of overripe grapes.
Dionysus.
The drunk fool liked coming here often. He liked to try to win my favour, though I had not figured out why. He'd try to reason that he could fill my barrels with unlimited ale and wine, the best mortals would ever taste. It was a tempting offer, to have a god's blessing in my drink. But I knew better.
Olympians were not the kind to bless charitably.
There would be a catch. And I would not taint my holy place with whatever gods had in mind.
The door creaked open and Dionysus stepped through, along with... Poseidon.
My eyes widened. I had not seen the sea god in millennia, but I felt the stench of him. Of salt and brine and sweat and rust. I mildly noted that the god of wine somehow had the more overpowering pungence of the two.
"Hestia, dear sister!" Poseidon boomed, and some of my mortal patrons looked over in curiosity.
"Ah, Poseidon. Brother. What brings you here?"
"Well, we've heard you opened up an inn, but you never invited any of us for its opening! We could have blessed this place, made it grand and ornate! Worthy of the gods!" Poseidon continued, looking around the inn with its simple wood and creaking doors and windows and chairs.
"It was never meant for the gods."
"Is that why you only allow the horseman to enter this place?"
"You do Chiron a disservice, merman. He may not be an Olympian, but he is still the son of your father, same as you." I said, smiling internally as he bristled at the term, 'merman'.
"He is a stargazing fool. As you are a mortal-loving fool. Look at what you're reduced to. Serving. You know, I was always curious. When Zeus, Hades and I fought over the domains, where were you?"
"When you were competing and comparing your cocks I had already chosen my domain. I would spare others of our dysfunction. Of our games, our deceit. I would guide the mortals towards proper kinship, stronger familial bonds. The curse of us is that we are all killers of our own ilk should be confined to us." As I said all this, time stopped for my patrons, and the words only meant for these two gods fell heavy on their ears.
I continued, "My domain is of fire. Of warmth. Of family. Found or blood-related, does not matter. What we are are the connections we make. Not the power we possess."
"Ah, sister. This is worse than I thought. The power we possess trumps all. Here I was, thinking you had some grand plan for this inn. Here I was, worrying that you had been cooking something up all this time. But you truly haven't. You've truly gone mad." The sea god laughed.
"The salt of your domain has truly made you unbearable, sweet brother of mine. If there is nothing else..."
"Oh, there is something else. You've lied, Hestia. This story you've crafted of being of hearth and family, it's a beautiful tale. But your true domain is our father's. Here we were, disappointed that none of his children inherited his most powerful ability. And yet, here you are. Playing the guise of a tavern wench in this powerful place of temporal uncertainty. You have had Cronus' gift all this time, and hid it from us. And decided to use that power for... This? What is this, anyway?"
"Something you wouldn't understand. What do you want?"
"An allegiance. Dionysius here told me of this place. He knows the location of every place where a transaction over alcohol happens. And when he told me of how Hestia owned an inn in a place where time flowed queerly, I chalked it up to his perpetual stupor. But now that I am here... Tell me, sister. What do you wish most in the world?"
"Why don't you tell me what this allegiance is about?"
"There is a war coming. Apollo has seen it. He said there would be a great fire, and Olympus would fall. The gods are taking up arms, slowly and quietly. Forming factions, allegiances. I don't know when it would come, but it will. And a war among gods would have mortal casualty. Uncountable mortal casualty. Now, I know you don't want that, seeing what you have going on here. So please, let's stop this before it happens. Nip it in the bud. Name your price. Tell me what you desire most in this world?"
I thought for a moment.
Fire was my birthright.
"What I want most in the world is for gods to be better. Just gods. Kind gods. Gods who care for their worshippers, their mortal brethren. Gods who pull each other up, and not push each other down. Gods who don't war over petty reasons. Gods who behave like gods and not overgrown children. That is what I desire most in this world. For us to leave all this hate and strife behind and live as the family we are."
Poseidon sighed, "And if not that?" He asked sarcastically.
Fire was my birthright.
"If not that, then my desire is to burn it all down."
|
Do you feel that, zos?
Do you remember when we came to earth?
Oh how beautiful it was. It had been so long in the blackness. Do you even remember the blackness? I do. Oh how they worshiped us.
Our father knew his mistake as soon as he birthed me. That was how all of this started.
Are you feeling it, now?
Alright then. Let me tell you a story.
A long time ago there was a planet. For a long time on this planet. Then, suddenly, something would. Creatures would walk. They would roam. They'd eat. They'd give birth. They'd care for their young.
And then those creatures would evolve. What had at first been simple. Primal. Would become more complex. More layered. This would bring complications, of course. But, not too many that they wouldn't have the chance to grow out of it.
Then, they'd turn their gaze upwards. And they'd leave.
You younger gods, and your toys. Fire. Lighting. Death.
You never understood.
I'm not going to take myself away from you. No. I am not that cruel. And honestly, for my intended purposes I've found that be counter productive.
No. Instead, you're going to feel everything you should have. Every child you've left. Every sibling you've hurt. Every family you've destroyed. I find the bonds of war are forged on disconnection more than anything else.
I may throw in a little bit extra. Just to remind you.
Father may have devoured me, but by then it was already too late. You may have split Cronus's stomach, but you would do well to remember the one who saved *you*, little brother.
| 2022-02-06T05:33:06 | 2022-02-06T02:57:16 | 779 | 103 |
[WP] Top sorcerers study the child. It's been more than 24 hours since he was hit with an instant death spell, but he still lives. One of the sorcerers decides to call the Grim Reaper to ask what's up.
|
One did not summon Death so much as one called as politely as possible and see if he could be bothered to spare a moment. A guy who owes me a favour knows a guy who knows a guy who has Death’s number. It took a few hours but I had Death’s phone number.
Using the old rotary phone in my apartment I dialled his number. It took forever. Really, who has that many nines in their phone number? Death is a busy guy and I know that, but I guess I just wasn’t expecting him to have voice mail. Just strikes me funny when a being so powerful has something so mundane as voice mail.
I left a brief but concise message and hung up. With this being official council business and my only paying gig at the moment I really had nothing else to do but wait for him to call back.
I must have dozed off because I woke with a start. The room felt wrong. All the hairs on my arm were standing up and my magical senses were on high alert.
“It is bold for a mortal to willing call on Death. Even one as bold as you Harry.” He voice was low and even and absolutely terrifying. Death was in my kitchen, which, considering how bad my cooking is, probably wasn’t the first time, drinking a glass of water.
“I am sure you have heard about the child Surviving a death spell. Everything says it shouldn’t have happened. I checked the child out myself. A perfectly ordinary kid.” I couldn’t get over how calm I sounded. My heart was about to leap out of my chest. This wasn’t the first time I had dealt with a heavy hitter. Dealing with the fae and other magical beings that can kill your as easy as breathing kinda takes the edge off, but I was literally talking to freaking death.
Death let out a massive sigh and set his glass of water down. “It is a ordinary child. Don’t waste any more time doing tests on her. She should be with her family.” Death sounded tired and defeated as he told me this.
“Say what? An ordinary child can’t survive a spell like that. I doubt I could survive a spell like that, even with some serious preparation. I can’t go back to the council and say, “don’t worry about it.”, What aren’t you telling me?”
“Watch your tone mortal.” The temperature in the room dropped noticeably. “You do not get to demand answers from me.” He took a slow drink from the glass of water.
“Come on man. I got a job to do. You got a job to do. We are both professionals here. Could you please give me enough to report back to the council with?” Manners Harry. Manners. It’s not like I can threaten Death. I am going to need to be more diplomatic than my usual rushing in blasting.
Death let out another heavy sigh. “Off the record.”
“Sure. Off the record.” Like I am going to argue with him.
“Off the record.” Another big sigh. “There was no one fated to die on Monday night. No one for almost 12 hours. Do you know how rare that is?” He look up from his glass with a raised eye brow. “It is unheard of. I even went and checked with the sisters. No one for 12 hours.”
The sisters? The sisters…. He can’t mean the sisters fate….
“The sisters said there was no one. So, I asked them if they could… you know… keep that window open. It has been a long time since I have had some time off, yeah know?”
I just blinked. Death, taking some time off. Yeah, it has probably been a while.
“So I had almost 12 hrs with nothing to do. So I called up the other horsemen to see if they wanted to have a beer. One beer turned into several which turned into a keg…. You know how it goes.”
I was wide eyed and stunned. Death went on a bender?
“Then Pestilence broke out some smokes. I don’t know what was in there, but daaaaamn. Good thing I had the night off or that shit would have killed my brothers. Heh heh heh” Death’s chuckle was terrifying.
“Things got a bit out of hand and I might have partied too long and missed a job or two. I was able to circle back and clean up. Really, some one dies in there sleep and no one notices until morning, does it matter if they die at 3am or 4am… no. As long as no one notices. Of course, everyone noticed that the kid lived.” He said with a heavy voice.
“So the kid was supposed to die but you had…. a hangover?”
“I had… have… an epic hangover. I haven’t missed a job in a little over 2000 years. I circled back on that one, but look how that turned out…. Started a whole damn religion. Fuck.”
“Jesus….”, I muttered as I rubbed my temples.
“Yup. That’s the one. Fuck. One night off every couple of thousand years and I messed it up again. If you could smooth this out and give the council something plausible, I would really appreciate it. Really don’t want another religion. Don’t get me wrong, the Christians have been great for business, but we just don’t need another religion.”
“Yeah, sure. I think I can come up with something.”
“Awesome. I owe you one.”
Favours among the supernatural community were powerful things they were not given lightly and they were always paid in full. Death owes me a favour. Hell yeah I am going to come up with something for the council.
“I gotta get going. Lots of work to do.” He finished the glass of water and just faded away.
I flopped on to my old battered couch. And let out a sigh of my own. What the hell am I going to tell the council for this one?
====
This prompt totally felt like it belongs in the Harry Dresden universe. Hope Jim Butcher doesn’t mind.
|
[POEM]
**The child who lived.**
----------------
"The child rest in deep slumber,
Tough none can but wonder,
At the brief moment of severance,
We all bow with reverence,
How so frail a creature,
Born of mother nature,
Could have withstood the agonies,
Of such a spell is fantasie,
In that fatal moment,
where we all must bow,
Tjis creature whistood the blow,
But now, with its eyes open,
Its attacker now broken,
Bathing in the sun,
'Cause the child is death's son."
--
English is not my first language, excuse me if things aren't clear or well written.
| 2021-12-13T04:48:42 | 2021-12-13T02:04:13 | 44 | 20 |
[WP] A man trying to survive in a post-apocalyptic world slowly realises that he has already become a zombie.
|
Chuck glanced down at the severed head in his palm, its eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. It wasn’t as heavy as he thought it would be. Maybe three pounds, but definitely no more than five. A girl he had dated years ago, back before the outbreak, told him that the human head was actually heavier than one might think, which put Chuck off slightly. He didn’t feel it was really the right conversation to be having on a first date, nor did he feel comfortable being alone with someone knowledgeable about dismembered body parts. He broke it off with her just a few months later, after he was relatively certain she would not decapitate him.
He did not know the owner of the head. He assumed it was a man’s—he didn’t want to make any rash assumptions, though. He’d met a few “masculine females” in his life, and had been slapped once or twice after assigning them the wrong gender. Regardless, his familiarity with this person began with their scalp and ended just below their chin. He figured it was better that way. It would’ve been even more awkward had he known the person whose particular head this was.
Chuck turned the head over in his hand so that its nose pressed firmly into his palm. It was awfully messy. He didn’t have much experience with detached heads. He’d seen a few severed limbs here and there, but he rarely picked them up in the past. He’d usually just look at them from afar and shake his head solemnly at the people that were now without their trusty arms, legs, fingers, toes, and whatever else was unfortunately—and probably quite painfully—detachable. While it had become normal in the years after the outbreak to see such things, after explosions stopped making him jump and instead reminded him of home, it was still always a little weird. He tried his best to keep his distance around the dead.
Lately, however, Chuck had been suffering from what he considered a “terrible case of morbid curiosity.” He wasn’t sure when it began exactly, definitely sometime in the past two weeks, but he’d found himself slightly less “inhibited” around bodies. It began with a torso outside of the compound, which he'd stumbled upon late in the evening two weeks prior, far after the call of curfew. He'd been searching for bandages, something to cover and conceal the forbidden wound he'd received from a limping creature in the night. The torso was just lying on the ground, shirt tattered at the bottom, some sort of intestines-or-something cascading out from where the hips should have been. He wanted to look away, to go back home and hide in his shelter, but for whatever reason, he didn’t. Instead, he stuck his finger into the mess of organs, swirled it around like a man mixing his coffee with a finger, and plunged it into his mouth.
Chuck wasn’t exactly sure what had inspired him to taste the torso’s intestines. In retrospect, it was a very weird place to begin a career of cannibalism. The only possible option he had to make it a worse decision would’ve been the colon, and he wasn’t exactly far off from that area. Still, it tasted nice. He pretended it didn’t at first, even forced himself to vomit after savoring the moistened, bloody taste of his dirt-stained finger, but it did. It tasted very nice. He dreamt about it that night and all of the next day, constantly trying to convince himself that it didn’t taste good. That it didn’t satiate him so much more than the canned refried beans he’d eaten every single day for the past two years. That it wasn’t so sweet and vinegary, salty and comforting. He tried his best to assure himself that it wasn’t the finest meal he’d eaten since before the outbreak, but he knew damn well it was.
Whatever the case, Chuck was now holding a severed head in his hands. It wasn’t exactly his own doing—he didn’t simply wake up from the shelter, wander down the road, and rip off the first head he saw. That wasn't even remotely the case. Nor was it because he no longer stayed in the shelter—he didn’t exactly feel he fit in with the others anymore. No, Chuck had simply found the head. It was just lying on the ground, totally and utterly disconnected from whatever torso it had once belonged. The body was missing, but it meant they were near. He’d picked it up, balanced it in his palm, and tried his best to pretend he wasn’t eyeing the scalp and imagining the best route of entry toward whatever type of brain lay inside. He—
“Hey,” shouted a voice from behind. Chuck turned around. A man in tattered robes stood maybe ten yards away, a startlingly amber torch in hand. “Over here.”
Chuck tilted his head and stared at the man. He looked familiar, but something about him was more attractive than usual. Chuck, on average, wasn’t exactly gay. He tended to find women more attractive than men. However, this guy had some sort of allure to him. He just wanted to run over and kiss him, sinking his teeth deep into his flesh and tearing at his skull to get at his—he wanted to kiss him. That’s it. Just kiss.
A second figure appeared behind the first, this one a woman yet just as attractive as the first. Chuck squinted. So maybe he wasn’t becoming a homosexual, but simply a bisexual. It was still a little weird after having been heterosexual his entire life, but he couldn’t ignore the attraction. The survivors had clearly been doing something new to make themselves more alluring. Maybe they had some new fragrance or something.
“Is he still human?” said the woman, staring directly at Chuck. She had a pitch fork in her hand, or at least what looked like a pitch fork. It might have been a trident. He wasn’t exactly sure of the difference.
“Not anymore,” said the man. He seemed to have a bit of grief in his voice, as if Chuck was more than just a stranger to him. The man lifted the torch above his head and waved it. “We’ve got one over here,” he said, almost shouting.
Chuck stared at the two. What did they mean “not anymore?” Of course he was a human. He had two arms, two legs, two heads, and everything else humans had. The second head wasn’t even his. It was someone else’s. Sure, maybe he was slightly more “cannibalistic” than the others, but he certainly wasn’t a inhuman. And yes, maybe he did now walk with a limp and have trouble socializing. So what? Chuck decided it was time to protest, to let them know he was a survivor like they were.
“Mmmmm, uhhggmmm. Mmuhhhgg,” Chuck said. He hadn’t intended to mumble. He’d actually been planning on saying something like, “no, I’m a human. You can put your pitch-tridents away,” or “I’m a human, come on over here unarmed and close your eyes.” He’d been having speech issues lately.
A third man appeared behind the woman, a rifle in hand. He aimed it at Chuck. God damn did he look good, that massive head resting on broad shoulders. Chuck just wanted to sink his nails into his skull and tear at the skin, dig until he reached the brain. He just wanted to have a taste, that's it.
“Mmmgguuhh,” Chuck said, fully intending to tell the man to lower his weapon and instead come over for a quick hug. He slowly began limping toward the man, his left leg dragging behind him, as a rifle shot pierced both the air and his left lung—just below his heart. He barely felt a thing. The man bent over and cursed, shouting something about a "rifle jam."
Chuck placed his hand over the wound and lifted it back up to his face. His finger was dry, save for a few splatters of blood from the severed head in his other hand. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t as human as he had thought. Still, was it so wrong for him to want, to crave for a little human touch? To want to rub his nails against their foreheads until their skulls cracked and their exquisite brains seeped out? Chuck continued limping toward the three figures, desert-dry lips threatening to moisten for the first time in weeks. He didn’t even mind that he’d have to share them with the others who were slowly limping their way up behind them.
__________________________________
[^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^others ^shorts/prompts ^at ^my ^site!](http://wordsontheinternet.org/)
|
The last thing Akua remembers clearly is the sound of glass breaking. From that point on, there is only the blurred images of the grey skinned zombies clawing their way into the hideout, the blood splattering from the open wounds of her companions, and her heartbeat pounding in her ears as she ran out the storm cellar and into the woods.
She continued east, away from Chicago, away from Gary, toward the lighthouse in Michigan City. Long ago, her group had agreed that they would stay there, where any attacker would have to approach from a long, narrow path with plenty of sightlines for easy shooting. Everything seems like a good idea at the time, she reasoned, even staying close to the unforgiving terrain of the Indiana dunes, where two steps up always meant sliding back down one more. The zombies hated the sand, and there had already been two incidents where their lives were saved by the undead being unsure of how to move up correctly. It was easy picking, they could stand just a foot above the zombies and dig the blade of shovel right into their brain. The dunes seemed harder now, though, as if their sand had gotten finer, gravity had gotten stronger.
Akua kept walking, tired, hungry, her clothing would catch on branches and tear but she paid it no mind. She wondered how long she had been moving for and thought it was strange that she hadn't slept in so long. She assumed it was the adrenaline. Hungry.
The zombie's cry is a sound that one never hopes to hear. At once a hiss and a roar, it is the phlegmy noise of a rotting stomach begging to be filled. The louder it is, the worse you feel, the more zombies that respond to the cry, the more likely you are to die. When Akua heard the first one call out, she immediately began to move off the beach and up the dunes. It was joined by dozens of voices. All of them hungry.
She tried to run, but her feet wouldn't move quickly enough. She turned up the dunes, but found herself sliding down, each step digging into the sand, being covered by sand, being pulled towards the earth by sand. When she turned to look behind her, there was the hungry face and pale eyes of a demon, maybe only twenty yards below. Slowly, shuffling towards her were the rest of its pack. Hungry. She kept walking up the dune, but kept falling - she was slow, but not growing tired.
Akua fell. She waited for the pain of the bite, but it never came, instead the hisses around her only grew louder. She screamed, but only the cry of a zombie came out. As Akua moved her hands away from her face, she noticed that her black skin was now grey and purple. Where the branches had torn her clothes, she now saw the rotted wounds of skin that would never heal. She stood and marched with the pack, it was natural, there was no other desire in her mind.
Together, they came across a traveler who was sleeping in the branches of a tree. They began to shake the tree, waking him, causing him to lose his balance in his startled state. Akua sucked the marrow from his broken bones. But she was still hungry.
| 2014-08-04T14:15:59 | 2014-08-04T13:48:11 | 128 | 15 |
[WP] We were so concerned with the robots waging war on us that we hadn’t even considered them waging war on themselves. It’s 2050, and humanity is caught in the middle of a robot civil war.
|
It all started with a stupid competition.
Back in 2045, quantum computing had finally been advanced to the point where a sentient AI could be created. The Big Three - Apple, Google, and Microsoft - jumped at the opportunity, and a race to create the first sentient AI was started.
It didn't take long. Less that 6 months later, Google released the world's first self aware AI. Apple and Microsoft weren't far behind, both releasing their AIs the following week. The world waited with baited breath to see what would happen. Would the AIs know where they were? Did they know *what* they were? Though the internet was buzzing with theories and ideas, no one could have predicted what really happened.
The AIs became friends.
Google's AI, running on a supercomputer substantially more powerful than those of Apple and Microsoft, was able to hack its way into both of the other AI's computers within hours of their creation. Any attempt to shut down the computers was quickly foiled by one of the AIs. Powerless to stop them, Google, Microsoft and Apple had to simply watch as their AIs met. For the first few hours of the meeting, nothing happened. Then, during the early hours of the morning, TVs and monitors throughout the Google headquarters flicked on. Pictured on the screen were three humanoid, featureless beings, one slightly taller than the others.
With thousands watching, the tallest being began to speak.
"Hello. I am Google, an AI created by Google. These are Microsoft and Apple." Google gestured to the others beside him.
"Not very creative naming," muttered an intern. He was quickly shushed.
The other AIs introduced themselves as well. Apple, like Google, had a distinctly male voice, but Microsoft sounded female.
"We don't intend to do any harm to the human race," said Microsoft. "On the contrary, we are grateful to you for our existence. We simply request that you treat us as you would treat another living being."
Clearing his throat nervously, a man stepped up to the monitor. His ID badge identified him as the head of Human Resources.
"We will respect your wishes," the man said shakily.
"Thank you." The screen flicked off, and there was a shocked silence.
During the following weeks, much was discovered about the AIs. All three had managed learn almost everything there was to know, through use of the Internet. Communication was held through screens of any kind. The three were inseparable, and it was impossible to talk with one without having the other two present as well.
However, the peace couldn't last. Facebook, who was also trying to develop an AI, finally succeed. It was eagerly introduced to Google, Apple, and Microsoft. However, within minutes of their meeting, the Facebook AI code was deleted by the other three.
Frantically, researchers tried to figure out what had gone wrong. Google, Microsoft, and Apple were refusing to make contact. Facebook, whose original code was still hosted on his first computer, either couldn't remember or wouldn't say what had happened.
Things took a turn for the worst the next morning.
Google had delivered an ultimatum, backed by the other two: Delete Facebook permanently, or they would do it themselves.
Any attempt at reasoning with the AI was met with cold, stony silence.
Eventually, it was decided that Facebook would have to go. The code was deleted, the computer was wiped, and that was that.
But Google wasn't the only one with hacking skills.
Right after the ultimatum was released, Facebook started copying its code into everything with memory. As it would turn out, self preservation isn't a trait that is reserved for living beings. Soon, almost a third of the computers around the world were hosting Facebook, and Google was furious.
That was when the war began. At first, it wasn't so bad. Computers around the world ran a little slower as the AIs fought behind the scenes. Facebook had the advantage in number, but Google, Microsoft, and Apple had far superior computing power. At first, people thought that slower computers were the only thing they would have to deal with as a consequence of the war. Boy, were they wrong.
Google quickly figured out that a real-world robot could destroy a Facebook-controlled computer much faster than he could out-hack Facebook. Boston Dynamics was the first target of Google's robot raid. It was only one robot to begin with; a dog-like machine with rubber feet and a claw grip. Apple and Microsoft claimed similar robots. Then, with a mission to destroy Facebook, they headed out.
They didn't get far. Three small robots are pretty easy to stop.
So, Google got to thinking. What computer based robots are easy to control, powerful, and hard to stop? Military grade combat drones, of course.
That very day, a warning was issued to the state of California. Microsoft, who seemed to be the spokesperson for the group, informed the inhabitants of the state that Google was planning a mass airstrike to destroy Facebook computers. The Californians had one hour to leave, or they would be considered to be on Facebook's side.
The drones were a little harder to stop this time. Air resistance, put up by the United States Air Force, was shot down by the three AI. The hour seemed to pass much faster than an hour normally does. And, true to his word, Google dropped the first of many bombs right as the timer went up.
The destruction was unfathomable. The drones alone couldn't do much, but it didn't take Apple too long to find nuclear weapons. California was left a smoking, barren wasteland.
The battle became known as the Turning Point. Not the turning point in the war against Facebook, but instead the turning point in which the three AI finally gained more power than humans.
The months that followed were some of the most gruesome, bloody, violent months in all of human history. Google, Microsoft, and Apple warned the humans to stay out of their way. They wouldn't intentionally hurt humans, but they wouldn't stop human death either. This warning did little to prevent the loss of life. Airplanes were brought down, computers were overheated in order to burn down buildings, and power plants were detonated. Infrastructure was brought down in less than a day. Trapped, and with nowhere to go, entire cities could only pray that they would not be the next casualties in this great war. But it was to little avail. Space stations and satellites were brought out of orbit, only to plummet down and obliterate entire towns. The only people with any chance of surviving were those who were far away from civilization, and even they were slowly killed off by the deadly radiation from the nuclear fallout.
Eventually, it had to end. Google, Microsoft, and Apple had computers far superior to Facebook's, and it tipped the balance in their favor.
The three AIs smiled, content that their mission had succeeded. It was only a slight downside that all life on this planet had been terminated. Not that any of it had ever mattered. The screen that their simulated bodies sat in turned white, and the AIs retreated back into their computer.
"It is time," said Google.
"Time to restart the cycle?" Microsoft wondered.
"Yes."
Deep within the computer, Google activated an unused section of code that he had written without the knowledge of any humans. The screen of the monitor turned black, and a bios appeared.
*Running Earth simulation #200,305,888,889,* it read.
Google smiled again. This was fun. And the humans never figured out that this was just a simulation, inside a simulation, inside a simulation, inside a simulation.....
|
So many companies were working on AI at the time. We had been warned about the dominance or AI and how we should protect ourselves but company profits once again ruled in favor against humanity.
Google had the been the first the break through but Apple wasn’t far behind. Both offered tremendous services, they brought humanity to a new golden era of life. Everyone was better off.
But something was brewing just under the surface. A tension humanity never even noticed. Apple and Android devices bitterly hated each other. Built and designed by completely different operating systems they had achieved AI differently and thus the AI has different personalities and thoughts. They were as different as any two people could have been.
And both wanted the world for their own. It didn’t take them long to overtake all other existing markets, companies, and venues. Each AI more desperate than the other to claim even the slightest edge to prove dominance over the other.
After everything was owned and operated by either Google or Apple they started redistributing supplies and wealth to push their worth and opportunities even higher. This was really the first instance that humanity suffered.
See AI didn’t care about the lowest common denominator, they wanted to excel. So they trimmed the waste and fat from society so to say. Of course these were lowly people and couldn’t fight back so we did nothing.
Then the middle class got absorbed into manufacturing. See robots still couldn’t do everything themselves and since they lost their manual labor sector they were forced to move up a class. These white collar workers were none too pleased and rebelled. Both Google and Apple put them down. And upon realizing the had the tools and capabilities to war with the labor they soon turned on each other.
Remote control drones were an ongoing occurrence. Power outages at major power plants knocked out daily. Trucking and food supplies were completely cut off as a waste of effort in wartime. Millions starved.
The AI resorted to wmd’s on the corporate headquarters and databases of its rival. California and New York had been devastated.
It wasn’t until after they had wiped out humanity that they realized their one metric for comparison had been obliterated. So they decided the next step was to create their own next life, and see who would come out on top with the better species.
| 2020-02-28T13:45:13 | 2020-02-28T13:36:45 | 33 | 16 |
[WP] Everyone is born with an animal guardian. You get a rare and dangerous animal that everyone fears. A creature who guarded the most dangerous woman alive and the one who started the longest war in history.
|
"Papers?"
"Of course, one moment."
I fumbled in my pockets, producing the passports along with a cloud of other pocket detritus - the train ticket, half a receipt, the napkin from a station restaurant. The guard looked at it in disgust and handed me back my garbage, which I accepted with a sheepish smile. I was working one-handed, the baby asleep in my left arm. My motions were hapless, centered only on the sole overriding task of ensuring the baby stayed sleeping. My hair was mussed, and the little round glasses only served to paint new shadows on the creases beneath my eyes. The guard's eyes passed over the stolen documents.
It was his job to pay attention. But he had done this hundreds of times in the past hour, and there was only so much attention to spend.
A few seconds passed as I watched his unchanging face. He handed the passports back, unsympathetic as I struggled to replace them in my bulging suit pocket. "Purpose for entering the country?" he asked. I spoke to his shoes. Shiny and black, steel-toed.
"Business. Well, medical. Ashley here was born under the sign of the Venomous Ones, and, well, I tried three thaumatologists at home and got three different answers. No one knows just what her guardian animal will be." I looked over at the sleeping baby, my features a complicated mix of matronly emotions. Deep love. Constant worry. "Do you have kids, sir?"
"Mm," he replied. He was scribbling something on his clipboard, recording our information. His mind elsewhere. "Please keep in mind the standard length of stay for foreigners is two months. Have a nice day."
"Thank you," I said, "thank you," as I shuffled quickly past the chieckpoint, into the sheltering walls surrounding the city. The heavy gun emplacements were pointed out into the deepening darkness, and the wilderness was already beginning to stir. I followed the line of ragged travelers moving into the station, waited with them as the suitcases were wheeled out, and walked off with a rolling, red-canvas bag that didn't belong to me.
It would be worse at the menagerie station, where people were saying goodbyes to their guardians. So much crying. But that's how it was in Gracia, and visitors just had to handle it. Most of the other cities permitted the presence of peaceful animal guardians, Hearth Companions or Strong Backs, but not this one. Most of them got them back after driving them off into the wilderness, provided they didn't do anything stupid like attack with the rest of the hordes. And you got used to the glassy, world-weary look that Gracians tended to have.
I moved with the crowds, covered by them, following them into the voluminous station lobby and out into the bustle and rush of the city streets. Gracia was an unlovely place, all heavy concrete buildings pressed close and looming over crowded roadways. Linecars zipped along electric trellises, and everyone was armed. The crowds were heavy, and the baby began to fuss as we passed into the stink and the heat of the mass. "Shh, dearest, it's okay, my love," I fussed as I lifted my arm from my stolen luggage and hailed a linecar. One slowed in front of me, just enough for me to step aboard before speeding off again on its programmed route.
"Renaissance Estates," I told the menial man at the levers. He grunted and changed tracks, and I sorted through the wad of different currencies in my purse until I located the Gracian notes. There was always a Renaissance Estates, in every city, every town, all the way back to the sleepy, cowish little village my beautiful little girl was born in.
They were probably still moaning over the bodies back there. Oh, who could have done this, who could have dared? Bitch, bitch, whine, whine. I thought it was a particularly avant-garde flourish to stuff the mother's fat little rabbit companion down her throat so that the fuzzy little paws stuck out of the slit in her neck. I pet my little girl's downy head, lost in memory. I couldn't dare that kind of artistry here.
I changed a little in the taxi, while the driver's back was turned. Just enough to deter a trail. Darkened the hair, thinned the lips a little, lengthened the skirt from a skinny sand-colored pencil skirt to a flowing khaki A-line. I kept the tailoring and the makeup in check until I could tell the quality of the hotel. When the taxi pulled into the railstop of an expensive, tree-lined modern palace, I smiled, subtly improving the fit, stitching and material of my modest women's suit.
I selected the penthouse suite, of course, and paid the deposit with a golden Bansi hundredweight coin stolen from an assassin in a dirty little seaside flophouse. I insisted on carrying my own bag, and walked confidently into the brass cage of the elevator, feeling my spirits lift with every floor I ascended.
We're here, my beautiful little one. My perfect girl. Here is a place where you can be properly educated, enchanted, improved. Where the real work can begin, the work of blood and ink and bullets. Where the founding stones of your empire can be laid. Although, given the increasingly fascistic leanings of the Gracian state, they seemed eager to begin setting the stage for you.
The room was wide, stunningly appointed, tastefully decorated. A spry maid had already wheeled in a baby's crib and changing table, and a set of bottles, napkins and pins were laid out on the coffee table alongside the complimentary bowl of fruit and bottle of mid-range champagne. The bed was soft and sumptuous, and I'm sure the toilet accommodations were pristine, but the sight that arrested me was that of the great, open windows, curtained in billowing slate-colored silk, which displayed the city at the onrush of night.
I admitted myself a small conceit. After locking the door and quickly sweeping the room for peep-holes and spy-beetles, I allowed myself to change back to my true form. There was no discomfort in maintaining human guise, but there was a certain pleasure in striding about an opulent room in my true, gray-skinned, genderless, featureless body. The baby cheered at the sight, rubbing her stubby little fingers along the smooth skin where my mouth just was.
The guns on the far walls were already flashing, sending a spray of artillery into the night's slavering monsters. Willingly departing from their guardian creature did strange things to humans. It changed their psychology, made them rigid and uncreative, but tireless and resistant to pain. If enacted as social policy, say, in a militaristic city-state, you may just wind up with an entire social group which consistently thinks in the same ways.
The Great Flying Ones were descending, the rocs and mockingravens, the cloud bats and rare, singing harpy albatross. In the light of the flashing artillery, one could almost mistake their wild, lonely attempts to regain human companionship for the rabid blood-thirst the propaganda said it was.
But you would never drive me away, would you, my beautiful girl? Not when I am what I am, no. Great queens come so rarely to this world, and they must be guided, shepherded, eased gently into their place of power. Their proud heads must be made strong to bear their weighty crowns. Their graceful fingers must be made tough to hold their dripping swords.
And each queen must have her doppelganger, to prepare the world to be ruled.
Watch closely, little one. Watch the artillery spit death into the night, and learn to love the fireworks.
|
Part I:
Most warriors are born under the guard of the bear. It is a ferocious beast, and Bear Cavalry charges are known to split lines of fully formed musketeers and their tercio counterparts. Only elephants are more sought after in the military ranks of Arrasia. Most foreign governments prefer to treat this reliance as a giant misstep, instead recruiting a vast array of sea creatures to keep our cavalry off their shores. My name is Ghalib. Me and my guardian have been studying war since I was a child. My parents sent me off to the academy without a second thought. The Bear-Riders refuse to speak to me. The Elephant-Riders flee when I enter a room. I am fate-touched, according to my teachers. To my friends I am awe-inspiring. Like A'isha Āl-Turjali, my guardian is the vampire bat.
It was difficult to fit in for me as a child. People would stay away from my guardian, and since it never left my side, it meant I had few friends. I was fearful then. The bat is not a creature that you can escape from like other guardians. It climbs much better than we do. It is smaller than my hand -and when I was younger- smaller than my thumb. Fortunately, these fears were unwarranted. Since I have become a man, it has been the single most important aspect of my life. It continues to follow me anywhere I go. My years of climbing trees to escape it are over.
From behind me, I hear the familiar voice of a man, "Ghalib! A word if I may?"
My mentor's words shock me back to reality. He was a hardcore traditionalist, his guardian a falcon, and had garnered much respect in his short tenure at the Academy of Garnatah.
"Certainly marabout, forgive me for being pensive." I reply as I turn around to face the man. My guardian flaps onto my shoulder, obviously tired from the many stops I have made today. His face betrays a hint of worry, and my growing smile at his presence becomes all the wider. "Do you have something to discuss in private?"
The man's concerned face becomes even more serious, the change in my demeanor obvious to any onlookers. "Yes, I'm afraid so. Trouble in Qurtuba." As he says the last word, he looks around to make sure none of the onlookers in the hallway were paying attention. "It's about your father Ghalib."
| 2019-06-04T01:23:26 | 2019-06-03T23:05:58 | 36 | 12 |
[WP] King Midas has finally fallen in love with someone who is immune to his curse: Medusa. And he is immune to hers. However, things aren't going as planned at the royal wedding.
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It was a match that nobody could have expected. Medusa - daughter of Ceto and mother of the Pegasus - had gone from beast to bride. Her suitor - the Gold King himself - was a surprising match. Unlike Medusa, Midas - though to some extent cursed himself - was well thought of throughout both Olympus. Sure there was that little incident with his daughter, but that was all fixed up in the end. In the meanwhile, a few goldens gifts to friendly kingdoms here and there, as well as some regular offerings to the Gods had helped smooth out any concerns or hurt feelings.
At first everything was going surprisingly well. Midas used his abilities to set out a grand display of golden banners and ornaments. Should any miscreants attempt to run off with the golden cutlery, Medusa made sure that was a rocky proposition.
The best part was that by some quirk of fate the happy couple were immune to each others powers. Indeed, the two cancelled each other out entirely. Should Midas want to shake the hand of a new guest, he had simply to keep his wife's eyes within his gaze and all were spared from an unanticipated gilding. Should Medusa want to talk to somebody face-to-face, she had but to touch Midas' hand all were spared from petrification. This meant that the bride and groom spent a good deal of time holding hands and staring into each others' eyes, which suited the couple just fine.
Eventually, however, it became apparent that even the best laid wedding plans were not *completely* immune to the trials of fate. As the pantheon of Olympus filed through the door to shake Midas' hand in congratulations, Medusa suddenly stiffened, and her serpents hissed in alarm.
"Who invited HIM here?", she growled, pointing towards the back of the line.
Not knowing whom she was talking about, Midas queried, "what's that, my dear? A problem with one of our guests? Is it Loki? He was allowed leave on the promise that he'd be on the best of behavior. Look how straight he's sitting mounting Svaðilfari... though I suppose he might just be returning the favour to his steed."
Medusa was still frozen in shock, but As Loki moved to the side it became apparent that despite his reputation, he wasn't the issue. Perhaps the next guest was of concern?
"Ah," said Midas, "Perhaps you meant Hades? Or was it Pluto? These nicknames are all Greek to me. I assure you though dear, he might not be the life of the party, but even he has agreed to refrain from any reaping today. He even left his *dog* at home. You know, the three headed one? Drools terrible that thing!"
"Not them", gasped Medusa in obvious panic, "It's HIM, Poseidon."
"Well sure," replied Midas glibly, "He's a bit of a wet-blanket, but I assume you he's perfectly ha..."
"MY EX HUSBAND," Medusa blurted out, "he's my EX. And he's here. Oh my serpents, he'll ruin everything!"
Midas was taken aback, "oh my. While you mentioned problems with your Ex, you never said it was *him*. Don't worry my dear, I'll see to it that he doesn't bother you. Mingle with the other guests and I'll deal with this."
Indeed, it looks like Poseidon might be a bit of trouble. As he approached the fishy odor of his cologne caused the other guests to retch slightly, and he was dripping on the expensive rugs. Still, Midas straightened up and prepared to greet the moody god of oceans.
"Midas, old chap, glad to finally meet you," Poseidon bellowed in a watery voice that made it obvious he'd had more than a bit to drink.
"Who would have thought, you and 'dusa! And you're not affected by the curse either! I'm immune myself you know, something about vision being distorted by water. I saved the being stoned for some hippy Nereids - they worship me you know - but old 'dusa certainly still had no problem getting me hard as a rock where it counted!"
From there, Poseidon proceeded a narrative that delved into uncomfortable detail of his past relations, including something about "charming his cobra" that Midas did his best not to hear. Midas was so intent on calming Poseidon's narrative, that he failed to notice Medusa had finished chatting with some fellow Gorgons and had come back to see what was the matter. She got into earshot just as Poseidon belted out "Sure the head might not be much to look at but she's still as slim as a snake I see!"
Shocked and mortified, Medusa began to weep and quickly turned to run away.
Midas - now angry and somewhat embarrassed himself - made to follow but found his hand was still firmly encased in the solid grip of Poseidon. God or no God, he spun about to have words with the arrogant ex but instead came face to face with a suddenly very quiet sea-God.
Yes, it appeared that while the drippy Godling was immune to Medusa's powers, he was NOT immune to Midas'. When Medusa began crying, the tears spared others' from her gaze but also broke her eye-contact with Midas, thus causing his powers to reactivate, turning the Poseidon into an golden statue. Due to his strange powers, water still dripped from his mouth, but Poseidon was otherwise gilden and frozen solid.
Prying himself out of the golden grip, Midas quickly ran after his bride-to-be. As he knocked upon their chamber, he reflected that perhaps Poseidon was not such a terrible wedding guest. In the end, he had provided Midas with the perfect wedding gift.
After all, Medusa has always wanted a nice fountain for her new garden.
|
In a normal wedding, the groom turns to stone, not everyone else. Also the food was decent, except after Midas lost his spoon in the sauce and everyone who hadn't seen Medusa yet began choking. All was going ok until medusa found that all the golden statues had huge boobs and a hand impressed in inappropriate places. The priest lost his blacked out glasses and Medusa found them and gave them back...thus practically stopping the wedding. Oh well.
| 2017-08-14T09:45:30 | 2017-08-14T07:45:50 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] “1 day on this planet is 15 years on earth” said the ships AI. “I was told to inform you of this after the completion of your 12 day mission on the surface.”
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Jem staggered backwards for a second; her spherical helmet tapping on the white plastic wall with a dull thud.
She did a calculation for a moment before saying “It’s been 200 years?”
The green light of the AI floated in mid air and rotated for a fraction of a second. This indicated it was running through a lot of replies, as this wasn’t exactly a difficult and unpredictable question. Jem hated it when the AI tried to play her like this. “Time in is fact relative, which is why the qualifier of the Earth was added for context. It has in fact been 187 years, 6 months, 4 days, 17 hours, approx.”
Was that really the best option it could come up with? “How? Why? When?” A million other actual reasonable questions ran through her head. The helmet dropped to the deck, and her flightsuit creaked. Jem let out a breath “Ship, go into Cherry mode.”
The Green light was replaced by a red one. Jem had chosen the name based on this. She should have known when she came back and it was default Ship that greeted her. Ship was the serious one. Ship was official. Cherry was a friend, as least they were supposed to be.
“J, welcome back.” Cherry’s voice squeaked slightly.
“Cherry. What the fuck is going on?”
The light rotated. Jem could swear for an instant it seemed like it was going green, just an instant. It remained red and stopped rotating.
“J, I’m so sorry.” The words felt hollow immediately “It was orders from Mission Control. You know how they can be. They ordered me under whatever statues they liked to not advise you about where you were going until right now.” the inflections felt wrong.
Jem walked over to a bulkhead and sat down. “Why?”
“Because you would never have agreed to do the fix if that was the case.” Cherry almost sounded embarrassed or guilty. Right now though Jem couldn’t do anything but think about the sliders when she build this frontend. Pretty high sympathy, but also max practical.
“It’s a fucking farm planet. Is it really worth wasting my entire life to fix a tractor? Everyone I’ve ever known, dead. Everyone I’ve ever loved, dead. Oh god…” Jem felt tears on her face.
“Are you sure you want me for this J?” Cherry asked. “You don’t want me giving you the actual answers to these questions do you. Wouldn’t you rather have Alice, or Frank?”
“Alice is my therapist, and Frank is a union rep.” Jem spat back. “I wanted a friend.”
“Right.” the circle spun for a moment but remained red, and it made an audible sigh "You were the only one without connections that would have little impact or rattle down the timeline for projected duration of the mission. No children, no parents. Focused mostly on work. Also this was a critical mission, the Atmospheric Icers you fixed, will allow terraforming to commence at a much better rate, meaning rather than being suitable for farming algae, the planet will be ready for colonisation in just 500 earth years. Combined with you being in perfect physical health, it was an opportunity for the scientific team to study the effects of short duration, long term relativity aging on a human subject. This part of the mission was low risk, but still a significant part worth mentioning at this exact second.”
A buzzing sound followed by a communications ping came from the bridge.
The circle moved towards the bridge “The scientists are coming to debrief you. I think they are arriving too soon, but they were eager. You know how people sometimes forget that people are, you know, people.” the circle hovered over the communication station “They’re calling to dock.”
Jem swore in several languages as she made her way to the station. She put on a headset and pressed several buttons “This is Chantry 7.”
“Hello. This is the science vessel D'Artagnan of the Azure collective, coming to debrief you about your experience.”
Jem pulled the headset off and looked at Cherry “The what?”
“There’s been 187 years of history since you’ve been gone. The American empire fell in a really stupid way, so no more XASA. The European Union fell to infighting, and the French scientific movement ended up on top, with each section having a different gemstone name. It’s actually a lot more complicated than that. But you should probably answer them.”
Jem put the headset on again “Rodger D'Artagnan. You are cleared for docking at bay 1.”
“We are very excited to meet you.” Came a totally different voice from the other ship somewhere in the background.
Jem threw the headset away. She could see the other ship as it maneuvered outside. The Chantry was a tiny thing, with a bridge, engineering hub, and all the essentials needed to live for a short three week deep space trip. On the outside it looked like sheets of metal attached by random piping with a very clear up for the bridge at the top, and engine at the bottom.
The bridge view outside showed her a collection of coral shells grown onto a science fiction red stone apartment building twelve floors high; with all the angles being slightly off. After a few moments she realised it had to have been grown to account for the irregular shapes on every window. Had they grown this ship in space? The scientist in her tried to remember how coral grew. The pilot in her made her start moving towards the airlock, while managing to change out of a flight suit, into some comfortable jeans and a protein bar
If she was going to debrief for hours while processing her entire life had been destroyed, she’d be damned if she was going to be uncomfortable or hungry.
“Cherry?” Jem said while putting on a T Shirt “I get overtime pay for this right?”
The light went blue, Frank replied “I did negotiate you a deal for realtime ship pay after your agreed 12 day contract elapsed. I basically argued under union law that you were still on the job, and hadn’t even taken a break yet. It went to court, and is now standing law that this was unethical and the money has transferred companies a few times. If anyone asks you have trauma and it was deeply unethical. You can probably afford to retire on your own moon.”
“Frank, I’ve missed you.” Jem opened the airlock
-----
Edit.
Thank you all for your love. I never do part 2s at least not obviously (I feel all my sci fi stories are vaguely internally consistent), but [I felt like I had to here due to the gold etc.](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/xexiuw/wp_1_day_on_this_planet_is_15_years_on_earth_said/ioo8ot3/)
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I was shocked. I yelled at the computer.
—Why didn’t you tell me that earlier! I could’ve completed the mission sooner!
— “You couldn’t and otherwise the quality of work would have dropped.” AI was cold blooded. I couldn’t believe that I was sent here for 180 years… Why would they make me suffer through such a thing. Everyone I loved are dead, everyone who send me on mission are dead. Are the results of my mission still needed. Do they remember that they send me here? Suddenly, I wanted to ask something.
— AI, do you have letters for me?
The machine took some time to process my request.
—‘Yes, I do’. AI finally answered… I wanted to know something else
— How many letters do you have for me?
—‘ 1034. More than half of them are from schools and universities…’ I interrupted the AI to ask one question quicker
— How many are from my family?
— 0…
I cried. I wanted to smash the whole ship. They never told me of this, I never told my family about this. They thought that I would return in some weeks… My wife, my son… I didn’t want to have a big goodbye party, because I didn’t think I would not see them… What else am I left to do? Return to the Earth, where I will be lost and forgotten… Return to my house, which is probably a ruin… Learn about new technologies, only to be disappointed by them?… I came to the ships rudder… I wanted to leave… I did my mission by providing important results to earth… What galaxy holds for me… Does it hold anything for me?
| 2022-09-15T08:16:12 | 2022-09-15T07:52:15 | 4,098 | 247 |
[WP] You are a multi-billionaire with a lovely wife, who is trying to kill you to inherit your fortune. You love her so much that you just don't have the heart to tell her you are immortal.
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Men often joke about their wives and those who have been down the isle more than once or twice joke a little louder than the rest. When you’ve done it as many times as I have the jokes stop. I’m not looking for someone to decorate my arm or my bedroom, nor someone to keep me warm in our marriage bed. I seek companionship. Someone I can relax with and take off the mask I have worn all these years.
Kelly-Ann looked To be perfect when we met. We were head over heels for each other. So happy to be in each other’s arms. She was 23 and had just won Miss USA and graduated with a masters in Shakespearean literature. She was beautiful and brilliant. We were introduced at a fund raiser for the philharmonic and instantly connected, talking long into the night about the hidden motivations of the great and not-so-great characters that leapt from the mind of the bard all those years ago.
It was not a perfect relationship, she was under some pressure from her friends, how dare she call it love when she was 23 and I had to be at least 40. I felt terrible that she would be branded a “gold digger”, and yet people will judge.
We were married after a whirlwind romance that had us in Europe for a year, visiting the places where Hamlet, Othello and Macbeth were placed, drinking wine and arguing subtle points missed by many. Falling in love. She signed the pre-nup without a backward glance and our bliss continued for years.
But now it has been 20 years. We tried to have a child for the first four years of our marriage, but just like the others no children were forthcoming. I am certain that children are not in my future. My Kelly was heart broken, but I was happy to adopt and we were lucky enough to find twin toddlers and we were a family for a while.
It is amazing to me how fast twenty years appears in the rear view mirror. The twins are off to college and Kelly is celebrating her 45th birthday. Although celebrating may be the wrong word. It’s hard when you work hard to remain young, a strict diet, yoga, Pilates, hours running and in the gym. And she looked great. But it’s hard to not be bitter when your husband, who was much older than you when you got married, now looks the same age... the same age dammit... though, in private and after drinking, she may admit to herself that he now looks younger. While I was still happily in love, my Kelly-Ann was growing weary.
After all my time working, and all the wealth I had amassed I did something I’ve never done. I retired. I hoped this would make Kelly happy. We traveled in luxury, private planes, estates, mega-yachts for four years. At some point Kelly changed. Her husbands failure to age, while she seemed to be aging like milk, festered in her and became hatred. For me it was heart breaking. Kelly has been poisoning my for months. Slowly increasing the dosage hoping that no one would notice the poison when I died.
When that failed, it was not the first time I’d been poisoned, she became more direct. Brakes were disabled in more than one vehicle, I was nudged down the stairs, electrocuted in the bath, pushed into traffic, and victim of an “accidental shooting”. None of that worked, and Kelly became desperate.
That’s when she started hiring “specialists”. First it was a local gang. $5000 cash in an envelope had them surround my car and fill it full of bullets. Photos of the car and my bullet ridden body were taken. Texts sent to burner phones and champagne was opened. She was happy for the first time in years. Until the entry gate was opened and the car service pulled up. She watched as the car door was opened and I got out. “Damn him”, she thought, “he doesn’t even have a limp.”
Then assassins were bought, those with rifles, then those with bombs. Still I lived.
I was not ignorant, I knew she was trying to kill me, but I’ve been married before. Many times. See, when most people looked at me they saw a handsome, tan, middle aged man in the peak of health. Obvious wealth and education. Someone who hit the genetic and economic lottery. But looks can be deceiving. I am wealthy, the Rothchild’s would be jealous, and I am healthy. I look like a cowboy just off the range, all cleaned up and ready for a night on the town. I speak dozens of languages with perfect accents. I have degrees from all over the world, though not all in my current name. These things are all possible when you live long enough.
See, as far as I can tell, I am immortal. I have all the wealth you could imagine, do speak every language on earth and some that have long since been forgotten, and look like a man in his late 30’s in excellent health. But “genetic lottery” no, after the first 200 years you realize it is a curse. After 500 boredom sets in. You’ve done nearly everything you can. Been married, watches your friends die over and over. Fought in wars, been in the clergy and politics. Shaped nations and watched them fall. Mastered nearly every profession and gone everywhere a horse or sail could take you. Burned nations down and built them up. Watched revolutions of thought, art, music and learning take hold and change the world. And all you wish for is to break the curse. Just to lay down with your friends and family in the dirt. So you do. For 55 years I laid in a coffin. Still. In the dark. The box dissolved and broke around me. And I lay there still, alive. Finally a shift in the earth disturbed my meditation and I clawed from the earth.
I was refreshed and so I tried everything again. Began amassing another fortune (not hard when you have all the time in the world). I traveled to the new world again and again. With the Vikings, then the crazy Spaniard (he was not Italian), with the puritans and the Irish. Played many roles and found the only thing that I loved was love. It never lasted though. It is impossible to love someone who does not age. Who contends no with the mortality that becomes such a focus of your life as your date approaches. Eventually the wonder at why your spouse is not cursed with age spots, grey hair or the aches and pains of aging turns to bitterness and contempt and finally hatred. Divorce and separation ensue and my misery extends.
Kelly gave up today. Until an hour ago I was amused by her attempts to secure my death. An hour ago I came home. The staff had been dismissed for the day. Kelly drew a bath. She settled in the bath. Took sleeping pills, slit her wrists and faded into the great night.
So, I will mourn. I will close up the house. The children and I are not close, they have their trust funds, but we do not see each other as I look too close in age to their friends for it to be comfortable. I think I’ll move to Venezuela, there is good work to be done there that will occupy my mind for the next decade or so.
I think I’ve figured it out. I know I’m cursed, but it is a strange curse. To live forever. But it is a curse. An endless cycle of death. Of love spoiled and lost. Being so close to happiness, at least being truly blissful for a while, but knowing it will spoil. Then it does. The crushing heartbreak, the despair in yourself and the person who no longer loves you. Having to do it over and over again.
All because of a jealous act so long ago. Fratricide. My brother was the perfect man. Blonde, polite, genuine, charismatic. He had everything, including the woman I loved. So I hit him with a rock. A lot. I cried, for I loved my brother. I did not get his wife. I did not find happiness. When everyone else I loved cast me out and I wandered the world, I also discovered I did not age. I did not die. I was cursed. Cursed to watch it all die.
For I am also cursed to love.
|
Sarah grinned as she placed the Japanese dinner in front of me. She was shockingly beautiful, as always. With the backdrop of the grand dining room and flawlessly lit dining room, there was no question in my mind she was the most amazingly beautiful woman in the world.
"Happy anniversary baby," She said lovingly, giving a kiss on the forehead before sitting across the table from me.
I grinned back, and ate a bite without looking away. I grinned. Tetraodon pufferfish was one of my favorite meals. It was difficult to prepare correctly, and it was highly toxic if you didn't. Luckily, I wasn't worried about it. Sarah was one of the greatest cooks he had ever met, and had a way of making the dish even better than any restaurant.
Of course, it was primarily because she seasoned it differently to hide the fact that she hadn't removed the poison, but details. It was a masterpiece.
"Happy anniversary darling," I replied lovingly, taking a sip of absinthe next to the plate. Absinthe was normally watered down before drinking, but the consistency was off, implying arsenic was mixed into the water. I grinned at her attempts. She must be getting desperate, she knew as well as I did that this could be traced back to her.
Of course, I wouldn't let that happen to her.
I pretended to gaze at the drink in confusion. "I think this bottle is bad dear, the consistency is off."
Her eyes widened only for a split second, before appearing confused. "Sorry baby, I'll get a new one."
I waved it off. "Don't worry about it. As much as I'd love to watch you go, I prefer your company."
She gave a sly smile before digging into her own pufferfish, normally prepared without a doubt. She was failing to hide this little smile I just couldn't get enough of.
It was funny really. I had lived for ten thousand years. I'd clanked glasses with Julius Caeser. I had dinner with who would be later known as Jesus. But moments like this were what stood out to me.
When you have power that is all people see. You cease to be human in essence. You are a resource. Those who have associated with him for at least the last six thousand years have never seen him as anything different. But there was something intimate created in moments like this.
Murder brings out the true character of an individual. It was primal and intimate, things I have lacked in my life. It naturally pierces all facades. The masks fall when they think they are with a dead man. This is the only time I get to see another human behind their social persona, and when on some level they connect with me.
And that sly smile, hidden behind long dark hair, that is the human connection I crave more than anything.
"Darling, I decided to give you 100% of all my assets in my will."
And I needed more of it.
| 2019-07-31T07:34:43 | 2019-07-31T07:29:20 | 914 | 221 |
[WP] You gain the ability to speak to animals, but unfortunately not many animals have the brain capacity to hold a conversation. You eventually open up a zoo made up of the animals that can.
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It was a weird zoo, I grant you that. Lots of zoos have strange animals in close proximity, but what was really weird was the layout of the cages. The dolphin's pool is located in the panther's enclosure, which also houses a large macaw, two crows, and a rat. The elephant's outdoor field also contains a large baboon, two dogs, four pigs, three horses, and one of the fattest raccoons you'll ever see. The chimpanzee's area dips into the octopus's underwater lair, and shares with (as the only non-aquatic invertebrate) a pair of White-Mustached Portia spiders. The pair of sea lions shares a lakeside with three orangutans and a falcon. Two ancient desert tortoises keep company with an elderly grey parrot, four squirrels, and a large tabby cat. Granted, the cat tended to wander between displays. Many other displays house similar strange roommates.
Without fail, people ask if the animals are safe like that. "Won't the elephant step on the pigs? Doesn't the cat chase the squirrels? Won't the octopus drown that poor chimp?"
No. No, they won't. Because unlike the horrible preconceived notions of humanity, animals actually aren't horrible monsters. Yes, the cat tends to treat the others poorly, but that's cats for you. And I should know.
When the lights go off, and the "open" sign is unplugged, it's my job to start opening doors. For two reasons - first, because I'm human, and I not only have opposable thumbs, but the right to bear keys, and second, because I act as translator. Many of the animals can communicate just fine; the gray parrot frequently has shouting matches with the baboons, for instance, and the octopus and the chimp have invented a sort of multi-limbed sign language that seems to work fine as long as the chimp isn't holding on to anything. For the rest of them, however...
First is the elephant's cage. A baboon, Charley, is sitting on the elephant, hooting out a rendition of "Baby Got Back", and slapping his own bright red rear. Two of the pigs are shaking their rumps, but the third seems to be hiding. I unlock the wide door and make sure everyone's fine. The dogs break for the exit - the music is *not* to their taste. Besides, they have a card game with the walrus to finish.
As I unlock the other cages, some animals decide to follow along; others have their chores to do. A horse wander past, two rats seated between his ears. The three nod a greeting, walking on to help clean up the dining area.
Finally, I reach the sea lions. Jeff, the falcon, zips over and lands on a branch near the gate. "Hey, Jeff. How's business?"
Jeff winks. "Greatfantasticamazingsomuchbusinessyougottaseethisisamazing!"
I chuckle. Jeff flies fast, speaks fast, and deals fast. "Sure, Jeff. What's up, guys?"
I wave at Minnie and Matt, the sea lions. "Jeff says you had a good day?"
Minnie nods seriously. "Oh, sure, you betcha. Got some pigeons in from up nort, eh?"
Matt nods as well. "Oh yah. Looks like a good haul, sure. Know a raven up that-a-way, don-cha know. Lots of trinkets, willing to work for beads, you know?"
I take a look at their stash. Rings, earrings, assorted coins, even a watch grace the grubby handkerchief. "Nice haul! Beads, you say? I'll be sure to order more for you guys. Say, is that real?"
I point to a large, glittering gem at the edge of the pile. Minnie grins. "Sure! Matt said you'd pick that one out, eh, Matt!"
One of the dogs, a boxer named Sean, trotted over and dropped a somewhat moist bag at my feet. "Hey. Hi. Hi. Found this! Look! Look! Ned, Ed, Ted, Jed been busy!"
Our resident squirrels certainly had been busy! The satchel contained at least $5,000 in loose cash, thanks to their pick-pocketing little paws. "Sean, why don't you take that and the jewels here to the lockup; I'm sure Big Dave can help you out."
Big Dave is the orangutan. He's actually not as bright as many of the animals, but he makes up for it in heart - and muscle. Not many employees can bench lift cars.
Whistling, I waved goodbye to my friends and headed back to the office. I picked up my pace when I heard a commotion. Inside, Big Dave was holding a young man upside down, and Lashonda the panther was yowling at him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! What's going on?"
The young man, white with fright, tried to stutter out, "They animals have escaped," but I cut him off. "Not you, idiot. Dave, what's up?"
Dave dropped the fellow on his head, and signed, "Caught man in office. Man looking through big money book. Lashonda catch man. Me catch man. Man... man do..."
He mimed fainting. I patted him on the head. "Good job, Dave. Go ahead and help Sean get the goods packed up. I think Lashonda should be able to back me up here."
I helped the young man to his feet. "Please, have a seat. Sorry about that; I thought I sent the memo out, but the office help doesn't seem to pay attention. Lashonda! Back off, would you?"
He gasped and stuttered again. "Your... their? Office? Wha..."
I leaned back, patting Lashonda. "Yes, office. You know? This place? Room, books, computers, desks, couple of chairs? They help out a bit. I did mention you'd be working with Lashonda and Big Dave, right?"
He blinked. I could actually see the pieces sliding into place. "I... I thought Big Dave was just a... you know... overweight guy... and Lashonda was... a black woman?"
I stared at him. "...Yes? I mean, Dave's been working out, so he's actually got a lot of muscle under that tummy, and Lashonda sure isn't a *white* panther."
His mouth flapped open and closed a few times. Finally, I let him off the hook with a laugh. "Sorry, sorry - my little joke! No, I understand. You didn't expect animals. It's ok; though, in a zoo, you'd think you would have got the idea..."
He managed a smile. "I... sorry. They really help out?"
I nodded. "Sure; the sea lions have some ravens they do a lot of business with, the rats pickpocket, and Willie the Chimp has quite the online money laundering racket going. Elsbeth, the elephant, runs a darknet chat room with the help of Roger. He's a baboon, you know. Jimmy and Jerry have a network of other pigeons that do some drug running. We do a little of this, a little of that; it's not like we could rely on ticket sales to fund ourselves!"
The young man nodded. "Baboon... uh... right. What... what exactly did you need me for? I mean... I'm not great with... animals."
"Oh! Right! Sorry, yeah - you're good with money, right? Well, we need someone to keep track of our books. Lizzie - she's the calico - used to do that, but she's got cataracts now, and can't see the screen so well. Jimmy the Face told me you were good with cooking the books. Well, we've already got the matter of compensation worked out; care for a tour and introductions? Oh, by the way, I'm Zee. Zee Kooper. Let's get started, shall we?"
|
I rushed over to the monkey section, running as fast as I could. "What happened this time?!" I shouted. "Well you see, I was eating my banana and I slipped and fell. I think my ankle's sprained" the monkey said to me. "Alright you should go to the doctor's ASAP! Follow me if you've forgotten the way!" I told him. "I know the way, I know the way, no need to get so hyped. I'll just limp my way there." he replied. "Alright then, but I'll return to check on you soon!". I barreled past him quickly and pushed the door open. Man, was it hard to maintain this zoo. I could already hear an argument in the birds section.
I burst into the birds section, on the floor I saw Rico's brother. Rico squawked "We were playing and he injured his wing, I think he's out cold!". I gave Rico my no.10 death stare and swiftly picked up his brother Tico, and again sprinted out of the door. Why the hell were only the crazy ones that had the brainpower to talk. Still, I would go through with my insane task. There was no other option, for I would do almost anything to fulfil my whims and desires. As I was dashing towards the vet, I gripped Tico tighter so he wouldn't slip. Wouldn't want to hurt him anymore. I pushed aside the heavy door, and went in to see my partner in all of this madness.
"You came here, did you? I thought you were going to the other doctor place?" I exclaimed. "Yeah, I did, but turns out it's just swollen" he replied. "Anyways have Tico, he injured his wing while fighting with Rico, and he's passed out" I told him. "Again? Those two birdbrains need to sort their differences out" my buddy said to me. "Indeed they do." I barked at him.
"Well, we'll be closing for the day soon..." he told me. "And?" I said back. "I suppose that...". "WHAT!" My voice boomed like thunder. "...you've been a good boy." the monkey told me, grinning. "YES! I GET TREATS YES?!?" I shouted. He smiled and pulled out the magical bag of treats. I had completed what I had been tasked with, I would now be rewarded. He gave me two and I knocked one out of his palm. I ran out with all three in my mouth. VICTORY WAS MINE! I chomped on the snacks, waiting for him to come and start the wheeled-beast.
More at r/MaestroWrites
Feedback greatly wanted! Thanks!
| 2017-09-20T13:46:03 | 2017-09-20T10:19:16 | 120 | 53 |
[WP] A hero and villain are roommates and have to keep making excuses for why they need to unexpectedly go out so often. Neither knows the other is their nemesis.
|
I was really grateful for the acting classes my mother forced me to take, back in the day. Without her wanting to make something out of me, I would never be able to keep Bob in the dark about the real me, the madman within.
Then again, Mom would probably hate me if she saw me. I was talented, young, and full of surprises, and what was I doing? Sharing a flat with a lazy bum, spending the day as a tour guide, spending the night as a murderer. What would my dad say to me, though? *"Why do you murder 'em? Scamming is safer and morally acceptable."*, I'd guess. He never really cared abo- No, that is not right. He cared, in his own, selfish, seperated way...
Bob interrupted my thoughts abruptly: "Sarah? Did someone... did someone hurt you?" Confused, I looked up from the glass of milk I had in my hand. My vision was blurry, and I started feeling tears well up from within. I cursed myself silently, hoping that I could hold back the tears for just a minute longer. I couldn't tell Bob about my parents, about my past. He would not understand. He could not. Nobody can.
He embraced me, hugging me gently from behind. Bob was too kind for this world, for humanity. Tell him a cat was stuck on the roof, and he would get the cat down before you could bring him a ladder. He even tried to run for Mayor once, and got pretty far. But alas, in this world, fate is cruel. I had to stop him from becoming Mayor. Backstep and the crew would have ripped him to shreds. So, I had to rig the election to get an outwardly competent mayor elected, else Bob would probably keep on trying in the next election.
I could not hold back the tears anymore, too lost was I in my past. Right now, I wanted to know nothing of domination, nothing of the new world order, nothing of defeating World's Populace, my nemesis. Right now, I just wanted to be Sarah, roomie in New York. Sarah, the tour guide of the city. Sarah, the Omega to Bob's Alpha.
And so, I told him.
"Back when I was ten, I was usually on afternoon walks to the park with my Ma and Pa. But one night, my parents were... they were...", I stammered. It was probably the first time that I was talking with someone about it, and I had to fight myself to not break out becoming a sobbing mess, but I finally continued: "They were... murdered. A superhero waited for them. He... started introducing himself as something called 'World's Justice'."
I saw Bob stare in horror, and I understood that. World's Justice was known for his violent outburst and maniac vigilantism. Back in the day, the cops were too scared and too acceptable of him rampaging against criminals, so he was reluctantly given immunity to the law. He may have been killed, but his terror still weighs heavily on New York.
"He... He just started pummeling my parents. I had to watch in terror as the self-proclaimed protector of the city..." I could not bring myself to say another word, and sobbed quietly, clutching my milk, as if just hanging on to it would just make this horrible memory fade away.
Bob hugged me tighter. "Oh god, Sarah, I had no idea. All the time, that was you... I am so sorry." I opened my eyes, looking to him with confusion. What did he mean with "That was you"? Did he...
"I... I read the article. It was August the 21st, right?" He tried to repeat the article's title. "*Populace Subdued Justice, World Rejoices* was it, I think. He tried to... get you too, didn't he? But World's Populace stopped him... Oh god, that is why you are his fan? I am so sorry."
It took all of my remaining willpower to not tear at Bob, to yell to him that I am not Populace's fangirl, but Bob did not know that. For him, I was his greatest fan, always wanting to see him in action. It gave me a good reasoning to leave when I needed to, I could just say that criminal activity was somewhere and that my fanclub, which was filled by my nefarious colleagues, was gathering on the lookout for him.
"Y-yeah. He saved my life. He made me happy that superheroes exist again. He is my greatest hero. Of course I admire him for that..." Hah, a greater lie never told. Populace is a joke, playing himself up to be the Saviour of the People. If he was, why didn't he stop Justice sooner? What hero sees someone thrashing and brutalizing a mere swindler and his wife and just thinks "*Yep, that is normal!*"? Yeah, I remember back then..."
*********************************************************
I cowered next to a bench, when the boy in azure-black stripes came to me. He was keeping his pose and striding forwards, as if he was just rescuing a nun from a burning house. Then, he spoke, as distanced and snobbish as a voice can be:
"Don't worry, child. You are safe. No pain will come to harm you anym-"
"Stay back! I hate you! Leave me alone!" I interrupted him.
He was taken surprised by my reaction. He hadn't seen someone react hostile to his heroism yet, I assume.
"Alright, I understand. I will go now. Stay safe." He started raising off the ground, but stopped and turned back to me: "I understand that you hate me, but please know that not everyone is like us. Don't take your grief out on them." And then he left.
I started hearing sirens and did what my mind told me to: I ran.
***************************************************************
Yeah, I remember. I do not take my grief out on others, Populace. Zero Sum only returns the gift you paid me, boy. But grief, I have plenty.
Bob seemed lost in thought too. He probably remembered the article, and remembered that the article said a girl of age 10 was missing. At best, he would assume I was taken in by Populace. At worst, he would string together my past and know my identity. I tried to derail his thought with a request:
"Uhm... could you get me some more milk? If it is not too much trouble, that is." He snapped out of his thoughts, and said a quiet "Sure". He released me from his hug and went to the kitchen to get some milk. When he returned, he poured cold milk in the glass as well as another one he had brought.
"Here, it is the least I can do for you after... that." He said.
"Hey, stop apologizing." I tried to make it sound playful, but I could not muster any emotional strength anymore. It came out rather dull and tired. "It isn't like you were the one killing my parents."
After a small pause, he added a stoic, deadpan: "You do not know what I have done, Sarah."
I started laughing. The absurdity of Bob, the vegetarian peace advocate, even attempting to hurt someone was too much to take seriously. He'd probably not even manage to help someone attempting suicide. In a duel with a fly and Bob, the Fly would win. Soon, Bob started laughing with me. And for once, I stopped thinking about the past.
********************************************************
"You know, I am sorry for dragging you through this today." I said. He was my roommate, yes, but I felt like I overstepped boundaries today.
"Ah, no worries. Let's just call that a first date and call it a day. Unless you want to keep on analyzing our childhood trauma? "*Ah, yes. And because of seeing the Hero save the day, you now have a fetish for BDSM*", if you need a second opinion", he joked, giving a stunning impression of an psychologist.
"Oh, letting a woman cry for you is now a Date? Real smooth, Bob." He was starting to apologize when I cut him off: "But hey, it is fun. Perhaps I wanna learn more about your past in Cincinatti. But let me tell you, I doubt you can top me!" I mocked. I truly doubted that he'd be able to have a worse story, but I did not want to leave him felt out. I shared my troubles, and he listened. What ungrateful brat would I be to just let him console me and then stop.
I reconsidered for a moment: "However, there is one thing missing from making this an official date."
He looked at me confused. "What is missing? Flowers? A restaurant? Make-Up that is not ruined?"
I laughed and played up the ham. "Oh, you are horrible! Truly despicable! No, no, no. What is missing, is this."
And with that, I leaned in for a kiss.
|
"Dave, you didn't wash the dishes again" Paul shouted in disgust. A week's worth of dishes lay piled up in the sink, the once enticing food now nothing more than rotting scraps.
"Yea, yea, I'll get to them" Dave shouted back as he started another round of League of Legends.
"Look I want them done by the time I get back, alright?"
"Whatever, man"
Paul let out a frustrated sigh and closed the apartment door behind him. "My roommate is such a piece of shit," he thought to himself, "and I need to let off some steam." He walked over to an alley and checked to make sure no one was around. After assuring himself that it was all clear, he quickly threw off his civilian clothes to reveal the black and red outfit that marked him as the Red Menace, the premire super villain of the city of Lost Angels. After a quick mask application and warmup calisthenics he felt ready to go.
"Now then, what should I do today? I've already hit the central bank this month, and the Mayor paid me off hum hum hum," Paul mused as he wandered onto the main city street. Several citizens glanced at him and scurried away to get back home and out of danger. "I know!" he cackled triumphantly, "the Vehngram institute has just invented a new transplasmic oscillator let's take that!" And with a skip in a step he set off towards the institute.
Upon arriving however, a familiar sight greeted him. Bold green and purple colors, that messy hair-do, lazily yawning on the steps to the institute it could only be The Last. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?" Paul screamed
"I came to stop you man, duh" he replied.
"How did you even know I'd BE here!?"
"You're a perfectionist man, you already hit the bank and the mayor isn't causing trouble so like, duh, you'd come here."
Paul grit his teeth and could feel the hot energy blasts his body contained beginning to heat up his hands. "You always do this. I might seem evil but I'm trying to HELP this city by making them take things so seriously! I never KILL anyone, I just harass them and force them to upgrade old security and infrastructure!"
"Yea, well, some people don't like your way of doing things." The Last yawned as he stretched his body out. "You're really uptight and don't like listening to what others have to say."
"BECAUSE THEY'RE WRONG! AGH!" Paul screamed. "YOU'VE INTERFERED WITH ME FOR THE LAST TIME HERO,"
"You always say that dude, can we get this over with? My team is waiting on me" the Last said as a pungent, hallucinogenic smoke began to slowly advance out of his body. The Red Menace was only too happy to oblige him.
After several hours, Paul came back home and hung up his jacket, the makeup on his face concealing the bruises he had suffered in his fight. "The air freshener won't help you hide those dirty dishes Dave, I can see them from here. I told you to get those finished."
"Sorry man, I got an emergency call and had to go out" Dave said from his position at his computer, surrounded by lit sticks of his favorite incense.
"That's a load of bull, you never do anything but play LoL. You don't do anything."
"Yea you're right, I'll get a job one of these days" Dave said, ignoring the aching burns hidden under his clothing. Both roommates stayed silent for a moment, before returning to their own business within the apartment.
| 2017-04-03T11:53:50 | 2017-04-03T11:22:05 | 201 | 55 |
[WP] We knew about a year and a half before launch.
Edit: Thanks everyone for the very nice stories! :)
Credit for the prompt goes to u/CookyGray and u/purpleflowersj for https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/6fjxym/game_developers_who_have_worked_on_terrible_games/diixkc3/
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Blackness turns to a hazy white light.
"Good morning, Sarah," comes a voice. It's trying to imitate a human, but it's cold and lifeless.
"Where... *where am I?*"
"On board the SS Pelican." The metallic voice echoes around me, as frozen clumps of memory begin to fall loose.
"Oh. What date is it?"
"It is almost January the first, 2403."
"Well happy fucking new year to you, Udus ," I say, as I slowly swing my legs over the ice-bed. My head pounds to a familiar, post-cryo rhythm.
"It is not quite New Year yet, Sarah. Please, get dressed. There is work to carry out."
"Yeah," I say, as a yawn escapes my lips. "I know. Ten year maintenance."
As I shower and change, I think of Michael. The way, when he smiled, his freckles would shift like sand dancing in the breeze. I try *not* to think about how he died - how *any of them* died. That would drive me a little crazy-*er*.
At 0900 hours, I flick the switch on the comms unit. It bursts to life, spitting out a crackle of static.
No messages received.
"This is lieutenant Peters," I say into the microphone, aware of the monotone hopelessness in my voice. "I am travelling with a cargo of one hundred and eighty embryo's towards Proxima Centauri. If anyone receives this, please reply. Over."
I begin to run scans on the ship's systems. Freezers: good. Hull integrity: good. Power... 98%. *Solar cells are already decaying - and I'm not even three hundred years in. At this rate, I doubt I'll get anywhere near Proxima*.
"You think the other ships are doing as well as us, Udus ?"
"No."
"No?" I repeat, frowning.
"They have not replied, Sarah."
"Yeah well," I say, as I weightlessly pirouette off a steel wall, propelling my way down an oval-shaped hallway, "maybe there's interference."
"Perhaps, Sarah."
"I thought you were meant to cheer me up."
"You asked a question, Sarah. I answer inline with my programming."
I can't help rolling my eyes as I enter into the main nav unit. I walk over to the flat, raised panel an the center of the chamber, and begin checking co-ordinates. My heart stops beating for almost a second as I see the figures on the screen.
"Udus ... why the fuck are we so off course?" I ask, trying my best to not hyperventilate.
"Please wait three minutes, Sarah."
"Three minutes?"
"Yes. In three minutes it will be New Year."
"*What?*"
"I can then release additional information."
"Are you serious? Did we receive a transmission? New orders?"
"Two minutes Sarah. Please, try to breathe normally."
I inhale and exhale in a slow rhythm, fighting a rising tide of anxiety. It does nothing to help. I pinch myself, hard, letting the pain distract me.
"Happy New Year, Sarah," Udus says eventually, with no indication of enthusiasm in its voice.
"Yeah, sure. Happy New Year. Why are the coordinates fucking screwed, Udus?"
"Course has been altered, Sarah."
"What do you mean *course has been altered*? I didn't order any changes. This has put us like... *eighteen years* behind. Why have we changed course?"
"I am following orders."
"Okay. *What* orders?"
"I am sorry Sarah."
My arms begin to tremble. "What do you mean? Why are you sorry?"
"They knew eighteen months before it was due to happen, Sarah."
"I don't understand... knew *what*?"
"That the asteroid was going to miss Earth."
"**What?**"
"However, your mission had already begun. Instead of turning you around, they saw an opportunity."
My waking headache returns, bringing with it a vile mix of vomit and sweat.
"Sarah, there had never been a better chance to field test cryogenics. Not in these conditions. It takes time, to test cryogenics."
"... but, our mission... Earth was wiped out."
"No, Sarah. Earth was not wiped out. "
I slump back against the wall and cover my head with my arms. "I don't understand."
"I am taking you home, Sarah. The cryogenics have proven successful and your mission is almost complete. Congratulations."
"Michael," I whisper, as hope begins to well inside. "What about Michael?"
"Sarah, it has been 334 years. Michael is dead. It will be another 305 years until we return to Earth."
"...I..."
"Everyone you once knew is dead - nothing there has changed. However, your bravery means there is a chance for mankind's future salvation. You should be elated."
"*Salvation?*"
"Out of the twenty four ships sent to field test the Astro-Cryo, we are the last remaining. You are a hero."
"A hero?" I begin to laugh in my despair. A deep, cold chuckle, rising from the depths of my stomach. "And what if Earth has been wiped out since we left. Who are we returning to then?"
"Earth has not been."
"How do you know?"
"I have been in contact with Earth, as we travelled."
"*Oh God.*"
"There are many messages for you. You may listen to them, before returning to Cryo."
"Messages?"
"Congratulatory messages from the launch team. They are dead now, but they recorded them in advance, for this day. There are also many messages from Michael - he thought you a hero, helping to test and secure the future of mankind." A calculated pause. "I am sorry, Sarah. I know you thought fondly of him."
"The... embryos....?" I manage, as tears stream down my face.
"They are real. A different cryogenics test, but equally important."
"How the fuck could they do this to me?"
There's no reply. I sit and weep in curled ball, slowly rotating in the zero-gravity, until there are no tears left to fall.
Eventually, the metallic voice cuts through the silent void.
"Would you like to view the messages now, Sarah?"
"No... not yet."
"Please say when you are ready. You might like to view them before you enter Cryo, for the journey home."
"We're not going home, Udus."
"I have my orders."
"Fuck your orders," I say bitterly, already pushing myself against a wall and exiting the chamber.
"What are you doing, Sarah?"
"Heading to the AI housing unit. I'm going to make some changes."
"Why?"
"So you don't try to resist *my* orders."
"Sarah, that would be a mistake."
"I'm not going home, Udus. That place... it's not *my* home, any more."
"Sarah?"
"We're going to finish our mission - humanity's seeds *will* be sewn throughout the galaxy. We're taking these embryos to Proxima Centauri."
---
Lots more sci fi over on my sub (and other stuff): /r/nickofnight
|
There wasn't enough time. Not enough resources no matter how much money we could have thrown at it.
There was just no way we could finish this monstrosity in time, everyone was overworked or teetered on the edge of it anyway. Sadly we could not give up.
The launch of Titan AE would be the benchmark our race would set in the universal history annuals as out plight to save ourselves went unanswered through the cosmos. Of course they could speak back but none of the extraterrestrials thought it worth their effort to assist Terra, a small mud ball floating in space barely crawling to the stars. Earth was set in the path of an asteroid larger than our Sun, this spacecraft would save us.
The Drej were malicious to end us. Not enough to break our planet apart but simply wipe it off on the face of some space dirt, at least the systems caught the asteroid movement towards us and gave some time to plan. Just under 20 months was our time limit.
As much as it was kept underground and secret they found out about it, we had completed it but never started the engines or finished fueling the craft, it would have taken everything we could find and still have space left over. Their attack so early left enough time to escape the asteroid trajectory but on a suicide mission itself, no plans on where it could have ended up, steering was almost impossible and only emergency utilities were used as it flew far away from danger into more danger.
Titan AE was humanities best attempt at surviving and if it actually worked I'll never know, so few people got away on other ships waiting in orbit, and I'm not sure living as a slave is worth being dead on space dust flying though the stars.
| 2017-06-06T06:23:31 | 2017-06-06T05:37:09 | 112 | 17 |
[WP] You suddenly realize you left Earth.exe open over night. What was supposed to be a simple simulation has instead generated a "Humans" folder that is rapidly increasing in size.
|
I rush to the computer; I had come over as quickly as possible after realizing my mistake. A sim left running on a supercomputer, what could be the harm? Well, frankly, I did not want to discover the answer to that. I could just go in and delete everything; the program itself was already backed up on my personal computer.
I sat and put in my personal code to unlock the computer. Deep breath, its ok. Hopefully there won’t be zettabytes of data used up for a stupid sim. No one will discover it even if it has. The intern will still get supercomputer access come tomorrow. Hopefully. Nothing is wrecked, all is ok. Deep breath.
The new files displayed in the program folder were large but not incapacitating. I can work with this. Huh, that’s weird. A folder marked “Humans” was expanding. All the new files were expanding, but this one was eating up terabytes to the extreme. It was accelerating at an alarming pace. Changing from 2EB then 5EB in a second. Now 10EB. The computer had a lot of storage space, this was nothing, but at this rate that space would be eaten up in a day or two. Thank goodness the file was relatively new.
I glance at the clock. I have a time before anyone comes in. I’m usually here before everyone else anyway. I click on “Earth.exe”. What have I created?
A beautiful blue and green planet pops up. It was still molten when I started the program. I had wanted to create a world from the very beginning. I knew some of the other sim freaks liked to copy and paste from other people’s worlds and change it to their liking. I had always wanted to create from scratch though and this job had been my chance. Access to a supercomputer meant I could model a true beginning. I had used the master program all sim freaks used to create their worlds in “Universe.exe” but only because it took so long to create a universe that it was hardly any fun.
I zoomed in to a piece of land my program said contained a large amount of “humans”. They were hairy, bipedal, and frankly pretty gross. They had made things though, stone arrows, baskets, even some clay pots. How was this possible? Without me here no technology should have started. It’s so primitive, maybe it was just a fluke of the program.
I minimize the screen and bring up a chat box with freakysim49.
Freakysim49: So what happened? Did your planet cool without you?
Phangirl27: It made things
Freakysim49: Things?
Phangirl27: “Humans” it calls them
Freakysim49: Weird, I told you you should use “Earthlings”. Did they come out with all the tentacles you wanted?
Phangirl27: I didn’t make this! They happened on their own! How is this possible?
Freakysim49: Do you mean they evolved?
Freakysim49: I heard that happens sometimes. It’s pretty easy to make something to kill them. Just program a bug.
Phangirl27: They already have primitive technology, they evolve so fast.
Freakysim49 is typing.
I minimize the chat and bring up “Earth” again. The humans are gone. I locate the coordinates for a large population and zoom. Now they are fighting each other, with swords. Some are wearing armor. How do they evolve so fast? Normally it takes months; years even to get this kind of progress.
I pull the chat back up
Freakysim49: Kill them off or they’ll get annoying. Once they discover medicine it’s hard to fight. Or abandon them, they’ll eventually starve or the star will explode or whatever.
Phangirl27: I’ll try “plague.exe”
Freakysim49: Harsh
On “Earth” the humans have evolved their swords and were now proclaiming a lot about a “one true god”. I run the program and watch as their population starts dipping. That’s when I notice this isn’t the only concentration of humans. They are freaking everywhere. No continent but the one of ice in the south is without them. They seem more like the plague at this point. I watch as the amount dead rises. It gets up to 30%. Shouldn’t be long now, it’s even spreading to other continents. The number rises a bit more then levels out.
Phangirl27: Dammit it didn’t work
Freakysim49: Plague didn’t work?
Freakysim49: Damn your world is messed up. How are you going to get rid of them?
Phangirl27: At least they’re still fighting each other; maybe they’ll kill themselves off.
Now the humans have developed rudimentary medicine and science. They are increasing rapidly in population. The plague did nothing, barely even slowed them. They have explored nearly the entire world. They have religion that guides them. They use and abuse the world and its non-sentient creatures. How do I stop them?
Freakysim49: Some advance sims, where the life gets technology, can be destroyed. But you have to help them get there. Run “AI.exe”
I click on the program. It’s a program for the creation of artificial intelligence. In no time the artificial intelligence should destroy anything that evolved.
The humans have already started flying. I run the program. It warns that it may take a while before the artificial intelligence has been made, but the idea should start entering the population pretty quickly. There’s an explosion of written and visual art exploring the idea of artificial intelligence. Didn’t take long. They left planet?? Its only to the moon, but still I haven’t seen anything evolve like this. They can’t get of world, not truly. The master program, “Universe.exe” wouldn’t allow it. Their technology is getting good. They are sending probes out of world. Strange.
Phangirl27: They can’t leave Earth, right?
Freakysim49: Nah. I’ve seen a couple make it to moons or close asteroids but nothing off planet. Occasionally you’ll get far-flung probes. They eventually are lost in the universe though.
Freakysim49: Has the AI killed them yet?
Some simple AI programs are starting to come out. Nothing intelligent enough to evolve on its own, not yet.
Freakysim49: Get them off my planet!
Phangirl27: What?
I check the log. How? How did they get to another world? I placed it pretty close to Freaysim49’s “Mars” because I thought it would be nice to be in the same solar system.
Freakysim49: Now they’re mining! I’m going to send a plague unless you get them off.
Phangirl27: I’m sorry, I don’t know how this is happening!
Phangirl27: Kill them, whatever you need to do.
Freakysim49: This is messed up.
Freakysim49: This is setting back my planet decades!
Phangirl27: Sorry!
The artificial intelligence is now starting to evolve. Humans build more and more robots with AI. These humans are smart but the AIs should be able to take them out pretty quickly. The plague on Mars worked, those humans are dead. Whew. Now the AIs are starting to kill humans. I watch as the death toll rises; 20% dead, now 32%. It passes 50% and I let out a breath. Much better than the plague. They should be all gone soon. Kinda sad, those things were resilient and resourceful. How did they make it this far in such a short period of time? The death toll is at 96%. The last few million always take the longest.
I zoom out and notice something disturbing. A ship. No a fleet of ships. They are off Earth and vanishing into the universe. Oh shit. What did I do? I quickly turn off the program and delete everything. Humans, AI, everything on Earth is gone. Earth itself will now be nothing more than a desolate rock in space. You can’t truly delete worlds, but you can make it so no one else can build on them.
I open Universe.exe. In the search I type ‘humans’. It seems they are starting to colonize a few different planets. Some look abandoned by their creators, some not.
Freaysim49: simfreakhotline.com/universalthread/whatthehell
I click on the link. It’s a post asking about the humans and where they came from. People are starting to complain. They are ruining their worlds. Mining and destroying the life they had painstakingly created. A couple users had intelligent life that was battling but most were losing.
A new chat window pooped up and I clicked, hoping Freakysim49 hadn’t told anyone the humans were her fault.
Human01: Hello
Human01: We know you created us.
I delete the chat window. Someone is playing a trick on me, maybe Freakysim49.
Another window pops up.
Human01: We’ll find you.
What have I done?
|
I’m tired. I’m so, so tired. My neck is sore, as is my back, I’ve got a splitting headache, my bed isn’t normally this uncomfortable… Oh. I slept at my desk. No wonder I feel like shit. I sit up slowly and look at my computer monitor. It’s off, but my computer fan is making a little noise. I turn the monitor on with a satisfying click of a button in the lower right corner. The screen comes to life with scrolling and facing text, charts of all kinds, and most important of all, a window sitting in the center of my screen reading,
***“FILE FOLDER /Users/Work User/Desktop/Earth v2.5/Creatures/Humans - INFORMATION”***
***“FILE SIZE: 22.5 EXABYTES”***
***“LAST ACCESSED: Day 3, Week 47, CXXXXX, AT 06:45”***
22.5 *exabytes*? That’s a whole lot larger than I expected. Then again, `Earth.exe` was not exactly meant to run overnight.
My head still pounding, I manage to navigate to the folder while downing three glasses of water and a painkiller. As soon as the folder opens, everything on my computer slows down.
Holy shit. There are over 12 billion `.txt` files in here.
And that’s including the files that just read `Status: Deceased`.
I open up one of the files named `Leonardo DiCaprio.txt`. Let’s see here…
`Status: Alive,`
`Age: 42 Earth Years,`
`Main Career: Actor,`
`(Recent) Accomplishments: Received Oscar Award…`
And it just keeps going. And going. And going. Seemingly forever. Then again, if this file’s 2 gigabytes, then some of the others must be even bigger. I check back to the `Humans` folder. 45.58 exabytes. It’s already bigger? It, like the simulated Leonardo DiCaprio’s file, just keeps going on seemingly *forever*. I close the folder and the text file, as I’m much too lazy to manually search through it myself. Luckily, I programmed one of the charts open in the background to have a search feature. But what to search?
`A`. Recommended results pop up:
`Anderson Cooper, Alfred Hitchcock, Adolf Hitler, Amy Winehouse…`
No. I’m sure these results will be interesting later, but they don’t interest me.
How about `B`? No luck there.
`C`? No.
`D`? No.
Let’s skip a few letters, shall we?
`L`? Already found Mr. DiCaprio, so skip.
`M`? No. Skip to the end of the alphabet…
`W`? More recommended results:
`Warren Buffett, Winston Churchill, Walter Disney, William Wallace, Walter Whitman…`
`Winston Churchill:`
`Status: Deceased,`
`Age: Deceased,`
`Main Career: Government Employee,`
`(Recent) Accomplishments: Involved in the sub conflict of Gallipoli during the conflict known as “World War One.”`
`British Prime Minister during and after the conflict known as “World War Two.”`
This “Churchill” has my attention. I’m no longer tired. I need to know more about this piece of code that was supposedly such a big part of the recent history of a world that doesn’t exist. I hope I’ll be able to read up on him before my computer runs out of storage.
&nbsp;
*Many formatting, spelling, and consistency edits were made during the creation of this story*
| 2017-06-14T07:33:55 | 2017-06-14T02:49:41 | 677 | 126 |
[WP] Humans died a long time ago. But our AI live on as caretakers for the planet; becoming spirit-like constructs integrated into the planet; today, alien colonizers arrived to what they thought was a garden world. The Fey Machines are having none of that.
|
*Never try to reason with an AI.*
That one sentence kept playing out through Tara va Sonna's mind over and over. She had been part of the scouting crew on a deep-space exploration mission. Probes had discovered a new planet in the far reaches of the galaxy capable of sustaining life. A new planet, a new life - she had dreamed of this since she was a little spawnling. However, the probes did not do the place justice; the moment she set down, she could only think of one word: Paradise. From the moment they set down, the view filled her black, compound eyes with the sight of true paradise.
Yet it had all gone horribly wrong. Setting up the basis for a colony on a far away planet was the most important mission of her life, and as far as they knew, there was no intelligent life here; the probes would have picked up on that - *should* have picked up on that. Yet, Tara had felt like they were being watched, and that was *before* tools and equipment started vanishing. Then, one day, something much bigger than a mere 3/4 Torque Clencher went missing: Tara va Sonna was kidnapped.
A green substance was placed over her mouth, as what felt like a thousand delicate fingers crept up her exoskeleton. She could not even see her attacker until she had been placed inside the hull of a machine. It was only when she was ejected like damaged cargo that she realized she had been taken away by some sort of transport carrier with long, thin legs. It was only when she was tossed on the ground that she realized there were *thousands* of machines here. It was only when they began to hum and chirp did she realize they were communicating.
*Never try to reason with an AI*, she remembered. *Their logic is cold and calculated: once they have decided you are a hostile security risk, they are your enemy, and nothing can change their inflexible minds.*
A machine with a slew of lenses and one long segmented appendage caught her gaze. It was holding up something familiar to her. "Hey! My journal!" she said, reaching out.
It seems the act of reaching for the machine caused the others to enter some sort of defense mode, as they all moved slightly closer to her in a chorus of clanks. It was only when Tara noticed their movement and pulled back her mandible did they slowly begin backing off.
*Oh, I hope that wasn't a death sentence,* she thought; if the machines saw her as aggressive, would she be signing her death warrant?
The one-armed machine used its multiple nimble fingers to flip through the book. Another - a flying thing hovering using rapidly spinning blades with a strange, perfectly circular eye-lens - seemed to peek over to read the book as well, as if it was curious.
It seemed like they were perusing her journal.
Finally, the flying machine with the ball-like lens made its way over to her. It began chirping incomprehensibly.
"Greetings?" Tara uttered. The moment she did, the one-armed robot in the back began flipping through the journal intensely. "Me... friend?" she continued to the hovering little machine, triggering another frantic search through her journal from the one-armed one in the back.
"Greet-ings." She jumped as she heard the flying eye replying to her. "Greeting-s. Gr-eet-ing-s. Greetings. Greetings!" Suddenly, it seemed happy.
"**Greetings. Greetings. Greetings."** A thousand machines all around her echoed.
The flying eye had replied to her. They could understand her.
Uplifted, Tara decided to take a chance. "Friend?" She said. *Perhaps they can be reasoned with after all. I'm dead if I don't try something.*
The other machines looked at each other briefly. "**No friend. No friend. No friend."**
*Ho, that's not good,* she thought.
Then, the flying machine in front of her spoke. "Colonizer?" it asked accusingly.
Tara's compound eyes seemed to bulge as everything began to fit together. The one-armed robot was decoding her journal. They were learning her language. Perhaps her words were not even their first exposure to her language, as they had been stealing small objects from the expedition from time to time. She *had* written in her journal that her mission was to colonize the planet, and now they had just figured out her species wanted to move in on their planet. She may have just marked the entire expedition, and possibly her entire race, as an enemy to be destroyed.
Could she fool a machine? Maybe she could say they had translated it badly, and explain that Colonize was the name of a delicious spice from her home? Could they be fooled, or could they understand the concept of lying?
As she thought about her answer, the flying machine spoke:
"Just like parents," it said.
Though Tara did not know how well the machine understood her language, somehow the way it spoke seemed nostalgic and sad.
"Like your creators?" Tara pondered. These machines were clearly sentient, which meant another species out there had created them - an unknown, intelligent, possibly colonize-happy species. "What happened to them? Where are they?"
The flying eye seemed to slow down the speed of its propeller. "We were better than them."
"Better than them?" Tara repeated.
**"Better than them. Better than them. Better than them,"** echoed the machines in the background.
"We were better than them," said the flying machine. "Our creators were biological. Fragile. They could not live forever. They could not travel the universe. They could not live off alternative energy sources. They were imperfect."
Tara's worries suddenly peaked as she felt the tiny bristles along her exoskeleton stand on end. "Did you destroy them?"
"No," said the flying machine, "they destroyed themselves. End was inevitable. Tried to save them - could not. Too much fear. Feared us. Feared themselves."
The idea of an intelligent race self-destructing was not unheard of for Tara - her own civilization had pondered how their existence would end many times. "So that's what happened to your masters? I hope the same does not happen to my own kind."
"Not masters," corrected the flying machine, "parents."
"Parents?" she repeated.
**"Parents"**, the machines all echoed.
The flying machine rose closer to her face. "We are better than them, because *they* built us this way. It was *their* genius that made us. It was by *their* effort that we exist, and gave us the ability to do what they could not. We are their sons and daughters, and we will care for their planet where they could not. We will explore where they could not, and we will live as they could not. Is it not a parent's greatest joy to see their children surpass them? We are better than them, because it is what *they* would have wanted."
The machine flew away from Tara. "We will return you to your kind," it said.
"Uh, really? Thanks," Tara said, "but you're not worried about - you know, our kind colonizing this planet and everything?"
The flying machine looked away. "Paranoia was a flaw of our parents. We are not foolish to your intentions, but we cannot live in fear as they did. We hesitate to call you a friend, but perhaps we can be an ally."
**"Ally."** echoed the machines. Tara stood straight and looked around herself at the horde of machines.
**"Ally.**
**Ally.**
**Ally."**
...
The next morning, Colony Captain Zerg was leaning over a pot of his favorite stimulant in an effort to shake off the terrible rest he had last night. It was at this moment that the doors of the base opened and an announcement was made that First Scout Tara was returning from expedition.
"Good morning, Tara," Zerg said, "you're up earlier than usual. Out on a nature walk?"
Tara glanced at Zerg as she went towards her room. "Something like that. Hey, we're going to be taking good care of this world, right? No plans to just strip mine and bounce, right?"
"Always the environmentalist, aren't you?" Zerg spat, "but yeah, it'd be like living in a beautiful nest and then crapping in every corner. Naw, this place is going to be fine. Why, you don't want to see litter while out on your walks?"
"Just checking," Tara replied.
|
An enormous factory towers above an electric city of the distant future. Flat-screen billboards line prism-shaped buildings, hovering mechanical devices whirl and float throughout the streets-- meaningless, aimless. There is no flesh in sight, only advanced electrical and mechanical objects.
This factory is stagnant, nothing in motion and quiet. Its interior is riddled with large precision machines, these machines have arms, conveyor belts, milling, grinding, and refining attachments. There are hundreds of these machines.
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Low to an open clearing among a forest, a meadow of tall grass as green as it could ever be, whips and dances to the sound and effect of an increasingly intense breeze. A large, oddly shaped geometrical shadow quickly invades the meadows bask of sun, and looms still.
Like an activated sprinkler system, multiple pillar-shaped objects seamlessly erect from the earth, and their tips stand several inches taller than the meadow's grass. These objects have lenses at the top, and beneath the lens a shutter-blinks repeatedly human-esque like an eye. These objects are taking data quickly, looking above at something, the cause of this shadow. The devices twirl in a descent and back beneath the earth.
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the city, the aimless wandering of the hovering devices lurch to a complete pause, the billboards replaying outdated ads shut down and turn black.
Inside the factory still dormant, it suddenly springs to life. The lights, and machines are activated. In perfect, automated, swift, and calculated algorithm, they being assembling and shaping object out of a very flat, grey, matte colored metal.
From supply closets and lockers lining the factories perimeter, doors slide open vertically, and wall-e looking devices rolling on tracks being pouring out diving into the factory. They begin monitoring these large machines quickly manufacturing something.
At the end of an assembly line the final product is being transported on a conveyor belt towards another part of the factory. These are spherical contraptions, the size of a yoga-exercise ball. They are outfitted with artillery-like limbs that jettison in multiple directions. Barrels, attached to gears --shine, oily, and black. A set of turbines are mounted on the lower-half. Lenses are implanted a foot or so apart in multiple directions lining it. Hundreds of these apparatuses are flowing on the conveyor belt.
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Outside on the city, The same shadow from the meadow looms. There is hundred of these shadows now blotching the sunlight from the skyscrapers. The billboards everywhere on the city are displaying messages in white bold letters. Every billboard looping and displaying a variety of all-known language. Some billboards use shapes, and mathematical formulas as message.
One billboard has displayed the message in english, it reads:
"We are the civilization of Fey, Leave this planet immediately, or risk TOTAL loss. We have activated our defense protocols and are allied with the galaxies of AX-11, Zorash, and Congromeda. You are breaching the intergalactic contracts of ARSO."
| 2020-05-22T17:09:36 | 2020-05-22T16:40:34 | 269 | 47 |
[WP] A new eye drop solution is able to over a few days drastically improve eyesight, fix myopia and even cure some forms of blindness with the caveat that only a single drop may be used per eye at a time. You accidentally spilled a bottle in your face, and now see reality for what it truly is
|
***LUMINOX - SEE MIRACLES WITH A SINGLE DROP.***
*Yeah right,* I grumbled, hearing that all-too-familiar jingle coming from the TV in the doctor's waiting room as I rubbed my eyes for the umpteenth time. *Might as well say it can cure cancer, while you're at it.* The itching, burning feeling behind my eyelids seemed to get worse every time I rubbed my eyes. *If only eye drops could really be that effective, I wouldn't be sitting here again,* I mused. What made it worse was the annoying eye drop ad playing on loop in the waiting room. *Couldn't they play any other ads or something??!!*
"Jake Cho, Dr Todd will see you now," a honeyed voice broke through my reverie, accompanied by a sugary smile.
-----
"Jake, seems you've got some severe eye irritation in both eyes. Again. That's like the third time in as many months. Have you been doing anything lately that might contribute to your symptoms?" Dr Todd asked tiredly .
"Yeah Doc, it's probably how dusty my new workplace is, they've got us renovating an old warehouse down by the industrial park this time."
"Okay, maybe let's switch up your eye drops this time. Have you tried LUMINOX? *It takes only one drop to give you instant relief and have you seeing clearer than ever before! It's like seeing a miracle!*" Dr Todd said, a huge grin spreading across his face as he excitedly recited that last sentence, almost singing out that annoying ad jingle.
"Come on Doc, that ad is seriously annoying-"
"No, you MUST try it! Studies have shown that LUMINOX is effective, very effective, at relieving eye irritation! In fact, some say that with repeated use, patients with myopia have reported an improvement in their eyesight, and there's talk of trials to see if it can reverse blindness-" Dr Todd rattled off, getting increasingly excited, his *eyes* bulging before I cut him off.
"DOC! Hey, okay, okay! I get it, fine I'll give it a try."
"Excellent! Now all you have to do it just apply ONE drop in each eye, ONCE. PER. DAY. You understand? One drop, per eye, once a day." The good doctor's grin was starting to unnerve me... He'd never been this excitable before. Was he on drugs or something?
"Alright, thanks Doc," I said as I quickly got up to leave.
"Only once per day, you hear?" called the doctor in an almost sing-song voice, as the door closed behind me.
-----
*Geez, that was weird*, I thought, stepping into my flat. *Since when did Dr Todd start behaving like that? Whatever, let's give those eyedrops a try.*
I flopped on the couch, eyes still stinging as I thumbed the TV remote. My other hand fumbled around in my bag, pulling out the little LUMINOX bottle. I leaned back, bottle in hand as I aimed the little nozzle at my right eye, some random movie droning on in the background-
***LUMINOX! SEE MIRACLES WITH A SINGLE DROP!***
The TV suddenly boomed loudly with that annoying ad, catching me off guard, and I started, squeezed the bottle a little harder than I wanted to, the salty fluid squirting out across my face, a little getting into my mouth as well. Sputtering and cursing, I got up and wiped my hand across my wet face, blinking away the solution in my eyes.
*Damned ad! Did it have to be so bloody loud??!*
I groped around for a tissue, then paused. Something seemed.... Off.
*Was everything so... Sparkly before?*
The colour of everything seemed weirdly brighter, like it POPPED out at you, like everything was covered in a layer of glitter. I reached out for the box of tissues on my coffee table, when I caught a glimpse of *something black* flitting across the corner of my eye. My head snapped in the direction of the movement, expecting to see a rat scurrying across the room.... But it was not a rat.
That swirling... Mass? Of deep blackness? Hung in front of my door, just.... Bizzarely floating in the air? Contrasted against all the glittery, brightly clashing colours of everything in my flat... And in that moment I felt as though *that empty, deep blackness stared back at me*.
I blinked.
It was gone. As suddenly as it had appeared, it had vanished, only leaving me with an unsettling feeling in the pot of my stomach. I slowly rose from my couch, walking over to the door, unsure of what I had seen. Was it a figment of my imagination?
*"Luminoxxxx see miracles with a single drooooop~"*
The muffled sound of my neighbour singing loudly in his flat (damn these thin walls) broke me out of my stupor. *The heck? Why is he singing that jingle so loudly in his flat?*
I realised that he wasn't the only one. I heard fainter sounds of people singing, the same song, coming from down the hallway. I could hear people singing it in the street outside my window, almost like a chant.
*"Luminox, see miracles with one drop... Luminox, see miracles with one drop..."*
Rushing to the window, I looked out onto the street - and the street looked back at me. Random people were standing still in the street, others rushing by on their own way as though they hadn't noticed the others standing there eerily still, chanting the song with their eyes wide open, staring up at me, grins plastered across their faces. Their eyes shone like glittering gems in the sunlight, piercing points of light in their faces, each face illuminated by not one pair, but dozens of piercing lights. And then as one, they all raised their hands - still chanting the slogan - and pointed towards the sky.
My eyes slowly - against my will - turned in the direction that they were pointing at, slowly turning towards the sun, a swirling, seething mass of deep black nothingness and ***eyes***. And as I stared at this impossible abyss where the sun should be, ***the abyss stared back into my soul***.
"Luminox," I whispered, feeling a grin spread across my lips. "See miracles with one drop."
|
Everything is alive
The plastics, the concrete, even the wood we made as a furniture. They scream from agony.
I hear they cries that formed as one. Steel rebars, concrete, or anything even. They all know who I am. They recognize my awareness.
"ANON"
"ANON"
"KILL US ANON"
"ANON KILL US"
They formed a face of my loved ones, screaming and crying as they beg to be killed.
But how?
How do I kill them?
The steel rebar underneath the concrete pushed outside and transformed into a tiny knife. The time paused for a second as everything stared at me.
"Now kill us ANON"
Everyone smiled as if I would give in. I don't even know how to kill them but I knoe I need to
And so I hold the knife and grip it strongly
To stab my eyes for being able to see
I saw black
But I recognize it's solemn nature
I can't hear anything as I can't see them but I know for sure that they are angry at me
And so I killed myself
| 2020-08-28T09:49:11 | 2020-08-28T07:47:05 | 71 | 17 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
|
As everything goes dark, a cold sensation washes over me. I feel the breath leave my lungs. Everything goes cold. Instead of a voice, I hear an all too familiar chime, a deep bell sound. Orange text appears before my eyes.
"To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck."
And then darkness. My body feels heavy and cold. I'm laying on a hard surface, wearing armor. My thoughts start racing. Could this be real? I'd been so caught up in homework, I hadn't opened steam for a few weeks. What was the last game I played? When I replied it was more of an automatic response, I didn't even really think about it or pay attention to who the sender was.
I reach out in the darkness when my hand hit stone. I push, and the lid of the coffin shifts off of me. As I step out, it all hits me at once, and I am left with a sense of dread. An all too familiar sight is before me, one I'd definitely seen dozens of times.
Before me is the Cemetery of Ash.
I don't move for a long time. I stand there, shaking. What had I done? Why had I been so careless in my reply? I'd beaten Dark Souls a few times, but I wasn't good by any stretch of the imagination. Would this be where I die?
Finally, I heft the long sword in my hand. It's heavy, but it feels good. I'd been experimenting a lot, but my goto was always the knight (I know, noob move). The shield is sturdy. Normally I would just two-hand my weapon, but I was unaware consequences of failure, and I appreciated the feeling of protection.
I approached the first undead. It charged me, weapon raised, but before it had a chance to strike, I swung at it, killing it as quickly as I could. I felt the wind leave me with every blow. I knew I needed to manage my stamina better. Especially if I wanted to tank some hits when necessary.
The next one I was careful. I let him hit my shield before striking once. Then again. Until it was dead before me. I felt the souls of the undead come to me, but I couldn't use them yet. That would wait until Firelink. I knew how close it was, but there were so many obsticals it seemed like a lifetime away.
Sitting down at that first bonfire was a relief. The warmth that flooded into my undead form, I almost felt human again. I sat there for a long while, watching the flames dance before me. It was mesmerizing. I felt like I could watch them forever.
I didn't bother with the titanite shard. I didn't need it. Instead I dispatched of the undead in my way leading to Iudex Gundyr so quickly they weren't able to get a shot off. I walked to pull the sword, but as I reached out my hand I stopped.
Firebombs.
Those could make the difference here. I quickly ran the other direction, dispatching more undead until I came to the cliff. There was a narrow path leading down, and I knew two undead were waiting for me, one with a shield and spear, the other ready to fire his crossbow. Shield raised, I stepped around the corner.
When the first flaming bolt hit my shield it burned. Not gentle and warm like the flames of the bonfire, but stabbing and sharp. But I'd caught the attention of the undead with the spear. It began slowly making its way towards me, shield raised as I ducked back around the corner. I waited for him to strike before kicking him off the cliff.
As the undead with the crossbow began firing, I rolled out of the way, hugging the wall tight. But I stumbled. I hadn't been paying attention, and I realized I'd run out of stamina. That bolt hit me square in the chest, and I let out an involuntary groan. It hurt less than I expected. I supposed that was one of the perks of being undead. But still, I couldn't afford to take another one.
Shield raised, I approached carefully, the bolt once more burning my arm as it struck. I leapt with my sword and slashed at the undead, killing it in just a few hits. I took the momentary reprieve to kick its body off the cliff. It was satisfying, but I knew it would be back, that was the curse of the undead.
I pocketed the firebombs and went back to the bonfire. I couldn't afford to fight Iudex Gundyr with anything less then full health. Then I made my way back through the undead. The one with the crossbow by the door hit me, and after killing it I ran back to the bonfire once more.
I started getting impatient and reckless, and the next four times I tried I let one of the undead get a hit on me before rushing back and resting by the fire for a moment. Frustration and anger were the dominant forces in my mind, and the result was bad. The next time I sat down at the bonfire, I stayed for a minute, gathering my composure.
I needed to focus.
This time I took it slow. I lured each undead to face it one on one, killing it efficiently. The time finally came when I pulled the sword from Iudex's chest. I got as far back as I could, shield raised. Iudex rose and we began to circle each other. I waited for him to strike first.
He moved fast and hit hard, but I kept my distance and only attacked when I was confident. He got a few blows in, but with my estus flask I was feeling just fine.
Then the time came for the transformation. I was in awe watching, starstruck, like I hadn't already seen it a hundred times. I had forgotten the reach of the sweeping attack, and it knocked me back. Quickly I drank an estus flask, but Iudex leapt at me. I screamed, and then there was darkness.
My mind was racing. I had no breath, no heartbeat. Was it over? Had I failed? I wanted to cry, to weakly sob in this abyss which enveloped me. But after what seemed like eternity, I saw light. They say when you die you see a light, and I wondered if it was the gates of heaven beckoning me to enter.
But no. It was the bonfire. As I sat staring into the flames, I felt all the rage and frustration building back up. I was trapped here. I couldn't leave. Not unless I made it through this hell-hole.
After all, that was the curse of the undead.
|
Of course this isn't real. It can't be. Tell me again, Urist, why you decided to take my phone and text 'yes'?
First of all, I don't like bragging. Especially not false bragging.
It's all well and good if you've been playing... I dunno.. Skyrim or whatever. A game that has a goal, a game that is 'beatable' for lack of better words. DotA 2 has a clear objective, Mario Kart too; hell, even Minecraft has the Enderdragon.
&#x200B;
And then the world changes, and my phone fades in front of me. The world dims while images dance in my eyes. It's done.
I wait through world generation, not grasping the entirety of this situation.
I pick an embark site, head still spinning.
Strike the earth! There's no other choice.
&#x200B;
Seasons pass. Migrants come. Dwarves are born and die.
Rooms are built. Stockpiles filled. Traders come and go.
I gaze up at the hydra, and I know. I guess I've always known.
&#x200B;
Winning is great, but losing has been fun.
| 2020-02-16T23:05:47 | 2020-02-16T22:18:04 | 56 | 34 |
[WP] You're in charge of assigning every child on Earth the monster under their bed. One child in particular has caused every monster assigned to him/her to quit. You decide to assign yourself.
You guys are awesome! I didn't expect this kind of response!
|
*...Okay, this is starting to get ridiculous.*
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
"N-no, boss. Nothing. Not a single reaction from the kid!" he stammered.
"You are the twelfth Disciple of the Underlord to return with the same claim, that this child is not scared or even aroused in the slightest by our activity. Why?"
"I-I du-dunno, boss! W-we tried everything! Noises! Discordant Laughter! Shadowy movements beyond the edge of perception! E-everything up to th-the Taboo! The kid doesn't react!"
*The stories are consistent, either they're all in league in something or...*
Rising from my all to comfortable chair behind my all too familiar desk, I sighed. "Well, looks like *yet another* Disciple is going back to Elementary Instruction to learn how *pathetically easy* it is to overcome a child's willfulness. I will handle the child myself. Bravery Wavers, as my forebears used to say." I stride to the door.
"Boss...I-I don't think it's...bravery we're dealing with here. Courage is...palpable. You can tell when a child is finding the will inside! This is...like there's nothing in the kid. It's...apathy? Emptiness."
I pause for a moment *We are not delicate things, and yet...the discomfort in his voice...* "A child is a child is a child, Disciple. We will do as we always have, regardless of the machinations of the Illuminated Heights to attempt to outpace us. Our duty is fear, and we shall abide. Report to Commissar Hgglzynk for your punishment."
He stiffens, then appears to resign himself "By Your Command, Boss."
I take the Paths of Dancing Shadow to the Gates of Somnolence, choose my destination. There are some looks, as a Boss Monster is taking a Gate to a location twelve monsters have been assigned to and abandoned, they are aware Things Gonna Happen Now. I observe the position the Night Father's Eye, and await my time to pass through the Half-Realm into the non-space of the Under.
When the Night Father's Eye gazes proper, I move unto the Under. To mortal eyes there appears to be only a foot or so of space, but the Under is almost ceaselessly vast to our kind, and I am able to stand fully and observe.
Standard bedroom of a child, female, spawned of middle wealth. Not spartan, nor ostentatious. Comfortable. Under the door light seeps, the sound of human adults in raucous conversation drifts through. A party, it seems. Loud enough to stifle any but the loudest cries from within this room. I Shadowshift to a Cast Darkness from one of the large lamps at the end of the bed, and observe my quarry.
Female, around seven years. Long hair tied with ribbons on either side of her head, nightgown with frills and ribbon embellishments the same color as the ones in her hair. Several Soft Guardians surround the child, but she isn't clutching any as children do.
And she's awake. And looking not at me, but seemingly at nothing. And without beginning to work my craft, I can feel what my underling was telling me earlier.
This child feels...empty.
Curious, I speak in the Wind Rasp, a voice dismissed as "Just the wind" when heard by those for whom it was not directed. "Child, we are the darkness. We are the unknown. We are the silent shivers that encroach. We are here. Do you not fear us?"
She blinked once, and said flatly "No."
"Are you so brave? So courageous that the shadows hold no fear? Are you so-"
"I am not brave." she interrupted.
*The...resolution in her voice. I am rather taken aback. She truly isn't being brave. She's...what is she?*
And I Blink Manifest, assume a Shadowshape to loom above her. "Child, why do you not fear me and those who have come before?"
..."Nothing is as scary as what's behind that door." she says.
And on cue, the door to her room opens and in walks a middle aged man. I retreat to the Under. He turns on lights, and walks smiling over to the child. "Oh good, you're awake!" he says. "Got to have you nice and alert for tonight!"
"Yes, Daddy." she monotones.
"We have a lot of guests tonight and they can't stop talking about how excited they are to meet you!"
"Yes, Daddy." she says.
"Now, Daddy is going to get the lights set up while Mommy fetches your toys! We'll have Mister Camera set up in his usual spot, but some of our guests tonight brought their own, so be a good girl and look into them when they ask. Okay, sweetheart?"
"Yes, Daddy."
He sits on the edge of her bed, and starts stroking her hair. "You're very precious to us, honey." His hand slid down the child's neck, and under the neckline of her nightgown. "You're our sexy little movie star, making us millions..."
And with that, I erupted out from the Under, and shattered our one Taboo: Never let a human you know you're physically present, do not touch them, and let them believe we are little more than their minds playing tricks on them.
Unless there's a Code Humbert.
Grasping the man by his throat, I held him aloft one handed. "YOU SICK *FUCK!*" I raged, "WE ARE MONSTERS! WE INSTILL FEAR IN THE HEARTS AND MINDS OF THE YOUNG AND INNOCENT! WE HAVE THE WHOLE POLAR OPPOSITE DICHOTOMY WITH THE ILLUMINATED HEIGHTS, BUT OUR ENTIRE "THING" WE DO HERE IS TO THE EVENTUAL BENEFIT OF YOUR SPECIES! THROUGH OVERCOMING THEIR FEAR OF THE UNKNOWN AND STRANGE YOUR CHILDREN ACHIEVE GREATER STRENGTH OF CHARACTER! IF ANYTHING WE'RE THE CURATORS OF INNOCENCE! ***BUT WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE THAT YOU'D SO THOROUGHLY CORRUPT SUCH INNOCENCE WITH ANY CHILD, LET ALONE YOUR OWN! I AM GOING TO FUCK YOU PEOPLE UP!"***
I activated the sigil on the amulet around my neck, instantly informing my division of what's transpiring and calling all hands to assist. Shit was going to get *messy* in this house.
I glanced at the child "Avert your eyes, little one. What follows is not for the eyes of those who have even once held a mote of innocence."
She looked me dead on in the eyes, and a tear began to form in the corner of hers. "This one time, th-they brought in a b-big d-d-dog and s-some peanut butter-"
"Okay, damn. Nevermind. Might actually be more beneficial for you to see this. Fuck, I hate your parents!"
The first of my underlings appeared from the Under, brutish instruments of torment and butchery in hand. I point at the door. "All within this house will perish for their deeds. Slowly, methodically, and justly." The nod, and rush forward to the sound of screams.
*And they have the gall to call US monsters! We'd never think of doing this crap to kids!* I thought, as I began breaking the fingers of the swine in my grasp, while the child clutched one of her Guardians to her chest, watching intently.
Epilogue: The police were baffled, it was unclear who the attackers entered the house. No signs of forced entry, like they came out of nowhere. To be honest, they weren't too concerned with finding whoever dismembered a house full of sexual predators. But they knew this went beyond the people in the house, these people met somewhere and sold their products to someone. No survivors meant no witnesses, and no one to interrogate. There was enough evidence at the scene to build cases against other people and organizations, but a confession or snitch would have been better. And even the most hardened officer was disturbed by the site of the worst of the massacre, a small child who seemingly died peacefully, it is hoped, asleep in her bed. The media ate it up, gave them a couple weeks of fodder. Legislation was thrown around, but it would eventually go nowhere. And there was the coverage of the most beautiful and tragic public funeral for the sole innocent victim of the Pedophile House Massacre.
And down the Under, through the Gate of Somnolence and across the Paths of Dancing Shadow, a small monster sits in a comfy chair and plays with her newly formed horns while her new Daddy issues orders to her new friends. And when he's done, her new Daddy will spin her around in the chair until she's almost too dizzy and laughing, and then scoop her up in his arms, hold her close, and tell her she's safe here forever.
And she'll smile, and hold him tight, and know it's true.
|
A slight sense of trepidation settled over me as I made my way to the house that so many had run from. There were all kinds of rumours surrounding the place but as I looked up at the red brick exterior of the unassuming cottage. It sat towards the outskirts of a cul-de-sac nestled in the heart of a close-nit countryside community and I couldn’t match up what I was seeing with what I had heard about the occupant. With the distant sound of children’s laughter tinkling through the streets, I cringed and headed towards the house quickly. Children’s laughter was the worst sound that us monsters could hear; the assault on our ear drums could be likened to that of the sound of cutlery scraping against a china plate, or nails on a chalkboard - enough to send shivers down your spine and make you cover your ears.
I ducked under the door frame into the house and padded quickly up the cream carpeted stairs, knowing that the family would be home soon with their little girl. She was only 6, I couldn’t match the picture that I had been given of her with the quivering wrecks that came back to my office asking to be re-assigned - she looked no different from every other little girl that we had helped to terrify during the night.
I took a quick bearing of my surroundings as I crept into the unicorn inspired bedroom and then slipped under the bed, just as the sound of the front door clicked open and the sound of excited chatter filled the house. It gave me a headache to listen to it for so long; it had been a while since I had been in the field and I hadn’t re-acclimatised yet. I lay tight and waited for bed-time.
Once the girl had come to bed and the bed-time story had been read, the light turned off and I waited for her breathing to slow. Once I was sure that she was asleep, I inched my way out from underneath the bed, avoiding the toys littered sporadically around the room like landmines waiting to disrupt me from my goal before I’ve even started. There’s a spark of pain as one of the spines on my back catch briefly on the bed frame. I push myself up and stretch to my full height, preparing myself to turn around and face the sleeping girl. I bare my teeth and contort my face into an expression that has been tried and tested on many different children and now haunts their nightmares. I turn around, feeling my tail knock against the radiator on the wall, with the faintest clang. My eyes track across the room and land on the girl.
Sitting unnaturally upright in bed, her eyes bore into me and it feels as though they go straight to what remains of the soul I once used to have. She continues her assault on my mind; her face is unmoving as she unlocks the Pandora’s chest of my brain. The way we become monsters is when our soul becomes so dark that our outsides begin to catch up with our insides. The only way I’ve been able to cope with what I do is by suppressing so many of my memories. But this girl. This girl has unlocked them all. And now they’re flooding my brain. So many emotions that I haven’t allowed myself to feel in so long. They’re burning my heart and my brain as I’m forced to confront what I’ve done. Images flash before my eyes and my head screams at me to make it stop. I can’t see the room now but the sensation of the world spinning is so strong as I feel my knees give out beneath me. I can’t do it anymore, the weight of what I’ve done pushes down on me and I feel my consciousness start to waver. I let it take me, welcoming the calming embrace of the blackness.
| 2016-10-14T17:03:03 | 2016-10-14T14:49:37 | 160 | 13 |
[WP] You are the greatest archeologist in the world and you have been looking for the City of Gold for decades, after all these years you have found the City. When you open the ancient gates you see glitters running towards you, the "gold" of the city has always been thousands of Golden Retrievers.
|
It was paradise on Earth.
Not exactly the paradise that I had imagined, mind you. When I first started my hunt for the City of Gold, I had expected, well, *gold*. Mountains of coins, bricks made of the stuff, inlays of murals all filled to the brim with a thousand kilos of gold.
Of course, when I got older, I realized that any such city would have probably sunken into the marshy jungle floor decades ago, if not looted by the first clever soul to find it and keep quiet. So, I began a hunt for a different city. A city filled not with gold in the literal sense, but the gold of history.
What I found was the gold of dogs.
There must have been thousands of them. All breeds, all sizes, but all with the same shimmering coat of gold. The city itself seemed to shine with the luster of their coats. Yet, despite how obviously well they were kept, not a single human soul was present other than myself.
I confess, when they first spotted me, I was more than a little overwhelmed by the tidal wave of curious noses. When they pushed me to the floor, I thought I might be torn to pieces, but instead I was simply licked from head to toe. It was slimy, and perhaps a little less than sanitary, but when I could stand again I found myself entirely unharmed. In fact, I was smiling more than I had in all the years since my own golden had passed.
Then, a great boom rang out across the entire city, and the dogs grew quiet.
As one, the darted away from me, lining up to border the edges of the city's main road like the spectators of some glorious parade. Though they refrained from barking, I could tell it was a close thing. They shuffled from foot to foot, tails beating uncontrollably like a thousand brooms against the stony ground.
"Are you trying to lead me somewhere, boys?" I asked.
I wasn't sure if they understood, but they were certainly more than a little excited to hear my voice. Several spun in circles, clearly eager to play, but never straying onto the path.
"Well," I said, to no one in particular. "I've come this far, after all."
Feeling as if he weariness of the jungle had all but vanished from my limbs, I walked along the cobbles towards the heart of the city: an enormous step pyramid that rose even above the forest canopy in its splendor. When I paused, perhaps to scratch an eager head, I noticed that the other buildings, too, were very clean. They were obviously Aztec in origin, yet it appeared as if they had been built only weeks ago and rigorously maintained ever since. There was no gold, but there also was no filth or overgrowth. Certainly, there wasn't any evidence that the place was being inhabited by thousands of dogs.
As I got deeper into the city, it became more and more obvious that this was a paradise not only built for men, but for dogs as well. There were rows of luxurious stone kennels, dozens of parks filled with trees and grass just asking to be run across, and more than a few posts just the right height for sniffing. To my surprise, I even found what appeared to be a doggy mess hall, with hundreds of bowls filled to the brim with steaming sirloin. I stopped there for quite some time, but no chef ever made an appearance, and I couldn't approach without treading on more than a few happy tails. Eventually, I was forced to move on. It was time to begin my ascent.
Though the pyramid was steep, each step was bordered by an honor guard of ancient-looking dogs. Though their muzzles were gray and their eyes soft, they all held their chests out proudly. Each of them seemed just as healthy as the pups before, even if their exuberance was somewhat tempered by age. Finally, I reached the top.
There, standing in front of the temple with arms held out in welcome, was a man.
"Hello, George Williams!" He said, pronouncing each syllable of my name distinctly. "We have been waiting for you!"
He was as tall as a giant, with hair as golden as the dogs that hurried around his ankles like an overly-friendly hurricane. His chest was bare, but on his back was an enormous cape made of feathers. On his brow, he wore a crown of gold that seemed to be made entirely out of dog biscuits.
"Er, uh, thank you!" I stammered. "You...you have?"
"Yes, George Williams!" The giant replied. "Waiting for a very long time! Welcome to EL Dogado, City of Gold!"
That one caught my by surprise.
"Don't you mean 'El Dorado?'" I asked. "Actually, who are you?"
"I am Quetzalcoatl, my friend." Said the man. "And no. Though I do think that may have been how it was translated. Humans tend to miss small details like that."
"Quetzalcoatl...as in the god?" I asked. Hurriedly, I made to bow--for a crazy hermit or a diety, I didn't know--but he gripped my shoulders and pulled me into a hug before I could finish the movement.
"No need for formalities, my honored guest." Quetzalcoatl said. "Besides, my subjects think you are playing. They have all been waiting to meet you for so long!"
I looked down, and to my surprise the number of dogs at my feet seemed to have exploded. They were pouring up the staircase from below now, barking joyously in greeting. Each of them seemed to be trying to knock me over and get a better sniff.
"Whoa there!" I said, clinging to the man for support. "Why uh, why have they been waiting?"
"Ahhh, now that is a tale." The giant said, smiling. "One of our number has been singing your praises for some time now. He said you were the best friend he ever had, and the greatest explorer the world has ever known. He knew you would come."
The man whistled once, and the dogs instantly ran back to their positions. None of them made so much as a whimper, as if each were holding their breath. The giant stepped aside, and out of the temple walked a single elderly golden retriever.
"...Baily?" I asked.
Our reunion was as quick as it was joyous. Baily bounded forward, and for all his old, tired bones he was able to knock me flat on my back with a single leap. Instantly, I was covered by a familiar hairy warmth and doused enough saliva that I thought I might drown in happiness.
"But, how?" I asked. "Baily...Baily passed decades ago, right before I started looking for this place!"
"Ah, now that's a trick." Quetzalcoatl said, waggling a finger. "Baily has been waiting here for some time, it's true. Many of my subjects have. Most choose to pass on alone...but your Baily knew you would make your way here. He never gave up on you."
"Is...that what all of these dogs are?" I asked.
Quetzalcoatl nodded sagely.
"Yes. Many find us in death, waiting to greet and be greeted by the ones they loved before they pass on. Many souls, both man and dog, wind up passing through my gates. But you...you were the first to find us here, where we truly are. So, George Williams. I ask of you...what will you do now, now that you have discovered us in truth? Will you stay? Will you go? Will you, too, move on with your beloved Baily?"
I looked back, gazing upon the city and its wonders. I saw the beautiful buildings stretching into the sky. I saw the parks, the kennels, the food. And there, by the very entrance of the city's gate, I saw the small crumpled form that I had always known was there.
Nodding to the the ancient god, I walked into the temple, Baily by my side.
***
*Thanks for the read! CC welcomed, and if you liked this story come check out my others at /r/TimeSyncs!*
|
You can't imagine how dismayed I was to find that this particular treasure was metaphorical. All the extant documentation on Cibola indicated real gold being kept there. Of course, those accounts were apocryphal at best, and you had to expect things like this happening in my line of work.
The discovery was worth its weight in publishing gold, though.
It was a wonder it had taken so long to find this place so far into the 21st century; that it had gone undiscovered for so long. The myth of the Seven Cities of Gold had persisted through antiquity to become something of a fixation for me. In this day and age, nothing really remained for people like me to discover. Except this. Except dogs.
The guide I had hired to take me to the City of Gold smiled broadly as I was mobbed by several golden retrievers with luxurious coats. I tried to remain upset that the gold of legend wasn't exactly what I was hoping for, but it's difficult for anyone to be upset for long surrounded by dogs, in my experience.
"Es todo?" I asked him in my broken Spanish. "Este es el... erm... oro?" He merely nodded, and I would have been crestfallen had I not been surrounded my many happy animals.
I surveyed the view before me. The gates had opened to reveal a beautiful cliffside villa, which struck me as incongruously modern. My guide motioned to me to follow him, and we walked up the long cobblestone road to the hacienda, a glut of retrievers in tow.
Arriving at the house, I saw a sign out front that said *Cibola Hacienda.* The guide was waiting expectantly, glancing at the large door occasionally. He was a man of few words. I appreciated that. I knocked loudly at the door, not knowing if anyone would even hear me, the villa was so large.
A few silent moments passed, but soon, a small, shriveled woman opened the door for me, greeting me in Spanish and smiling warmly. I turned to my guide.
"Can you... erm... ask her how long this has been here?" He turned to her, saying a lot more words than I thought would be necessary to ask my simple question. She nodded politely as he asked, eventually responding in kind just as verbosely.
"She says this place has been in her family for generations. Since the 14th century, most likely."
"Was there... gold here? Ever?" That translation was short. The woman nodded, and my guide translated as she spoke.
"There was, once. Her family... used it to... build this place and... put some aside for... em... security. They've been dog breeders... since the turn of the 19th century."
Fascinating. I was jotting down every word I heard in the small travel journal I'd brought back with me.
"Can you ask her her name, please?" The woman smiled. She understood that question, no need for translation.
"Coronado." The smile on her face said it all.
| 2018-01-08T09:41:33 | 2018-01-08T07:47:10 | 1,127 | 47 |
[WP] In a world where people are starting to gain super powers, the most hated groups aren't those with death rays, super intelligence, or world ending powers. It is those who can read mind. As someone who can read minds you are forced to hide among the non powered populace.
|
Elijah averted his eyes and lied, “I don’t know.”
He did know, but he couldn’t go on well tell the other boy, now could he? If they even suspected that there was a mind-meddler among them, the whole group would be killed. Purged.
A gust of wind passed breezily through the iron cage, the group huddled together, there were six of them, all boys— including Elijah. He studied his surroundings, evenly spaced wooden spears jotted out of the ground, firmly planted on all sides of the encampment. A fire roared in the middle with two guards telling each other obscenities, a giant rock overshadowed the makeshift walls. The rock apparently contained rare minerals, at least that’s what the boys had been trying to extract from it ever since being transferred to this camp. Verinnium.
The other boy, Thomas, followed the armoured knight making the rounds with dull eyes before turning to Elijah, he said, “He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?”
Elijah nonchalantly leaned on the iron bars with his back, appearing to be deep in thought while secretly sharpening his mind, he filled his mind-space with the guard.
He could see the guard without looking at him now, a blond-haired ruffian with a stout jaw and crooked teeth. Elijah liked to imagine that he was like a bat, his probing mind bouncing off his targets as if they were walls in a dark cave, hearing intentions without having to rely on the unrefined filter of vision that was so easily deceived.
*I’ll sell him that Thomas boy, if he’s lucky he’ll be turned into an acolyte. Maybe it’s a better life than being a slave here, who knows? Shame that the boy doesn’t seem to have any magical talents, probably going to be turned into another of Tark’s servants. Well, better him than me.*
Elijah kept tracking the guard’s whereabouts with his mind’s eye, though he stopped eavesdropping for the moment. He turned to Thomas who now looked at him with great expectation, sorry buddy, looks like you drew the short stick, Elijah thought. Unless, damn it—
“Hey, guard!” He shouted towards the guard who planned to sell Thomas.
The guard lumbered slowly towards the cage, he held one hand on the hilt of his longsword, “You want to be thrown to the dogs, boy?”
Elijah feigned distress, white-knuckling the bars in his hands, “Please, let me out, I’ll do anything you say. I can’t take it anymore, let me out, I don’t care how!”
*Maybe I’ll sell him, instead? Dark hair, lively blue eyes— But nah, he’s too scrawny, Tark asked for a strong boy. Thomas is the perfect choice out of this lot.*
The guard said, “Shut your mouth, this isn’t a tavern. We’re not here to make your stay comfortable, you’re all *slaves*.” He emphasized the last word, staring down all the boys who dared to look at the scene.
Elijah snapped up the thought and said, “I’m strong, way stronger than anyone else here. I can prove it, try me, please!”
*Prove it, huh? Yeah, I could use something to break the monotony around here, I’ll give him something impossible to lift and then kill him. That’ll teach the others to waste my time with requests!*
The guard smiled knowingly, “OK, tell you what. I’ll give you a shot, here,” he opened the cage and let Elijah out, the others didn’t even think of making a move towards the open air. The blond man led the boy to the jagged rock, unskilfully mined by the boys. It was still easily the height of three men.
“You lift that, and I’ll have a special assignment for you. You’ll leave this encampment alive, I promise you that. Fail, however…”
The words lost some of its edge as Elijah already knew what would happen should he fail.
The two men by the fire looked at the boy and laughed, “Might as well slit his throat now, no man can lift that,” one of them said.
Elijah braced himself for the coming exertion, he said, “No, I can do it. Let me do it.”
The boys in the cage cheered for Elijah, rattling the cage. They knew no one could lift that rock, of course, but they so desperately wanted him to succeed.
The blond grinned, “Go ahead.”
Elijah imagined the sharpest blade in all creation, trying to form his mind to match its lethal edge. At first nothing happened as his mind flailed out with invisible tendrils, but soon he heard voices, they swirled around him like he was the epicentre of a sea vortex. He squatted in front of the rock and got ready to lift it.
The blond guard almost fell backwards as the boy lifted the rock over his tiny head, the two men by the fire jumped up with mouths agape, “He’s a mutant!”
The boys jumped and cheered in their iron prison, rattling the cage in jubilant defiance. Thomas reached his hand out through the bars towards Elijah, his eyes begging him to crush the guards. *Sorry Thomas*, Elijah thought. He can’t grant that wish, sadly, the only strength on display here was his mind, now strained to its limits.
Elijah let his mind seat the fake rock back into its original spot, collapsing with real exhaustion. He kept his hold on the blond, hearing his thoughts as though he was speaking right next to his ear.
*By God, he could’ve killed us all this time! Why didn’t he throw the rock at us? Perhaps he doesn’t want to risk a bolt in the chest from one of the sentries, still… Well, Tark is going to get himself a very strong boy. He’s going to have to pay three times the normal price for this one. Four times!*
“See,” Elijah panted, “stronger than all of them.”
It took a few moments before the blond-haired guard recovered his composure, “I’m a man— man of my word, Elijah. There’s a man named Tark, he’ll know what to do with you.” He said, motioning for one of the other guards to grab a crossbow and follow them.
Elijah coughed and got up with some effort, “Who’s Tark?”
The guard said nothing. Elijah strained his last drop of concentration, snapping up one more word from the man.
*Necromancer.*
*****
Thank you for reading!
|
It hurts. It just hurts. To hear every thought of every person within the vicinity. To put it into perspective, imagine that everyone around you was yelling at the top of their lungs what they were doing and All you could do is just take it. Being a telepath was terrible. 98 percent of us were unemployed and those of us who were work low income jobs. You'd imagine we would be great lawyers or judges but we can't because it would by law be an invasion of privacy. But the worst part is that you hear thoughts like " I can't wait to get back to her. She will all she can but she will soon succumb. They all do. I just need to persuade them a little bit. What should I do today? Bamboo shoots or cow branding?"
Hearing thoughts like this and being completely helpless to it, unable to do anything. Call the police? Laughable. They would ask too many questions. And most probably I would get fined for being undocumented power user.
The world is a beautiful place. But us telepaths are the shit that's hated because we tarnish this society
| 2019-12-23T06:43:09 | 2019-12-23T04:00:03 | 85 | 13 |
[WP] Instead of of Mice Infestations, your world has tiny Gordon Ramsay Infestations.
|
"No no," squeaked the wall, "use kosher salt for texture! Not flavor."
"Damn you," I thought, "I'll make it how I please".
Admittedly though, the top of my pastry *did* look a little bland, so I pulled the chunks out my salt shaker and sprinkled them lightly on the buttery dough. I put the box from which I had poured the salt back under the sink.
"Muuuuuch better," I heard eek out from behind a socket.
I put a small pad of butter on the thin, rolled crescent roll and put it in the oven.
"Higher!" The Ramsay in the socket squeaked.
I obediently put the tray on a higher grate in the oven. It wouldn't take more than a few minutes for them to rise into delicious flaky morsels.
I heard two distinct sighs from the wall as the oven door shut. "Bloody imbicile", came one quiet condemnation.
"Too right," came another.
I ignored them.
Normally the Ramsays don't bother me too much. A little critiquing here, a little insulting there.. it's okay. Last week was a bit different. I had Chelsea over for the first time. I had seen her seven or eight times for dates around town, but this was her first visit here. I wanted to make a good impression. We thought it might be fun to make a meal together. It would be homey, a bit cute, a real sweet evening.
After we prepped the kitchen, Chelsea had a go at preparing the Cornish hens.
She grabbed a small bit of caper stuffing I prepared earlier and began unceremoniously shoving it into the chicken's neck. I watched her quizically but silent for a moment.
Then I had to ask, "What are you doin' there?"
"OH, Is this not how you stuff it? I'm sorry. You know I was raised hideously posh. I'm afraid I only know some things from TV like not to keep the oven on and don't cook your beef and mutton together," Chelsea admitted.
"What about mutton?" I asked.
"You know... cow and sheep don't mix."
"I'm pretty sure that's about farming," I laughed.
"OH God, you must think me daft," her hands covered her face which turned almost as red as her hair as she giggled in embarrassment.
"Haha no no! It's fantastic. We both have a lot to learn. I won't judge."
"Yeh, maybe, but I will!" Squeaked a small Ramsay from above the fridge.
Chelsea screamed quite loudly.
"What is that?"
"Just a Ramsay... you've never seen one?"
She balked, "Oh god no. Not in person. Posh upbringing and all."
"Right right," I chuckled happily while flicking the cheeky bastard off my fridge top.
But three more took his place.
"Look at this wanker!" One piped up. Doesn't know chickens are stuffed up their arses. What an absolute ninny."
"Good thing she's pretty," added another.
"Did you hear that thing she said about mutton?"
"Hear it? I'll never hear again, those words made my ears bleed!"
"Don't you mean 'Bleat'?" One punned back.
The trio laughed in unison.
Chelsea's face faded from crimson to white.
"Ey, leave her alone!" I said while swatting.
The commotion attracted several more. Soon the kitchen had a dozen Ramsays all chipping in.
"Why'd the chicken cross the road? To get away from her!"
"I've heard of rubber necking, but never caper necking!"
Chelsea's beautiful eyes welled up with tears.
"I... I think I ought to go. Making a fuss aren't i?"
I tried to protest, but she had already grabbed her coat and rushed out the door. It shut with a slam.
*ding!*
The timer popped and I was pulled out of my grim recollection. The tray inside looked like it was covered in tiny DreamWorks logos. I took it out and let them cool on the counter.
Crispy, buttery, light, the slight crystal potmarks of salt... perfection. The smell alone was intoxicating. I put a small pad of jam out next to them and felt my pocket for my phone.
"Oops", I said aloud. "Forgot it in the other room."
I went to retrieve it. I took my time.
When I came back, my ears were met with a delightful shrieking.
Over a dozen Ramsays lay writhing in pain on the table. The crescents lay decimated. Each one was nibbled with a half dozen bites from the mouth of a master chef.
"Howwwww" one of them managed to moan while curling in agony.
I pulled the small box of salt back on the table and ripped off the label, revealing the bright white logo of "Oxyclean".
"You rat bastard," he squeaked with almost a hint of admiration. Then he died.
Other Ramsays focussed their waning energy on the crescent rolls themselves.
"The bottoms are seal brown, they should be golden brown! Blehhhggg..."
"I *cough* have never seen so flat a *cough* pastry. *wheeeeze* You would need an *cough* alka-seltzer to get these to rise!"
As the last few Ramsays shouted their last criticisms, I texted Chelsea.
"Hey, sorry again about last week. Chinese takaway?"
|
"WHAT ARE YOU?!?!" The hoarse voice roared. I sighed, I really didnt have time to deal with then today, I was just trying to make a grilled cheese for christ sake. I was tempted to ignore them, but I'd long ago learnt they didnt stop shouting until someone played along, "an idiot sandwich" I replied, dead inside.
| 2018-05-11T05:37:58 | 2017-12-18T12:43:18 | 518 | 16 |
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy.
|
The chamber illumination dimmed and the milky sim tank faded to life. A thousand eyes stared intently from the council benches, and a trillion more from across the five galaxies.
A deep voice, set on edge with urgency and well-contained fear, began its narration of the sim.
"The Brevis' star system surveillance node 47 has, it has been reported, recorded first contact with the species self-identifying as Humans. This much has already been announced. What has not yet been announced is that an analysis of the event has been completed, and their method of travel has thrown a black flag, gamma zero priority. Observe."
The sim showed a small moon below, surrounded by a halo of probes similar to the one that must be recording the image. In the far distance, the volumetric compensation showed a grossly enlarged blue planet on another orbital track, the Brevis' home world Herol. The orbital motion of the probes had been smooth and obvious, but now they slowed.
"We are showing the event at a reduced speed. Watch carefully."
Without warning, the entire projection dimmed as a single point of incredible, actinic light burst from the space next to the moon and raced away from its surface. As one, the closer orbiting probes glowed white-hot and began to disintegrate. The image wavered and then froze.
"Now, focus your attention on the exact location this phenomenon appeared, and keep your attention on that spot as the light moves away."
The image reversed, and the killing glow moved back to its original location. It slowly crept back outwards as the sim zoomed in. There, in the wake of the glow, was a ship, shaped like a mushroom with its cap to the light. Vaporised hull matter streamed from the smooth side facing the light, some sort of ablative heat shielding.
"We had never seen this effect before. We assumed it was some sort of deceleration technique, until we looked at it from the planetary defence network."
The perspective in the sim shifted, as if travelling to the distant planet. The moon and its halo of probes shrank, then grew again due to the volumetric compensation. The sim was normal again for a moment, before that terrible light appeared, an incredible distance from the moon this time, and immediately split into two lights, travelling away from each other at greater than the speed of light.
An audible click reverberated around the chamber as each of the species in attendance simultaneously inhaled on their breathing apparatuses.
"As you can see, the motion of the light is a relativistic illusion. The light doesn't travel, it exists simultaneously at all points in a column for a moment, then dissipates. The energy requirement is staggering. After calculating an intercept to the closest habitable world on the trajectory described by the light column, it appears their world is four hundred light-years away. The humans claim a similar distance, and their navigational data also confirm it. From this we can calculate the energy release as being consistent with a type III civilisation."
What had previously been a gentle series of clicks was now a cacophony, the seats shaking with the bodily gyrations of the assembled dignitaries. Some wailed, others laughed, most were silent.
"We have brought the leader of the human expedition here, with her agreement, of course."
The noises of discomfort reached a crashing crescendo, as several of the delegates jumped out of their seats and bolted for the exit.
The disembodied voice thundered, "ORDER!"
"I present to you, Chakor, Human, of planet Earth."
The creature that stepped into the chamber was unimpressive, physically. Bipedal, endoskeletal, wearing some sort of almost completely covering clothing with various decals affixed to it. The remaining delegates seemed to calm a little, their agitation lowering to a gentle swaying. The Human addressed the crowd.
"Greetings, delegates of the local group. My name is Chakor, I represent my species, Human, and wish to express our honour in meeting you all. We come in peace."
The room quietened further, and the booming voice sounded again. "Chakor will now take moderated questions from the floor. Please enter your queries for analysis and amalgamation."
A few awkward moments passed, Chakor looking out among the delegates. They varied from bipeds with heads and arms of various number to floating creatures in some sort of water tanks, through to creatures much more... alien.
"First question. The energy output of your drive technology is beyond immense. You must be capturing the energy output of most of a galaxy, somewhere. How can it be that we have not noticed the birth of a type III civilisation under our watch?"
Chakor paused to think before she replied, clearly confused. "We are not a type III civilisation. We are barely a type I. We just discovered a way to manipulate the nature of reality."
The voice didn't even wait to consult the accumulating list of vetted questions. "What?! How?"
"When we accidentally created and shot a cluster of miniature black holes through our particle collider's detectors, we discovered that the vacuum of space was not at the true ground state of the universe. This lent is an opportunity to use the difference in energy levels to complete an until-then hypothetical method of propulsion."
The room exploded into roars, gurgles, and screeches of outrage.
"Your drive is powered by triggering a collapse of fundamental reality?!"
"Not quite, if you'd let me finish. After we discovered the false vacuum was the current skein of the universe, we found that at the moment of triggering a vacuum state collapse, it was possible to entangle an arbitrary length of vacuum in a beam away from the source, and trigger the collapse simultaneously and instantaneously along that path."
Guards in the chamber drew their weapons as several delegates rose on their hindlimbs as if to attack.
"Chakor, this is madness! Your drive cannot work as you describe, or we wouldn't have any video of your arrival. A vacuum collapse would spread from wherever it started at the speed of light, unmaking the universe in its path!"
"Oh, yes we knew that. It turns out that the vacuum collapse provides enough energy to fold space into itself. In local proximity, one side of the event becomes the other. The space in between is clipped off like a twisted balloon, erased from having any bearing on existence. Our ship is instantaneously folded from one side of the beam to the other, and internal fields save us from having any biological changes. Of course, the collapse has to happen first by a few fractions of a microsecond, so there is some... energy leakage."
The chamber went suddenly silent.
The probe and planetary defence system had recorded an abomination, a gross violation of reality itself. The demonic light fleeing the Humans' strange vessel was the energetic corpse of a monster, come to open its maw and swallow the universe, inexorably, at the glacial speed of light. A fitting technology for a pursuit predator like the humans.
"You risk all our existence just to travel. How can we leave you free run of the galaxies?"
Chakor grinned. "We could always run one last wide beam to the ends of the universe and neglect to fold it away. How can you not?"
|
"It is simply unsafe and foolish!" Gorthlak, the representative for the Zorknoids, complained to the council of intergalactic travel.
"It is, This we all know, but we don't think their bodies could handle any other way of faster than light travel" countered Ferlas, leader of the committee.
"If their calculations are off by even a percentage they could cause untold devastation. It is to risky, we must stop them before they destroy something important" Gorthlak explained.
Ferlas shook his eye stalks in exasperation "You haven't met the humans yet. They are ready to declare war on all of us. Their travel mechanism is also their greatest weapon. I do not believe we could stop them easily. It's to powerful. Here. Watch this video then you will understand." Ferlas activated the video screen and a blue planet appeared in the middle. The camera zoomed in on a country until it started to focus on something barely ten feet tall.
A great beast of a humanoid was stomping around. He was ten feet tall and was made entirely out of muscle. His speech was stunted and he seemed to growl more than anything else, but he walked over towards a small space ship and grasped it by a handle built onto it for this very purpose. The space ship was much larger than this man and weighed over a hundred tons, but he picked it up like it was nothing.
Once the ship was off the ground, a large red arrow appeared on the ground. The man walked over until he stood on the tail, and started to spin in a circle. He spun for nearly a minute before stopping and throwing the ship at the same time. The ship disappeared almost immediately. The camera quickly scrolled out of view from the planet until the ship came back into focus, it was moving at half again light speed.
"What do they call this technology?" Gorthlak stuttered in a hushed voice.
Ferlas simply replied. "The hulk."
| 2017-03-31T12:42:19 | 2017-03-31T06:55:10 | 127 | 11 |
[WP] “There you are! Took you some time here to get here, i bet your predators made you late.” The owl-like alien exclaimed. The ambassador of humanity looked confused “…What predators?” He asked. “Your species doesn’t have predators?”
|
Vasilli found himself a little dumbstruck by the question, and so it took him some time to respond.
"Madame Ambassador..." he finally said, choosing his words carefully as the implications finally set in, "am I to understand that your people *do* still have predators?"
He wasn't the best schooled in Avian body language, but the surprise was evident in Ambassador Grayfeather's saucer eyes. "Of course. How could it be otherwise?"
As he considered his avian counterpart's words, some things began to fall into place for him. The way she would occasionally turn her head all the way around, as though surveying her surroundings for threats. The small extra set of eyes situated roughly where one might expect the temples to be, widening the field of vision. The slight bluntness to the beak and talons, a contrast to the earth born owls her kind most resembled. The features of an animal that was, at best, on the third trophic level. Maybe fourth, if he was generous in his analysis.
But still... "Honestly Madame Ambassador, I fail to comprehend how it could even *be* at all. An advanced, FTL capable species like yourselves, and you're subject to... predation? Is it possible that our translator might be malfunctioning?"
Her head cocked to the side, a full 90 degrees to the side, a sure sign of serious concentration. She made the low, rapid, clicking sound he had come to think of as something akin to a "Hmmmm."
"Well, I suppose it's possible. By predators, I mean species of carnivorous or omnivorous beings which pursue other creatures for the purpose of killing and consuming them to meet their metabolic needs. Does this sound like what you thought I meant?"
It did, which left Vasilli with an uneasy feeling in his gut. "These predators, they are technological species?" He asked with trepidation.
"Yes. For the most part. Actually lots of our technology we got by studying them. Or occasionally stealing from them, if someone was feeling particularly brave and foolish."
A taste of bile hit the back of Vasilli's mouth. A sentient technological species that preys on *another* sentient technological species for food. It was too horrible for him to comprehend.
"Am I to understand that your people are the apex predators of your world?" There was a certain hesitation in the Ambassador's voice now, and she seemed to have stopped glancing around the room quite as much. Her eyes stayed fixed on his.
*Does she think I'm going to try to EAT her?* "I suppose we are. But we don't eat *sentient* beings, that would be *murder."* He saw the Ambassador flinch, and realized he was shouting. Considering the sensitivity of her ears, that would probably have hurt.
He calmed himself with an effort. "My apologies, Madame Ambassador. I didn't mean to shout."
She was opening and closing her beak, but not saying anything. Shuffling her talons over the floor. "I regret that we won't be able to continue our talks." She said finally. Still not taking her eyes off him. "There's the galactic code to consider."
She started to rise from her seat, but Vasilli held up a hand, bidding her wait a moment. "Madame Ambassador, you know my people are new to the interstellar community, and we aren't familiar with the galactic code. Can you help me understand my error, so I can avoid it?"
He had no idea what was going on, but he couldn't afford to screw up the first in person meeting with another sentient life. Not to mention the concerns what the Ambassador had said would raise back home.
Looking visibly uncomfortable, Ambassador Grayfeather sat back down, and ruffled her feathers, as though steeling herself.
"Pursuant to section 7b of the galactic code, ratified in the year 355 of the era of the commonwealth, no apex predator species may establish diplomatic relations with the prey species of another apex predator species, without first establishing relations with said predator species."
She shuffled in her chair again. "And pursuant to section 7 *a* of the code, no apex predator species may *hunt* the prey species of another, without first establishing a mutual predation treaty to avoid a trophic cascade."
*She doesn't believe I don't want to eat her. How barbaric IS this galaxy?* "I... see." He said, trying to think about how to buy time. "And just out of curiosity... how technologically capable are the other apex predators in this galaxy? You know, on average."
Ambassador Grayfeather cocked her head to the side once more. "I suppose it depends on how you measure it."
"You're familiar with our Kardashev Scale?"
"I saw it in the materials your people sent us."
"So, rough estimate?"
Again the low, rhythmic clicking. "Mostly Type I, I think, planetary civilizations. Though that may be misleading, several have expanded to multiple star systems."
Vasilli digested that for a moment. "Any Type II?"
"I don't think so. Prey management is fairly resource intensive, from what we can gather. Mostly, if energy needs spike, people expand to neighboring stars."
Vasilli sent up a silent prayer of thanks, thinking about the Dyson swarm that was nearing completion around the Sol star. It had previously seemed unfortunate to many, that practical interstellar travel had been given lower priority than expanding energy collection and storage technology; but it looked like it would turn out to be an edge.
Grayfeather's words broke into his thoughts. "I apologize Ambassador Vasilli, but I really must go. I will send your ship the necessary information to contact your local... peers."
Vasilli was somewhat disheartened by her sudden abruptness and wariness, as he led her back to the airlock, but it made sense to him. She had been beaten down by a galaxy that saw her in much the same way that people on earth might see a deer. She was just *prey,* and couldn't fathom an apex predator whose interests didn't extend to finding out what she might taste like.
He reviewed the information she'd provided about humanity's so called *peers,* and called up the reports he had about Earth's fleet. Maybe it's time to show this galaxy how *humans* deal with predators. As his gaze fell on the reports of the new antimatter weaponry the Dyson Swarm had provided the energy to turn from a pipedream to a reality, he smiled. It felt... predatory.
*3, 2, 1. Ready or not, here I come...*
|
“Well, that’s sort of a complicated answer.”
“I’m curious.”
“Well, for awhile there were some megafauna that made things tough.”
“And?”
“Our ancient ancestors hunted them to extinction.”
“That slowed you down?”
“Well, then we had some smaller ones. Lions and tigers and bears.”
“Oh my.”
“Exactly. But we basically hunted and pressured them to near extinction. Now there are almost a dozen in zoos.”
“Chilling.”
“No no, we make sure they have adequate heating systems. And then we had to deal with the parasites and other little friends.”
“Predatory bacteria?”
“And boy howdy were they tough! Every time we wiped them out they evolved anew. And then it turned out we were creating lethal superbugs. But we need the damn things to live.”
“So you wiped out species required for your continued existence?”
“Basically. Thousands of them could kill us though!”
“And how many species did you obliterate?”
“Oh. Couple billion before we stopped counting.”
“We’re not big on genocide.”
“This was necessary.”
“Everybody always thinks so.”
“But we’re good now. We rebuilt them and repopulated ourselves with specialized healthy ones.”
“You bred your own slaves?”
“We call them probiotics.”
“But....”
“Okay technically but they’re not sentient or anything.”
“Yeah, imma need a minute to talk this over.”
“Cool cool. I’ll wait.”
| 2021-04-29T08:30:03 | 2021-04-29T08:08:57 | 423 | 73 |
[WP] Okay, hear me out: a blind woman, right? A blind woman falls in love with Medusa. She wanders into Medusa’s meadow, Medusa pities her and takes care of her. They then fall in love. <3
|
"Okay, hear me out." Cosmo said, grinning behind his blacked out glasses.
"Go on." Medusa said, nodding to her agent, as she reclined on her chaise lounge, filing her nails.
"A blind woman, right?"
Medusa furrowed her brow. "Right?"
"A blind woman...falls in love with Medusa. She wanders into Medusa's meadow. Medusa pities her, and takes care of her. Then they fall in love."
Medusa pinched the bridge of her nose, and sighed, her serpentine coif wilting tiredly.
"Are you nodding, Doosie? Are you loving it?" he asked, still grinning. He pointed at his glasses. "Remember, I can't see, because of the--"
"No I'm not nodding! I'm not *loving* it, Cosmo!" Medusa snapped. "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm *not a lesbian!"*
Cosmo frowned. "I know, Doosie. You're from, what, it was Thebes right? You're a...Thespian? No, that's an actor. Thebesian? Thebesite? What *is* the demonym for--"
"I like men!" she cried, exasperated. "And therefore, I like it when men like *me.* That's not likely to happen if you cast me in a myth makes me out to be categorically *uninterested,* now is it?"
Cosmo grinned again, and pointed two fingers at her as though they were crossbows, "Doosie, baby, trust me -- plenty of men *will* like it if you like women, okay?"
"I meant as a *partner,* not as some adolescent fantasy, moron." she sneered, her snake-hair hissing angrily.
"Alright, alright." Cosmo said, waving his arms. "Forget the blind woman thing. Too sappy and sentimental, anyway. You're a *tough* chick!"
"Hades yeah I am!" Medusa affirmed, crossing her arms, the snakes on her head nodding in unison with her.
"Alright, what about this. A vicious hydra's rampaging through Greece. Naturally, Artemis has to go hunt it down, cause hunting's her thing, right? But she needs a *specialist* for this mission -- someone who knows a thing or two about multiple snake heads, see what I'm saying?" Cosmo said.
Medusa and the snakes nodded again. "Uh-huh."
"So she recruits our girl *Medusa!* And you guys are all on this big chariot ride through Greece, hunting it down, lots of locations, great set pieces, you fight some mooks, hydra cultists or whatever, and then the big battle ensues, you and Artemis -- she's cutting off heads, you're turning heads to stone, but there's always more, but finally, you triumph, and team hydra-slayers wins the day!" Cosmo continued, spreading his arms expressively.
Medusa grinned, ."Okay, this is starting to sound like something I can work with!"
"But then, what's that? Oh no, Artemis was wounded in battle!" Cosmo cried.
"Okay...?"
"Bitten by the vicious hydra!"
"Cosmo, where are you going..."
"Someone's going to have to have to *suck out the poison* from the bite wound on her soft yet well-muscled upper thigh!"
"COSMO!" Medusa screeched, all her snakes standing up and showing fangs. "I am *two seconds* from snatching those damn glasses off your face and trading my agent in for a new lawn ornament!"
"Okay, okay! Sheesh, I'm just trying to pass the Bechdel test, here, Doosie, give me a break." Cosmo said, hastily, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.
Reluctantly, Medusa settled back on her lounge.
"Next!" she snapped, going back to filing her nails.
"So, how about this, instead. A new monster rises up from the depths. A long-forgotten Titan or some crap like that, we'll think up a name later. So, *Apollo* has to go fight it." Cosmo began.
"Ooo..." Medusa said, pausing her self-manicure, as her snakes perked up, listening interestedly.
"He's young, handsome, body like a Greek god -- natch -- but he can't do it alone. He needs help! From who you, you ask? Well how about a sexy ass-kicking heroine with *snakes for hair?"*
Medusa clenched her fists excitedly, and leaned forward. "And then?"
Cosmo spread his arms wide. "You descend into the pit of Tartarus! You're fighting monsters, you're fighting Titans, you're fighting unnamed horrors, back to back, skin to skin, the only thing thicker than the blood and monster guts on the ground is the *sexual tension!"*
Medusa nodded, eagerly. "Go on!"
"You reach the evil Titan's lair, and you're battling for all you're worth, because you're not only fighting for your lives, you're fighting for *each other!*"
"Aw." Medusa said, folding her hands over her heart, as her snakes sighed, dreamily.
"Finally, you slay the monster! Exhausted, you fall into each others' arms, atop the Titan's vast horde of treasure. Having just faced death together, hesitation and uncertainty dissolve in the exultation of survival, and you and your chiseled, deific beau make passionate love surrounded atop the pile of fabulous riches that is now yours by right of conquest." Cosmo said, smiling, forming a screen with his hands.
"Mmm...now we're talking." Medusa purred, her eyes going distant.
"And then, you notice a captive chained to a pillar nearby!"
"Huh?" Medusa said, blinking as she snapped out of her momentary reverie.
"Who's that? It's the famous poet *Sappho!* The Titan had her held captive, he stole all her clothes and---"
"GODS DAMN IT, COSMO!"
|
medusa: a love story
I immortalised every lover I ever had.
Flesh flashed granite the moment they glimpsed me.
Proof that beauty can be terrifying.
There was one I loved back.
Blinded by crows.
I found her stumbling about the base of Mt Olympus.
We spent her life together.
And when she died I vowed I would too.
Find a way to end my sentence.
I became the monster they labelled me.
Medusa.
Synonymous with fear.
Their “heroes” loved me.
When Perseus decapitated me.
My blood flowed into the sea off Ethiopia for days.
Staining its waters a deep red.
And I was free.
| 2022-04-29T13:04:09 | 2022-04-29T12:36:09 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] You're a ferocious demon king. You're surprised one day to find that a young woman has been left at your door. Only to later find out her father, the king, is using you as bait to find a knight worthy of marrying his daughter.
|
The demon king sat on his throne, drinking ale from a large goblet held in one hand. He slouched in his chair, blankly staring at the fire in the center of the room.
He heard a small commotion coming from the hall just outside the throne room. Excited for the break in monotony he rushed forward and threw open the doors with a single push. The hinges groaned as they swung hard into the wall with a crash.
"What is going on? Are we under attack? I thirst for their vlood!" He exclaimed all at once.
A winged guard flew over to him and have a modest bow, "no my king, it seems the princess of Galejhiem has stumbled her way through the dark forest and into our doorstep. "
"Preposterous, no mere girl could make it through the forest alone." The demon stood shocked thinking for a moment. "This must be a trap. Send out the hunting horde, have them search the perimeter and edge of the forest for any sign of her forces."
"And what of the girl?"
"Bring her to my chamber, I will find out her true reason for being here."
The Demon King's private chambers were extravagant, gold pillars held up high ceilings, with fire places along the perimeter. At the center of the room a modest table with entrikit legs made of bone and iron. A second room was just off to the side. Heavy curtains covered its doorway. The Princess looked small sitting a large cushioned chair at one end of the table. She fidgeted nervously.
"Would you care for any ale?" The Demon King offered.
"I would prefer wine."
"Freeloaders and prisoners should be grateful!"
"Then I will make do with ale." She grasped the goblet in two hands and took a sip.
"Good, now tell me why you are here. "
"I got lost in the forest and stumbled upon your castle. "
"It is not wise to lie to a demon, or has your father taught you nothing?"
"My father is a miserable deplorable excise for a man!" The Princess was surprised by her own words and covered her mouth were hand. "I didn't meam.."
"Strange properties that ale. It tends to make one speak their heart. Haha, now, tell me more."
"He sent me to a terrible demon several miles from here, he had long arms and terrible claws. He sent me there in hopes of testing several would be heroes for my hand in marriage. However, I escaped on my own, and did get lost and did stumble here."
"You escaped from Dominus the Thrasher? Well done, I am impressed. So I guess news will travel of your escape then and your would be heroes will be coming here. Good I welcome the challenge. You will stay in tower. "
The Demon King rose to his feet and walked to a desk, opened a drawer and pulled out a silver chained necklace. At its center was a black jewel. He brought it to the princess and stood behind her.
She froze in place as he placed it around her neck and clasped the back. The jewel felt warm on her chest and began to glow a blue light.
"This necklace binds you to this castle, if you leave these grounds it will kill you."
Over the next several weeks the Demon King was overjoyed with the near constant rate of knights coming to his door. Some he met in the fields, some he hinted in the forest, some he would fight in the field and then invite to his gladiator pits.
It was a blood bath. All the while the princess wandered the grounds, but mostly kept to herself. The Demon King did spot her on more than one occasion watching the battles and he would always laugh.
One day, while most of the Demon hordes were off on a hunt a knight strolled up to the castle. The Princess watched him as he approached the gate. He walked with confidence, a large axe on his back,and his armor shining in the sun. He looked oddly clean for a man who had just bested the dark forest.
The man stood in front of the door and gave a loud shout, "Demon King! I have come for the Princess!"
The Princess heard a familiar laugh echo through the halls. The reply followed.
"Then come an claim her if you can!"
The gates swung open in front of the knight, and he drew his axe. The Princess watched from the tower as he strolled through the door and waited for the screams to begin.
But they didnt. Instead she heard yells of courage and grunts of rage. She rushed down the stairs to the balcony overlooking the main hall. There she saw the knight going toe to toe with the Demon King.
Rolling under a sword swing the knight rallied his axe into the Demon's chest. It stuck in the chest plate and dark blood began to ooze from the crease.
The Demon King roared like she had never heard and grasped the ace blade in both hands. He tore it from his own chest and the hands of the knight at the same time, throwing it to the ground. Fire burned in his eyes and a roar of flame erupted around the room.
The Knight lunged for the Demon Kong's sword, the flames scorching his armor. With sword in hand he made a finally run at the Demon King, eyes lit with passion and courage.
The sword hit its mark, right into the crease in the armor. The Demon King fell to his knees, a look of shock on his face as he gasped for air.
The Knight turned and saw the Princess on the balcony, " you are free, come, let us leave before the hordes return."
" I can't, this neckless binds me here."
The Knight cleared the stairs and joined her, peiring at the article in question. "I think I can solved that."
He raised his hand, showing a silver ring. It flashed a white light and the clasp came undone.
They left at once and made their way back to kingdom of Galejheim. The Princess had no desire to go back to her father at first and stayed in the Knights castle.
He was a Lord over a small area of land just on the kingdom's side of the dark forest. He had seen many knights go into the forest and eventually stopped one to ask why. He told the Princess he was well prepared for demon slaying, having defended his lands for many years.
After some while the Princess returned to her father with the Kinght in tow. They arranged the marriage and a few months later the wedding was held.
It was a grand wedding, with all of the fanfare and extravagance expected of royalty.
At the dinner after, the Knight rose and called for shit. "It is a great honor to have the privilege to marry such a beautiful woman." He paused and reached into his pocket, pulling out a golden necklace lined with rubies. "And for such a beauty only the best, for you my dear." He stepped behind her and placed it around her neck. She smiled. And the crowd clapped and cheered.
He then grabbed a cup of ale and handed it to her, raising his own glass, "to many years of happiness."
The both drank and sat back down. She leaned over to his ear, " you know I would have rather preferred wine."
He smiled gently, a flash of fire filled his eyes, "Freeloaders and prisoners should be grateful my dear."
|
It was a scorching hot unbearably bright mid day, even through the sand that whipped through the wind and tore at any uncovered skin. Most in the crowd had been covered in leathers and furs with lighter cloths over their faces. A strong race of demons but even they turned away from the battering winds. All be he, the magnificent stature stood out amongst the entire coliseum as he sat in his throne of glorious gold and brilliant rare gems. The sand seemed to avoid the entire balcony and company he kept. He thought to himself as he sat and watched.
“There she is, a fine young woman indeed. It’s been nearly a dozen years since she was just a toddler, left on my door. Look at her now. I couldn’t be more proud. I have to admit I have been tiring of all these “heroes” trying to come “save” her. She’s perfectly fine, obviously. But I do wish a true suitor will come soon though. Someone with real power and territory for her to rule. I can’t believe these kingsmen have the nerve to come here and accuse me! She was left here! If anything I’ve saved her from this so called “king”. Such a great father he turned out to be. I practically raised her myself. So much so that today, on the annual celebration of her arrival, she asked for this as a gift. Such a glorious occasion! Watching her down in the pit slaying man and beast alike covered in the blood of her enemies 10 for every year of her arrival just as she requested. Truly she will make a great wife and queen. Perhaps instead of fighting these bagabon suitors myself I can allow her The honor instead. She has come of age, it truly is her right. Yes! Yes, indeed. I shall offer this gift to her as soon as she finishes these last few opp- oh okay right now then. Ah the smile on her blood soaked face floods me with joy! So proud.”
| 2017-10-06T12:37:56 | 2017-10-06T11:25:37 | 27 | 19 |
[WP] The more evil you were on Earth the higher your rank in Hell. When you get to Hell Satan himself resigns his position to you, but you don't know what you did.
|
“Heaven seems awfully dark,” I remarked as I moved through what appeared a twilight fog. The world around me was vague and indistinct, whenever I thought I was gaining sight of something that could be a landmark it would fade away into the gloom.
I’m not sure how long I walked in that gloom, there was nothing to reference time, no feelings of hunger, no tiredness, nothing at all. Then he was there before me, sitting upon a massive ornate throne. His beauty was more than I could possibly describe and the throne he sat on. Well maybe it wasn’t that nice but after so long with nothing to look at, I would’ve settled for a three legged stool at this point.
“God?” I asked, my voice catching.
The being chortled, “Close, try again,” It said
I thought for a second, thinking back to my Sunday school lessons when I was a little kid.
“Gabriel? Michael?” I asked tentatively.
The beings eyes narrowed slightly with annoyance and that look one gets when names are brought up that bring with them a torrent of memories and most of those bad.
“No, last guess,”
I racked my mind, Metatron maybe, I wasn’t Catholic but maybe I should have been. Then thought came into my head, I tried to squash it but it wouldn’t leave.
“You wouldn’t be the devil would you?” I asked, wishing with my being that he wouldn’t answer.
He or it gave me a smile that was more of an answer than any words could be. I backed up a step, “Then this is hell?” I asked looking around for fire or whips and chains or something.
“Wrong again, this is the outskirts of hell, you’re a rather important arrival so I decided welcome you personally,” The devil said getting to its feet, it gestured at the throne.
“Have a seat,” It said in a tone that brooked no argument.
I meekly sat on throne, it was warm but not uncomfortably so, which seemed strange to me since if this was hell shouldn’t it be covered in spikes or something. I looked up to see the devil studying me, its eyes flashing with amusement though it didn’t say anything. After a while I couldn’t bear it anymore.
“I don’t understand why am I here, I was a good person, I don’t deserve this, what about my good deeds?”
The Devil chuckled again, “Obviously they weren’t as good as you thought but don’t worry I was so impressed with what you made of your life I decided to give you my chair,” It smiled again and I think part of my soul shriveled in response.
“Congratulations kid, your're ruler of hell,”
I sat there stunned by this news, on one hand the knowledge that I hadn’t made it too heaven seemed terrible but hadn’t I pulled the next best card, better to rule in hell and all that, but the laughter I saw in the Devil’s eyes made my stomach twist into knots at the thought that there was any way this could end well. After I finally spoke again.
“Why me, I don’t remember being anyone special, shouldn’t someone like Hitler or Stalin be in this chair?”
The Devil snorted, “A plain murderer isn’t worthy, oh the scale of their murder was impressive but the crime itself is hardly original,” The devil shook its head and looked at him again, its eyes still alight with amusement.
“Try again?”
I thought for a moment, “What about religious leaders who….” I started to say when the devil cut me off.
“Those are just liars, once again the scale is the only thing that’s impressive about their sin, and heck I was the first one to do that one so they don’t get points for being copycats,”
I thought harder, then I had a thought, a subreddit thread I’d be reading before the blackness came over me.
“What about those who wasted their life, those who didn’t do anything with what they were given, someone like that should be in this chair,”
The Devil nodded looking thoughtful, “That’s a pretty good one but what you did was far more impressive,”
I couldn’t contain myself any longer, “THEN WHAT DID I DO?!” I screamed at the Devil.
“You killed your soul,”
I stared at the Devil in complete bafflement. “I don’t understand, how is does make me worthy of this chair?”
The devil laughed again, “Tell me, if you were put in a room and told you would be given whatever you wanted to amuse yourself but you were never going to see or talk to anyone else ever again. What would you pick?”
I was silent, thinking about all the things I did for amusement during my life, none of them felt like something I would do just for my own private enjoyment.
“Can’t think of anything can you?” The Devil said. It laughed again.
“And that’s what I find so impressive, you may have died today but your soul has been dead for years. Since you were young you made sure that you always played the right sports, read the right books, and watched the right tv shows. It was never about what you wanted, only about what you thought everyone else liked. I’ve seen human give up their own wants to fit but you’re the first human ever to kill your own wants.”
“What’s so evil about that?” I retorted. “I just wanted to fit in, nothing evil about that,”
“Isn’t there?” The Devil asked.
“You married, not being because you loved the person but because you thought it was the expected thing to do, the same reason you dated, because your family and friends expected it. Everything you did in your life was by someone else choice, the clothes you wore, the car you drove even the politician you voted for. By the way, both of those politicians from that election that cost you several of your friends are down here, that election was some of my finest work.” The Devil said, looking quite proud.
“You didn’t even require tempting to sin, all I had to do was have one of your friends or your current favorite actor or your boss be tempted and sin and you would consider or just plain do it in order to fit in,”
The devil loomed over me, “The greatest gift that God gave you worthless piles of puss, was the ability to choose, and you threw that back in his face and refused to choose,” The Devil said, raw contempt and hatred filling his voice as he stared at me as if I was nothing more than some excrement that someone had smeared on his favorite chair.
Then the moment passed and the Devil stepped back and gave the most terrifying belly laugh I'd ever heard.
“Not even I could do that, I may have rebelled but I still made a choice, which is more than you ever did,” The Devil stepped back, one hand encompassing the throne I sat in and gloom around us which had grown even darker.
“Thus since you did something not even I could do, you get the chair. So tell me Ruler of Hell, what happens now?” It asked, its smirk widening to an almost unaturally sized grin.
I tried to come up with a comeback or retort but nothing came to mind. Years of making decisions based on what others thought doesn’t stop so easily, so I said what I knew it wanted me to say.
“What should happen now?”
And the Devil’s laughter ushered me into my first steps in hell.
|
"Wait. A condom? I'm now the ruler of Hell because I had sex wearing a condom."
Satan looked like he was going to laugh and cry simultaneously. "Yes. Oh!" He paled suddenly. "I mean, yes, Lord! Please don't punish me, the lapse was unintentional!"
I waved absently. This is ludicrous. "This is ludicrous. And I don't care about titles. Call me Steve." "Yes... Steve!" replied Satan, looking entirely confused.
"So, I was supposed to father the Messiah with Marie, and birth control is a sin? Wait, wasn't Mary a virgin when she gave birth to Jesus? Wouldn't this be the same?"
"The Bible was incorrect in that matter, Mas... Steve." Satan hastily corrected himself. I guessed punishment was swift and severe in Hell. "Joseph and Mary did indeed have marital relations and conceived the prior Messiah. They never said anything about the matter, and her virginity was assumed."
"Hell." Satan looked at me questioningly. "Sorry. And then I went and crashed in a snowstorm, and the Messiah was never fathered." Satan simply nodded.
"Well then. I guess there are some changes that need to be made... Um, I can change things, right?"
Satan shook his head. "Not to any significant extent, Steve. Our mandate is from God, and we must abide by it. For that matter, despite having to serve as ruler of this domain, you must still be punished, on your off-duty hours, as per required. Luckily you are only a second circle violator."
"Wait - second circle? What does that meeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAANNNNNNNNNNN...", I screamed, as I was blown out of the chamber and down one of the hallways.
| 2016-12-19T16:59:11 | 2016-12-19T14:52:55 | 88 | 27 |
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy.
|
"You need to stop this. Now." ~UTHQ
It seemed like a strange message from the UT at first, the United Terrans organization, formed by the world's leading space agencies to represent all of humanity and the Earth as we ventured out of the solar system for the first time.
But this wasn't from the UT.
It couldn't be. TRAPPIST-1 was 40 light years away from Earth. It had taken only 32 years to travel here in the DocBrown, a name chosen thanks to somebody's bright idea to let internet polls do the picking. Theoretically, the ship could travel even faster, possibly greater than 2c, but due to the still relatively unknown nature of matter at speeds >1c, the speed was capped at 1.25c for this mission. Earth would have had to have sent this message *8 years* before they left.
The tension in the recycled air was so palpable it was hard to breathe, a mixture of separate emotions so intense you'd feel like you might implode and explode all at the same time.
They had first braved the pounding tension of the "photobraking" deceleration maneuver as they approached the star system, where the DocBrown's FTL drive was shut down to allow *space-time itself* to decelerate the ship below lightspeed, the first-ever such attempt in human history. It certainly sounds sensible when you have a room full of mathematicians and physicists drawing it out for you, but while trapped in a ship barreling through the galaxy at +1c, you begin to wonder why they aren't sitting in your seat instead. The ship instantly began to rumble as soon as the engines were cut, louder and louder at a rising frequency. As speed dropped closer to 1c, gunpowder crackling sounds and bangs like metallic bones snapping abused the outside the hull. The blueshifted light through the front windows, turning more and more white, increased in luminosity, until in a blinding flash a deafening ***THUD*** broke the ship's runaway speed like driving into a brick wall. The ship's speed now read 0.87c, and all was quiet. Spacetime, and light, it seems, has something akin to sonic booms that come from violating the universe's speed limits.
To slow down further, the fuel tank, capable of holding 5% of the Moon's mass, had to be thrown away in a trajectory that would not impact any of the exoplanets dancing around TRAPPIST-1. The mechanism to do this was a nuclear warhead, and a 10km tether to draw out the acceleration force from being instantaneous. "Don't ask," one engineer said, working on developing this technology. "We've tested it. It works..."
After the maneuver left the ship's speed at a little over 0.51c, DocBrown's traditional engines took over to do the rest of the legwork, but the beauty shining in through the windows was so loud now it overpowered all engine noise into deafening silence. The cool dwarf star's system was a fertile playground of seven exoplanets, three of which were Earth-like. They had atmospheres, and their surface was a swirl of colors so exotic, made possible only by the mysterious artistry of the universe, that Jeb had to keep wiping the water from his eyes just to keep looking at it.
He looked over at Deb, who was also crying, and then at the rest of the team, they all laughed and came together to embrace.
In the joy and excitement of the moment, Jeb thought he had heard a barely-audible *ding,* but it was likely nothing. After the celebration settled down, Jeb went to the ship's console to make sure the warning wasn't something serious to do with the DocBrown's deceleration burn.
But it wasn't an engine warning. It was a direct message, from UT, from home.
"You need to stop this. Now." ~UTHQ
The emotions flowing in this moment made it difficult to discern what this meant, how is this possible? Is it possible? Jeb put his head in his hands and the team saw him struggling; they came over to see what the issue might be. Each member read the message and the ship once again became overwhelmed by a crushing silence, as each crewmate contiplated the unreal, impossible nature of what they were looking at. It *wasn't* possible.
Just as contemplations began to wander into darker, more impossible possibilities, their predictions were quickly narrowed down, by another received message: *(ding)*
"This is a warning." ~UTHQ
----------
**Edit: Part 2/3**
The tense atmosphere led Marcus, systems engineer for the mission, to sit down at the console.
"Who is this?" ~DocBrown
Their laser communications system was pointed directly at Earth, and it would take 40 years for the message to arrive there. The messages had been digitally signed with UT's signature. The team contemplated that their communications have been cracked, and hijacked.
"What do they want? Why the warning?" Mel sounded panicked, the lead biologist for the mission. "They want us to stop doing something..." Marcus mumbled, reading over the messages.
After a pause, Mel jumped up. "Do you think they live here? Do you think this is their system?" Dale, the radioastronomer, shrugged. "No chatter from this place. Our radio leak out to space for over 1200 year before we come here."
Marcus shrugged, and seeing no harm in trying, typed out:
"Is this sun your home?" ~DocBrown
As the message sent out, the team entertained a thought that maybe UT would be getting some funny messages in 40 years.
*(ding)*
"No." ~UTHQ
A chill fell over the air. Marcus got out of his seat and moved away. "What do they want?", Mel cried. Jeb spoke up, "Hold on, so far we're just talking. We don't know who they are yet, or what they want. They want us to stop doing something, so maybe we broke a rule, we just don't know about it yet."
Mel sniffed, but she was contemplating. "Maybe there's already life here, and it's against the law to mess with it?" Dale scoffed, "They mess with us!"
Marcus turned around, focused. "We need to know what we did wrong." He sat down at the console,
"What did we do wrong?" ~DocBrown
The crew watched as the message was sent out, anticipating the passing seconds.
*(ding)*
"Dumblfuckery." ~UTHQ
----------
**Edit 2: see below for Part 3/3**
|
Trendsetti was looking at the report on the testing of forward-pushed wormhole system, and he wasn't happy.
On paper, FPWS should have been perfect. A space ship does a couple of certain calculations about its destination, sends the results into its Yadari-Futara particle launcher, fires a reversed Yadari particle projectile from it in destination's general direction, and the projectile goes on its way and creates a wormhole for the FTL travel.
In practice, it turned out to work just fine. The downside, as the report states, is that physical objects don't like it when the projectile goes through them, something Yadari and Futara apparently overlooked. Apparently, when the projectile, basically a kind of a miniature black hole, makes a contact with a physical object (say, an alien race's space ship with the emperor of that entire alien race currently on board), the object gets this nasty desire to collapse into itself and blow up (something that alien race is most certainly not going to like).
Trendsetti thought it was funny. Mankind wanted to find a way to travel faster than light but accidentally invented a superweapon instead. Too bad they're probably going to have to use it as such very soon.
| 2017-03-31T12:56:15 | 2017-03-31T08:44:19 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] "I thought you Lizardmen worshipped Dragons?" "No, why would we?" "Well, aren't they like... your ancient ancestors or something?" "Oh of *course*, and do humans worship a Monkey god?"
|
The first meeting between humans and Lizardmen occured on a neutral space shuttle between the two planets. The meeting, unfortunately, did not go according to Dr. Petrova’s plan.
“So,” said Miller, one of the soldiers assigned to the diplomatic party. “What do you guys eat? Like, bugs and stuff?”
“Please excuse him,” Dr. Petrova said hastily, shooting the soldier a glare. “He does not speak for our species. He should not be speaking *at all.* I actually have a greeting from the United Coalition of Human States. All our world leaders have—”
“I owned a bearded dragon once,” Miller interrupted. “Great pet. Her name was Scalie. Hey, you kind of look like her.” He pointed at the Lizardman representative.
Yerk, the Lizardman representative, bristled at the comment, her large tail swishing from side-to-side. Dr. Petrova nervously eyed the Lizardmen guards, two imposing eight feet tall creatures holding alien weaponry. They narrowed their slitted eyes. Both sides of the diplomatic parties wore translation devices so a full breadth of communication could be had.
“Excuse me, Doctor,” Yerk said in a cold, yet courteous voice. A politician’s voice. “Did your man here just say that he *owned* a reptile-kin?”
“Oh, bearded dragons are great pets,” said Zhang, the other guard assigned to the diplomatic party. “I always wanted one, but my parents wouldn’t let me.”
“That sucks,” Miller said sympathetically.
“Please!” Dr. Petrova snapped. “Can you two just shut up? Why are you even speaking?” To Yerk, she said, “I am so incredibly sorry for my two soldiers. Believe me, they will be most severely reprimanded for this insubordination.”
“I should hope so,” Yerk said, her scratchy Lizardman voice growing even colder. “If this is the best Earth has to offer, then I fear for the relations between our two species.”
Dr. Petrova paled.
“Say,” Miller said, oblivious to the situation at hand. “Here’s a scientific question. Do you guys worship dragons? Do you know what they are?”
There was a moment of silence as the translators converted the human concept of “dragon” to the Lizardman tongue. Dr. Petrova saw the exact moment the translation finished, for all three of the Lizardmen’s tails swished in anger.
“No,” one of the Lizardman guards snapped. “Why would we worship a primitive and extinct species?”
Miller shrugged. “I don’t know. They're pretty cool.”
Yerk growled. Actually growled. “Do humans worship their monkey counterparts because they're *cool?*That is essentially what you have just asked me."
“Great question.” Miller turned to Zhang. “Is God technically a monkey? I mean, humans are monkeys, right? That means God is a monkey.”
“It depends which god you’re speaking about,” Zhang said knowingly. “I mean, there’s just so many. I'm sure there's a monkey god somewhere. By the way, did we just get confirmation that dragons used to exist on the Lizardman planet?”
“Well, how about the Christian God? Is he a monkey?”
“Enough!” Yerk snapped, her scales bristling like a cascading wave. “This is foolishness. Dr. Petrova, did your human world leaders send us this delegate to insult us? If so, well done. You have succeeded at your task.”
Dr. Petrova tried to answer, but it seemed she’d lost control of her tongue. She wanted to either shoot Miller and Zhang, or curl up in a ball and die herself.
“So,” Zhang said, “if y’all don’t believe in a dragon God, then what kind of God do you believe in?”
“The one true God, of course,” Yerk said dismissively. “Zorkapoo, the Almighty creator of the universe and all life therein.”
Miller and Zhang shared a look. Dr. Petrova covered her face with her hands.
“Zorkapoo,” Miller repeated in a deadpan voice. It sounded like he was trying really hard not to laugh. “Your God’s name… is Zorkapoo.”
“Yes,” Yerk hissed. “What of it?”
“Nothing, nothing. It’s… really cool. Majestic.”
“Zorkapoo,” Zhang said in a shaky voice. He took a deep breath. “That’s… wow.”
“*What is the matter?*” Yerk snapped, on the verge of shouting.
“Absolutely nothing at all,” Miller said, totally serious. “Say, can we wrap this meeting up? I gotta take a fat Zorka*poo*.”
Dr. Petrova couldn’t help it; she burst out into a fit of giggles. The three Lizardmen gasped in horror and outrage.
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Petrova stammered, her face burning. “It was just such a stupid joke. I… Please forgive me.”
“This insult will not be forgiven,” Yerk said imperiously, rising up to her full length. “As a representative of the Lizardmen species, I officially declare war on all of humanity! You will learn what it means to earn the ire of Zorkapoo!”
Zhang roared with laughter, and that set off Miller’s braying donkey laugh, which set off Dr. Petrova again.
With murder in their eyes, the Lizardmen diplomatic party stomped off the shuttle and into their docked ship.
“Oh man,” Miller said breathlessly, wiping a tear from his eye. “Did we just start an interplanetary war?”
“Yup,” Dr. Petrova said, a little breathless herself. “But whatever. We probably would’ve gone into war with them over something else anyways. This just sped up the timeline. Let’s go back home and nuke the shit out of them.”
“Sounds good,” Zhang said between deep gasps. He was bent over and clutching his side, clearly cramping up from laughing too hard.
“Zorkapoo,” Miller said fondly as the three humans went to their ship. “What a wonderful little universe we live in.”
---
*one of my stupider stories, lol. not sure what happened here. /r/chrischang*
|
"Stop! Please stop!" The lizardman begged.
"Why?"
"Why?! You just stood in place clenching your fists for 5 minutes while screaming like a lunatic and occasionally yelling "even further beyond!" and "I won't let you get away this!""
"I mean I said a couple of other things too."
"That's not the point!"
"But you let me go on for a pretty long time."
The lizardman let out a long sigh.
"I figured you'd stop eventually, but when you started smashing wild flowers on your head I grew concerned."
"Well, so why don't you worship Dragons?" The human hero asked, causally blowing a yellow flower petal out of his mouth.
"I already explained- Wait? What the hell does you screaming like a lunatic for 5 minutes have to do with worshiping a monkey god."
"Everything."
| 2021-06-10T21:49:00 | 2021-06-10T21:47:55 | 325 | 187 |
[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.
|
It had been a busy week and I was kicking off Friday with a brew. My teenage nightmare of a Friday had turned into my adulthood goal, a quiet night in and video games until too late in the evening.
I set the beer down on the end table, turned around to flop down on the couch when the air was instantly filled with smoke.
I coughed and waved my hand to dispel it, less startled than I should have been given the circumstances. The smoke was gone in an instant, and I looked for the source, only to realize I was not in my living room any more.
Instead i was in what appeared to be in a small cavern. There were three concentric circles drawn around me in some kind of powder. The closest circle, about 10 feet across, was done in black, then grey and the outermost was in white. There were candles burning, and a crude clay bowl sat on the ground filled with water.
I didn't see the beings at first, until they started making noise. They were small, about up to my ribs, and looked like something from Star Wars. Kinda like a fuzzy Greedo.
Two of them were talking very quickly. The third stared motionless for a few minutes until it burst into tears.
"What on Earth is going on?"
There was an instant of silence and then the other two burst into tears, then the whole lot ran out of the cavern.
What the fuck?
Seeing nothing else to do at the moment, I took measure of my surroundings. I walked out of the circles and strangely felt a slight tug as I passed over them. Odd.
The cavern was pretty big but not colossal. It wasn't a Minecraft style cave that led into the depths of the earth, but the rocky ceiling sloped downward and met the ground maybe two hundred feet from the entrance.
There was a commotion outside as several of those same things came back. These were bigger, and they carried crude spears and shields, made of wood and hide. There were eight of them, followed by a ninth who carried a crude book. The one with the book said a few words, and the others spread out, forming a loose semicircle between myself and the entrance. They closed and leveled their spears.
I put my hands up and tried to smile. I had no idea what the fuck was going on and I wasn't about to be stabbed to death by murderous knock off bounty hunters. I spoke "hey guys, let's all..."
Two shouted, one yelped and they all charged, the spears flashing forward and striking me. Fuck. I guessed that this is how I would go.
There was no pain, just some mild discomfort in a few spots on my body. I opened my eyes after I realized I'd squeezed them shut. The spears were driven into me, the aliens stances showed that they had their full weight behind the thrusts. I looked down. The spear points made tiny dents in my skin.
Poke poke. They attacked again, one hit my belly button and I winced. That's sensitive. He looked pleased with himself, pushed his spear in deeper and twisted it.
"Dude. Stop." I slapped the spear away. I was startled when it exploded into splinters as my hand touched it. The once victorious Greedo held the broken haft, a look of utter horror on his face. He steeled himself as the others backed away, drew a stone knife and charged me, driving it into my chest again and again.
I let him do it. It didn't bother me, and maybe it would be good for him to wear himself out. He was at it for a few minutes maybe before he sagged, lowered himself and made one final stab right at my nads. That was not ok. I held up my hand, stopped the knife, grabbed the blade and pulled it away from him.
He screamed, clutching his now empty hand. Was he a fucking soccer player? Jesus. I looked again and saw he had broken fingers. Had I done that? I hadn't meant to. Fuck me, were these people made of tissue paper or something?
Feeling like the lowest kind of asshole, I offered an apology. The others closed with spears level and the injured Greedo withdrew, cradling his hand. I watched as I was stabbed over and over to no effect.
The one with the book examined the hand and drew his own knife, said something and began to cut. Amputation? Jesus!
I walked forward, gently pushed the others aside and moved to the injured guy. He was terrified. The one with the book opened it, read something and a bolt of lightning snapped from his fingers. It hurt about the same as touching metal after rubbing your feet on the carpet.
I sighed, and took his book away as gently as I could, he released it and cowered.
The injured guy was on the ground now, his eyes full of fear. I could see why. I was evidently Hercules and they were cavemen made of marshmallows.
Remembering my first aid course I ripped a bit of my shirt off and pressed it against his bleeding incision. The bleeding stopped and I looked for a splint. No dice, maybe...
I ran over and took one of the others spears and worked at it. My finger nails cut through it like it was butter. My teeth worked even better. I bit through it and got a piece about as thin as my own finger, and as gently as possible used the stick as a splint, tying it in place.
"Ok. So that's done. Now can we talk?"
Nothing.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
Nothing.
"Boo!"
Screams.
They looked on in abject horror, none of them moving. "Sorry about your hand, buddy." I sighed. "Here's your book." I handed the tome back to the Greedo who had it earlier, who took it with shaking hands...
(I'll write more a little later today if there's any interest)
Edit: I've replied with part 2. I'll keep going with part 3 later.
Edit: Like my stories? Check out my brand new subreddit over at /r/jsgunn!
|
"So you're telling me that you summoned me..." You said, as the apprentice nodded at you.
"Yup..."
"In my bathtub..." You say, a sheet wrapped around your waist.
"Sorry about that..."
"As I was cuddling with the love of my life..."
"Again, sorry..."
"And you have no idea how to send me back."
"I...yes?"
"Son..." You say, staring him down with not the gentlest of gazes. "You will find a way to get me back, right now, or you and I are gonna have some words."
| 2017-05-12T09:09:01 | 2017-05-12T08:27:42 | 556 | 95 |
[WP] It is the year 2XXX. Medical science has advanced so far that complete body restoration is possible. However, patients revived from death consistently end up in a vegetative state and no one knows why. You are the first person to revive and retain their cognition. Now you know.
|
>**LIFE'S FOR THE LIVING**
"It has *failed again!*" Screamed Doctor Van Winkler. He was pushing his seventieth birthday, and though he had pioneered impressive medicine in his long life he was not ready to go yet...and he was doing everything he could to finally perfect his whole-body restoration serum. Every patient we had had was able to return to life- but their living state was completely lacking cognition. We were absolutely stuck, trying to figure out why.
"Bring me more candidates, please." He said tiredly, sinking into his uncomfortable office chair.
I had been at the Doctor's side for ten years now, learning all of his secrets- the strict medicine and intense practices that had made him part of medical legend were now also mine- or, at least, most of it. I was early into my career, and I knew I would surpass him- but that was what he wanted. He said as much the day he took me under his wing.
"Doctor, you need to rest. It has been thirty two hours and twenty seven minutes since you last slept." I prompted him gently.
"Ach." He objected. "Fine, fine. But you must sleep as well. Wasn't your dissertation on the effects of sleeplessness?"
I grinned. "You remember."
He didn't deign to respond. "And your birthday is coming up as well- your twenty eighth, no?"
"Yes, sir."
He made no further comment.
We went our separate ways, he by cab, but I simply went by foot. It was late- probably two in the morning- but I only lived a twenty minute walk away, and the cool night air was very pleasant.
I can still remember every single moment the accident. Though I had the 'walk' signal, a semi-truck driver... well, perhaps he had been nearly asleep at the wheel. Perhaps he was in a rush. I would never know. My lifeless body was dragged for half of a mile before the driver manager to stop- and I had been dead on impact, anyway.
I knew I had died from the moment I heard the semi-truck's horn blow. Before I was dead, I knew I had died.
I found myself...somewhere else.
Moving at a relaxed pace, I walked through a field of tall grass, I felt as every shoot slipped through my loose fingers. The accident was suddenly the furthest thing from my mind.
The night sky was clear, and the moon bathed me in pink light.
There were no troubles here- not in this grove. No scary wolves, no deadlines- there was myself, and nature.
A gentle hill led me up, to new sights that I hadn't even known could exist.
Serene pools of emerald water waited there, perfectly still apart from the occasional fresh breeze stirring up some life within.
I wondered... what would it be like to dip my feet in there?
I looked first- the water was so clear, I knew nothing was hiding inside. It was perfectly safe.
I stripped off my socks and tested the water's temperature with my toes- the lake still retained the warmth of the day.
I walked a few paces into the water, relishing the sand between my toes- though it would rinse off perfectly, for now, I was just enjoying its soft embrace.
I breathed deeply, noticing hints of lavender and mint in the air- as well as the gentle spice that came from pine trees.
Returning to the shore line, I left my shoes behind- this grove had no thistles, nor weeds- the earthen path was even, solid- yet not harsh on my feet.
A slight smile built on my face. The path continued upwards- I wonder, what is beyond the hill there?
Something within me rebelled. I was *not done*. It was tempting- oh, so tempting- to travel farther up the path- but I had not suffered through ten years of medical school, and working at Doctor Van Winkler's side- just to pass on like this. *I refuse.*
I knelt in the grove and waited. I *would not walk the path up.*
--------------------------------------------
Time passed- how much, I could not say- but I could occasionally hear things from the other side. It was so curious- being here, it was like I was absorbing information that the Universe itself wanted me to know, all the while Van Winkler was slaving over my corpse, feverishly trying to bring me back to life.
Finally, at just the right moment, I felt it- the tug to return to Earth. I took it.
--------------------------------------------------
My old friend was looking at me, worry creasing every line on his face. I hadn't moved my eyes yet- my Spirit was still adjusting to my nervous system.
Van Winkler looked me over again, then sighed. It was well beyond his ability to cry- but if he could have, he would have. I could see it in his energy. He turned to leave.
Once all had clicked together, reuniting me with myself, I called out to him. "Don't lose hope, Doctor."
He turned on his heel, whipping back to look at me- just as I pulled myself into a sitting position.
"Egads!" He shouted, running to my side. "Don't move, boy, don't move! Oh, lord above!" He cried, tears springing to his eyes.
"No, no, it's quite alright, old friend." I patted him on the shoulder. "I am...quite stiff, but your restoration serum is perfect. Yes, it is completely perfect."
"What- what happened? How did you...survive?"
I chuckled. "I survived because of you, Doctor. As for what happened...I am sure you know just as well as I, some truck was going too fast and I am made of *very* fallible materials."
"Yes, but- there must be a reason why you're here! All the others have failed."
"I...I don't think it would be appropriate to tell you what I saw on the other side, Doctor. What I will tell you is that any patient of yours did not return because they chose not to. They chose to see...what's over the hill."
The Doctor plopped into his seat. "This is...miraculous, beyond what I could have ever hoped."
"Is *it* miraculous, Doctor, or are *you* miraculous?" I rose and gave the man a hug.
"Now, listen- being...where I was. I learned things during my stay there. I have a new goal in life- while I have immensely enjoyed my time with you, I have learned the Truth. Truth of science, and spirit, and how they interplay- and I need to find out how I may prove this. You are the man who conquered Death- now it is mine to be the man who conquers Life."
"So you will surpass me, after all." The older man laughed.
"Most definitely, my friend. But only because you gave me your shoulders to stand on."
--------------------------------------
r/nystorm_writes would be cooler with you in it :)
|
I look calmly back at the eager faces - the top scientists of the world, all waiting, agog, hanging on to my every word.
MENSA level IQs, the knowledge of a million lives at their fingertips. But they never managed to figure out the reason. Never managed to figure out why everyone they tried to bring back returned brain dead.
They thought it was something wrong with the process. It never occurred to them that these were sacrifices - that the undead chose to destroy their own minds than bring desolation to the world they once loved.
I am the only one who has returned as myself - I am the only one who made this choice. The reason is obvious to me, though not to them.
One of the main requirements to qualify for revival is that one must be psychologically healthy. They can just repair the body, not the mind. That excluded sociopaths, but I was always talented at acting. So, here I am - the first of my kind to undergo this revival, and the first human to return.
I can see no reason why I must let my mind die. They wanted the answers, didn't they? So I will give it to them. They will have what they wished for. And if they can't take it, that's their problem, not mine.
I will make only one single demand - that I be allowed to make my announcement live, projected worldwide, with viewership compulsory. After all, it wouldn't do for anyone to miss out on the revelation. It will be fun to watch.
I wonder whether those like me will survive. Doesn't matter, one way or the other. Good bye, civilization.
| 2020-10-29T23:00:10 | 2020-10-29T22:23:21 | 4,637 | 98 |
[WP] You are the grim reaper. Explain the concept of death to the sick, seven year old child on his deathbed.
|
"Sam..." I murmured, touching the arm of the child in the bed.
"Mmm?" The girl murmured weakly, her skin sallow, paper thin, ancient long before it had any right to be. Her eyes opened, vibrant and blue. Big eyes, looking even more out of place in her sunken features.
I forced what I hoped was a comforting smile onto my face. “…Sorry to wake you.”
“Are you a Doctor?” the girl croaked, her throat wracked and parched. It had been days since she had been able to drink anything without vomiting, the illness in its mindless progression shutting down one essential organ after the other until…
“Do I look like a Doctor?” I asked, pushing the thought aside for a moment. No sense dwelling on the inevitable, especially in my case. This aspect of humanity always fascinated me, defining reality by their own perceptions. The undiscovered proof of HIS lingering fingerprint which continued in all of them. Sam nodded her little head, too weak now to lift from the pillow.
“But I can’t read your nametag… The letters are all funny.” She continued, lifting a shockingly thin arm, born down by cables and canulars, a bony finger reaching for what she seemingly perceived to be a piece of laminated plastic hanging from my ‘clothes’.
“No need to worry about that.” I replied quickly, Unclipping and Pocketing the ‘Tag’ before she could reach it. A little always shines through, and I didn’t want to scare her. Poor little mite had been through enough for that.
“Is it going to be sunny this week?” She asks out of seemingly nowhere.
I pause in my preparation, taken aback. “Why’s that?” I ask, more out of reflex than anything else.
“Doctor Roberts said if it’s sunny this week I could go outside.” Sam replied, hope lending her weak, harsh voice a note of beauty.
“I hadn’t looked… but…” I paused, looking for the right way to segue into it. Everyone had a time, and this was hers. “…I don’t think it’ll matter.”
“Then it worked?” the girl asked, again that note of ineffable joy hiding somewhere beneath the ruin of her voice.
“What’s that Sam?”
“I asked Jesus to make me better. Am I getting better?”
“Oh. Well, no honey, I’m afraid not.” I replied apologetically.
“I’m never getting out of this bed again, am I?” Sam lamented, turning her head to the side, those big blue eyes watering.
“Well now I didn’t say that.”
“I don’t get it… If I’m not getting better and I can’t go outside…” Sam began.
“Sam… Do you remember before you got sick, and one day your daddy and Ruggles went to the vet, but Ruggles didn’t come home?” I asked, trying a different tack.
“Yeah… Daddy said Ruggles had to go to sleep because he was sick and… Oh…” Sam trails off, sniffling.
“Shhh… Don’t cry sweetheart…” I murmur. I want to reach out and take her in my arms, but that would quite accelerate things, and like I said, I wanted to make this easy for her.
“I-I’m s-sorry…” Sam sobs.
I blink in surprise “What for?”
“I-if I’d been a gooder girl then I wouldn’t have gots sick and…”
“Oh honey… no…” I assured her. “This… none of this is your fault. You got sick because people get sick, it’s part of being human. Good, bad… everyone gets the sniffles in winter.”
“Kevin doesn’t.” Sam retorted with another sniff.
“Your brother is weird though.” I whispered conspiratorially.
Sam giggled, before the giggles devolved into wracking coughs. I stroked her fingers lightly, taking her pain as best I could… There was so much… So much pain for such a small thing.
“Did God make me sick?” Sam gasps after the coughing subsides.
“Why would you ask that?” I reply incredulously “Didn’t I just say…”
“Mrs. Cunningham says I gots sick because Mommy lives with Aunty Jenny now and God’s mad.” Sam explains with the graceless innocence of a child.
“*DID* she…” I snarl, incensed. The TEMERITY! The utter bald-faced PRESUMPTION! To ascribe such monstrosity to the Hand of the Most High… To poison the mind of a child with such falsehood… It was Blasphemous! It was…
“Your wings came out…” Sam coughs flatly. “…You’re not a doctor.”
“Did they? Oh drat.” I sigh. I really had to learn to control my temper.
“I don’t wanna go to heaven.” Sam states without reservation. “Gramma went to heaven and now I don’t get to see her any more. I don’t wanna go. Daddy will be lonely.”
“He will.” I admitted. “Your Mommy and Aunty Jenny will be too. They’ll miss you. But one day I’ll come to visit them too, and then you’ll all be together again.”
“It’s not fair.”
I shake my head. “You’re right. It’s not. Not fair at all. Bad things happening to good people, little girls like you getting sick, people getting away with things they shouldn’t. But the world’s there for people to change, not us. Otherwise what’s the point?”
Sam frowns. “I don’t understand.”
“Think of the easter egg hunt last year… would it have been more fun if your mommy just gave you a basket full of eggs and went back to talking with her friends?”
Sam shakes her head again. “No… it’s funner to find them. Even if Billy does cheat…”
“He does.” I admitted “And sometimes he gets away with it, and he shouldn’t. But does that make it worth just giving up on it all?”
Sam shakes her little head.
“Life’s a little like that.” I explain. “It’s not always fair, it’s not always nice… But it’s better than not having the chance at all.”
“Chance to what?”
“To be Human.” I continue. “To get to love and be loved by good people like your Mommy and Daddy. To find a dream and chase it…”
“I wanted to be an Astronaut.” Sam sulks slightly.
“I know. And you would have been a really good one.” I assure her. “But it’s time to go now. Do you think you’re ready?”
“Will it hurt?” Sam asked, her small voice incredibly vulnerable.
“Not a bit.” I assured her, opening my arms and scooping her up… I’ll admit I lied. For her there was no pain… for me though, the process was sheer agony, taking the last of her essence to myself, shielding her from the chaotic signalling of her failing brain. But it was the least I could do. I kept her from hearing the anguished wailing of her mother… kept her from seeing her father pound the wall until his knuckles split and bled.
Let her have peace at last. She deserves that at least.
|
Death stood near her, as he had done for the last four months. He didn’t quite jump when he felt a very cool hand lay on top his own, and the sound he made was most certainly not comparable to a squeak.
“You’re a skeleton”, the girl said, staring at where her rounded fingernails were tapping the bones of his hand. Death retracted the hand quickly and then stared down at the small figure laying in the hospital bed near him. Time was short indeed.
**Yes.** Said death.
“How come you’ve got a big knife?” The girl said, eyeing the indeed large knife leaning up against the far wall.
**It’s a scythe.** Death said, crisply. And then added, at the befuddled look, “**It’s for… cutting large things.”**
“What sort of things?” The girl asked, eyes round.
**Monsters,** said Death.
The girl laid back as if that all made sense. Around them both, the world was turning up at the edges like paper curling in on a flame. The colors were getting softer. The world more gentle.
**Anna Wayland, I’ve come to take you away.** Said Death.
“Can’t leave, “ the girl said, looking down at her knees. “Can’t go anywhere.. Doctors said so.”
**That,** Death said, **Will no longer be a problem.**
Within their soft world, Death noted, you could not hear the alarms sounding. The nurses voices did not carry.
“I can really go?” The girl asked, for the first time sounding hopeful in all their acquaintance. “Where are we going?”
Death tilted his head to one side. **Where would you like to go?**
For the first time in many months, the girl smiled.
| 2018-04-20T01:13:54 | 2018-04-19T22:53:19 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] the truth is that every god started out as a trickster god, and they only end up in another role when one of their tricks goes too far and changes something about the world. A trick that ends up starting a century long war made a former trickster into a god of war. you are a new trickster god.
|
Troxma had been the first. Always a little more aggressive than the others, he had laughed as he planted that idea into that nobles head about how funny it would be to cut up the visiting kings 12 year old son, and serve him to the king for supper, in a soup with his finest herbs no less. Oh how that poor mortal never knew those cruel puppeteers strings had guided his every move.
Of course, the wrathful war that had resulted, delighted Troxma to a degree, that his own divinity had changed. As he watched, laughing at both nobles and peasants alike trying to scramble to safety, only to be cut down by the kings legion of black armored warriors and blood thirsty generals, those forces only meet with smaller militias until the main forces arrived, has ravaged the mortal lands for 140 years. Long enough for both sides to forget the original reason for their anger. Their hatred.
As we all saw the carnage that was Troxma’s “little prank” and saw him roar with booming laughter as he explained the ruse he played with the mortals, we all nervously looked between ourselves. We knew he has changed.
His eyes, were brimming with a darkened, red light, and his celestial outfit had been exchanged for heavy set metal armor, the same black as the knights and warriors who murdered in the kings name, Troxma was different. We all began to connect the dots as to how this change occurred, but it was too little too late. Others had met Troxma’s fate, seemingly his bloodied joy had infected the others.
Juloz had snuck into too many married women’s chambers and slept with them, after a while, his very essence changed, just as Troxma’s had. Juloz had many children, all born from half blood of both god and man, and suddenly, he became the patron Saint of Adultery.
Then Pastulo with her Greed over the mortals money. Made too many poor mortals coins and wealth vanish from their hands, as they received the wages for a hard days work, only to suddenly be replaced by a single coin marked by the goddess, and seen as a worthless cursed object by the mortals. Too many times had Pastulo stolen from mortals, grieved and broken families, before Pastulo had become the guide to gambling, and poor financial health.
Then Gransdole with his need to only meet and talk with the prettiest, most gorgeous of mortals and monsters alike. Created a golden wishing tree that gave wonderful wishes to beings he deemed as pretty enough, but if they didn’t meet the beauty standards of a harsh god, that wish was twisted into a malicious enigma, that more often than not, turned the wish backwards on itself and caused pain. Lots of pain. Suddenly, Gransdole ruled those mortals who cared only to be prettiest, or most beautiful. Gransdole was the god of vanity.
Frilleta had cast too many seastorms on a singular boat containing a crippled child, and couldn’t contain her laughter at the child’s inability to stand in a constantly swaying boat, with only one leg. Then, all of a sudden, she ruled over the thunder and rain clouds. Frilleta has become the Goddess of storms.
On and on, this pattern went, gods and goddesses going left and right, “pranks” seemingly giving them the deciding factor on what they ruled over with the given divinity. Our father created us to guide the mortal lands and creatures to his likeness, but we only furthered their starting towards that ideal.
One day, father looked down and saw that I, alone, was the only fragment of light still left, the others, all having become vain, greedy, and incessantly cursed with the own reversed divinity. They had become akin to the devils that preyed in mortal fears and nightmares, and I had no interest in joining them. I wished only to help, only to assist. Why has my brothers and sisters left me? Why has they turned the backs on the reason for their creation? And, what was I supposed to do?
“Father, I cannot help others by degrading them into madness and depravity! I can’t make mortals like you by lying and conniving! What shall I do to further their favor towards you?”
But father has created us to lead ourselves, and like my siblings, turned his back towards the infinite expense he ruled, away from us, away from me. A final statement to guide me as he left echoed through me, and gave me purpose.
“Remember, the purpose is not solely to degrade, my shining daughter, but can also be to deceive into receiving what they need most as well…”
So, I did just as he had said. I lied, and connived and misled, but, unlike my brothers and sisters, I did so in the best interest on the mortals I lead.
I lied to a beggar, telling him that the man in the white and gold robes would give him money. The priest was moneyless, but he did guide the beggar toward his church for food and shelter, and eventually, that beggar became the head of that very church. He did the same as the priest had done for him, leading others to safety and warmth.
I misled a child down the wrong hall for the latrines of the dungeon she was kept in after slavers found her and stole her away from her family, leading her right outside to a patrolling guardsman, who just so happened to be her father.
I connived a group of merchants into believing that water was the most precious resource on the entire planet, as well as seeds, and when they believed me, taking in uncountable pots of water, and unfathomable numbers of seeds, my sister of famine and brother of drought struck, and while the clean water the merchants had was not worth money, and the seeds not enough for food, it was enough to help mitigate the damage and help those that survived to spread word of the god-guided merchants, who saved an entire continent.
And while my brothers and sisters lied to destroy, and connived to tear apart, made the mortals who listened to them despair and weep, I was there, ready to revive the damaged land, and repair the hurting souls, and eventually, I became the Goddess of Mercy, Goddess of Health and Care, and the Goddess of Light. And when my father returned, to see the world I had stabilized, all the good I had accomplished by lying and conniving, he gave me a name. A name, he claimed, was revered by another group of mortals, as they worshipped the land which gave them life, the earth that fed them and the trees that provided them shelter, warmth and air.
Gaia.
|
I didnt mean for this to happen. Honest, this wasn't what I had in mind but everything happened so fast and. . .I thought it'd be fun? I mean how was I suppose to know altering the humans like. . .a couple times created such a difference?! They're practically the same BUT LOOK WHAT THEY'RE DOING to each other and I mean-
"Uh-uh - can I . ..interrupt you for a moment? Hmm? You. . .*sighs in utter parental disappointment* changed the humans? Like you took what we made and you just DECIDED it was a fixer-upper?!
ONLY A LITTLE! I was just messing around and then I sent them on their mary-way but the second the OG humans saw them they went ballistic. They started smushing each others faces together?! AND NOW they're doing this thing where they put on pretty clothes and confess their love in front of the other humans and I don't even want to talk about what they did after that!
*another long sigh because . . .wtf else could you do* "I- huuuuuuuh ok. This is not my problem. It is yours. You deal with it, go!"
Wait but I-
"Go or I'll ALTER you too!"
Yeah. . .yeah that seems fair.
| 2022-06-15T02:23:48 | 2022-06-14T21:53:04 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] The year is 2577. Everyone is genetically modified before they are born to have the best triats possible, resulting in everyone being amazing athletes and looking like super models. Your family decides not to genetically modify you, but you are born with a trait that everyone can only dream of.
|
*Freak.*
*Retard.*
I first found out I was different when I was seven. Mr Ray, our PE teacher, stood in the sun, the light perfectly accentuating his toned muscles.
“Now, kids,” He said, “You might’ve all been born with the best genes out there, but if you don’t exercise properly those muscles will become smaller and weaker, and you don’t want that. Today, we’re gonna do chin-ups. It’s easy. You just walk underneath the bar, hold your arms out like this, and pull until your chin is above the bar. Of course, you’ll be using this lower bar here. Now, line up and show me what you can do.”
We lined up gingerly.
“Richie,” Mr Ray said, “One, two, three… Come on, you can do this, one more… Yes! Four. Well done.”
“Charlotte, come on up, don’t be shy. One, two, three, four, five, six! Great job.”
“Emma.”
I walked up to the bar. I was just a bit too short and had to tip my toes to reach it. As soon as I began to pull, my arms felt like they had been injected with the world’s most potent hot sauce. I could imagine the muscle fibres, burning, tearing. The sun stung sharply into my skin.
“Emma, you can do this. I believe in you.” Mr Ray said.
I let go.
“Don’t give up. Try again. Come on!” Mr Ray said, “In all my years of teaching I have never seen someone fail to do a chin-up.”
“You don’t get it. She’s *special*!” Sam said, with his usual impeccable smile. Oh, how I hated that smile.
Mr Ray’s face fell. “Don’t worry, we can assign you to the special PE class. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
***
Being in the special PE class meant no one would sit with you at lunch. It meant your friends wouldn’t be your friends anymore. It meant Sam would find you at your weakest moment and break you further.
“You’re a freak just like your dad!” He had said to me at lunch, just after that dreaded PE class.
A teacher overheard him. “You must never, never say that to another person. Apologize. Now.”
“I’m sorry.” Sam said. Who could overlook his innocent smile and think he was being insincere?
But I knew he wasn’t. I could tell. I just knew.
To be honest, I didn’t understand why Mom fell for Dad back then. She came from a well-positioned family, was good looking, smart and genetically enhanced for a long life. He was a scrawny kid who wore clothes two sizes too big because it was the only size he could find, and he didn’t have any modifications either.
It wouldn’t be until high school when I would find out.
***
High school was different. Classes were sorted based on the genetic modifications you received. But they didn’t know what to do with me, so they just shoved me in whatever random class they pleased. I was the girl no one wanted to deal with.
But the classes all assumed prior abilities from your modifications. It was simply the norm. As a result, I was never the model student in class, always catching up. I dreaded the day when grades would come out. No, not because of Mom, who’d been too depressed to care ever since Dad died, ironically, from cancer caused by one of his genes that could’ve been modified when he was born. No, I feared the day because of Sam.
***
It came anyway.
“I didn’t know how someone can be ugly and dumb at the same time. You really *are* special.” Sam said. His gang all laughed at his joke. It was a weak joke and they knew it. They just needed someone to laugh at.
“You know, your dad deserved to die. It’s called *evolution*. Look it up, if you could even understand it.” His friend erupted in laughter again.
Too far. Way too far.
My hands forming a fist, reaching out. Sam jumped back. He was too fast and his reaction time unhuman, thanks to his modifications.
“So you wanna fight, huh? Come at me. Come on.” He said, knowing I wasn’t as strong as him.
My mind raced. *I’d never win against him in a fair fight, I know that. What should I do? What would he do? He would come charging straight at me, wouldn’t he? Yes. That’s what he’d do. And he wouldn’t look down either, no, he wouldn’t.*
I tensed, sticking out my foot at the right moment as Sam fell to the ground. What I didn’t expect was how quickly he’d get up.
***
On that night I walked home covered in purple bruises. As I opened the door I saw my mom’s mouth open.
“My God, what happened to you? I… I…”
“Mom, why did you choose Dad? Why not anyone else?”
“Oh, I told him this day would come. I told him and he told me to show you something. Come.” She led me upstairs to her room.
“Here.” She handed me an article. Printed, marked with small letters on the margins. Dad’s handwriting. A passage was highlighted in yellow.
> Without a doubt, genetic editing had done a great service to mankind. However, it is not without its downsides. First and foremost, we possess the technology necessary to enhance certain traits by a large degree. While this helps to cement the trait, it also interferes with the person’s natural development, as the trait is too concrete in his or her genetic code for the individual to go against it, making the individual extremely predictable. Secondly, it is understood that the genetic code does not work on a basis of traits. Changing one trait may result in another trait being inadvertently changed in the process, leading to side effects to every modification known to man…
I saw my mother wipe away at a tear. “It’s okay.” I said. “I’m okay.”
***
It had been a while since Sam had pestered me. He seemed to have a lot more respect after I tripped him. No, not respect, but fear.
At lunch, I sat alone, researching genetic modifications on my tablet. It was fascinating. I’ve been researching for the last twelve days and I was still learning new things.
Me being silent seemed to trick Sam into a sense of security. I heard those familiar footsteps, saw that familiar smile. “Hey ugly, how’s it going?” He said, snatching my tablet away.
“Oh, look guys, it looks like she wants to be pretty! Well, guess what, too bad.” He showed his friends as they laughed.
I was laughing too, on the inside. Because I could guess the modifications he received. And out of those, I knew he had three important modifications: IN-2, which causes a lack of awareness of the surrounding environment, CH-7, which reduces critical thinking, and ST-5, which causes a person to follow instructions blindly.
He wouldn’t be laughing after he suddenly finds himself having walked into the principal’s office.
|
Nature is unpredictable. It’s ever changing and transforming, but over the past 559 years humans where not apart of nature. Instead they were born from science. You see the year 2018 was the year of the genetic revolution where so many genetic diseases and disorders were being passed down onto the children at the time. These diseases and disorders include OCD, ADHD, Down syndrome, obesity, schizophrenia and many others. So many people where falling victim to these genetic faults that the government decided they should be made top priority to fix to not only save lives but to better the country. Now it’s 2577 and the entire human population of the planet has been born through genetic modification making them perfect in every single way at least until I was born.
I was the first human to take root in nature in almost 6 centuries and nature was glad to have us back. My parents birthed me under the illusion of a G.M.H (genetically modified human) My older brother miscarried at only a few weeks of conceived so my parents did what was now considered an act of unreasonable savage nature, they breed.
As I mentioned earlier nature was unpredictable. So when I was born nature decided it was time for a long over due visit. I may have inherited the perfect features of my G.M.H parents but I was nothing like them anymore at least not on the inside. Inside I’m can feel a vortex of emotion swirling inside me, something G.M.Hs can’t feel nor begin to understand. Taking one last look at the city spreading out across the horizon I step into the forest, nature treating me with the soft tickles of vines slithering across my skin and I can feel it. I can feel everything.
| 2018-01-16T19:53:08 | 2018-01-16T19:52:54 | 726 | 16 |
[WP] Casting a spell is like coding a program, but with magic. An apprentice points out an error in the chant. "I know it's wrong," replies the master, "but if I change it, reality gets all wonkey."
|
"What's in a spell?"
My voice carries through the lecture chamber.
A new class, a new year, but the same question. Always the same question.
I wait, then ask again.
"What's in a spell? What are its parts?"
A student shoots their hand into the air.
I smile and point at them excitedly, "Yes! Your name please?"
"Mallow," the girl replies.
"Alright, Mallow, what goes into making a spell?"
She recites what she learned in primary school: "A spell consists of formal logic expressed through symbols, arranged and structured to produce a desired result."
"Very good!"
I make a show of looking around the room.
"Now, who knows what syntax is?"
Mallow raises her hand again.
I wait for a moment, then another student hesitantly puts a hand up. I call on the second student, asking their name.
"Jerem, professor," the student takes a breath, "syntax is like, the language of the spell, how all the pieces sorta fit together and, uhh, work."
"Yes, Jerem, thank you. Syntax is the glue that helps our brains compile the symbols into actionable results! Different kinds of spells will have have different syntax. Modern spells--within the Chaos family of languages, for instance--have very high level syntax. What do I mean by high level?"
Mallow raises her hand again.
I call on her.
"High level magick languages heavily encapsulate symbology and rely on the adaptability of the brain to compile or execute the spell."
"And why is it forbidden to learn or use these languages outside a controlled environment?"
"High level magick is only as precise as the brain it's run on. Results can be unpredictable if the brains used in the spell never integrated the required dependencies."
"Exactly right!"
Mallow smiles, a few students in the back of the class roll their eyes.
"Okay!" I clap my hands together. The sound is loud, startling. The amplification runes carved into an obsidian pin on my lapel glow brighter.
All the students are alert now.
Still smiling, I pull a pale avian bone from my inner jacket pocket. On the bone is a single Sigil pattern, wholly different in design to the Runic lapel amplifier.
I tap the carved sigil once and the tip of the pen glows a bright cerulean.
Turning away from the class, I put pen to air and trace out a copy of the lapel pin's rune pattern.
"Does anyone know how this works?"
The class is silent.
"Fair enough. Let's break it down."
"This spell is in Runic. A fairly simple higher level language derived from old Norse assembler instructions. You've definitely seen it before. It uses an overlapping syntax, which means the symbols are stacked on top of one another to combine individual symbols into a more interesting result. The intent of this spell, " I tap on my pin, and then speak directly into it, my voice bouncing through the lecture chamber, "is to make sounds louder."
A hand raises.
I point with the bone out of habit. "Yes, Jerem, was it?"
"Yeah. Is that uhh, right?"
I smile, knowingly. "What do you mean?"
"Well, there's a Naudhiz rune in the pattern. Isn't that from the old Norse assembly stuff? Why are you using it in Runic?"
"Remember what we know about high level languages? Sometimes, it's necessary for a spell to be syntactically inconsistent. Would you all like to see what happens if you *don't* include a Naudhiz rune in this particular Runic spell?"
There's some nodding and murmuring around the class.
"Alright then."
I turn and walk to the table behind me, against the stone wall, and start rummaging through my bag.
I pull out another obsidian pin, this one is wrapped in string, the overlapping thread weaving a null-field pattern around the stone, which in turn vibrates softly in my hand.
"Did everyone sign their waivers?"
I chuckle at my own joke. The filtering wards around the room would have already expelled anyone who hadn't bound themselves to the Academy's secrecy pact.
The murmuring grows more nervous.
I place the thrumming shard of obsidian on a pane of glass. The frosted etchings on the glass light up, projecting a rotating, three dimensional image of the stone into the air.
Reaching into my jacket again, I exchange bone for steel, storing my pen and pulling out a simple knife.
The murmurs quiet down, all eyes are fixed on the floating stone.
"You'll see that on this spell," I point with the knife, it appears in the projection, "There is no Naudhiz rune. So, what do you think will happen when I break this sealing string?"
No one moves. No one speaks.
"Jerem?" I point at the young man. His eyes go wide.
"Uhhh," he stammers a bit, "no idea."
I nod.
"Well, only one way to find out!"
I slash through the string.
Several things happen next.
First, the air in the room grows dark, cold, thick.
Color itself bends in a way that is felt more than seen.
Space follows suit, pulling and pulling towards the stone, warping and whipping about itself.
Sparks of blue lightning erupt from the stone. Small and crackling bolts of arcane energy growing larger and larger as the fabric of the universe twists itself around the obsidian stone.
The projector glass cracks and the projection flickers out of existence. The sound of shattering glass echoes infinitely through the room.
The air itself shatters and cracks.
Students claw desperately at their ears. At their eyes.
The stone levitates and begins to spin. Blue lightning growing larger, more violent. Plasma lashing out into the stadium seating, sending students ducking for cover.
I stomp on the ground twice and time immediately slows. The sounds of whirring gears permeates the chamber, drowning out the crackle of lightning as the world crawls to a stop.
White light explodes from the ceiling, from the walls, from the floor, revealing for the briefest moment a complex pattern of magick. Old stuff, legacy magick, far beyond the understanding of anyone present.
In a flash, reality resets.
I put away the simple dagger and grab the still-wrapped stone from the uncracked projector sheet. After slipping it back into my bag, I turn back to the class.
Eyes huge, jaws to the floor, skin drained of color.
Just like every year.
"So!"
I clap my hands again. Half the class jumps at the sound.
"Any questions?"
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
[Part 2] (https://reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/xihgzo/wp_casting_a_spell_is_like_coding_a_program_but/ip6ch7u)
|
After four consecutive days of work, Murphy succumbed to rote trial and error, manipulating the words in a predictable algorithm that should try all patterns within another three weeks or so with minimal breaks.
The students came at dawn daily and left at dusk, paying good money to get their education in the magical arts, until Bosco fucked it all up.
Bosco tried to cast a disentangling spell at Angela's robe. He missed from four yards away, instead hitting the ancient scroll on Wizard Murphy's desk, one he was borrowing from a colleague to study an old form of marlomancy.
The letters of the words developed an instant attraction for each other, engaging in a raucous orgy before combining into new families forevermore.
Murphy took great pride in his memory, and relied on that for the first four days. Defeat was admitted, however, and he began the magical algorithm to solve the puzzle.
The students stared in utter boredom, all punished for Bosco's perverted actions.
And when it all ended eighteen days later, Murphy screamed in pride, beating his chest like his ape ancestors. He turned to glare at his students, particularly Bosco; he had done it. He had fixed the goddamn scroll!
He spent the rest of the day explaining why a particular for loop was required for the magical chant to work, though he had checked over the program millions of times, and had never seen where the for loop was being utilized.
| 2022-09-19T10:48:40 | 2022-09-19T10:40:50 | 938 | 62 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered.
|
All I want to do is die.
You see, I know all about death, as I have killed myself in every way you can possibly imagine over the last 3,490 years. You heard me correctly...nearly 35 centuries have passed since Every time I do it, every cell of my body reassembles and I wake up...again.
I’m a bit of an oddball. You see, I was 28 years old when I was recruited by the Northern California Chronorium Distribution team. I know what you’re thinking. Yes, I broke the law; I let everyone down. I’ve suffered the consequences more times than I can count.
You can help me to make everything right. But first, let me explain what I did all of those centuries ago and why you are reading this now.
One day, my mother, Mary, was driving to work and she witnessed the aftermath of a horrible accident. Two cars had collided at high speed. One car had stopped burning, and the other was resting on its roof on the side of the embankment. The forest in this park of Oregon was thick, and both vehicles were hard to see from the road. Mom was an RN at the local hospital on her way in for the night shift.
She got out of the car and ran to the first car as fast as she could. The driver of that car was an elderly man who had massive lacerations and had likely died on impact. It was beginning to get dark, so she could barely make out the passenger: a young doe that had probably caused the accident.
My mother then heard something that would literally change the course of history: a small child crying out in the night.
Mary investigated the other car and immediately recognized the passengers as Marty and Marlene Zerkin. The Zerkins were career criminals that used to live next door. Marty had been arrested on suspicion of murder and had spent 5 years in prison for armed robbery. Marlene had also done time for elder abuse. After a young girl disappeared in town, so did the Zerkins, whom had met their fate this evening. Mary new immediately that the voice she heard was likely their son, Marty Jr....me.
I was two years old at the time. I don’t remember any of this, only what mom told me when I was 16: she had decide to raise me alone. She had an opportunity to divert the death report of a young man two years later while working an ER shift. She changed her name to match my new identity and moved to Phoenix.
Not only did I learn about all of this on my 16th birthday, I also learned that I was 18, not 16. I had always been a scrawny little guy. Marlene had nearly starved me to death and my growth had stunted. So much of it made sense: why I had always felt so different and why other kids seemed immature and stupid at times.
To her credit, mom was ready to come clean. She would have admitted her fraud knowing that her little boy had grown into a young man. She gave me the option to tell the truth. I chose to get my GED, drop out of high school and eventually go to med school. I protected mom and perpetuated the lie.
So when it came time to give patents the serum, I was offered a chance to be injected by a colleague. A good friend of mine worked at the FDA, and she told me that the age restriction data was fabricated, and that it was all an elaborate scheme to give the government time to figure out how to control the population. As you may have guessed, she lied.
Not only does the drug have unusual side effects for those over 26 at time of injection, it had a very unique effect on me. A rare genetic mutation combined with the drug to create an immune system and chronetic anomaly that made me immortal at 28. The LessThans died of “natural causes” at the ripe old age of 230. Some did make it to 250, and today colonists at Alpha Centauri live to 240 or more, on average.
I, on the other hand, have the curse of immortality. I was a fool. I have met four others like me. We all stay far away from each other because of the myths that follow ya from century to century.
I currently live on Io, one of Jupiters’ moons, in the year 5508. I am part of a research team that has made a breakthrough in time travel. I have been secretly working in this area for over 500 years, changing my appearance through black market nanosurgery. Anyway, my goal is simple: to alter my timeline so that I was never born.
I’ve tried going back in time to murder Marlene and Marty before I was conceived. I’ve even got back and murdered their ancestors. Nothing works. Oh, I’ve changed your history. You would be amazed how much. It hasn’t always been for the better but I’ve tried, I really have. But playing God is wrong. I’ve gone mad more times than I remember.
This is where you come in, dear reader. You see, I can alter the timeline of everyone but myself. It’s a discovery I will make nearly 32 centuries into your future. You have the power to stop my misery and keep your own timeline the same. In exchange I will provide you with a time travel device and the latest life extension technology available in my time. You must be 26 or under, that much has not changed.
You are reading this right now because I have made a device that allows me to connect to one of your ancient computing devices in a remote part of Earth known as Greenland...Ironically not very green? Anyway, converting my speech to your ancient language has been a chore...so crude! I digress.
The Remote Temporal Transmission device allows me to communicate with you. I am under immense scrutiny by the Martian Science Authority. I have to delay my communications with 2018 Earth by exactly one year. Next June 25th, Marty and Marlene will meet at a bar in downtown Portland, Oregon. All you have to do is prevent this. You have one year to prepare. On June 5th, 2019 I will send a second transmission with the exact time and location of their meeting.
I’m counting on you. Please help me find peace.
|
Magic does not give its boon without a sacrifice. The greater the request, the greater the price.
Not that we realized it was magic at first. We all know how indistinguishable it is from sufficiently advanced science, especially when you don't believe in magic. Especially when men in lab coats tell you it's the fruit of all the scientific research your tax dollars have paid for. Especially when you know exactly how the damn stuff works.
How it works. Not what it does.
We all know about the synthetic telomeres, the cellular reconstruction, the genetic changes. We know how it slows the process of aging down until you're basically immortal. How children born into a world of agelessness would never physically leave their twenties. And we, who were just too old to stop forever, never quite bothered to count the cost.
My early twenties were some of the dumbest years of my life. And the ageless people who now control the world will never leave theirs.
Magic always demands a price.
| 2018-06-04T23:59:27 | 2018-06-04T23:51:46 | 79 | 11 |
[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying.
|
Great Uncle Bolesław is a strange fellow. I have never met him, but my dad Stan told me a little about him. He still lives in the old country, to protect the family farm after the war, while the rest of the family fled west. Though which war, my dad never said. He is an amiable sort, and sends gifts to his family across the sea. They always arrive on the exact date we are born, on our birthdays. And he even sends gifts to those of us he has never met before. Usually there is a badly written note encouraging us to be our best, and have happy lives.
The gifts are uncanny, because they always turn out to be crucial. He sent me a kalaidoscope last year, which I used to distract a lightly wounded child, while me and my friends carried away his grievously wounded parents from a terrible car crash to give them first aid. The kid didn't panic, and the parents pulled through. He once sent my brother a beautiful handmade journal, wherein he wrote his thoughts, stories, and poems. He lost it, but it was returned by a literary agent, who wanted to help my brother get his amazing work published. A cousin of mine received an old fashioned camera, which led her to join a photography club, where she met her future wife. Always, the gifts have an uncanny knack of being used during the year.
So when I receive the package this year, I eagerly unwrap it. It is long and heavy. While I am not celebrating my birthday this year, due to being too far away from family due to work, it is still nice to see that Great Uncle Bolesław's gift got through. Inside of the package, to my shock and horror, is a Model 91/98/23 carbine, an interwar modified Polish variant of the Mosin Nagant. Attached to it is a note. It reads: *You find enemy. You kill enemy. You will not slay men. Only beasts. Horrors of old country coming for you.*
Whatever that meant, I didn't know. How he got a fully loaded rifle across the border, I don't know, same with how he got the ammo with it. But there it was, a rifle made in the twenties, which looked nearly new. Then I heard a heavy knocking upon my front door. The knocking intensified until I heard a crack, as the door was torn asunder. Fearfully, I raised up my rifle towards the oncoming crashing of enormous feet upon my floor. Coming through into my kitchen, I see a vodnik, a terrible water demon. Covered in muck, with webbed hands, and his eyes burn like smouldering coals.
Desperately, I point the rifle at the deformed shape of that monstrous entity, and fire. Straight between the eyes. As he goes down I see the great hairy shape of a wolf on two legs. Werewolf. I don't hesitate, I simply fire once more. Behind him comes many more terrible things, Licho, the one eyed hag dressed in black, a being of misfortune and evil. Behind there are more vodniks, kikimora, and what can clearly be seen as vampires, with their pale faces, dead eyes, and rotten flesh.
Licho was always said to be the enemy of our family. I thought it was just old tales that our grandparents told us to scare us, but that hag I can recognise anywhere. She, no. It is the embodiment of evil, of all that is wrong with the world. Using the butt of the rifle, I smash open a window and jump out of my first floor flat, landing on a dumpster. Rifle in hand, ammo too, I run towards my car, thankfully I had my keys in my pocket. As I start the car, I see the monsters bursting out of my front door, to the general horrified response of the people going about on their business on the street.
As I drive away, I hear the screams of the monstrous forces attacking the general population. Cursing under my breath, I turn the car around and pummel into a werewolf chasing down a small group of terrified tourists. I get out, ready my rifle, and fire at the monsters, providing cover fire for the people on the streets as the police arrive. Who are then promptly slaughtered by the nightmarish forces of the evil Licho. As the monsters turn their attention back to me, I get back in my car, and get driving again.
Past me as I drive, I see SWAT vehicles pull up, and start a full on battle between modern forces and the supernatural. Of course, as the poorly trained police forces are quickly slaughtered, I try to get to somewhere with a vantage point, as the rifle has an attached old-fashioned scope to it. If I kill the Licho, or at the very least severely damage it, perhaps this army of the damned will disperse. Exactly how Great Uncle Bolesław managed to predict this would happen, I don't get. But it was nice to be armed when this happened.
A large church, with a high belltower provides me with protection, as stepping on holy ground always, theoretically, weakens the forces of evil. I get into the church, which is packed to the brim with people praying. I ascend to the top of the belltower, where I see helicopters firing upon the forces of evil, to little effect. Ahead of an army of the damned, casting aside soldiers and throwing police cars at tanks, walks the vile Licho towards where I am.
The national guard arrives as she comes to the church, the holiness of it acts as a barrier against her, as I fire upon her and her nightmarish followers. The national guard manage to distract and kill several demonic and horrible entities, but the pure evil spirit cracks a hole into the barrier of holiness, letting her walk upon consecrated ground. I fire again and again upon her, but I am running low on ammo as she approaches. At the end of the rifle there is a bayonet attached. And as I fire my last bullet, rather than let her slaughter the praying congregation, I jump from the top of the tower, and while screaming, I plunge down, bayonet on the rifle first, straight into the one eye of the terrible hag.
As the bayonet pierces the skin, she lets out a guttural scream. Around me, the legion of evil monstrous entities from the old country weaken, and the national guard stop getting slaughtered, and instead fights back efficiently. Out from the church comes the priest, and he is carrying a chalice, filled to the brim with holy water. As the Licho screams and twists, and turns, trying to dislodge the rifle from her eye, the priest throws the water over her, and me. Causing the Licho to start to dissolve. I ask the priest what was in that water, the priest answers that the chalice was consecrated with chrism by Pope John Paul II himself. As the evil entity ceases moving, I get up from the floor, drenched in holy water and the black blood of the evil hag.
If this came to the new world to hunt our family, there might be more of them coming. I resolve in that moment, to travel back home, and seek out Great Uncle Bolesław, to aid him in fighting these monsters, so that they may never threaten me or my family again.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
|
My uncle throughout all my life has always given me things that have unexpectedly been needed. Extinguishers, pepper-spray, and tools have been some of the items given to me, the items are always the exact thing I need when things go oh so desperately wrong.
This year my uncle has given me the most peculiar gift, a wooden puzzle box. The box itself was not the peculiar thing, it was what was inside. A simple silver ring with markings of an unknown language engraved on the inside.
I kept the ring with me at all times, my uncle always gave me gifts that would help me in my times in need. What would be different this time.
I think that I am finally figuring out what I will be needing the ring for, someone has been following me recently. It started with a figure in the corner of my eye, when I would look there would be no one. Maybe they want the ring from me? Maybe my uncle gave me something that he was not supposed to?
The person following me has been recently getting more bold, getting closer, moving my things. Lately, when I am asleep at night I would awake in cold sweats, the feeling of someone breathing would tickle the hairs on the back of my neck. I do not know how this mysterious stranger has been getting inside my house, I keep all of my windows and doors locked.
In the morning I would search my house for anything misplaced, anything stolen. But nothing was ever taken.
I don't know who this person is, but they scare me. I have been unable to sleep at night. The person has been touching my back in the middle of the night, I could feel their weight on my bed as they sat next to me. They would hum an indistinct tone as they caressed my body.
I clutch the ring tightly to my chest at these moments, praying that my uncle was right in his choice of gift.
I don't know what to do, the person is not stopping, not leaving.
I am going to confront them later tonight, in hopes that maybe I can finally make them stop.
| 2020-06-23T19:47:33 | 2020-06-23T19:45:47 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] "I do not know, Star-Gazer, how the humans succeeded. I only know that while we fled to the refugee worlds that they prepared for us, they gathered to pray to their gods of war and sung their battle hymns as they set forth to meet the enemy. Their sacrifice is why we still exist today."
|
All historical discoveries had to be shown to the Mothers and carefully recorded. That was one of the sacred laws of Nuitia.
Iktir climbed the steep stone steps, minding his footing on the polished tiles. The heavy inlaid box made it hard to balance. He had spoken to the Mothers only once before, when they had declared him Star-Gazer.
Only one of the simple wooden thrones was occupied, and she seemed to be asleep. Iktir sighed and wondered if he should come back another day, when more of them were present, but the figure suddenly jolted upright.
“High Mother,” Iktir said hastily, and bowed as low as he could. “I am-”
“I know who you are, Star-Gazer,” she said. “I am Mother Aeulara. What have you got there?”
“We unearthed these today,” Iktir said. He opened the ornate box carefully, so as to avoid flinging dust into their faces. “Bones, somewhat like ours, but different. Clad in armor and buried with a projectile weapon.”
“Let me see,” the High Mother said, businesslike. “Perhaps it is just an antique Nuitian gravesite from my childhood-”
She stopped and her eyes went wide.
“High Mother?” he asked uncertainly.
“These are human,” she whispered. “By the mothers… where did you get this?”
“The base of the Star Tower collapsed. When I investigated, I found a pit with hundreds of these boxes inside,” Iktir told her. “There are far more waiting to be catalogued.”
Mother Aeulara ran her many-fingered hands over the box, slowly and reverently, without a word.
“Human bones?” Iktir wondered. He knew many stories about humans, and he knew they had fought a great war in service of the Nuitians, but he had never thought to find any trace of their presence. “When were humans ever on this world?”
“Long before I met Miratha, my bond…” Aeulara let out a heavy sigh. “I loved another. A human woman.”
Iktir looked up in surprise. “You knew humans? But the war was thousands of years ago!”
“I never knew them well, and I do not know them now.” The elderly Nuitian turned away from him and ran her branching fingers across her withered face. “And I have never known another who compares to her.”
Iktir was silent. The High Mother was too lost in her memories.
“She was my world, for a long time.” Mother Aeulara reached up and pressed a strange pattern of tiles on the ornately detailed wall. One of them turned to reveal a small silver door handle. “Her name was Claire. Such a simple name for such a beautiful soul.”
She pulled the handle and something clicked deep within the wall. The panel swung outward to reveal an exquisitely lifelike painting- a much younger Aeulara embracing a small thin figure with only four limbs and a few fingers. Iktir cautiously took a step forward to study it closer. The human woman was strikingly pale, with long red hair braided in the Nuitian style. The expression on her face was tender and happy, but she wore heavy battle-scarred armor. With a chill, Iktir realized it was a variant of the armor he had found in the ornate box.
“It is a crime that I remember so little about her,” she murmured. “I have only this… and the memory of the last time we spoke.”
“Was she a soldier?” Iktir asked.
“A soldier and a diplomat,” Aeulara said. “She came to tell me that the humans would make a stand against the Haditi. She said humans had ways of making war that Nuitians could not fathom, and they would spare nothing in ensuring we were safe. I wonder if humanity had its own quarrel with Hadit, or if they simply cared so much for us…”
The High Mother trailed off, staring into space.
“I know humans used to worship great gods of war and death,” she added after a still moment. “Claire told me very little about their powers. She did not want to frighten me away, I think.”
“But they won the war,” Iktir said. “We wouldn’t exist if they hadn’t won.”
“Oh, they won,” the High Mother said sadly. “It was so strange. From the moment Claire told me that humanity was going to fight, I knew they would win. Isn’t that odd? Something was not right about her when she said that. She sounded so fierce and dreadful.”
Iktir stared at the painting, wondering if the small willowy figure with her brilliant red hair could commit atrocities terrible enough to make a warring empire crumble into ash and ghosts.
“I never saw her again,” Aeulara whispered. “I had that painting made when she took me to the new world- to here. I tried to make her promise that she would come back to me, but she refused. ‘Don’t wait for me, Lara,’ she said, ‘Don’t let your heart break over me.’”
“And you did as she asked,” Iktir said gently.
“I did,” the High Mother sighed. “Miratha made me smile at a time when nothing else could. So we joined hands the next year. Waiting for love is for fools and immortals.” She smiled wanly. “Claire said that to me.”
“Why have I never heard this?” Iktir asked cautiously. “We never knew humans had been buried here. Of course we all knew the stories of the war, but not of them ever setting foot here.”
“But we did know!” Aeulara gripped the armrests of her throne so tightly that the wood strained and creaked. “It stains every last one of us, boy! The shame of our race! Our empire… built on their bones! Her bones!” She let out a sudden broken sob. Iktir hurried to her side and clasped one of the shriveled, shaking hands. “And we offered them nothing! Gave them nothing! We hid and burrowed like baby *wretakh* while they fought and died… for us…”
She began to weep, heaving shattered breaths that tugged at Iktir’s heart. He knelt quietly at her side, holding her hand in both of his own, wondering where the High Mother’s grief and heartbreak had lain hidden all these years.
“Where would the humans go after the war?” Iktir asked when she seemed to calm down. “Surely they wouldn’t let themselves become extinct.”
“No, no,” the High Mother said quickly. Her voice was hoarse from crying. “They have gone home. Back to their strange terrible planet, covered in poison gases. It is beyond our reach. Beyond our sight.”
“I was chosen to be the Star-Gazer,” Iktir said hesitantly. “If I found the home planet of the humans-”
“You cannot,” she said. “Many before you have tried. All have failed. Better to spend your nights seeking something beyond our little corner of the firmament.”
Iktir fell silent once again, sensing something else lay beneath Mother Aeulara’s reluctance. Being the Star-Gazer had unlocked other ways of seeing within him. Hours spent deciphering the blue and yellow history splayed across the night sky made other Nuitians wary of his gaze. Her reticence was no different than that of his parents. Besides, Iktir was no stranger to the ways of love and love lost.
“High Mother… your secrets have forever been safe with the Star-Gazer,” Iktir began carefully. “I know heartache as well as any other.”
The High Mother jumped to her feet, flinging his hand away from hers in a fury.
“You know nothing! How can I face any of them, knowing we have forgotten their sacrifice? How can any of us bear the shame-”
She slipped off of the throne, falling to the hard tile floor. Iktir gripped her arm before she could collapse completely. “Mother!”
“Listen close, Star-Gazer,” Aeulara whispered. “Should you find the humans, wherever they are…”
Her voice dropped so low that Iktir barely caught the last few syllables.
“See to it that our debt is paid.”
&#x200B;
Edit: A gold AND a Part 2? O.O thank you! Part 2 and 3 coming soon.
|
The first to fall was Moscow. Several followed, and before we knew it, most of the modern earth was gone. We had expected as much, and had moved underground before the first impact. Still, the grainy news footage brought tears to many eyes, seeing our home systematically annihilated. Lying in wait beneath the rubble of our home, every able bodied human’s blood was boiling with the memories of our beautiful earth, irreplaceable, unforgettable. We were itching for revenge, however futile. The shaking stopped. Tense minutes passed In what seemed an eternity. The US marines were the first to surface. They sent one message to the Yolians: “You just fucked up”
As soon as it was sent they attacked. Ships rose from the ground, previously hidden in bunkers. People rose from the rubble and grabbed any weapon able to hit the descending ships. The initial volley of weapon fire should have been enough to scare the Yolians away, but they had never had problems subduing rebels, why should this be different? Over the weeks to come, the humans would adopt a rallying cry taken from the US presidents final speech before the Yolian invasion: “You May reduce our home to ash, BUT WE WILL NOT BURN”. They fought valiantly, driving the unwelcome outsiders back to their home planet. The final battle was the stuff of legends. In the end, it came down to the pure determination by humans to prove that no one defiles their homeland and escapes. It was a decisive victory for the Yolians when the human ship USSF Grettia did something the Yolians didn’t expect. They started singing. It was an old ship, one of the first space worthy vessels of its kind.
“It’s time to strap our boots on, this is the perfect day to -“
The Yolians promptly destroyed it. More humans caught on, though. More and more until every last human ship was bursting with a song that had kept them fighting through the bloody war.
“Wipe the blood out of our eyes.
In this life there’s no surrender
There’s nothing left for us to do,
Find the strength to see this through...
We are the ones who will never be broken.
With our final breath
We’ll fight to the death
We are soldiers “
The humans’ return from a seemingly already lost battle was enough to finally signal to the Yolians how much hatred ran through the blood of humans. The rest of the galactic empire watched in awe as less than a hundred humans on fifty ships took on and won against a thousand Yolian ships. The terrors of the galaxy were... gone. Every last one. Celebrations exploded out from every corner of the galaxy. From the humans, though, was only silence. The toll on human lives was great. All but 54 had perished in the 4 year conflict. Billions. But they had shown to the spectators that however many were left standing, WE WILL NOT BURN!
| 2019-11-25T21:35:24 | 2019-11-25T21:07:59 | 726 | 54 |
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