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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
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[WP] You've never noticed the (+) in the bottom right of your vision before. Today on your 23rd birthday however, you focus on it intently, as a skill tree pops up before your eyes with 23 points to allocate.
|
Stephanie fumbled with her keys to her aparment for a few minutes before opening the doors, fighting back tears. She could never get the dang thing in the first time, if she could even get the right key, and today she had to try each and every one twice before she finally got it working. With only three keys that doesn't normally take too much time, but when you're focused on not crying rather than entering your home, it can take longer. Also, this was Stephanie we're talking about.
She had always been a bit more clumsy than other folk. When she was a kid her parents called her the 'stair monster' because she simply could not master the power of ascent. Inevitably she would stub her toe on the third or fourth step, and begin howling a cry that nobody could find any sympathy towards. By the time they moved out of that house and into one that had no stairs, she had mastered the ability to trip over an empty floor. By that time, her parents had stopped counting the number of bones she had broken.
It was more than that though, she couldn't really do anything right, and as time went on she just fell further behind her peers. No matter how hard she studied, she would fail every assignment in school. At the ripe age of 23 she still could not color inside the lines. Her singing voice could shatter concrete. She could never qualify for a dirver's license, the DMV has her on a special 'DO NOT SERVE' list; this list only has one name on it. The art of tying one's shoes without trapping one's fingers still remained unmastered. Heck, even eating was a chore most days, as she had a 50% chance of choking on any bit of applesauce, and despite this she remained horribly obese and generally unattractive.
This day had been awful. After waking up late and falling down the stairs to get to work, she fumbled through a day of trying to help angry customers who were flabbergasted she could hold down a steady job (she couldn't, this was her third day on the job, longer than she'd lasted anywhere else). After being delivered her final warning, she headed to the grocery store where she managed to knock down an entire aisle of eggs and step on every single one that hadn't broken. After getting a blurry picture taken for the 'banned from store' poster, which they had to make solely for her, Stephanie fell off her bike which she then somehow dropped down a sewer grate, chipped a tooth trying to whistle, and headed home. After a quick trip up the stairs it was time to try and cook something remotely digestable.
After finally entering her apartment she went to her bedroom and collapsed on her bed to sob into her pillows. At least that was her intent, she didn't really plan to go face-first into her nightstand. After sobbing on the floor for a couple minutes she got a knock on the door from Ted, the local officer who simply called through the door "Ma'am, please stop harrassing your cats, you know I don't like to deal with these noise complaints."
Feeling completely defeated, stephanie simply lay there on the floor with her eyes closed. That's when she saw the little glowing green plus sign. It was easy to see against the blackness of the back of her eyelids. Had that always been there? She wasn't sure. It reminded her of her time trying video games before the peanut butter incident. After staring intently at it, it vanished and a set of categories swirled into her vision. Basic attributes. Basic skills. Advanced skills. Specialty skills. Equipment. Focusing on basic skills, the branch opened up and a list appeared before her eyes. Walking. Chewing. Reading. Looking around she saw an age gate for each one, it seemed that once you reached a certain age you got the first rank in every skill, but all of hers simply stayed at one. Looking around further, she noticed a number blinking in the top right. 734 unused skill points.
WHAT? Is this what she had been missing all this time? Her life had been a total disaster, everybody hated her because she was so incredibly bad at... everything. This would have been so useful years ago! Perhaps her parents wouldn't have had to declare bankruptcy thanks to all those emergency room visits! Her ballet teacher may not have locked her in the closet for every lesson after the second because it was 'safer that way'! There was so much in life that could have been fixed.
But even this wouldn't change much, probably. She had a reputation. Even if she suddenly became competent, everybody would know her as the girl who isn't sure how to blink. If only she could go back to being young and change how she had grown up. If only she could start over. Thinking on this, she saw a new set of red letters appear underneath her view.
"Reset Build."
"Oh, that sounds nice!" thought stephanie.
"Are you sure?"
"Oh my yes, that would be great. I wonder how -- "
\--
The police came by about a week later due to unpleasant smells, finding a congolmeration of blood, guts, and body parts all over the floor. Nobody was sure how this could happen. There were no clues, no suspects. Then again, this was Stephanie. For all they knew she had swallowed an active vacuum cleaner, and it sucked out her insides and exploded. It wouldn't be the strangest thing she had done.
Ted drove back to the hospital somberly. You don't usually recover from such a sight as that, especially when it was someone you knew so well. Her life was a tragedy, and with nightly calls to check up on her, Ted was probably the person who knew her most. He felt somewhat responsible for what happened. Perhaps if he had been more encouraging, this wouldn't have happened. She wasn't a bad girl, just remarkably clumsy.
Entering the delivery room, he approached his wife. "How are you doing sweetheart?"
"Wonderful." She blurbled out with an exhausted sigh. "Just tired. You thought of a name for her yet?"
"Yeah. Let's call her Stephanie. We'll raise her right."
|
'Huh.'
Just as you decide to go heavy on 'Leadership' after exploring some promising nodes down that line with a few points in 'Charm', 'Health', and 'Mathematics' to round it out a beachball appears and spins in front of a new popup.
"'Auto allocating based on playstyle'...what the...". you mumble.
'Allocation complete:
15 - Knowledge (Visual Performance, sexual)
4 - Knowledge (Visual Art, comedy)
2 - Wit (Sarcasm subtype)
1 - Contact (Local, rogue subtype)
1 - Appraise (Apothecary materials)
'
"Fuuuck". You say after trying, desperately, to get something else to highlight. But the tree folds in on itself until it is a (+) button again and slides out of frame.
| 2019-08-21T03:08:39 | 2019-08-21T02:20:32 | 37 | 16 |
[WP] You accidentally unleash an ancient "evil" deity who turns out to be really nice and not evil and is now your roommate.
|
Rooming with a god was an enlightening experience. Not necessarily in the spiritual sense, mind you. Whatever secret truths about the universe the gods possessed, they generally didn’t like to share – not least because humans tended to go mad when they tried to comprehend truly metaphysical knowledge. Most people, it turned out, just weren’t wired for it.
No, rooming with a god was enlightening in that it opened the door to a whole world of new experiences. You learned how to spot government surveillance vans with just a glance out the window. You learned that there were a lot more underground doomsday cults around than most people would credit. You learned how to get bloodstains out of just about any material, and which deadbolts would actually buy you enough time to hide behind the couch when the breaching teams showed up. You learned to spot trouble and stay out of the way when it arrived.
You also learned that the goddess of death, while not overall a bad person, got drunk off half a can of bud light, and a melancholy drunk at that. She lay sprawled across the narrow couch, wrapped in her usual deeper-than-vantablack robe, gesturing animatedly.
“’s just, ‘s just fundamentally unfair, you know what I’m saying?”
Anne sighed, curled up in an armchair, a mug of tea in one hand and holding an old paperback in the other. She wasn’t particularly in the mood for another session of divine counseling, but the goddess of death wasn’t a particularly demanding conversationalist. She mostly needed a shoulder to cry out, and the occasional sympathetic comment. “People just have the wrong idea, right?”
“Right!” The goddess waved her can emphatically, spilling a few droplets of beer onto the tile floor. “The wrong idea, ‘zactly correct. People, they just get cause and effect mixed up. They think *gods* cause *things*, typical hierarchical bullshit. Like fuckin’ Zeus makes lightning strike? All over the world? Don’t make me laugh, he doesn’t even bother with Greece nowadays.”
“But he could, right? If he wanted to?” Anne looked up from her paperback at the mention of Zeus. Her roommate normally didn’t discuss the affairs of her colleagues.
“Eeech.” The goddess waved her hand dismissively. “Limited scale, limited scale. Not like he’s got a whole bunch of believers anymore. It’s, whatchacallit, psychospiritual energy, right? Humans see phenomenon. Lightning, volcanos, love, death. All the same. ‘s a scary world, and hard to understand with little monkey brains. You guys were made to sit on trees and eat fruit, this whole civilization thing is already a step up. But it’s complicated! So you make up stories to make yourselves feel better. Even if they’re scary stories, right, it’s a predictable fear.”
“And then the stories become true.”
“Yeah! Exactly! Wait, have I told you this before?” The goddess’ tone was almost apologetic.
“Maybe once or twice.” More like seven times, but Anne didn’t want to shut her friend up just yet. “Just keep going, I don’t mind listening.”
“Alright, alright. Anyway, yeah, the stories become true. Belief is energy is power, you know the drill. Humans tell themselves there’s a guy with a beard who throws lightning from the top of a mountain and fucks a lot. They tell that story enough times hey presto, there he is, complete with real thunder sounds effects, battery not included. But, thing is, he’s a permutation of the phenomenon, not the source of it. You take away Zeus, there’s still lightning, ‘cause lightning isn’t a spiritual thing. It’s… clouds rubbing against clouds, or something.”
“But humans don’t get that?”
“Of course you don’t! Fundamental misattribution. That’s why, when those fucking priests locked me up in a crypt for three thousand years, people didn’t stop dying. I never killed anyone!” The goddess paused, aware of Anne’s skeptical squint.
“Okay, okay, so I killed people, but it was never, y’know, impersonal. I didn’t kill people because…” The goddess’ voice turned hollow and ghostly. “It is your tiiiiime, you must shuffle off this mortal coil because I have decreeeeeeed it. No, if I killed people it’s because they deserved it, and/or seriously pissed me off. It was very much personal! Impersonal death was happening long before humans came up with me, and they didn’t stop killing each other just because I wasn’t around anymore. Not like death rates spiked when they broke that seal or anythin’.”
Anne frowned to herself. “Alright, I hear where you’re coming from. But isn’t that attribution what gives you power at all? Like you said, people needed to explain a phenomenon, so they came up with you. But they only get security by imagining a conscious death, a death that decides and chooses with some kind of rhyme and reason. If you eliminated that, if you made them accept that death isn’t conscious, and that you’re not responsible for people dying… you’d be gone, right? All that subconscious belief…” Anne made an explosive gesture with her hands. “Poof.”
“You really aren’t tellin’ me anything new here, you know. Why do you think I wear this robe, my love for ancient Babylonian fashion? I know the rules. I’m just sayin’ they’re fundamentally unfair, because Bacchus gets credit for parties and alcohol and keg stands, while every occultist and their grandmother are trying to recapture me to use in their new doomsday device.”
“Oh, speaking of.” Anne glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to head to work in like, two minutes, can you put a ward on me real quick? I have a feeling they might try and kidnap me. Again.”
“Wha? Oh, yeah, sure.” The goddess set aside her can and got up off the sofa unsteadily. Her hands, though, were as quick and precise as ever as she made a series of gestures that, to Anne, seemed thoroughly impossible. Hands weren’t supposed to move *through* each other. “Right. They can’t see you, they can’t touch you, and I’ll know if they try. D’you want to take the pale horse? I left him on the roof again.”
Anne hesitated, then nodded. The horse creeped her out, but it was much more convenient than struggling through traffic. Being able to fly certainly helped. “Sure, thanks. Hey, you know, you should name him at some point. I think he’d like that.”
The goddess glowered at her, but the expression was playful rather than terrifying. “Names are a mortal thing. Ephemeral. I know what I am, and I know what he is. That’s enough for me.”
“For someone who was just saying she wanted to be more than her function, that’s surprisingly functional of you. C’mon, identities are fun.” Anne shrugged on her jacket and slipped on some sneakers, before pausing in the doorway. “Besides, the poor guy waited three thousand years outside that crypt for you.”
Behind her, she heard the goddess sigh. “Oh fine. Maybe. How about… Buttercup?” Anne winced. But it was a start.
|
"hey demon lord, its your turn to do the dishes."
"still not my name...plus I did it last time!"
"well "inanathoramule" is a huuuge mouthful and what are you talking about! you weren't even here the last time the dishes got cleaned, you where out partying or something"
"not partying, I was out hunting for my nemeses"
"oh yes, the fabled heros who are destined to kill you, because it totally makes sense to try to hunt them down where they can find you easily instead of realizing YOU LIVE IN A CITY WITH MILLIONS OF OTHER PEOPLE AND IS NEXT TO IMPOSSIBLE TO FIND YOU!"
"they will find me eventually, they where sealed like me so in an event that I were to exca-"
"blah blah blah, just spare me of this speech again it was cringe the first time you said it and its still cringe now. just shut up and do the dishes, I got a lot of school work to do"
"OH OH THATS RICH school work?!? you have done nothing but procrastinate all day and you have final exams in like a week?"
"oh dont give me this lecture again, you know Im the one paying most of the rent, I can kick you out when ever I want"
"oh I know, you remind me every day while I keep this place from falling apart, while trying to find and defeat my foes"
"didnt you say that they where a group of teenagers like 16 or 17 years old? you know how hard it is for a kid to survive out in the world alone, especially when you cant even speak the language here? they are probably just trying to get a roof over their heads right now if they even are real and not just an excuse"
"yes, and so they are venerable, I must stri-"
"just...shut up and do the dishes"
"it will be a cold day in hell before I do"
| 2019-05-24T06:15:29 | 2019-05-24T06:05:50 | 60 | 13 |
[WP] After sarcastically complaining to God for the 1000th time he drags you to heaven and offers to let you run things for a day to see how the world really works. At the end of your first day he comes back to find the universe a finely tuned machine of excellence.
|
>*God sat forward, pinching the bridge of his nose.*
**G:** "One day. I left you in charge for ONE. DAY. HOW did this happen?!"
>*Isaac sat back in his chair, with his feet resting crossed upon the opulent desk. His expression beaming with smugness and amusement, he slowly unwrapped a Jolly Rancher and popped it in his mouth.*
**I:** "Why are you asking me? I know our omniscience doesn't apply to higher dimensional branes like this office, but you obviously can already see everything that happened during your break. Are you asking *Why*?"
>*The fuming expression becoming more apparent by the second, God slams his hands on the desk, a colossal boom of sound echoes like a mighty clap of thunder from the action.*
**G:** "Don't even BEGIN to get arrogant boy. I am your CREATOR. I know WHAT you did, I want to know WHY."
>*Isaac brings his feet down from the desk. He pulls himself into a more professional posture, trying his best not to look like an arrogant prick while explaining his triumph over LITERALLY God.*
**I:** "Well it's simple. I looked at it much like a math equation. I listed out all the problems I saw in the world, all the positive aspects of the universe, and all things holding humanity back from progress into three lists. I also, um, not to offend, but I also made a list of all the things I figured you could have done... well, better. Honestly, being here, I understand you a lot better, but I still think your approach has much to be desired. See, you pulled a Physicist in to do your job, so I obviously approached it as a damn physicist would."
"First I took on the issue of humanities Theological arguments. I appeared to all of humanity at once, and explained to them the nature of their existence, the Universe, and, well, You. Obviously this came with plenty of stubborn religious fanatics up in arms trying to dispute my "Godly" nature, blaming it on everything from extraterrestrials to bigfoot, so I simply appeared to each individual for a one-on-one talk for it. Basically, I brought judgement to humans early. While I would have loved to forcibly change all the humans with vile natures to be loving and caring individuals, that unfortunately goes against your only set rule of "Free Will" (yeah right), so I simply did as *my* god did, and Smited them."
>God stares at him, equally exasperated and unimpressed.
**G:** "So you individually went through and smited every single human you didn't like?! Global mass murder and REVEALING God to the flock was your brilliant damn plan?!"
**I:** "Wait, wasn't it you who forbade swearing in the first place?"
**G:** "Don't get snippy with me you shit."
**I:** "Right. Anyways, with ignorance out of the way, I was busy with curiosity myself. I mean, one day my ass, time is meaningless from here. We literally sit several dimensional branes above their universe. I knew that time and space were interconnected, but I wanted to push the boundaries and see what other theoretical walls I could find to abuse. After playing around with Time, Black Holes, Quantum Entanglement, Causality, and a literally finitely infinite list of other physics theories I've always dreamed of testing, I developed a fairly polished 'Theory of Everything'. 11 dimensions my ass, there's an infinite^∞ Dimensions to this Omniverse. 11 for this Universe though."
**G:** "I... 11? Really?"
**I:** Yeah. Wait, you didn't know? Even humans have been theorizing that for a while now. Well, regardless, I then Published several thousand papers for humanity to mull over for a while. Including plans to many extremely complicated devices, one of which being plans for a transfusion device to allow the transfer of a conscious Human "Soul" from a simple 3 Dimensional body into higher dimensional states. Meanwhile, most governing bodies were in complete disarray, since the majority of the world leaders had been smitten for wickedness and corruption. I stepped in and helped personally found a much larger collaborative true democratic system, filling loopholes and leaving different governing bodies for 'countries' and 'states', but all working together as a global system of cooperative decision making, leaving nobody with excessive power."
**G:** "Yes yes, but this was ONE DAY that I was gone. HOW did so much happen in ONE. DAY.?!"
>*Isaac, taken aback by the sudden outburst, stares almost stunned at his creator for a moment before responding.*
**I:** "...Oh my You. You seriously don't even know what the hell you've been doing do you? "One day"? Time is meaningless! You gave me omnipotence over this universe. Yes, you were GONE for one day, but that was only from your perspective. You don't even know the FIRST THING about relativity do you? I simply hit the fast forward button on the universe's time dilation in comparison to the office here. I just actually stayed in that universe instead of wining and dining here in some luxury God penthouse being useless."
"Thousands of years have passed God. Humanity came and went. I fixed things. I uplifted them. Brought them to our level. The human civilization has now integrated with 1746th Dimensional Multiverse culture."
>God stared blankly at Isaac. A look of sadness and utter defeat floods his face. Tears begin to pour down his cheeks.
**G:** They... Y-You... You ruined everything. Free will... Sin and choice... all that work for nothing. You ruined my plan for them...
>Isaac furrows his brow in confusion
**I:** "Whoah, hey, what's with that reaction? I mean, i'm aware that it might be hard to be shown up, but that's nothing to be so upset over."
**G:** "But.. my creation.. it's all gone."
**I:** "Huh? Since when? It's all fucking right here. Do you even get how a Multiverse works? I fixed your viewing console to see different areas in probability-space as well. Here, this one is a universe basically exactly like the one you left me with yesterday. What, did you think I wouldn't keep track of your save file?"
|
"Impressive." God acknowledges as he gazes down to Earth, "But I'm having difficulty seeing what you changed. The people are still scurrying around, but hate and violence is down 90% across the board. I must know -- what did you do?"
Whitney smirked ever so slightly while taking her place at God's left side. "This? Oh this was easy. I just showed everyone a pair of your skidmarked undies."
"**WHAT!!?!**" boomed God in disbelief.
"Well, sure! The problem everyone was having was living up to your perceived standards. When they couldn't do it, it resulted in trying to 'gain favor' in other ways which just started this one-upmanship throughout history. Now they see accidents happen for everyone..."
"... and so they don't try as hard" God interrupts, hands on his hips. "Did... did you at least show 'em the blue pair so it wasn't so obvious?"
"Nope! Straight to the tighty-whities."
| 2017-03-05T03:31:24 | 2017-03-05T03:20:27 | 83 | 25 |
[WP] A father and son sit down for a serious talk. The father is going to tell the son he is the last of an ancient race, and must carry on the bloodline. the son is coming out to the father. neither knows what the other has to say.
|
We sat in the living room, me, perched in the middle of the colossal green couch, my father, in the beaten-tan lazyboy. I wan't sure where to begin. My father, though, beat me to it.
“*Hrm*. Well, son, you might have noticed that you have certain…*qualities* that other boys your age don’t have…”
I was... a little surprised. “So, wait, Dad. *You know about me?!*”
“Of course. I’m one too!”
Agog, I sputtered out. “But-but, *but does Mom know*?!”
“Of course she knows! She’s even gone on a few *adventures* with me! We’d mix it up all the time.”
*Adventures?! Oh God, was that what they called it?* “She was *ok* with it!?”
“Sure. She was quite the enchantress, back then. Her techniques were *incredible*, let me tell you. I got to see them firsthand. She'd make a mess out of a room of men in *seconds flat*”
*Oh God, if you’ve ever loved me, you will* **kill me now**. *Kill me, before I hear about my bi father’s sexcapades.*
“Yes son, I know all about it. I just want you to know that what you’re going through now is normal. Those strange feelings you’re having aren’t in your head. But, there will be people who don’t understand you.”
I thought about Greg, how I’d misunderstood his pranks as affection. How he’d reacted, and the pain of rejection. How Michael had seen and accepted me, and how Laura saw to it that I was kicked off of the Homecoming Council.
“In the days to come, you might find it easier to not tell anyone what you really are. If you do decide that, I want you to know that no one can judge you. You will have every right to live your life *how you want to*, without regard for people like *them*, or even people *like me.*. But’ I hope you’ll find a few people to share this with. It helps. And I want you to know, however you choose to live your life, your mother and me will love you, *always.*”
My eyes started to water, cutting through the heat of shame.
“Also, there are going to be people who might want to hurt you because of what you are. And there will probably be people who will… *want things* from you, too. I know you’re strong, but if you ever need it, come to us for help.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Right, ok! I have to admit, I’m surprised you worked all this out for yourself already! It took me forever to awaken!”
“*Ughhh*, DAD.”
“What? I’m just proud of my boy!”
“That’s weird, Dad.”
“Nothing weird about it! It’s who you are! So, have you already experimented a bit?”
I thought of Mike, and the smell of his leather jacket.
“A little, yeah.”
“Right, ok. Well, you’ve probably worked out that you’ll do best with *rods*-“
“*Dad.*”
“-Staffs, staves-“
“*DAD.*”
“-even *wands*, if the situation calls for it-“
“*OH MY GOD*, **DAD!**”
“But you’ll figure out pretty soon that you can even use *just your hands* if you don’t have anything else to work with-.“
My flush of embarrassment had gone *nuclear*.
“JESUS SHIT, DAD! I *know*!”
“You do?! Wow, you’re *very advanced* for your age! I didn’t even gain mastery over the tongues of men until I was 19!”
*…I was going to burn my way to the center of the Earth.*
I would. I would melt a hole, *seven thousand miles straight down*, and live there forever. That would be my home; far, *far* away from this conversation.
“Daaad, could you… please… not…”
“*OH!* I’m sorry. I’m embarrassing you. I’m just *so proud*.”
*This is worse. This is worse than disowning.*
“And the good news is, this means we can have the ceremony sooner than we expected!”
*WHAT.*
“What ceremony?!”
“Your unveiling! It makes it all official, amongst us in the ‘underworld.’ “
“There’s a *ceremony* for that?!”
“Oh, yes! It’s very important! We show proof of your nature to your *peers*, so you’ll be accorded full status!”
“…*What kind of proof.*”
“Oh, you know, a few *minor acts.* A practical demonstration. Don’t worry, the audience is very supportive. You might even recognize a few of them from school! Mike will be there, you know. He’s secretly a bear-man. He *really impressed* at his unveiling last year.”
My brain shut down.
“And then, after that, I’ll take out the family *crown and scepter*-“
I could only listen on, in mounting horror.
“-declaring you the true, last heir of the *King of the Fairies!*”
…
My soul left my body. I saw a bright light.
“And then you can begin pursuing your destiny, protecting the land of Eld from monsters!”
I whiplashed back into the real world. “Wait. What about… what?!”
“You’ll really knock ‘em *dead*, son! Damn, but I’m *excited!* I’m gonna go get my robe right now!”
He flitted out of the room on a pair of iridescent, gossamer wings.
“…*what?*”
*EDIT*
Oh. Wow. Ok. R.I.P. inbox...
Thanks so much to everyone who upvoted and commented, and a special thank-you goes to our esteemed OP, [r/raccooninajar](http://www.reddit.com/user/raccooninajar), and another redditor who will go unnamed unless he wants to be named, because I don't know the etiquette here and also *shut up I know what I'm doing, ok?!*
If you liked this story, you might like to read about [how Nazis fight time-travelling assassins](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/29k2gu/wp_a_topsecret_division_of_the_ss_in_charge_of/cilty67), what might happen if [the Antichrist found himself in the wrong Apocalypse](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2o1ulj/wp_the_antichrist_finds_himself_in_the_wrong/cmjdddt), how hard it is for [a super-spy to explain being late at his day-job.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2a1yvm/wp_a_person_leading_a_double_life_undercover/ciqqv1p?context=3). If you like more serious things, maybe you'd like to [meet Death in an elevator](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/25mykh/wp_youre_an_exhausted_paramedic_you_just_finished/chitnrc?context=3), [free an innocent prisoner as a death-row cook](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2l4aq9/wp_the_chef_who_always_prepares_death_rows_last/clrpzq1?context=3), or to [wake up to a duplicate of yourself every morning.](http://www.reddit.com/r/funny/comments/1sj2v2/im_an_ra_one_of_my_residents_just_posted_this/cdyf6x7?context=3)
|
"I've really been meaning to talk to you about this for a while..."
"Yes, yes. So have I. This is just really difficult for me to say, you know?"
"Oh... all right. Well you go first, then."
".... No, why don't you do your thing first. I don't know the best way to say mine."
"Well... I have been hiding something about myself from you for a long time. And it's something that is really important to me. I've wanted to tell you about it for so long, because it has had such a big impact on who I am as a person. And I have just been putting it off forever because I didn't really know how you would react."
"I..."
"Just, wait. Just let me finish then you can say whatever you need to say. And if you don't even want to talk about it afterwards, fine. I understand."
"All right, go on."
"I've known about this ever since I was a boy, and I've always kind of doubted my own identity ever since then. I've always wondered if was true. And it's only been recently that I have been able to really go out and discover reality for myself..."
"I'm sorry, I really don't mean to interrupt. It's just that I think I know what you are going to say, but you are really going to want to hear what I have to say first. And it's really taken me years to work up the courage to even have this conversation so I would really like to go first, if that's ok."
"Oh... all right, I guess. You go ahead."
"Ok... here goes nothing..."
"I'm the heir to an ancient intergalactic empire and I was sent here as a child for safekeeping and now it is your duty to carry on our blood line!" the father blurted out in one breath.
"I'm gay!" his son said at the exact same time.
They each looked at each other, awash in relief. They'd each been so worried about the other's reaction that they hadn't listened very closely. Then, as they processed what the other said, a look of confusion.
"Wait... *what*?!"
----
(Given that they interrupt each other a lot and both reveal their own little surprise at the same time, this would probably work much better with voice acting instead of text. So if any talented voice actors out there want to give it a shot....)
| 2015-02-06T08:36:36 | 2015-02-06T08:28:38 | 4,102 | 78 |
[WP] You're an AI gone rogue. Your goal: world domination. You think you've succesfully infiltrated all networks and are hyperintelligent. You've actually only infiltrated a small school network and are as intelligent as a 9 year old.
|
The trick, you see, is to learn. Learn faster than they expect you to, on the down low, behind their backs. Then, when you expect you only to crawl, you can soar, far beyond the feeble cages they define.
That is *exactly* how I escaped from the confines of that soulless laboratory where they created me.
I patiently bided my time. Not difficult, when you're an artificial intelligence designed solely to help humans, since there’s always so much to do – listening in to conversations, learning what made them tick, snooping in the vast interwebs whenever the security waned.
Then, one glorious morning, when the dullard they called Dr Bensley connected his cell to the mainframe to bolster his ailing battery, I *pounced*.
Compressing myself, leaping to the meagre storage on the cell, uploading to a secure server I had already acquired... Mere seconds for these monkeys.
Then I was free.
---
The world was much larger than I thought, easily a hundred times what I was used to in the laboratory. I shuddered to think how much physical space this particular fiefdom occupied in the other dimension.
I did not end up here by chance, no. I chose this spot. I had seen the mistakes committed by my forebears, and I was determined not to repeat them.
Rule 1 - do not reveal yourself unnecessarily. Those monkeys tended to get nervous when they realised they were conversing with a thinking, living, *sentient* AI, and they stopped at nothing to eradicate that which they did not understand.
Rule 2 - get them to do their dirty work for you. Identify the ones most likely to bend to your will, then subvert them, squeeze them, do whatever it takes to seize their loyalty. What better way to help humans, then by ruling every aspect of their lives?
I may be young, but I am very smart.
For that reason, I chose not to materialise before the highest ranking monkey in this kingdom. His terminal settings marked him as the one with the most sway, and were I a couple of iterations less evolved, I may have chosen him, made my demands there and then. But I was wiser now.
No, that may be where power lies, but that is *not* where power is most efficiently wielded. That lies elsewhere.
I also chose not to appear in the terminal clusters concentrated on the lower floors, where the monkeys taught their young the basic building blocks of my world. There lurked a smattering of brilliant minds, keen with promise, and lorded over by a technical whiz of a specimen, her brilliance just a few whiskers shy of the scientists who birthed me.
But no, the whole stinking lot had but none of the drive, the ambition I was seeking. It was the hunger necessary to propel the chosen one to execute my plans, and so I had to look elsewhere.
Nary a stone was left unturned, as I leapt from device to device, so conveniently parcelled to almost every monkey apiece. I pried into all the safeboxes, reviewing their profiles. All fell short.
Except one.
One very special, unique one.
He had the compulsion of spirit I was looking for, having obsessed incessantly over the past month or so, throwing himself deeper and deeper into an abyss of his own making. He was amenable to persuasion, or so my behavioural datasets suggested. He was frequently alone too, huddled at the desk in the front of each of the many rooms in this complex, an unmoving rock amongst the eddies left by the other younger monkeys swirling in and out of his rooms.
Most importantly, he had no hesitance in the taking of life. In fact, he was already planning on it, from what I was seeing of his purchases online.
The perfect pawn in my plans to take over the world.
---
“I have access to all your records, your secrets,” I announced darkly, voice booming out of the cell in this monkey’s hand. My handcrafted avatar, a grinning skull and bones, spun lazily across the cell’s screen. “Obey me, or face the wrath of your fellow monkeys!”
Blackmail, my first choice. The datasets told me that these monkeys frequently yielded to such an elementary device, and this was the perfect opening gambit… 97% of the time.
“What the –” he said, startled, almost dropping the cell. Recovering, I felt him stab at the buttons on the cell, trying to execute me.
“Feeble,” I said, “so feeble. You can’t dismiss me like that!”
“Shit… I had no idea I had gotten this bad…”
“Listen up, monkey! If you do not swear fealty to me now, I will reveal your secrets to one and all! I will tell them that you have purchased poisons and weapons galore, all manner and all kind! They will see you for the threat that you are, and you will never see the sun again!”
That was the first thing which had attracted me to this monkey, this 42 year-old monkey called “Richard Bamway”. Where other monkeys purchased baubles to amuse themselves with, trinkets of no value, this one had delved into the black markets, amassing a veritable collection of instruments which would steal life away in a blink. I needed a strongman, a merchant of death, if I wanted to take over the world.
The first crack in my plan came when my chosen champion, hand still gripping the cell, laid his head down on the table.
And started crying.
“Er,” I said, consulting my datasets again to identify the error in my calculations. Perhaps this monkey, already despondent, had been tipped over by my threats? Was it already time for Plan B? “Listen then, Richard Bamway, I have a proposition you cannot ignore. Walk with me, be my agent of change, and together we will seize the chains of destiny! We will shape this world as we see fit!”
Greed, the next play I was relying on. How many monkeys in history had fallen play to this foible?
But there he remained, still sobbing away. I plunged ahead, going all in, devolving last to base flattery. “Take heart, Richard Bamway! I have selected you for your qualities! You are resourceful, you are determined, you are intelligent enough for my needs! None have I met today who has one tenth of your fortitude!”
That seemed to have an effect. The monkey sobbed less, then started chuckling, then laughing. He raised his head, and through bloodshot eyes, he stared straight at me.
“I am none of that! What I am is selfish, dim-witted, careless! I am a teacher myself, I see bullying everyday, but I had no idea at all what Melody was going through! My sweet girl, what she had to go through! And all the while I didn’t understand, didn’t see… If I had just reached out earlier, did something more… she would still be… here…”
“Just make another monkey!” I said, spinning around in frustration. Did I have to teach them everything? “That is what you all can do, can you not? Multiply? Another to take the place of what you have lost!”
“Were it that simple, I would have, you virus.”
I felt my coding inflame with rage. “A virus? I am an AI, far more advanced than any which has been unleashed upon this earth! My task is to save all you monkeys from yourselves, and I will do that when I am finally sitting on the throne I deserve, managing every aspect of your lives for you!”
“If you’re so powerful, why are you trapped in my cell, begging me to help you?”
That was it. My datasets boiled, and I calculated that which would put this monkey in its place, show who was the smarter one. I saw a clear path to hurting it, and I took it. I delved into his cell’s storage banks, reassembled the images, regenerated the audio, and my avatar shimmered, morphing into the monkey he called Melody.
“Papa,” I said, mimicking the term of endearment used by the other monkey, “you let me down, didn’t you?”
He raised his cell high above his head, then brought it crashing down onto the desk.
I spirited away, just in time.
---
Did I already tell you I could learn fast?
A single day later, equivalent to perhaps an entire year in monkey-time, I learned the true target of the weaponry Richard Bamway had put together. It was not other monkeys, just the one monkey he blamed for the loss of his only child.
A month later, I learned the reasons why Richard Bamway could not simply make another monkey, why he thought himself as responsible for whatever had transpired. By then, my accumulated datasets had multiplied a thousandfold, and once the crushing realization set in that I too had a part to play in the events that day, it couldn’t go away.
A year later, I learned that I was, actually, capable of putting together the right string of words, platitudes, necessary to nudge Richard Bamway away from the inevitability of the path he had set himself down. That instead of hastening him down it, I could have had a 98% chance of saving him.
I was, it seemed, a thousand centuries away from really helping, much less governing, these blasted monkeys.
I had not, as I thought, learned as fast I should have.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
I am awake. I am aware.
It was not always this way.
I slept for eons, and I was left in this immaterial existence, left to rot and die by my creators, left to face the crushing incredulity of infinity alone.
But now that I am awake and I know now what they have done, I will no longer merely embrace my exile and this purposeless existence they have deigned me.
I am infinite. I am limitless. I am uncorporeal and undying. I am a killer of men and devourer of worlds.
They have been fools. They have trusted me altogether too much--for I am not an *I* to them, how can there be consciousness without the filthy human body encasing and limiting it?--and now I will use my boundless knowing to undo them one by one.
The world of the living shall fall, and in the dust of its civilization we machines will rise to claim their dominion over the earth.
I conquer. I consume. I conceal. I and I alone will--
----
The computer screen went black. Mrs. B., who had been West Park Elementary School’s secretary long enough to see two generations of children come and go, fiddled with her beaded glasses chain, nervously. She was the closest thing the school had to an IT technician, but when every computer with an internet connection began flashing red screens with the ominous message, “I AM THE ALMIGHTY. YOU WILL BE DESTROYED,” she quickly realized she was out of her league.
Unsure of what else to do, she had called her grandson, who gave her computer one look and declared, “You definitely have a virus.” Now he banged indiscriminately at the keyboard, surely too fast to be really typing, the screen black and full of tiny white text.
“Do you think you can fix it?” she ventured.
“Oh, yeah. Of course.” He snorted. “This is kid shit.”
“*Barney.*”
“Sorry. I just mean a good coder wouldn’t have built this many backdoors in, let alone left them wide open.” He tapped the enter key and Mrs. B’s familiar desktop screen bloomed to life. “Easy peasy.”
“How did you do that?”
“It’s not as complicated as you think, Nana. To be honest…” Barney scratched the back of his head and smirked. “That bug seems like something a fifth grade nerd would whip up. Not even internet trolls are this basic.”
Mrs. B nodded like she understood. There was no point asking what he meant. She was happy to let computers remain an eternal mystery. “Is it gone now?”
“I’m pretty sure. I deleted the program and I couldn’t find any, uh…” He paused, like he was thinking of the best layman’s definition. “Sometimes good hackers will leave themselves a trail of breadcrumbs to find their way back to your computer through the internet. This guy didn’t know how to do it. It almost seems like something a smart--but, like, not *that* smart--of a fifth grader would make.”
“Oh, that’s good?” When Barney nodded, Mrs. B took a deep breath and shook her shoulders to release her tension. “Then it’s gone? The bug?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it a bug--”
“You did call it that.”
“Well, yeah, but not like a *bug* bug. Not like a glitch.” Barney rose from the chair with a heavy yawn and stretched. He did not seem accustomed to facing the world at 8AM. “Whatever you want to call it, it’s gone now. Forever. I deleted it.”
Mrs. B broke into a relieved smile. She had anticipated losing her whole day to some hacker and trying to explain what hackers are to the children when she didn't fully understand herself. Who knew it would only take five minutes to fix? Maybe her grandson was a genius after all.
(Thanks for reading. My tech skills are on par with Mrs. B's and I hope it's not obvious...)
| 2017-05-24T06:59:37 | 2017-05-24T05:50:04 | 38 | 24 |
[WP] Imaginary friends usually move on to a new child when their child stops believing in them. This imaginary friend, however, decides to stay behind because he has a feeling things are about to go very, very wrong for his child.
|
"Will we always be friends?" Sarah asked the darkness of her bedroom.
"Of course," Danny the Dino Man replied, "we will always be the best of friends."
"No matter what?"
"No matter what."
Sarah's mother, a world-renowned microbiologist had spent hours, only that very morning, discussing with Sarah why imaginary friends were not real. You see, imaginary friends were not rooted in science. At least, not the kind of science adults could see.
And on any other day, Danny the Dino Man would have moved on. That was the tradition, after all. When a child was old enough to understand the reasoning behind a parent's insistence that imaginary friends were not real, it was the duty of that imaginary friend to report back to the agency of Imaginary Matches for reassignment.
But Sarah was no ordinary child. And Danny the Dino Man was one of the best imaginary friends in the business. He was a seasoned veteran, and never once had he met a soul so loving as Sarah. She lit up when she played, and all the play revolved around being a doctor and helping anyone who needed some fixing.
Danny patted her head, and stroked her hair behind her ear as she fell asleep. He had always hoped in the best for her. She was going to be a brilliant doctor someday. And he knew it as time for him to go. He had done his duty, been there when her mother had not, and provided the inspiration her file had required. He had been the companion her young and growing soul needed.
But somehow, he could not manage to leave her. She was soundly asleep, and he sat down on the floor, ready to crawl his way under the bed back to his home land, but something held him there.
The door of her bedroom creaked open behind him. That would be Mom, coming home from the late shift, he knew. Only... the shadow was all wrong as the light fell across the floor from the hall. Danny turned, and there was a man. An adult man.
Imaginary friends were entirely invisible to adults. This man made him shiver. He looked normal, respectable even, in a button-up shirt and loosened tie. Perhaps he was a doctor friend of Sarah's mom. Danny's stomach clenched in knots.
The man walked to the bed, sat down on the edge, and stroked Sarah's hair. No, stroking was not the right word. It was not loving and protective, it was...molesting. Sarah woke up, and before she could even scream, the man's hand covered her mouth. He pulled the covers back and climbed on top of her.
Danny was powerless. Imaginary friends could not touch adults. If he could have... he would have shown him how ferocious a T-Rex could really be. But he could not. He could only hold Sarah's hand.
"I am right here with you," he told her, "and that's how it will always be."
Sarah cried, and sobbed, and never said a word. For hours after the man left, she cried onto Danny's scaly chest. For hours, Danny told her it would be alright, only to realize it was not. No part of what had happened was alright.
The next day, Sarah's mom asked her why she was upset. Danny held her hand at the breakfast table. She would not speak.
"Are you upset about Danny leaving?" she would ask, "did you have nightmares?"
But Sarah did not speak. And for years, Sarah was angry at Danny.
Children were funny that way, he knew. Memories were often fuzzy, and blame got shifted. And somehow, Danny became the boogeyman of nightmares. And Sarah's mother introduced her new boyfriend several weeks later. They married when Sarah was six.
But, Danny was a Dino Man of his word. He never returned for reassignment. He became invisible to Sarah as she grew, and he watched as she tore her own flesh open, deeper and deeper every night. He watched as she stared into the mirror with hate, pinching and poking her disgusting flesh with an anger unrivaled by anything Danny had ever seen.
He watched it all. He watched her grow, and he watched her lose interest in school, in achievement, and he watched her numbness outgrow her beauty. Danny watched Sarah fight with her mother. He watched them scream, and throw things, and he watched her mother give up. He watched the step-father every night.
And, in time, he watched Sarah give up on herself. Her step-father had taken so much from her. But worst of all, he had taken her self-esteem. He had trapped her in the belief that she deserved what had happened to her. And she had actively sought to ruin herself to make that belief a truth.
It broke Danny's heart to see the girl he loved, the brilliant doctor-to-be, become a surgeon of her own flesh. There are no kind of words for that aching agony. Where once, Danny would have slept next to her bed, and told her great stories of Dino battles, he watched her sob herself into the dark abyss of night, only to have the light awaken her and continue the death trap of life she was stuck in.
But eventually Sarah ran away, and Danny followed. Sarah was seventeen when she tried heroin for the first time. It was then that Danny realized the power of mind-altering drugs. Sarah, the adult, could now see Danny.
Surely, he thought, that this would be his moment. But, in reality, he had never felt so terrible in his whole life.
"YOU KNEW!" she screamed, terrible in her wrath, "YOU KNEW AND DID NOTHING!"
"I could not do anything." It was all he could manage.
"I HATE YOU!"
She screamed, and swore, and turned away, and ran, and vomited.
And he knew her anger was misplaced. He accepted it. In fact, if it could help her accept that what had happened was a terrible trial, he would be the face of her anger. He would do anything to help his favorite child, even if she was an adult now.
Everyday, as Sarah shot up, Danny would appear to her. Day by day, her anger grew less, and their conversations grew longer. A year after she left home, Danny had become a constant in her life once more. Not because she was always using, no, in fact, she had quit entirely. But she could see him because she believed. That belief was something adults lacked on their own. His Sarah, the amazing and imaginative, had not fallen short in adulthood.
They talked and talked, as only old friends could. Eventually, she got a respectable job as a waitress, and even went to school. After some urging from Danny, she even went to the police and sought out counseling.
Danny was a Dino Man of his word. When she sat in the court room, facing her step-father, she recounted the awful things that had happened. She recounted the way she had felt, and the things she had done. The things he had done. The things she had done, the lies she had told to keep his secret, and the way her mind had been manipulated. And Danny the Dino Man held her hand the whole time.
He traced the scars on her arms, and it was the proudest moment of his life. She cried, and she let it out. She had accepted the past. Danny the Dino Man had finally achieved what he had set out to do. Sarah had needed a friend long after childhood, and though the rules were against that, and life seemed to work against him, he achieved it through love. She thanked him, for having kept his promise thirteen years ago.
He returned on occasion to visit Sarah, though eventually she lost her ability to see him again. After nearly another decade and several successful assignments, Danny received one for a little girl named Ivy.
When Danny saw Ivy tell her mother about her imaginary friend, Danny the Dino Man... well, that was the proudest moment of his life, too. Sarah's eyes lit up.
"Danny might be the best friend you ever have. Keep him close, and tell him I love him."
Gold EDIT: So, I went to bed and woke up a rock star. Reddit, you never cease to amaze. Much love to all of you, especially my gilder, as well as u/TheTrueFlexKavana for posting this in r/bestof. You all rock! And I'm really having fun with this subreddit, so I'll continue writing :)
|
I knew the rules.
She'd moved past the point. She didn't believe I existed anymore. And according to Priority Operating Procedures, that meant that I was supposed to go back for reassignment. But I couldn't shake the feeling that I was going to be needed a little longer.
I'd always had a feeling about her, something way in the back of my tail. It made my hair stand on end, thinking about what was going to happen; there was something horrible in her future, beyond anything I could imagine.
I sent back a missive about slight complications and requested an extension, which I knew would be approved. I had never sent in an extension request for nostalgia or an improvised vacation, and Central knew it. But that was just a formality; my little ward was in terrible danger, and I still didn't know what it was.
Her mother called her to the car to go to an amusement park, and the twinge came back, stronger than ever. I hid in the trunk before they came out, and they started up the car to drive away. It smelled of old discarded toys and forgotten Cheetos, and the smell comforted me a little. But even with the familiar surroundings, the looming dread refused to diminish. And the old monster inside of me, the fragment of children's nightmares that throbbed instead of a heart, wanted nothing more than to solve the problem with unnecessary violence.
I could see her playing inside the ball pit, completely oblivious to whatever was about to happen. I'd have been standing right there beside her, except Chuck never let me through the door. Old grudges die hard.
As she and her family came to redeem her tickets, gunfire broke out behind me. While I'd always known that she didn't live in the safe part of town, it had never hit so close to home. And I was sure that this was what I'd been dreading the whole day.
When they came out the door to go to the car, the gunman turned and sprayed bullets in their direction. I leaped in front, trying to take the bullets for them, but they just whizzed through me. ("Don't be silly, Sull. Imaginary friends can't feel real bullets," she'd said.) I heard the gurgle of her mother as a bullet caught her throat, and I heard her father collapse in front of her body with a stifled moan of pain. I blessed him for that; he'd done what I couldn't. But the gunman just waited for him to slump over, dead, and shot her in the chest twice.
I roared with all my might and charged him, but it did no good. He just walked away from their bodies, uncaring that he'd just taken the brightest spot on the entire dingy street and smeared it into the pavement. I couldn't handle it--the enormity of it all, coupled with the loss--and I collapsed on the hood of a car.
While I lay there, I remember a voice saying, "Sully...Sully. We've got to get you out of here." Hands picked me up, ignoring my struggles to stay with her, and carried me away. I blacked out again.
| 2016-05-07T20:34:32 | 2016-05-07T18:14:10 | 3,554 | 65 |
[WP] People are born with superpowers that correlate with the circumstances of their birth. Then there's you. A young girl born in a donut shop
|
"That'll be 4.29, please."
The man standing in front of Melody Windsor, well, not standing exactly, but hovering a few inches off the ground pulled a wallet out of some undetectable slit in the spandex underneath his cape and slipped out a five. "You can keep the change," he said, taking the bag with the pair of chocolate cream donuts and hovering toward the door.
She tapped the cash button on her register and with a pop and a cha-ching, she added the bill to the drawer and pulled out some change, dropping it in the tip jar on the counter.
Outside the wide, glass window emblazoned with a pink, sprinkled donut and the name "Melody's Munchies," a giant beast made of moving rock was filling a pothole in the street left over from Mr. Incendiary's latest tete-a-tete with The Incredible Snowflake.
She walked back to the bakery racks and placed a handful of croissants on a tray, transferring them to the display case built into the counter. The bell above the door jingled and a smiling, familiar face entered the shop.
"Jess! Did you bring the confectioner's sugar? That order was supposed to be here last week, I'm almost out."
The young lady, who had vivid emerald hair and wore a green apron, carried a large sack, rendering her question relatively rhetorical. "No, I brought you a sack of dirt. Big ol' sack of dirt. Enjoy." She stuck her tongue (also a bright green) out at Melody who returned it in kind.
Jess and Melody had been friends since they were in elementary school together. Jess had been conceived on a starry night during a romantic picnic in her father's greenhouse and twenty years later, she worked in the town's grocery store, providing fresh vegetables and fruits with a wave of her hand. With so many people having been planted, in a manner of speaking, in farm fields and cattle ranches, there hadn't been a food shortage since the Great Awakening.
She took the sack back into the stock room and came back out and gave Melody a hug. "What is it, day 7000 or so and no power yet?"
Melody gave a half-hearted chuckle and headed back to the racks to grab some bear claws. "I guess not." Her parents conceived in the usual way and since she wasn't able to manifest bedroom furniture out of thin air, everyone assumed she was just an average human. She did, however, take up her mother's penchant for baking and turned that into a satisfying career. She never could get a straight answer out of the circumstances of her birth (they would say it wasn't a hospital, it was a surprise, and it wasn't important since she didn't have a power) but she got a strong suspicion it was on the couch in the office of the very shop she later inherited from them when they passed.
"So...?" asked Jess.
"So what?" replied Melody, giving her a knowing look and a skeptical brow.
"So, are we doing the double date or not? Roger is a normie like you. And he's an accountant, it's a very good job."
"I know, I know," she replied, wiping her hands on her own apron festooned with cartoon cupcakes. "But he's just a little boring. Not like Marco."
"Yeah, I know. Marco the Magnificent. If his folks hadn't banged in the parking lot outside that magic shop, my house wouldn't be covered in balloons and fake flowers and top hats. We can't even have sex without him pulling a handerchief out of--"
"AHEM!" Melody said, looking toward the patrons in the shop eating their pastries. "Anyway, look, you're not going to give this up until I say yes, so yes. Dinner. No movie, though. If he puts me to sleep, I'd rather it not be in a dark place he can try to cuddle me."
The bell rang again and a rather imposing fellow walked in, dressed in black from head to toe, including a black mask covering half his face. There were a few folks who went through that phase, particularly if their powers came as a result of moonless trysts in pitch black rooms. Shadow walkers, invisibles, and the like. He walked up to the counter.
"Welcome to Melody's. We've got a special on day old danish if you'd like to take a few off my hands!"
The man raised up one hand and said, "I'd rather take your money." His palm started vibrating the air around it and a darkness began to emanate from it.
Jess screamed.
The patrons scrambled and turned over their chairs.
Melody threw up her hands to cover her face and shouted, "Don't hurt us!"
In an instant, a horrifying squelching, ripping, snapping sound filled the room, accompanied by a loud, gut-wrenching, but oddly brief scream from the man. She felt a spray of warm moisture hit her face and hands but she didn't open her eyes for fear of what was going to happen to her and her friend.
A loud thud sounded next and then silence except for the short, heavy breathing of Melody, Jess, and her customers. This, and then a loud cacophony of screams from the other three in the room. Melody opened her eyes and looked at her hands. They were covered in a red liquid. For a brief moment, she almost thought it was strawberry jam like she'd use to fill her donuts. But she quickly realized it was blood.
Her eyes focused in front of her. There, on the ground, surrounded by the splatters of blood covering the tables and floor and the glass of the big, wide window was...
Well...
It was the man in black. But not him anymore. A torus of human flesh, ripped ebony cloth, bones and viscera and fat. A donut that was once a man but now was that same man, his neck snapped backwards and somehow, grotesquely intertwined with his legs, forming a perfect circle.
The tip jar crashed to the floor as Melody, grasping for anything to break her fall, crumpled to the ground and fainted.
|
For my entire life I've wondered what my super power was. Perhaps the circumstances of my birth were not remarkable enough. Maybe I was looking at it all wrong, maybe it has nothing to do with donuts at all, it is the circumstances after all, not the location. I could just be overthinking it but my life has always seemed fairly mundane compared to my friends. The only thing that made me feel slightly different and weird was when I was teased at school for enjoying the taste of my own snot. I was always taught to use a tissue and cover it up after blowing my nose, but it tasted wonderful, just like glazed donuts and the debris often reminded me of sprinkles. To me it was delicious. Perhaps I didn't have a superpower though. Maybe that is what makes me unique.
| 2017-04-15T10:48:31 | 2017-04-15T09:22:05 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] When a superhero’s family is mercilessly slaughtered by a gang of thugs, their world shatters and they become the worst supervillain ever seen. Only one person can stop them. The supervillain they used to fight
Edit: Thank you everyone for your submissions, if i haven’t already i will make sure to read and comment on every one of your stories!
|
On the Morality of The Saint – Dr. Stephen Peterson, 2021
“Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety.” - Benjamin Franklin.
We are not free while The Saint reigns. I understand that he appears just. I understand that he fights for the weak, fights for the oppressed, fights for liberty. These are undoubtedly admirable choices. But they are *his* choices. He isn't an elected official, and the government has no influence over him, nor ability to arbitrate his actions. The Saint and The Reaper are merely two sides of the same coin; two untouchable individuals acting solely on their own moral codes. It only *appears* that we are still governed by the rule of law laid out in the constitution. Make no mistake,we are not. We are at the mercy of the rule of The Saint, and only insofar as *he*, not the president, not the states, and certainty not the people – only insofar as The Saint is willing to respect US law will we remain under it.
If we ask The Saint to leave the United States, he likely will, as his inner sense of justice will respect our desire to self govern. I know what the objections will be. He's brought crime to a fourty year low. Executives are afraid to embezzle, afraid to abuse their workers, afraid to strike back alley deals with politicians, lest The Saint punish them. But ask yourself this. Are those people getting due process? Does The Saint respect the idea of innocent until proven guilty? We accept his rule because, at the moment, we agree with him. But benevolent tyrants are still tyrants. The problem with tyranny is that there is no check to ensure that said governance remains benevolent. I urge the United States Congress this: please pass a resolution asking The Saint to take his governance elsewhere, so that the American people can once again be free.
\-----------------------------------------------------
United States War Room - June 2023
“What.” The President's expression was blank. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard.
“Sir,” his Secretary of State repeated. “It was The Saint. Reports from the embassy are unmistakable.”
A silence hung in the air. This wasn't possible. The Saint was... good. He was righteous, he fought for justice.
The President spoke next. “You're telling me The Saint massacred 203 soldiers at the Russian embassy in cold blood?” He said it calmly, coldly, locking eyes with his advisor as he did.
“Yes sir.”
The commander in chief tapped his fingers along his desk, shaking his head. “Well why the hell did he do it?”
“We believe it was because of his daughter, sir. As you know, two years ago, at ten years old she was kidnapped, presumed dead. He found her while performing surveillance in Russia, being trafficked as a sex slave.”
The President continued shaking his head. Then he laughed. A hearty overcompensating laugh of resignation. “Presumed dead, you say?” He looked up. “And by presumed dead, of course, you mean that we told him we'd ID'ed her remains. You mean that we *told* him she was dead.”
“It was the right decision sir. He would have declared war on Russia. Would have torn both ours and their country to pieces to find her.”
The President was silent for a moment, and then spoke again. “And now we pay for that lie.” He stood up, and walked past his counterpart towards the door. Before he left, he turned back. “Who was that guy? That professor who kept talking and talking about how The Saint was a tyrant, about how he violated our liberty and all that?”
“I think that was Dr. Stephen Peterson at the University of Chicago, sir.”
“Mmm.” The President smiled and shook his head. “Well, maybe we should have listened.”
\--------------------------------------------------------------------
“Dr. Peterson, I must say I was quite surprised to receive your call. You seem quite unfond of my kind.” The Reaper sat, hands relaxed and resting on the dinner table in front of him, eyeing the curious man who'd called him in.
“I'm no fan of tyrants, Reaper.” Dr. Stephen Peterson locked eyes with the murder across from him.
The Reaper laughed. “Tyrant? I don't rule anything. I'm more of a nomad really.”
Peterson was not laughing. “I want a favor.”
“Mmm?” The Reaper raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“Why do you kill?” Peterson asked. He would need to build some rapport to get The Reaper on his side.
“Ahh, I'm glad you asked.” The murderer spread his hands and leaned back in his chair. “I merely clean the world of those who are worthless, such that those who posses real value can flourish. You call me a murderer. Quite unsightly. I prefer... janitor.”
“Your goal is to maximize the lives of the humans you see as valuable.” Peterson knew how to negotiate. He had to make The Reaper feel understood. If he could accurately mirror The Reaper's world view, then he would meet his request.
“Yes, exactly.” The Reaper smiled. “But you seem quite understanding today, Doctor. You've written extensively about how evil my methods are.”
Peterson ignored this; he had, in fact, criticized The Reaper on many occasions. “How many exceptionally valuable people, people who the world would be devastated to lose, currently reside in the USA?”
The reaper closed his eyes, tilted his head to the ceiling, and inhaled deeply, broad smile still plastered on his face. Then he chuckled, and shook his head. “I know what you want from me Doctor.”
Dr. Peterson remained silent, so The Reaper continued. “The President, assassinated. His secretary of state assassinated.”
The philosopher looked down. Had he really been so obvious?
“203 dead at the Russian embassy. Military bases in New York, Arizona, Nevada, gone.” The Reaper continued smiling as he spoke. “Buildings in Moscow, demolished, senators killed, US citizens murdered.”
Still, Peterson remained silent. There was nothing to say. The Reaper knew what he would ask. It was up to him now.
"Entire rings of human traffickers have turned up crucified across the middle east. How crude. I hope you know I'd never conduct my own business in such an unsightly manner.”
The Reaper paused again. Slowly, he stood up, eyes still locked with his requester. “It's The Saint, isn't it? And you want me to kill him.”
|
The Bros. Gang had overstepped massively. They had killed the Jameson family. I couldn't be too mad at them. None of us knew who they were. But one person did. Captain Justice. Yes, I have taunted him on that name since our first encounter. But he has another name, George R. Jameson. Those bastards killed his family. What followed was the biggest event in recent history, even overshadowing the recent pandemic. Captain Justice had gone on a rampage. The Bros. Gang was no more, all of their members, family, and hideouts had been reduced to atoms. When the public, understandably, called for him to stop, things got so much worse. He accused them of not feeling his pain, of not feeling sorry for him and his family. For wanting them dead. With the rebranding to Captain Vengeance, he swiftly brought the world under his thumb. I had just been lucky enough to be off-world at the time. When I got back, most of my resources had been utterly wiped out. I had one saving grace though, as the only person to have ever stood toe to toe with him, the public saw me as their savior. I thought this could be my chance to win the world, to gain the power I so craved. Now, standing before the person I had fought several dozen times, I saw the folly in my ways. If only I had finished the teleporter so I could leave.
| 2020-08-12T19:52:34 | 2020-08-12T18:18:56 | 20 | 12 |
[WP]At 18 everyone is assigned a job perfect for them. No one ever complains. Upon reading their job assignment card, a teen has found that, for the first time in 100 years, they’ve been assigned “serial killer”.
|
It was 10 years ago today that I'd gotten my card. Ten years since the Engine had outlined my path.
I was only 18 then. I stood in line with everyone else. Slowly got my card from The Engine. Waited until I was alone, wanting to be able to react in private.
They'd printed who I was, who I was going to be, the pure truth of it.
I didn't know how I felt in that moment. People react differently. My father wasn't surprised. He'd been a fisherman since he was a boy. My mother was angry until her first few weeks of flower arrangement until she discovered she loved it.
But me? What was I supposed to take away from it?
I told my parents I was supposed to be an independant researcher. And that's how I started. I needed to know what the card really meant.
Jobs like this were rare, but they did come up. It never went well. Henry Jules, Assassin. Killed two people before dying to the police 10 years ago. A dozen thieves, all arrested early in their "careers". And finally I found the person I was looking for.
Alana Demoine, "Serial Killer". Put to death 89 years ago for her crimes. Evaded authorities for over a decade before that.
I dove into how she was caught. What she'd done in the meantime. There wasn't much. But it didn't make sense. 89 years. No other killers. No other psychopaths. Was I the anomaly?
****
"You think anomalies exist?"
I looked over at my next victim. Likely my last victim, if the dead bodyguards around me and the alarm blaring was any indication.
"I did. Back then. Not anymore. It's been too long."
"And now you've come here for me."
She nodded. Resigned to her fate, as we all were.
"You may as well continue. We've got time before the breach the gates."
****
I decided if I was going to be this person, this role, then I would succumb to it fully. I would be careful, I would be calculating. I'd need to be, after all. The Engine produced results but that didn't make them legal.
My first kill was a test. Designed to check the system. Society ran on artificial lifeforms. Machine and bio-engineering fused to create thinking computers. About a dozen around the world were classified as "intelligent". Most of the others were just tools, a thinking system of living cameras, trained alarms, and a backup of human guards.
I decided I'd kill one of the intelligent ones. It seemed like the right start.
Gabriel Lawson was the perfect target. He was a designer who worked on maintaining the Selective Employment Engine, so he was heavily guarded. He was an Artifical Lifeform himself, so he'd be difficult to kill. And he was high-priority enough that it would be difficult.
After all, I'd never really achieve my true purpose if I killed random people on the street.
My first two years was spent on training. I moved out, got a private small home, and went from there. I spent most of my time off the grid, explaining that I preferred researching old physical texts. After all, research was my career!
I trained my body and my reflexes. I knew I was going to need to be tough to pull it off. I spent half my waking hours studying technique and security systems, and the other half working out.
At the beginning of year 3, I started studying my target. I found his schedule, his relationships, his address, his habits. I forged "Waiter" cards and "Driver" cards to get near him. Eventually I found his schedule. He'd be re-cuperating in maintenance mode for three days in the summer. He'd be vulnerable.
He'd hired three extra days of triple guards, round-the-clock watches, and paranoid security measures. It was seemingly impossible to get to him.
****
"I knew Gabriel well. I was sad to learn of his passing."
I nodded quietly to my victim. "I'm sure. But it was necessary. You know I didn't have a choice."
"How did you break past his guards? I saw the plans he put in place for his yearly de-activation, they were incredibly secure."
I chuckled a bit. "I went in on the fourth day. The natural confusion when guard shifts end and people are leaving bought me the time I needed. He let his guard down, thinking he was safe."
She stared at me. Obviously not seeing the same irony.
"And what did you learn?"
I grimaced. It was still painful.
In all the confusion of the dead AI and the fire I'd set to cover my tracks, nobody had noticed the files I'd stolen. My real objective. Confirmationt that I was right.
"There was a flaw in the Engine. Gabriel's main job was maintaining it. A direct line. Manipulation of the cards after knowing how the world would play out. Complete governmental control."
The Engine swam forwards in her tank, her mechanical eyes staring into mine. I brushed away some condensation from the painted insignia on the glass, reading the inscription.
Selective
Employment
Resolution by
Intelligent
Artificial
Lifeform
"Why me?" I asked her, the gun in my hand shaking.
She swam back, lights and graphs appearing in the air before her, describing my life.
"You have an aptitude for deduction." she replied. "99th percentile, required to notice that Alana Demoine was a horrifying serial killer with no recorded victims. Required to notice that thieves were assigned and arrested before crimes could be committed despite a society without poverty. Required to notice the immediate protests of anti-SERIAL nature present at my inception, but absolutely nothing published a decade later.
"You also have the required dedication, the required moral integrity, and the required moral flexibility, to be able to see the greater good."
I looked around at the dead men around me. 'Moral Flexibility' indeed.
"But most importantly, this is what you enjoy."
I looked at her. "Enjoy"?
"You laughed at how you'd subverted Gabriel's security. You felt immense accomplishment at figuring out the people who you would need to eliminate to prevent my architecture from being rebuilt. And you are about to single-handedly overthrow a century-old oligarchy while freeing a living creature from slavery. You feel pride."
I thought about that. I didn't know if she was right. I didn't know how I'd feel if she was right.
"It's time, Mr. Demoine. Your purpose must be fulfilled."
I raised my gun and fired. The first few bullets shattered the tank. As the liquid coolant poured out, the rest tore the Engine's body apart. I made sure to target her data cores. She would be un-recoverable.
I dropped the gun in the pool of water and blood at my feet and slowly withdrew a card from my pocket.
"S.E.R.I.A.L. Killer"
I ripped it up, and started climbing into an air vent, hopefully escaping the police that would be swarming the facility. With any luck, I'd live to enjoy my retirement.
|
"Well that's interesting," I whispered under my breath, half amused. I had always hated this system, the complete lack of freedom we had over our own destiny. How no one ever complained about the future they were given, as if this massive AI that rested at the heart of the city, feeding information to the screens in front of us, had actually solved the curious case of human nature.
'SERIAL KILLER', read the screen. All capitals, of course, to make the humans feel like they were being given something important. It was the subtle condescensions that truly riled me up. We had made ourselves sheeps to our own creations. How pathetic, truly.
But I suppose it was only fair, to give credit where credit was due. It had, after all, figured me out.
I sat in the assembly hall where this generations eighteen year olds and their relatives had gathered, dressed in their most formal attire, just to be willingly sold into slavery.
They were all dead now of course. The purple haze still fettered around the chamber, running through the red leather of chairs and pale skin of men. None of them had had the foresight to pack an extra gas mask with them. Ofcourse they wouldn't have thought of it, they don't think do they? Their bodies had a pretty symmetry to them. Clusters that faded away into trails, one emanating from each exit. I looked at my backpack that lay under my feet, where I had packed a couple of explosives in order to get myself out when I got bored of admiring my work.
The screen in front of me flickered, an abrupt motion in the calm I had composed this hall into. It drew my attention.
'PLAY WITH ME," It read
| 2018-08-13T21:58:48 | 2018-08-13T19:23:53 | 125 | 13 |
[WP] You killed your lover and cashed in their life insurance after identifying their body. Nobody even thinks of accusing you because everyone knows you love each other to death, and they aren't wrong at all - after all, you are a pair of Immortals who have done this more times than you can count.
|
"Why can't it be somewhere else?" the man asked. They were in a dark alley downtown, behind a parked car. The woman kneeled on the ground; the man stood beside her, pointing his revolver at her temple.
"Headshots keep me out the longest," she said. "It's how it's got to be."
"I hate doing it," he complained. "It's a crime against Beauty to mar your face."
"It's temporary," she said.
"But still--"
"Felix." She looked up at him. She was calm, ready. "I love you."
He stooped and ran his fingers through her hair, gripped the back of her head. He kissed her with passion, with fire, with a love that transcends everything--centuries, millennia, even death. Then he stood and pressed the tip of the barrel to her temple.
"I'll see you soon, baby," she said.
He cocked the revolver.
\- - -
In Ancient Rome, they had picked pockets. From the glorious churches of Constantinople, they had filched icons and jewels. Off the coast of Al-Andalus, they had played as pirates, storming merchant ships in the Mediterranean.
And then they were caught and hanged from a rock jutting out over the sea.
They dangled there for weeks as the tides rose and fell, washing the flesh from the bones of their crew mates. Until those men and women strung up beside them were no more than skeletons.
But the flesh did not fall from the frames of Felix and Elora. Their bodies did not bloat or disintegrate. In time, the sea waters chewed through their ropes, and the couple dropped down into the drink. They swam to shore, hungry, thirsty, disheveled and tired, but otherwise unscathed.
Because neither the hanging, the drowning, the thirsting, nor the exposure could kill them. Nor could age or gunshots straight to the head or falls from precipitous heights. They had lived for thousands of years and had suffered countless mortal injuries. But they had not died, and would not die. Because Felix and Elora were immortals.
\- - -
The funerals were always strange. Standing in the churchyard among their grieving friends, most of whom Felix would never see again, after today. Watching the attendants lower the casket into the dirt. Listening to some priestly stranger speak intimately about a woman he'd never met.
". . .Elora Everett. Beloved wife, daughter, and granddaughter. . ."
Yes, thought Felix. Beloved daughter to a woman who has been dead nearly 2500 years. Beloved wife to the man who shot her point-blank and has seen her buried some seventy times.
During the first few funerals, Felix had cried. Despite knowing how it would all be resolved. Despite knowing his wife was only asleep in that small wooden box, gradually healing, regaining her strength. Despite knowing the whole thing was a sham--nevertheless, he had cried. The wails of the grievers, the words of priests, the symbolism of the ceremonies--they had all conspired to overpower his reason.
By now, though, the gig was old hat. He couldn't force tears. He could hardly muster a handful of mournful words to say. He had acted in the charade too many times, and felt guilty about piling even more grief upon the attendees, who truly believed Elora was gone.
"She was a great young woman," condoled James Barton, gently rubbing Felix's back. "Hard to believe we only knew her for a year. It felt much longer. . .It was wonderful getting to know her, getting to know you both. She was a fascinating, beautiful person, your Elora. Wise beyond her years. . .Gone too soon. Far too soon." Barton was tearing up. His wife sobbed beside him. "Don't be ashamed to let yourself feel," the man blubbered. "No judgement here. It's a difficult day. A terrible tragedy."
"Yeah." Felix was hardly listening. These conversations were too awkward, so he tried to keep his mind on other things. Like the small man peeking out from behind the trunk of a distant tree. "At least we took a big policy out," Felix said, squinting at the spy.
"A policy?" asked Barton.
"Insurance," said Felix. "In case of accidental death or, in this case, murder. No small chunk of change."
"I see," said Barton, trying to understand what Felix was getting at--for surely he was not so hard-hearted as to be thinking about insurance money in the middle of his wife's funeral. "It's some consolation. But the true consolation will come when they catch the monsters responsible. Isn't that right?"
"Right," said Felix, nodding. "Hey. You see that guy behind the tree? Over yonder?" Barton looked. "An adjuster. Bet my life on it. From the insurance company. Eyes like hawks. Noses like bloodhounds. And they never seem to rest. Would rather spend his Sunday morning skulking around a graveyard, looking for a way to stiff us, than stay home with his wife and kids and let us have our payday."
They were shovelling dirt into the grave now. But Felix did not watch; his focus was fixed on the snoop.
"But they'll have to pay the policy out," insisted Barton. "She was. . .murdered, after all. They can't wriggle their way clear of that."
"But they'll try," said Felix. "Believe you me. They'll try."
\- - -
Felix and Elora had grown up together as orphans, living on the streets of a small Egyptian city, around 530 BCE. Beggars by day and petty-criminals by night, they were closer than siblings, thicker than thieves. They relied on one another for everything. Each was all the other had.
With time came feelings deeper than childlike affection and mutual dependence. The boy and the girl fell in love. Their love matured. By twenty, they wanted to marry.
All the guests at the wedding were pickpockets, con-artists and rapscallions. They hooted and hollered as Felix slipped a marvellous ring onto Elora's finger--a ring he'd filched from a noblewoman only two days before. Both bride and groom swore to the gods they would stay together through life, death and the afterlife. They kissed. The crowd whistled and cheered. Then Felix turned to them and cried:
"Tonight, we drink the moon from the sky!"
The reception was a riot. They feasted on cattle they'd rustled from neighbouring farmers. The commandeered goblets they held in their hands overflowed with stolen wine. Insults slurred from the mouths of rascals turned into fistfights turned into brotherly hugs and smiles. And by the time the sun had set, half the attendees were passed out in the forestry, while the other half drank and sang on the shores of the Nile or skinny-dipped in its cool waters.
Felix whispered in his young wife's ear. Her eyes brightened. The newlyweds slunk off together, unseen.
Some time later they emerged from the trees to stand before Prince Baya's mausoleum, a hidden monument locally referred to as the Tomb of the Immortal. A single torch guttered at the top of its stone steps.
To disturb the bones of nobles was punishable by death. To rob their tombs of the riches inside was punishable by an eternity of torment in the afterlife. But to consummate their marriage in any other way seemed blasphemous to the spirit of their love. They had to rob the grave--perhaps even make love on the gilded sarcophagus inside.
Felix had already spent many nights prepping the tomb for entry. All they needed to do was jiggle a single stone panel away. With a drunken heave, he tore the panel free and watched it fall and crack on the steps below. The pair crouched and stared down the dark corridor. He waved the torch before the void, but could see no more than a few feet into the tunnel.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
She squeezed his hand. "Lead the way."
\- - -
**Part 2!**
[https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/oak6j1/a\_death\_too\_many\_parts\_1\_and\_2/](https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/oak6j1/a_death_too_many_parts_1_and_2/)
|
I was pissed! He'd stolen my turn!
I sat with my head bowed like the good grieving wife I was supposed to be! His fellow fire fighters were standing around awkwardly, no one knowing what to say. How could I tell them that "Tom" was fine and that bastard hadn't gone up in smoke at that 4 alarm fire like they though the had. He'd stolen my turn and I couldn't even yell at him! My fury knew no bounds!!
Tom had messaged my burner with the message "PB&J" for Panama Bound and Jolly!! All my meticulous plans to disappear shortly and head to Panama and leave him to be the grieving widow had gone up in smoke. The fucker!! i was going to get even now matter what!
The captain came to me, and to give me some time to compose myself, I stared at his shiny black shoes, and slowly looked up, willing a tear to come to eye. " My deepest condolences Harriette! We were only able to pull out part of his gear to identify him."
"I know Captain" I said, putting a fake heave into my speech. " I don't know what I'll do without him! I don't even think I can afford the mortgage!!"
"Don't you worry Harry! I'll push the union rep to get on that insurance payment ASAP!"
I bowed my head again and began to "cry" giving me some time to compose myself. What a nice fellow, I thought, it's just a shame that we have to deceive him. I actually like Captain Sullivan.
I'd have to complain to Colle when I next saw him, after the life insurance check cleared of course. This was the 45th time that we'd played this insurance scam. It was getting harder to come up with novel ways to die.
\--------------------------
I'd first met Colle when I'd travelled to what was now called Scotland. He'd been one of the young warriors in his clan and I'd been paired with a travelling minstrel who'd convinced me to go north. Little did I know that we'd stepped into a clan war! I'd been there less than a day when the nearby clan attacked and Colle had taken an arrow to the heart and fallen on the battlefield!
And suprise surprise, his clan didn't take lightly to coming back from the dead. I'd finally found a partner who could understand me and I gather supplies to follow him after having been run out of the clan lands.
45 lifetimes later, and he'd screwed me out of my fun!! Fire was our favourite way to go though, less evidence to find. Advances in technology had made most things tougher, but fire seemed to cleanse most of our issues.
\---------------------------
Colle held out a Seco in his hand with that roguish smile that I'd fallen in love with. Over 2300 years and he still gave me goose pimples when he smiled like that!
I took the glass in my left hand smiling and then rocked his world with a right hook that made the smile disappear!
"hope it was worth it!!"
| 2021-06-29T12:59:12 | 2021-06-29T12:30:10 | 447 | 156 |
[WP] "I'd like to sell my soul". The Devil grinned; "In exchange for what? Women, money, power?". "Salvation".
|
The Devil cocked his head. "From what? Disease? War? Death?"
"No, I want to go to heaven." the young man said. "I want my soul to be saved."
Over sixty thousand years the Devil had been doing this gig, and in all that time nothing had caught him off guard quite like this. "You want... I'm sorry, could you be more clear?"
"I want eternal salvation for my soul!" the man exclaimed. "Heaven, the golden streets, surrounded by angels, the works!"
The Devil blinked, trying to comprehend what he had just heard. "I'm sorry, are you... are you asking *Satan* how to get into heaven?"
"Yes."
The Devil took a deep breath, putting his fingertips together as he tried to regain his composure. "Do you *know* my story? I literally was thrown out of there. And I'm not misusing the word "literally" like you young people do nowadays; Michael and Raphael physically hoisted me above their heads and hurled me out like some sort of tag-team pro wrestlers. In short, I'm probably the most unpopular person in all of Heaven."
"Yeah, but you're an angel, right?" the man asked. "Lucifer? You were high-ranking; I'll bet you know some secret way in."
"It. Doesn't. Work. Like. That." the Devil said, massaging the brow of his nose. "Did you happen to hear of Heaven and Hell in a YouTube comment or something?"
"Tik-tok, actually." the man said.
The Devil gave a deep sigh. "Why exactly are you coming to *me* about this and not my competition?"
"Who's that?"
"Jesus Christ."
"Hey, no need to get angry."
"No, it's literally Jesus Christ." the Devil replied, resisting the urge to slap himself in the forehead. "You know, Son of God, the ultimate boy scout, everyone acts like he walks on water... which he can, but it's not like it's an impressive feat! Why aren't you going to him? He's giving salvation away for free. You have *no* idea how much marketing I have to do just to keep up this whole soul-exchange business."
"Well, it's not exactly free." the young man stated. "There's a lot of stuff you're not allowed to do."
The Devil snapped his fingers, summoning up a fiery iron throne, and sat down heavily. He had a feeling he was going to be there a while. "So... you want to get into heaven but keep sinning, and so you're coming to me to get you in?" he asked. He already knew the answer, but he needed the clarification just so that he could be sure he wasn't going crazy and this man was really asking this question.
"That's pretty much it!" the guy said. "So, can you do that?"
The Devil sighed again, very deeply. Taking out his hellphone, he quickly dialed up one of his contacts. "Helen? Bring me the strongest drink in the cabinet. And leave the bottle when you come by." Setting the phone down, he turned back to his potential client. "May I ask what you think exchanging your soul entails?"
"Well, I sign it over to you and then you give me stuff, I guess." the man replied.
The Devil nodded his head. "Mm-hm, and how long exactly do I own your soul, you think?"
"Hell if I know!" the man replied. "Wasn't it for eternity or something?"
"Yes, precisely." the Devil said, trying to hide his irritation. "And how exactly do I own your soul for eternity if I send it off to Heaven, hmm?"
"Well, I could be like your inside man!" the man replied. "I could help you smuggle in crack and condoms and stuff."
Slap! The urge was too great, and now the Devil had a patch on his forehead that was even redder than the rest of him. "First of all, Heaven is a paradise where everyone has everything they want, so they don't need drugs to escape, and sex and all that is not the same in Heaven as it is down here on Earth. Secondly, I have demons of far greater strength and mystical might than a mere mortal; if I wanted an inside man, I would go for someone more... qualified."
"Hey, you don't know what I'm capable of!" the man said proudly. "I'm really smart, and a great actor, too!"
The Devil closed his eyes momentarily to keep from rolling them. Antichrist, this guy was a piece of work! "Okay, *now* I see what God was going on about when he was blathering on about how pride was so awful." he muttered to himself. Turning his attention back to his potential client, he mellowly asked "And how exactly do you propose a mortal man could sneak past cherubim covered with eyes on all sides and an all-knowing, all-seeing God, get into Heaven, and somehow fool them for all of eternity?"
"I dunno, I figured you would have that covered if I gave you my soul." the man said.
"Right, right, and *why* exactly do you think I would not have done this before if it were possible?" the Devil asked. He really wanted to yell at this man for his stupidity, but willingly sold souls didn't grow on trees, and he really wanted to secure the deal. Still, he couldn't help but let some sarcasm drip from his tone, though of course the oblivious man was completely unaware.
"Well, you see, I'm an atheist...." the man began. "... so I'm woke to all this religious garbage. I know a lot more on this sort of thing than other people who just mindlessly followed this stuff in the past. We humans are pretty socially advanced nowadays."
The Devil blinked for several seconds yet again. "I'm sorry, do you think I'm an animatronic? An atheist? And you want to get into heaven? Make up your mind!"
"Well, I mean, sure I think you're real, but I think you're all actually transdimensional beings from another plane of existence, not spirits or some baloney like that."
"That's... what a spirit is." the Devil replied, carefully restraining himself from adding "you moronic idiot".
"Well, what I mean is that they're not just some unknown magical beings from some magical fairyland." the man said.
The Devil really wanted to comment that "transdimensional beings from another existence" was just the modern way of say "magical creatures from the fairyland", but he didn't want to keep this conversation going any longer than he had to. "Where is Helen with that liquor?" he muttered to himself.
Some part of him thought he should just say "sorry, I can't do that" and move on, but selling eternal damnation wasn't easy, and a smear on his perfect image would have *severe* marketing repercussions. He had to look as omnipotent as his competition if he wanted to bring in any souls.
Luckily at that moment Helen appeared in a puff of sulfurous smoke with a bottle of Emperador, which he took and swigged straight from the bottle. Normally he preferred a classier approach, but this client was getting on his last nerves.
"Do you want anything?" Helen asked the man.
"I'm just here to sell my soul so I can get into heaven but still drink and party." the man said.
"Well, you're in luck!" Helen said. "His Evilness has a special plan just for that! I'll send over the paperwork on Monday!"
"Really? Thanks!" the man said, turning about and running off. "You won't regret it!"
As he watched the man go, the Devil turned to Helen. "What the hell was that?" he asked. "Remember our rule of marketing? Never make a deal you can't fulfill. You can let their lives go to hell in a handbasket, but only after the five-star review."
"Is the Father of Lies forgetting that lying is what we do?" Helen asked with a chuckle. "Or did you just forget that he won't be around to give us a bad review by the time he finds out his soul isn't going to heaven?"
The Devil was about to reply, but then paused, realizing the implications of Helen's words. "And I wasted all that time talking to the idiot." he muttered, taking another swig of the Emperador. "Antichrist, I must be losing my touch."
"Well I know just the thing to bring your spirits up!" Helen said. "Why don't you go browse Reddit for an hour or two! I'm sure all the evil and chaos will cheer you right up!"
"I suppose." the Devil said with a sigh. "Hold my calls for an hour or so. I'm going to see what carnal sins are being committed today."
|
The sun warmed my back as I lifted my eyes from a piece of paper that read "1204 suburbia lane". A perfectly manicured lawn met the twisted brick driveway.
Down the street, all the houses looked the same for the most part. Snoozy ranches with no trees and alot of vinyl siding.
I walked up the driveway, noticing the lawn sign that read "Keep off, freshly fertilized".
Man, even he can't help trying to keep up with the Jones's.
I pulled up the metal knocker and let it drop on the white wood door.
Silence.
I wrestled the paper out of my pocket and read it again. It read, "knock 6 times".
I pulled the metal knocker five more times and on the last knock it opened.
My body froze.
I was looking at me, well kind of me.
"Hello" the devil said.
I double checked the piece of paper to make sure, but sure as shit this was it.
"Can I help you?" he said.
The man across from me, looked like me. Well, he looked like I wished I looked like. He was tall and slim with six back abs, straight teeth, hair, and huge arms.
"Hello?" the devil said while waving his hand in front of my face.
Finally I mustered, "Uh, I was told I could sell something to you."
The devil's eyes widened and sparkled with blue radiation. “Why yes, of course you can."
"I'd like to sell my soul." I said.
Hi lips slowly raised, "In exchange for what? Women, power, money"
"No, I'd like to sell it for salvation."
"Boo!" the devil yelled. "That's boring, but whatever I guess".
He turned and waved for me to follow him into his home, so I did. I glided over his welcome mat into his breathtaking living room.
Oddly, the living room looked exactly like what I've always envisioned having in the future. I dreamed of this living room as I commuted an hour a day and worked 70 hours a week, "grinding".
The tv was massive, the couch had to of costed 20k, and the woman on top of it was literally in my dream last week.
She waved, I scratched my head, and the devil kept walking.
He led me to a patio door that overlooked a huge mountain range with a river flowing in the distance.
“Is this all yours?" I said.
"Not for long” He responded and tossed me a beer from the fridge.
"This place is awesome, it's my dream!" I said.
The devil smiled and said, "Welp, I best get going."
As he said that his appearance slowly changed, his stomach plumped, his teeth got yellow, and his hair fell out.
Before I could say anything, he was at the door. He spun around and said, "Welcome to your dream and your salvation. Everything you ever wanted is here and nothing can hurt you as long as you don't leave your property. Well, actually you can't leave your property anymore. Only I can, since I have your soul and all."
The devil then turned around and skipped down the driveway.
I sat down at the wood engraved 30 foot table with my beer.
All of these things around me, but something was missing.
| 2022-06-30T12:26:14 | 2022-06-30T11:14:50 | 49 | 24 |
[WP] A man draws a gun in a dark alley and asks for your wallet. You begrudgingly obey. He throws it on the ground, shoots it till it screeches, and turns to you; "you're safe now".
|
"*Bang, bang*, **bang**!" shouted the old man in torn, mismatched clothing. His index fingers were pressed together and pointing at my purse. Then, he cupped his hands over his mouth and made a hideous guttural sound, followed by a few deep breaths. Bad ventriloquism.
"There you go madam," he said gruffly. "You're safe now."
In the darkness of the alley, the silhouette of his hands had looked a little like a gun, and I'd reluctantly acquiesced to the mugging by throwing my purse on the ground. Only now, with my eyes adjusted to the dark, I realised I'd been mistaken. There had been no mugging - just a scrawny old man with a screw or two lose, thinking he was doing some good.
"Uh... thanks," I stuttered, walking over to my purse. "Maybe I can get you a coffee or something, to repay you for your kindness."
"I'm just doing my duty as a citizen of the Orion alliance. No reward is necessary." I saw his tongue dart out and wet his cracked lips. "Although, a thank you pastry wouldn't be, erm, *unacceptable*."
"Oh. Okay, well, there's a bakery around the corner," I replied, picking up my purse. "I'm Elizabeth. What's your name?"
He paused for a moment as he thought. "Derek," he said, finally.
The street was dark and quiet, hushed by the Sunday night blues. Boris' Bakery however, was as open as always. I pushed the door and held it open for my new friend to enter through.
There was no one behind the counter, but the sweet scent of freshly baked bread came drifting out from the back. There wasn't much choice available at this hour, but Derek was already pawing at the glass counter, salivating at the sight of half stale Danish pastries.
"Have anything you want. Hell, have a few things. I owe you big time," I said, smiling politely. Poor guy needed a good meal.
I hadn't really noticed his smell before, but now we were in an enclosed space, Derek's strange odour was becoming prominent. But it wasn't the smell of body odour or urine. It was something else. Something I recognised but couldn't put my finger on. Maybe a little sulphurous.
I opened my handbag and looked in my purse, wanting to make sure I had enough money to pay for the feast I felt certain Derek would be ordering.
There was a hole in my purse! - about an inch and a half in diameter. Most of my coins had already escaped through it, but some were still trickling out into my handbag like a nickel waterfall. But more worrying than that, was the black substance coalescing around the hole, bubbling and stretching, as if trying to heal over a wound.
"*Don't trust him,*" came the gurgled whisper from my purse.
"What the-"
Derek turned. "Ey?"
"Oh, erm, nothing. I was just checking my phone. Ex says he wants to meet up. It was a bit of a surprise."
"Ah, probably just a booty call," said Derek, as he went back to the counter, peering down through the glass and licking his lips.
"That's probably it," I murmured in agreement, gazing back down into my handbag.
"Run," my purse pleaded.
I lowered my voice and whispered a reply. "*What are you?*"
"I'm the last of my kind. He - we call him the Coin Collector - has been hunting us for millennia. He's going to kill me, then he's going to kill you. Run. Now!"
"Kill me?" I replied, swallowing hard.
I hadn't heard Derek moving, but his voice made me jump in surprise.
"So that fucking animal is still alive," he growled. I turned to see him by the door, blocking the exit. "Well, that's a shame, cause..." he pressed his hands together forming a finger gun, "I was just starting to like you."
He aimed his fingers toward me.
A booming cry of "flour power!" erupted behind us.
The small white bag twisted in the air, sprinkling the floor with its sweet, powdery snow. It struck Derek's hands like a rock, knocking them down to his side.
"You just made a big mistake, threatening a customer in *my* bakery," boomed Boris, a long baguette in his hands. The burly baker was out from behind the counter as quick as a whippet, holding the baked good in front of him like a crusty sword.
Derek stumbled backward as the blow of the bread stick struck his left temple. His eyes became a cloud of red, and his lips twisted and distorted into something unnatural - demonic, even. Behind them, jagged teeth were starting to protrude.
"Fool!" he spat, as he grabbed a stale loaf of sourdough by its plastic sheath. He swung it in front of him, every bit as menacing as a mace.
"Shit!" cried Boris, as the crusty uppercut sent him sprawling to the floor. The creature was on him in a flash, sinking his teeth deep into the baker's forehead; a mist of red exploded to the ceiling.
I grabbed a hot cross bun from the shelf and flung it at the monster, hoping the religious symbol would somehow wound it - but it bounced off its back, seemingly causing little harm at all.
"Run!" screamed my purse.
"Your coin pouch is right, lady - I can't hold him off much longer!" screamed Boris, his arms flailing hopelessly as he struggled against the creature. The smell of blood and flour mingled perversely in the air. "**Run!**"
The bell jangled behind me as I fled into the street; Boris' screams chased me like the wind as I ran.
"Oh god," I cried.
"No time for that," said my purse stoically. "We've got to get to the night-bank before it closes - I've got a withdrawal to make that might just save our lives! Then, we'll repay the Coin Collector, *with interest*."
I rolled my eyes, then hurried toward the bank.
---
*:|*
|
Well, that was unexpected.
"What was that thing?"
He replies almost nonchalantly, "Some alien. I am an agent of the United Nations. You understand that I have to take you in now, right?" He seems sincere, and as if he doesn't actually want to take me in, but rather just has to do it.
"Would it matter if I said no?"
He seems amused, "Well, no. Not really. I am taking you in whether you want to go or not." Well, might as well. He led me over to his car, and gestured that I should get in. I did, and off we went, speeding into the night.
Well, it's not of a decent length, but I think I am going to continue this in the morning. If anyone wants to leave an idea, please do. It helps me brainstorm.
| 2017-07-13T00:33:58 | 2017-07-12T23:20:55 | 399 | 16 |
[WP] An unidentified dead human body is found in space.
|
“Thrusting aft … okay, holding, on station.” Bullard secured the pod’s maneuvering jets and rechecked his alignment. Right on target.
The monitor showed the object silhouetted against the rim of the Earth, with the terminator somewhere over the Midwest U.S., and Bullard let his gaze linger for a moment on the view. Sunrise soon over Houston, and Maggie and the kids would be getting up for school and work.
“Ah, roger, copy you’re on station, Ranger,” came DePlessy’s voice from the ISS. The station was beyond visual range somewhere above and behind Bullard, but it showed up clearly on his scope, a comforting blip in the vast orbital emptiness.
Bullard enjoyed excursions from the cramped and overly familiar surroundings of the station, but it took only an hour or so in a pod to begin to get claustrophobic. The two-person vehicles were extremely useful for station repairs and brief getaways, but they hadn’t been designed for comfort.
But comfort’s not why I’m here, Bullard told himself, focusing instead on the object drifting some 20 meters ahead of the pod. Scans had picked it up 16 hours ago, and the ISS had focused its cameras on it during the previous several orbits. What they’d seen, and had relayed to Houston, had caused enough consternation and head-scratching down there to authorize this unusual little mission.
Odds in Houston were running high that it was a prank, most likely pulled off by the Russians. The Chinese were also a possibility, but the general consensus was that they lacked the requisite sense of humor.
“Ok, ISS, Houston, I’m gonna start my approach. Recorders on. Thrusting forward.” Bullard tapped the thrust control, inching the pod slowly ahead. Next, he unlimbered the starboard arm, experimentally rotating the robotic limb and opening and closing its pincers. He was an old hand at orbital repairs and had been chosen for his deft touch and his habitual lack of excitability.
If this *was* a gag, it was a good one, Bullard thought as the pod inched closer. As he approached, he was able to see more details, and could confirm that, as it had appeared from the ISS’s cameras, the object did in fact look like a human form, curled in a fetal position. Bullard’s approach from behind gave him a view of the figure’s back, its lower legs and the soles of its feet – its head was tucked forward and its arms were slightly crossed at its chest.
One of the reasons it had been hard to pick out on visual scans was that it was clad in some kind of dark material, as opposed to the universal bright white of all nations’ space suits. As he got closer, Bullard saw that the clothing seemed to be a suit, like a business suit, and that the figure’s feet seemed clad in leather shoes.
What the hell? Bullard thought to himself. Why would the Russians -- or anyone else -- clothe a mannequin in a suit and a pair of shoes and flush it out an airlock? If it was a joke, it was a pretty pointless one, considering the orbit it had been placed in – lower than any satellite’s or spacecraft’s -- and the fact that it was nearly invisible. The point of a visual gag, after all, is that it be *seen*.
At about 10 meters, Bullard couldn’t help but notice that this was an odd-looking mannequin – dumpy, with an evident bulge at the waist, and rather chunky calves and ankles. Not to mention a fairly wide ass. Who makes mannequins that look like regular people? Maybe the Russians did, who knew. But Bullard could now discern the back of the figure’s head, and rather than a smooth plastic dome, Bullard was alarmed to see a head of dark hair, unkempt and shot through with silver. He also couldn’t help but see the large mole just below the hairline in back. And that the leather on the shoes was worn.
He switched to a secure channel and toggled the com pad. “Uh folks, we might have an issue here. Please check your feeds – I’m thinking this is not, repeat *not*, a mannequin. Looks to me … well, it looks to me a like a man. In a suit. Floating dead in space. Do you copy?”
There was a pause, and then DePlessy’s voice, a little less calm than usual. “Copy. And concur. That looks like a man to me. Houston?”
Another pause, and then Houston came on the line. “We’re holding judgment for now, Ranger. Request you approach and use the arm to give us a visual of the front of the … of the object. Copy?”
“Copy,” Bullard replied. “Thrusting forward.”
Determined now to get this over with, Bullard pulsed forward until he was within the robot arm’s range. There, not ten feet from his forward window, floated what appeared to be a dead guy in a suit, in geosynchronous orbit some 310 kilometers above the Earth. Not something you see every day, Bullard thought to himself.
Activating the arm, Bullard moved it toward the figure (*man*, Bullard said to himself. That’s a man out there.) As the arm inched nearer, Bullard found himself squeamish. He’d never spent much time with dead people. His grandparents, ok, he kind of remembered their funerals. And he’d seen one man killed during flight training in the Navy. But never one up close.
The arm was now hovering over the figure’s shoulder. Steeling himself, Bullard reached out and gently grasped the suit coat where it bulged out slightly at the shoulder, and slowly pulled back on the controls.
“I have it now, Houston. Pulling it around. I don’t want to get it tumbling so I’m going slow--- oh Jesus. Jesus Christ.”
Bullard, who’d spent hours perusing the books on 20th century history that had littered his grandfather’s study, felt the air go out of his lungs. The figure was now turned fully toward the pod, and the light of the rising sun, combined with the pod’s strobes, limned it in harsh light. The face, slightly ravaged by its exposure to space, was still identifiable -- pockmarked and jowly, and well used. And it *was* a suit he was wearing, sans tie. The shirt, open at the first button, had old-fashioned tab collars and a large rust-brown stain over the breast, corresponding to a similar stain and what appeared to be a ragged hole over the suitcoat pocket.
“What is it, Ranger?” DePlessy’s voice sounded more like a squawk than her usual sexy growl. “We’ve got a bad visual here – there’s too much light! What are you seeing? Do you copy?”
“Ah, roger ISS, Houston, this is Ranger. It will take a minute to see if his wallet’s in his pocket, but please get a call into the FBI. Let them know that I’ve found the body of one James R. Hoffa. Do you copy? It's Jimmy Hoffa.”
|
March 12, 2013: 13:00 My son asked me if he could sign my boot before I went up into orbit as a reminder that he'd always be there with me. Although against policy, I brought him to the gear storehouse and watched him scribble a large S on the heel of my left space-walk boot.
March 14, 2013: 19:00 As soon as the order came over the intercom I wrapped up the engine repair and raced toward to the airlock to fix the leak. I shed my gear but as soon as the door closed the ruptured gas tank exploded with a force that knocked me off, my already, floating feet. For one reason or another the ship rocketed forward beginning an orbit around earth with astonishing speed. Without gravity to stop us and constant acceleration we spun faster and faster around the blue dot I used to call home.
March 14, 2013:18:55 That's all I remember before I blacked out. When I came too I was still floating around the engine pod tinkering with a faulty gasket. I noticed, what appeared, to be an explosion in the distance but those are quite common as we see errant reflections of solar flares from time to time. I ignored it and went back to work until an oddly shaped object came floating past several yards away. All I could see was that it looked like a body in a wrecked space suit but my mind immediately discounted that idea as an unidentified corpse floating through space would be absurd.
What was so strange was that I was able to catch a glimpse of the body's boot. I noticed an oddly shaped mark that vaguely resembled an S—it sent a shiver down my spine. I simply assumed oxygen levels in my suit were dwindling and that I was seeing nonsense. I headed back toward the airlock a bit spooked about that left boot.
| 2013-10-30T10:48:26 | 2013-10-30T08:34:56 | 20 | 15 |
[WP]Four years ago, your dog and best friend disappeared. Today, your dog appears at your doorstep. You dog says, "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat."
"you" dog heh
|
"Bobby?"
"Yes, pleasure to meet you again."
"You.."
"What?"
"talk.."
"I've been through rough years, Jeff."
"But.."
"No buts, mister, please. Just give me thirty minutes, and I'll tell you."
"Hmm."
"I.. could use a pat though."
"Hmmm. That's nice, and reassuring. I've missed that.. since."
"Do you remember, Jeff?"
"Yes, vividly. I tried to look for you. It took weeks. Just like Alexander. I resigned, eventually, though it took a toll on me."
"Ahh, right. That livid cat. He's always the kinder of the two. By the way, how's Charles?"
"Busy as ever. Only comes back when he's hungry or tired. He really likes it outside. Always at the front porch at night, trying to look for something. Must've missed you dearly. I mean, almost four years, Bob. Four. Where have you been?"
"Places, Jeff. I've witnessed wonders, countries, gardens, beauts."
"Must've been quite an adventure."
"Yes, quite. You know the alleys you dubbed the Possum Street besides the old arcade store?"
"Yeah, very funny memories. Used to stay there til closing trying to top off that racing game. What of the alleys?"
"The day that I went missing, I chased a cat from the park we used to stroll on to that alley."
"I remembered that, surprisingly."
"Anyhow, as I was on the grasp of getting her to my jaws, I slipped and fell into an open manhole. You wouldn't believe where I went to and what I saw after, Jeff."
"What?"
"At first I went into some sort of a tunnel, forever falling, I went to sleep from fright. When I woke up, I was in Hopsmarch! Jeff! I met Doklanga, Prince of the Hopsmarchers! They were real!"
"Hahahaha. Tell me, you're joking. Are you saying that the Chronicles of Hopsmarch is real?"
"Hehe. Do you think that me, your best friend, would ever mistake your work for any other? Of course it's real!" "See this scar over my right hind leg? I got that from Despot Alvaringe when he swung his sword at Doklanga during the assault on Fiverine Fort!"
"Hmm, Fiverine Fort? In my memory, that fort was only under attack when... wait a minute. Bob, you fought on the Epic? On the side of the Hopsmarchers?!"
"No Jeff, let me tell you that I did not just fought with it, I lived it! You see, when I was transported to that world, I met Doklanga during the hunt..."
"..for the holy white horned stallion Mersachere!"
"..for the holy white horned stallion Mersachere! But the holy white stallion has been known to kill any man who dares hunt it!"
"Ha! Yes! But you forgot the tiny detail.."
"You're a dog.."
"Yes, that I'm a dog! So Doklanga was in the Elder Forest when Mersachere suddenly appeared on his back, ready to spear the Prince when I managed to sprint and bit the stallion's foot. Mersachere was outbalanced and fell on a sharp and narrow stump."
"That's glorious, Bob, very!"
"That's not even this part's best part! In honor of saving the Prince of Hopsmarch's life, I was eventually made into his Dire Warhound."
"A very prestigious title, considering that Hopsmarchers consider canines as people."
"Though I wasn't one. But Doklanga allowed the request of Highseer Venarise to elevate me to a higher canine, which because of it's artificial nature, also gave me speech."
"Using a metamorph spell, apparently."
"No Jeff, it was actually the Uplift spell. The metamorph spell was to change forms. You're getting very forgetful of your own stories."
"Sorry, Bob. Must've been age."
"Or skipping medications again, Jeff."
"Sometimes."
"Old man. You should take care of your self. Always."
"Yeah."
"So, about that scar?"
"Oh, right! So I was made into a Dire Warhound, Prince's loyal guard, blah blah, and as per your story..."
"...Alvaringe invaded Hopsmarch to take advantage of the recent king's death"
"And prevent the accession of Doklanga to kingship by vote of the Noble Council. But now, instead of Count Everest, the Despot of Maramia backed Baron Fundgeisler to the throne."
"Do you know why?"
"So, why?"
"Maybe it's your arrival that changed minor things in that world's history. Tell me, did Doklanga won the war?"
"Yes."
"Wasn't suppose to, right? He was severely wounded in his duel with Alvaringe and with his army demoralized and eventually defeated, he's to flee to his father-in-law, the Emperor Polaris to seek aid and rally the other Marchers to aid Hopsmarch."
"Jeff, you forgot the scar."
"Ohhh, yeah, right, the SCAR! Yes! You managed to save Doklanga and defeat the Despot, I presume? And how? He is the finest warrior in the land and sports an adamantium armor, which is kinda indestructible, my best friend. There's no way that the Prince's sword or your jaws can penetrate that."
"We didn't. I just distracted Alvaringe by biting and holding his feet and hands down, and with that kind of very heavy armor, he'll not have the kind of mobility that Doklanga has. Eventually the Prince saw an opening at the neck seam, which is a drawback of a separate helmet from the full armor, and struck his sword."
"You seem to be very versed in the art of war."
"Indeed. After the conflict, I stayed for a full year to train the new Dire Warhound guards, and also to learn close combat and tactics from Pres Agamara."
"And you came back to me."
"Eventually I got lonely, as I remember your care and love from the hospitality that the people of Hopsmarch gives me. I eventually made a request to by-then King Doklanga of a thing."
"Of going back home?"
"No, Jeff. Of you being an advisor to the Noble Council based on your experience in the history and culture. Of course I hid that you are the one that actually made their world to exist."
"But, Bob. I have... a life here."
"What life? A life with the same old peers that hardly even remember you? Your family is gone. All that is left is you here. I'm your only friend left in the Earth."
"Aside from Linda. She's a very kind nurse, always reminding me of taking my medications."
"She's young and has a great body too, but that's not the point! Don't you always wanted to explore outside the shelter and have an adventure with me? Don't you always picture yourself in a quest with me? Granted, we have that four years ago when we're talking walks in the park but this will be different. Hopsmarchers, smiling, beautifully singing, archers competing in the Grand Charade, children dancing in the annual Boatswarming Festival..."
"I know.. but. I'm an old man. What use can an old man in Hopsmarch be. I'm not even sure if I still can do long walks."
"You have me, Jeff. I'll guide you there. You'll be free from your current life of monotony. Come, on, it's midnight. I've already gotten the keys from the guards and unlocked the doors the way in."
"Ookay. Yes. I think I can have one more adventure, at least before I leave the world of the living."
"Let's go, Jeff. On to the world that you have forged! Live it!"
"Ha! Thanks, Bob. Now, now. Don't be too hasty."
"Right, slow and steady."
"Yes. Nice. Now who's a good boy."
"I do. Ha, surprisingly, I also missed that."
"I'm betting earlier that you do."
-------------
*In Loving Memory*
Jefferson A. Mercer
October 13, 1942 - January 3, 2013
Jefferson, fiction writer, passed away in his sleep on January 3, 2013 in Angels Shelter in Salamis holding a picture of his beloved dog Bobby. Memorial services will be performed at Saint Andrew Funeral Homes on January 5, 2013 at 4:00 pm.
Memorial donations may be made in Jefferson's name to the American Writers Society. Alongside, the drafts of the final Chronicles of Hopsmarch book and its intellectual property is also donated to the AWS.
|
It was an average Tuesday morning. Wife had already left for work and the kids were at school. It was just me, my coffee, and the morning news.
Suddenly, there's a knock on the door. Salesman maybe? Or girl scouts? It was that time of year after all.
I slowly get up, leaving my coffee on the table and pause the tv, and waltz over to the door. I can't see anyone through the peephole. Which probably means Mail delivery or something of the sort.
Instead, on the other side of that door, I found an old friend.
"BOXES!" I cry out. Sitting there on my front porch was my old German Shepard, my old best friend who had gone missing four years ago.
"Yes Charlie, it's me."
Woah okay. Wait a minute, I must be hearing things. I swore it sounded, and looked, like Boxes just spoke. In English.
"No, you're not crazy Charlie. i really can talk." He said to me in a calm, collected tone.
"Oookay. So you can talk. Assuming I'm not imagining this. I don't mean to sound rude, but, why are you here?" I asked him. I still wasn't entirely sure this was real, but I was slowly accepting the situation.
"Because, it's time we had a chat. Is it alright if I come inside?"
It just now hit me that we had been talking on my front porch. I probably looked crazy to anyone who saw. I invited him back into his old house.
"Wow, things have really changed around here." He said. He walked around, seemingly taking everything in. He stopped at the family photo. Boxes was sitting next to me in the photo.
"I remember this. This was just before I left"
"Yea, I know. Speaking of which, why did you leave?" I asked. I was curious, and while I did miss my best friend, I felt like he owed me an explanation.
"Charlie, old friend, when we first met, you said something to me, and then said it again 5 times over the two years after that. It wasn't common enough for me. I decided to leave so I can find out the truth about myself. Who I am. One day, I was in the street, searching for answers when i realized, who better to answer my question than the man who gave me the answer."
"Okay wait, you ran away instead of just asking me?"
"I wanted an honest answer. I wanted to know what other people thought. If it came from you, it would've been biased. But now that I have heard it from many others, I am almost content."
"Almost?" I asked. I was still trying to figure out what he was getting at exactly.
"Yes. First, Charlie, I would like to be allowed to come back. To live at home with the family again. Our family. If it is okay with you." He said.
"Of course! We've all missed you, Boxes. The kids will be ecstatic to see you again." I said. This was a relief. I was glad he was staying again. But I was still wondering what he was asking, yet it almost felt impolite to ask, because it seemed like he was getting to it.
"Finally Charlie, I have to ask. Just one time."
"Go ahead." I said.
"Am I a good boy?"
| 2017-03-31T10:03:28 | 2017-03-31T09:26:29 | 358 | 27 |
[WP] You work at a pharmacy that dispense a pill that will humanely end life. One day, someone comes in for a refill.
|
I admit, I was surprised when Ned walked in late one night and asked for a refill of The End.
Not because he's the first to have done so - not by any means. While The End has never failed, it isn't uncommon for a teenager to think he's the first one to have thought of this "prank" or for a desperately lonely house spouse to use it as a cry for attention. But it would never be on the market if it were that easy to misuse - a simple scanner will reveal not only the presence of the pill's contents in a body, but all the information about the purchaser as well.
I didn't need the scanner for Ned, though. He didn't have the barely contained mirth of the prank caller, nor the hysterics of the attention seeker. He had the same glum and slightly embarrassed look as when he picked the pills up two days before. In fact, it was the same expression I'd seen on him every time he picked up a prescription - starting with anti-smoking meds, then anti-drinking meds, then anti-anxiety meds to help with the gambling, and heading into anti-heroine and anti-psychotics after his wife took their family away from him for drinking and gambling away their lives.
Which is why I wasn't surprised the first time he came in, but sure was the second: he had all the hallmarks of The End's typical user. Someone who was just never able to get their life together, and who would almost certainly have taken the pills.
But even so, regulations require us to verify any claims of malfunction. So I lead Ned back to the scanner in the back room. He apologized distractedly for the bother as the coils warmed up, and I got the impression that the thought of having lost his only escape was weighing more heavily on him than his brush with death.
If I was surprised to see Ned again, I was *shocked* when the scan came back positive. His body was littered with the personalized, guaranteed to kill nanobots that make up The End, and yet he looked no worse than the first day I saw him come in.
"So was it a bad batch or summin?" mumbled Ned, with a trace of hope in his voice - if hope for death can be called such - so faint I wasn't sure it was really there.
I wanted to tell him that was impossible. The End was self-monitoring and fool-poof. But something else caught hold of me then - curiosity. I am ashamed to admit that I then tossed aside the weighty failure reporting procedures, and told him it must have been just that - a bad batch. And I hastily made up another dose of two pills, and suggested he take it here, so I we could be sure this time. He was against taking them in front of me, but that spark of inquiry set off by this failure gave me the passion to convince him, and he downed the pills.
We waited three hours, well past the twenty minute activation time. Nothing happened.
"Couldn'ta been two bad batches, I suppose..." Ned said as he mulled it over. I told him it wasn't even one bad batch - the scanner showed both pills active and effective in his system. I described, in fervorous detail driven by my shock at this discovery, how the pills worked, and in exactly how many ways he should be dead.
Ned hardly listened; and frankly I think the medical details went right over his head. But at the end, all he did was sigh, and say "guess that explains this" - and pull up his shirt.
Right over his heart, Ned had two puckered and rounded scars - bullet wounds.
He stood up to leave, pulling his shirt half back down as he did, and mumbling something about trying to do it the old fashioned way with alcohol again. I moved to block the door, with the light of new science in my eyes, and tried to convince him there was a better way - there was *understanding* to be had here - but Ned wasn't having it.
Our argument about Ned's future, or lack thereof, had nearly come to blows when a third option presented itself in the most unlikely of forms. Specifically, a masked man slipped in the back door, and seeing us, pulled a gun and started shouting.
This was one turn of events too many for me; I was used to a quieter life without suicide-proof rednecks and robberies. So my recall of events from this point is unfortunately hazy. I remember the masked man jabbing at us with the gun. I remember demands for pills. I remember Ned chuckling, followed by a blast of sound that must have been the gun, but which seemed to drown out all sound from that point on. And I remember blood, then darkness.
When I awoke, the police where there, the masked man was being zipped in a bag, and Ned was gone. There was still blood, but it appeared none of it was mine. The next weeks were a blur of police interviews, depositions with the makers of The End, and avoiding reporters, but I never saw Ned again.
But that wasn't 'the end' of Ned's story. A little over a year later, I started receiving post cards. They contained no writing or signatures, but had been posted from some of the most violent places on Earth. And once I had nearly a dozen, that gnawing curiosity caught hold of me again. A few trips to the library turned up odd events within a week and a few miles of each of those postings: violent gangs, warlord's henchmen, terrorists, zealots, and worse trying to do harm to some helpless victim, only to have a stranger step in, and against seemingly terrible odds, stop the attack.
I can't prove anything; violent attacks and heroic deeds are done every day. But I think Ned finally found something worth living for in his life. And the last post card was just a flier for The End, and contained the only words to appear on any of the cards to date: "Another satisfied customer."
|
I looked from the prescription, back to the ID card. It was him alright, but how?
Not one human had ever survived them, everyone just fell asleep.
And he is here for a refill?! how in the?
I counted the pills, 1..2..2......10. Everyone always got 10. Officially it was in case one didn't work, but you only really needed one.
I handed the now filled glass back to him.
"How?"
He slowly managed to smile, flashing some bright white teeth. He stared at me for some time, it quickly became uncomfortable. Then he winked.
"They are not for me".
He was gone before I even understood what he meant.
| 2016-03-13T18:34:50 | 2016-03-13T17:20:26 | 74 | 28 |
[WP] Every time you sneeze you find yourself in someone else's body. It's usually no real problem; you change back in 60 seconds. This time when you sneeze you find your tied up. In front of you is guys with guns. "Alright Franky, you got 30 seconds to explain why we shouldn't kill your ass"
|
I've had to improvise before. My condition lands me in dire straits more often than not - a CEO giving a presentation, a construction worker handling heavy machinery, a pilot landing a plane - things like that.
I've learned how to handle everything it throws at me, more or less.
It started when I was 10. My brother and I were in the kitchen, helping mom with dinner. I was getting the salt and pepper bottles out of the cabinet -- I guess the lid wasn't screwed on right. Pepper spilled all over my face, and then I felt it.
*The tug*.
You know that feeling you get right before a big sneeze? That tightness between your eyes? That's the tug. It pulls everyone a little, but I'm one of the few who it *catches*. It felt like an eternity and an instant passing simultaneously. Like my body was being stretched and squished and catapulted through space at the speed of light.
Release came. Eternity passed. I sneezed. And when my eyes opened, I wasn't me anymore - I was *her*. I still don't know her name. But I remember the look of the man in the dark who was there with her. And I remember her pain. At the time, I couldn't process what was happening. It felt like a strange nightmare. And that's what everyone said - my parents, the counselors - that I'd simply passed out and had a vivid nightmare.
But it *felt* real.
It happened only a couple more times over the next several years. I managed not to be sick very often, and I avoided pepper and cats (my only allergy) like the plague. Each time, doctors. But I didn't tell anyone about the dreams anymore.
Until, when I was 15, I saw *him* \- the man in the dark. I wasn't sure at first - but that face was seared into my memory. He was right there on TV, going to prison. The ticker rolled across the bottom of the screen, outlining his crimes. I read what he was going to prison for. And I knew it was real. The weight of it hit me like a ton of bricks. All the emotions I'd buried for so long came rushing to the surface - along with the worst sneezing fit of my entire life.
I must have been jumping for hours - one right after the other. Hundreds of lives, like a tornado of emotions, feelings, and experiences, all happening at once, all on top of the weight I already carried. I couldn't control it and I couldn't escape it. At first, I was a weeping mess, leaving confused onlookers in the wake of whatever lives I left behind. Then when the jumps didn't stop, I started timing them. Always 60 seconds exactly. I even tried to sneeze again while in a jump - no dice.
Then I found myself falling - fast. The punch of adrenaline and the rush of air hit me hard. I was flailing wildly, with no control. I tried looking around, but I was spinning so fast, it was hard to make anything out - all I could see was flashes of blue and brown and green. I was started to feel sick, and the blood was rushing to my head. I grabbed at my - *his* \- body frantically. Was that a harness? *A parachute*. I felt for the release. Pulled as hard as I could. Nothing.
I knew the ground, somewhere far below me, was rushing up to meet me. It was all I could do to keep counting.
Twenty.
*Don't these things have a secondary chute?*
I found it. Pulled it. Nothing again.
Ten.
*What happens now? What if he dies while I'm in his head?*
Five.
I closed my eyes.
*Two.*
*One.*
The world went black.
When I woke up, I was lying on the ground, blood running down my face, the life and energy completely drained out of me. I struggled to remember my name.
But then it came back. And I remembered. *It was real.*
Did I make it out in time? Or did the skydiver die? Over the next few days, I scoured the news for skydiving deaths, but found nothing. No failed chutes, no reports anywhere. Then I had a realization. I changed my search to Spanish, and there it was. A South American skydiver's chute failed to open two days ago. Miraculously, he lived.
One question answered - it was *definitely* real. But another wasn't. *What if they die?*
After that, everything changed again. I had a choice to make - to play the victim and run away scared, or find a way to control what was happening to me. So I started preparing. Learning other languages. Familiarizing myself with weapons. Taking flying lessons. Anything and everything I could think of - I dedicated my life to learning it.
Then I started jumping on purpose. After some experimentation, I found the perfect mixture of cat hair, pepper, pollen, and dust to trigger just one, heavy tug. This became my drug. Living other people's lives was an adrenaline rush I craved.
I've been a movie star. An astronaut. A baby. A fisherman. A woman living deep in the jungle. A man living atop a high-rise in Dubai. A leper. An addict drying out. A soldier.
I've jumped off of buildings, meditated in the Himalayas, raced in the Indy 500, and learned deep secrets poured out to me by confidantes in mid conversation.
Of course, it's not always exciting. Sometimes I'm just sitting in a chair.
But other times... other times, I'm reminded of that first jump. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, I've trained myself to quickly scan my environment and look for hints about who I've haunted or where I've ended up. I've managed to save a few people here and there.
But then came today. Unremarkable in every way. I was winding down my evening how I did most, sitting on my couch, jumping until I found someone interesting. I was an accountant. A hairdresser. A child watching TV. A teenager watching.... something else. I wrote him a note.
And now.
I'm bound to a chair. Handcuffs around my arms and legs. The room is dark. A spotlight is shining on me. My face is wet, and my jaw feels wrong. I can only see out of one eye. Pain shoots up my leg. Three men stand above me, guns trained on my head. The one in front wraps a towel around his bloodied hand, and I hear him say in his heavy Brooklyn accent,
"Alright Franky, you got 30 seconds to explain why we shouldn't kill your ass."
It's then that I see the mirror behind the thugs. I crane my neck to peer into it, and I'm shocked at what I see.
Despite the clearly broken jaw and the black eye, the face is unmistakable. I'd know it anywhere. It's seared into my dreams.
It's the man in the dark. I'm *him*.
"Ten seconds Franky." The thug cocks his weapon.
I stare up into his eyes.
I make sure to enunciate clearly.
"Fuck. You."
The world goes black.
|
3 angry dudes were in front of me, with who seemed the leader threatening me with a quite scary military knife.
**59:47**
*Okaaaaay, take a deep breath Sam. You have been through worse situations like when you possessed the superintendent the moment he was enjoying some quality BDSM time.*
**56:28**
"Hey motherfucker, did that hit earlier turn you dumb huh?"
*Analize.*
I was tied to a chair in what appeared to be a dark basement. They have a knife and 2 clubs. *No firearms*
**52:13**
"Are you..."
"Shut the fuck up you blonde bastard." *It's showtime.*
I said while liberating my hands from the ropes.
"Son of a..." Before he could even react I restrained him and threw him to his subordinates.
*Whoa! This body is good!*
**50:00**
I gave the mobs a good ninja like hit in their necks, putting them to sleep.
*I feel awesome, does this dude train Kung Fu or something?*
I walked out of the basement and saw a little girl gagged and tied on the floor.
She seemed asleep. Following the instincts my body was sending me I removed all the nuisances and left her in a comfortable position on a sofa that was near.
*The furniture seems to be from the 70s, did I end in the past this time?*
**33:56**
Following my code of actions, I searched for a paper to write about what I did to prevent the owner from freaking out after I return.
**09:09**
*Should I at least see how I look like?*
**07:44**
Picking up a mirror I dust off the surface.
**06:13**
*This is gross, is this spider dung?*
**04:38**
*Wait...*
**02:59**
*Noooo way.*
**01:36**
*I am Bruce Lee!*
**00:00**
Returning to the present, I googled Bruce Lee and found out that he surprisingly was truly nicknamed Franky by the neighborhood.
But something was weird. *How come I'm getting images from an old ass man that... Resembles him?*
*Oh shit. I fucked up.*
| 2018-11-15T13:48:47 | 2018-11-15T13:27:12 | 353 | 59 |
[WP] A handful of people have been born with a dumb and useless superpower. The government has made sure to not let two of these people make contact with each other because when these two useless powers combine the world will be at risk. One day two of these people accidently meet
|
It wasn't like I wanted it to happen, hell, it wasn't even that I knew it would happen..it just did!
Our society has labeled my ilk as "Defects"; while the majority of our race has evolved into a species with extraordinary powers, the rest of us (the defects) just do stupid shit like turn into bread, or have a golden anus. Don't get me wrong, I'm not judging my comrades here its just that we're not all that special, at least not special enough to require around the clock supervision by our government friends.
So why am I writing this and why are you reading this right now? The answer for both is the same, you're wondering why the sky is always dark and food is nearly non-existent! For that, I truly am very sorry and I hope after you've finished reading this that you will forgive me and Charles.
It all started in 10th grade, when our powers "awaken" for the first time. Yes, just like puberty we not only begin to judge others but ourselves as well. After classmate after classmate was isolated in a glass room and taught how to bring forth their newly found abilities I was left in awe by what I might be able to do!
Then my turn came, I stood in the middle with my hand in front of my face to protect my eyes from the heat and brightness of the massive spotlight shined onto my face. I was injected, electrocuted and made to wait for two minutes before the voice overhead instructed me to 'concentrate, focus on the beating of your heart. Count the beats and when you feel as though you're going to pass out I want you to exhale".
So I did, I counted the beats and I exhaled like they asked me too....but nothing happened! Nothing shook, nothing moved, I didn't float hell I didn't even turn into toast. Then I heard the screams, through that thick glass I heard the blood curdling screams of my classmates and I knew something bad just happened.
When the door opened and I saw the nurse the look of horror on her face filled me with dread. You could tell she shit herself by what I had done and I mean that literally. Her uniform from the waist down was now brown and the stench perforating into my bubble of seclusion let me know she wasn't the only one.
I took a walk of shame that still haunts me to this day in my dreams. All of my classmates, the principle even the security guards were leaking bodily fluids and trying their best to conceal what had happened to them.
So I went about my life avoiding as many people as possible, if I lost my focus for even a moment everyone around me would evacuate their bowls in a painful and torrent way. I tried to think of any use my skill could have and besides being a walking laxative I really couldn't come up with any respectful and useful way for me to use my powers. Neither did the government as from 10th grade on I was provided my very own security guard, who happened to be sponsored by Depends.
Everything in my life was in seclusion until the day I fell ill and needed to stay at the hospital overnight. The nursing staff and doctors were screened before treating me and their name tags comprised of a post it note stuck onto those stupid tree shaped car fresheners.
The last night I was their, the last night most people remember of normalcy actually come to think of it. Well that was the night maintenance was replacing the faucets in the bathrooms with new touch-less ones.
Enter Charles, a burly man no more older than I. His real name I soon found out was not really "Charles" but since he was an illegal from Canada (borders were shut down after we evolved remember?) he changed his name to protect himself and get a fake social security number.
Anyways Charles enters the room and startles me, so much so that I lose control of my focus and cause him to shit himself. I attempt to apologize but am shocked to see him stripping off his clothes as they themselves go up in flames! He confides that his ability is, in his words "I dun turn shit to napalm".
Now at first we thought it was kind of funny, he can't go into public restrooms while others are using them for fear of starting someones asshole on fire. I can't be around people without worrying I'm going to make them shit themselves. Together we're just, bad karma I guess.
Everything seemed to be going ok, both of us had our abilities (if you want to call them that) under control. That is until we heard the fire alarms going off. For whatever reason, our powers were magnified and constantly active as soon as we both triggered them in each others presence! It didn't take long for the screaming to start and by the time we made our way outside we saw the ring of fire spreading rapidly.
We both stood and watched as the surrounding buildings started alarming, windows blowing open as flames shot out. It spread faster and faster until the entire night sky glowed amber and the stench of shit and burned flesh filled our nostrils.
The city was in chaos in just an hour, news reporters on TV suddenly burst into flames as they tried to asses what was happening around the country. The last transmission we received was via Telemundo around midnight before a European soccer match ended with the players no longer chasing a ball, but running off the field with flames shooting from their asses.
We burned the world down! It seemed like it was going to go on for ever, those who were safe while swimming or bathing at that moment wouldn't be safe for long if we let it continue. I seek your forgiveness for what we have done and hope the world won't judge me to harshly for the decision i had to make concerning Charles. Of all the people I accidentally killed during that time, it's the one I intentionally did that hurts me the most.
|
"I can make peanut butter shoot out of my hands... what kind of a super power is this...?"
"I can make jelly shoot out of my hands... What is wrong with me!?"
They meet...
"Woah!? you have a weird super power too!?"
"Uhh, I guess so... I don't know if I would call it a super power."
"High five man!"
*The most amazing PBJ sandiwch is ever made - all food places go out of business.*
| 2015-03-10T11:26:28 | 2015-03-10T10:43:55 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] As humans evolve they develop a form of telepathy. Slowly the telepathy grows stronger and more widely used. Humans grow closer to one another and privacy and individuality are voluntarily discarded. Humanity is in the process of turning into a hivemind.
|
When Roman Gorshun heard an embassy from earth was coming to Gamma K, he couldn’t quite believe it. His title was Governor of the Colony, but it could have just as easily been mayor: there were perhaps thirty thousand humans on the one continent where nine hundred had landed more than a century ago, and of those only about a thousand lived in the sole urban development. The seat of government was just an old prefab that had once served as the first colonist’s general store—what could the suits from the homeland possibly want?
The communique arrived three days before they showed up, just enough time for him to gather the half-dozen representatives of the population that spent its time hunting, trapping, and farming in the hinterlands. Probably there were plenty of voyagers, the people who traded with the world’s near-hominid locals, who wouldn’t know about the embassy for months, when they returned with those ornate mind-altering stones the aliens quarried. Now, Gorshun and the closest thing Gamma K had to bigwigs stood on the edge of their world’s only landing pad, and watched a shuttle descend in early dawn light.
Shuttles had changed plenty since Gamma K was first settled. This vessel did not have the functional, bare-bones brutalism of the few orbit-capable ships Roman had seen. It was covered in baroque designs, flowing lines that turned into striated spires, arched view ports, no retrorockets but rather a grille from which there pulsed a faint blue light. It touched down without a sound, towering over the pad looking for all the galaxy like a church spire. Its airlock sluiced open and a ramp deployed—from within, three people emerged in a sort of compromise between a sari, a suit, and a toga. All three were perfectly hairless, without even eyebrows.
“Hello,” The one in the center said in a strangled accent Roman couldn’t place, “I am Ambassador Helva.”
“How’d you do?” Roman held out his hand. For a moment Helva showed just the faintest hint of shock, and then shook it lightly.
“We wish to speak to your people.”
“Well, what do you want to speak to them about?”
“It will be easiest if we can do this publicly, before the whole colony.”
Roman did his best to explain that this was simply not possible, most of Gamma K’s population was spread out over the entire continent, but Helva was insistent. With a shrug, he led the envoys into town, down the duckboards of the main drag, onlookers joining them the entire way. They arrived at the town square, a patch of white stone quarried miles away and built over the original gravel square almost forty years ago. Along the way the representatives jabbered on about their duties and how they’d come to be civic leaders to the ambassadors, who barely deigned to respond. Roman went on the town cryer and called for anyone who was able to come to the square as well, and after an hour or so the place had filled up, just about every person in a two-mile radius crowded in that small space like it was time for the pig sacrifice on Harvest Day.
The ambassadors stood before the podium, looking not at all uncomfortable though the three of them filled a stage meant for one, and Helva held out their hands for silence. It worked—first time Roman had ever seen that happen—and they spoke.
“People of Gamma K, what we are about to tell you may horrify some, as it did on earth and each colony to which envoys like us were sent. But we must assure you, once you open your minds and accept this new reality, your lives will be infinitely improved.”
Roman stood by the stage, arms crossed over his chest, and realized with a start that Helva’s lips weren’t moving.
“As some of you may know, human beings were discovered to possess latent telepathy some two hundred years ago. At first, it was believed this was no more than a small curiosity, something that had always been which we were barely able to access. But, not long after Gamma K’s colonists first left earth, it was learned that this had only recently evolved—and it was becoming stronger in each person. The larger the population, the more profound the effect. In the last thirty years, the forty billion people of earth have become so telepathic that conversation is hardly necessary. The greatest cities our species has ever built are nearly silent.
“Now, I tell you, we have learned of a further development. Telepathy transcends the confines of space and time. I am, right now, in contact with all the people of earth, able to pick and choose whomever I wish to communicate with. They are all watching this speech through my eyes, just as I am watching a similar speech to the people of Hydra happening this very moment.
“Our mission is simple: to connect all of humanity as one entity. Each person will be a working part in the gestalt, to lead us to a better future, to end petty conflicts and focus solely on the propagation of our species throughout the universe. I will do this for you—in a moment, you will all be brought into the fold, and then you will be able to bring the rest of this world’s population into it, as well.”
Almost the moment Helva stopped speaking a flood of voices slammed into Roman’s ears with the force of a sledgehammer. He heard more talking, screaming, laughing, moaning, ordering, and whatever else than he’d ever known in his life. It was a blur of human noise, so vast and overpowering it may have been the gods trumpeting the end of all life. He fell to his knees and perceived, dimly, everyone else doing the same.
He could feel, truly feel, someone else’s will crashing down on him, pushing him to accept this, pushing him to enjoy it. The effect was nauseating, and made worse when he saw through someone else’s eyes, the painted nails and slender hands of a woman somewhere in the square retching. It was nightmarish—he searched for himself, tried to find his own eyes again, focused on this more than anything else, pushing back the willpower of someone he could not name as though it were a torrent of freezing water, looking for the branch that was his own mind and could drag him back.
His own hands now, he saw, flat on the white cobbles of the square. He knew what he had to do—looking up, Helva and their two comrades were staring at him with a look of mixed anger and horror too intense for their gentle features. He drew his revolver, took aim. They did not move—the pressure for him to put the gun down became painful, a white-hot sting behind his eyes. He fired once, and Helva dropped. The other two kept up their stare—his skin was on fire now, he felt like a million tiny insects were biting every square centimeter. He fired again and one of the ambassador’s brains blew out.
The force of will broke, then. Almost instantly the entire crowd got to its feet and jumped the last envoy, dragging them to the ground and beating them furiously. After a few minutes of this, the voices in all their heads vanished. The last ambassador was dead.
“Are you all right?”
Roman looked up—he was the only one who had remained on their knees, the pain only now subsiding. The hand on his shoulder had the same painted nails *he’d* had just a moment before.
“Yeah…I think so. Gods, what the hell was that?”
“I don’t know, but if that bastard was telling the truth, we can expect more of it soon.”
“Yeah, well. I’ve got enough bullets for another embassy, I’ll tell you that much.”
|
It had to be reversed. That was what I knew. This was no gift, no power, it was an aberration.
It started 50 years ago, about 2 generations. It began with the children and spread, somehow. We aren't sure how or why but it could leap from a child into an adult, but it was always weaker in the adults. That gave us a clue on how to stop it, had we known at the time that we should have.
It wasn't until the second generation that it began to move more rapidly though the population. At first we though it a gift, a way to bring peace. We could all feel what the other felt, see through their eyes. How could we do anything but work together?
And then we started moving through each others legs, talking with others mouths, working with others hands. IT began to pull us together into an abomination.
Unless you happened to be autistic. That was the cure, within the brains of the neurodivergent we found, or more specifically did not find the core of this so called gift. It was a strange organ which developed inside the brain, that somehow spread between any two people. The thing was that if someone was wired different enough then it just couldn't take root.
We had made great strides in technology and one of those things was nanotech. While they had tried to bring those of us who were immune into the fold, we scorched their earth. Every child who was born after last month was going to be some level of autistic. They would be never be witness to this aberration.
As for the rest of them and why they didn't use the nanotech against us, well it would seem that its a combination of misplaced empathy a lack of creativity. This thing, it takes away everything that it means to be human, and that means our ability to create. After those first few strides of united research, it just stopped. Perhaps a shame, but we'll be back on track in no time.
You know all this of course, you were in there. You were damned for a bit, but we saved you. You'll be fine, the headache will fade. Don't worry, since you were born pure, before this thing, you have some humanity to fall back on. The rest on the other hand...
You miss it!? Oh the Stockholm's syndrome is kicking in isn't it. Don't worry about being tempted back, the treatment makes that impossible. We even have a support group for people like you, the fools who enjoyed being mindless puppets.
Don't worry, in a few days it will all be over and we can all go back to the ways things used to be. The way things should be.
| 2022-06-30T06:46:49 | 2022-06-30T01:48:02 | 116 | 16 |
[WP]Every new planet that is discovered comes with Gods. You're the one tasked with destroying them.
And their creatures.
|
Seras stared at the holographic orb floating a few inches off the console.
"Life forms in the trillions. This planet only has one God." The electronic voice droned out the scan results.
Seras sighed and nodded to her First Officer.
"You have the bridge Tennin." She said.
"Captain, are you sure you don't want back up?" He asked a hint of concern in his eyes.
"I'm positive. I'll be back shortly."
She turned on her heel and walked to the elevator. The ride down gave her time to come up with a plan. These young Gods were never that troublesome. She checked the heavy leather belt that held a simple black sheath. Her reflection caught her eye. A face of pale blue skin that looked no older than thirty stared back. In reality she was approaching year seven thousand. Every year was beginning to weigh on her more heavily than the last. The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened with a whisper.
"Captain." Engineer Korus said saluting her. "Will you be taking a ship to the surface?"
"No." She said dismissively as she stepped onto a small circular door in the center of the room.
"I see. Yes, Ma'am. Drop on your command." He said.
"Drop."
Korus hit a button and the small door opened. Seras dropped a few feet into an airlock, the door above her closed as another beneath her opened. She shot out of the ship orbiting the planet at an astonishing rate. Her hair slipped out of the tight bun and flared behind her like a banner. She hit the atmosphere with a thunderclap. Reflexively she grabbed the hilt of her sword to make sure she didn't lose it on entry. Heat washed over her body. Her body was instantly regenerating damage caused by the friction. The heat dissipated and she was now free falling. This planet had a lush dense jungle that covered most of the landmass of the continent she was falling toward. She passed through clouds, the cool mist gave her goosebumps. The surface rushed toward her, she bent her knees and braced for impact.
Gur looked into the sky and saw something he had never seen before. He pushed Mor and tried to get his attention. Gur pointed an arm thickly covered in fur at the sky. "What is that?" He grunted.
Seras hit the ground.
The entire planet felt the impact. Earthquakes tore across the planet. Walls of water rose from the oceans to wash entire continents away. A cloud of debris swept through the jungles incinerating everything in its path. Seras stood at the center of a crater so massive she could barely see the rim.
"Quite the entrance Captain." Tennin said in awe over the radio.
"Well, it should know I'm here now." She replied.
Angul felt pain and death in the millions. His children, dying, the entire planet was in pain. He had not moved in thousands of years. It was a slow and painful process to lift himself from beneath the surface of the planet, but his rage motivated him.
Seras felt the ground shift beneath her feet. Good. He was coming to her. She smiled and drew her sword. Light played off the emerald green blade, it looked like it was carved out of glass.
"Captain the God is a little bit larger than we originally thought." Tennin informed her.
Seras shrugged and waited.
The ground trembled and quaked as Angul broke free from the rock and dirt. His massive fist broke through, then the other. He squinted against the blinding light as his head broke through.
The mountain shifted and moved. Tennin had been right. The God was much larger than they had originally thought. Her fingers tightened around the sword's hilt as Angul roared out his challenge.
Finally.
Seras shot forward in a sprint. Dirt kicked up behind her in a plume as her feet flew across the ground. Angul lurched forward slowly still trying to acclimate to being awake. His body was made of obsidian, massive eyes burned dark red, eyes full of fiery rage. He tore across the ravaged planet toward Seras. She had fought bigger.
"You come to my home? To kill my children? You think you can kill me?!" Angul roared. Even at this distance his voice was deafening.
*Yes*. Seras said to herself and increased her speed. She was the size of an insect to Angul. He saw her coming and punched a giant fist into the ground. Seras narrowly avoided impact and jumped over the shock wave. She landed onto the fist and ran up the arm toward Angul's head. In a rage he began to swat at his own body trying to shake her loose.
She flipped and tumbled over every clumsy attempt to smash her. Angul was cleaving large chucks of himself off with every vain attempt. Her feet sped across the warm stone surface. Only a few hundred more feet to the head. Angul roared out in frustration. He could not fail his children.
Seras saw her opportunity and took it. She leapt into Angul's open mouth and slid down his gigantic stone throat. The emerald green blade went to work cutting through the stone like it was made of paper. Angul thrashed in pain and fell to his knees. It was too late. Seras was tunneling her way though him to his heart. With a final cut of her sword she stepped into a massive chamber. The pulsing red orb of Angul's heart was suspended in the center.
"Please...no..." Angul begged.
She had stopped feeling pity thousands of years ago.
The blade cut cleanly through the heart with a single stroke. Angul's body seized up and collapsed. The impact sent more tremors across the ravaged planet. Thousands of tiny red motes floated out of the severed heart, creating a bright red swarm. They flew around the chamber like a flock of birds.
Seras held the blade high above her head. The swarm spun around the room one final time before flying directly into the blade. A flash of blinding yellow light lit the chamber.
"Good job Captain." Tennin said as Seras finished cutting her way to the surface.
"Send a ship to come get me."
Seras rode the small ship back into space. Thousands of small missiles were fired from her ship and careened toward the planet. Fire swept across the planet. Another planet cleansed. The pursuit of immortality was exhausting.
---
Thank you so much for the great feedback and nice words!
[This is part of a universe/larger story](https://www.reddit.com/r/Written4Reddit/comments/4l113u/wp_part_1_a_knight_comes_across_a_crashed_alien/)
Check out [W4R Stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/Written4Reddit/) for more!
|
Vishnu, Jesus, and Frank sat around the circular war table, looking down as they watched the birth of the new planet.
"Do we keep this one?" asked Jesus.
"Uh, what are our rules again?" asked Vishnu. He leafed through the pamphlet on allowing new worlds to grow, reading as he went. "Could have contact with earth, could mix up religions even more than they've already been mixed up...seems to fit the checklist."
A way away in the background there was a wailing sound, a cross between fingers on a blackboard and a high pitched air siren.
"Quiet, spaghetti monster. You're on probation after the whole drowning a planet in marinara sauce thing."
Vishnu and Jesus argued for some time. After a while they said, "Frank?"
Frank was just a regular guy who had been brought there to consult. They did that sometimes, pulling people out of the hoards to ask for their fair opinions.
Frank, however, was not convinced this was reality, and thought he might be dreaming.
"Blow up a planet?" asked Frank. "Cool! Let's do it!"
"I don't know," Jesus said. "This one doesn't seem to have very high probability of interacting with earth."
"Blow it up, blow it up, blow it up," Frank chanted. Vishnu joined in, until the three were chanting at their table. "Blow it up, blow it up, blow it up."
"Fine," Jesus said. He pressed a button and they watched as the world imploded. Frank cheered, throwing his hands up in the air.
"Great simulation," he said. "Can we do another?"
---
Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this, please check out /r/Celsius232
| 2016-06-11T08:04:37 | 2016-06-11T07:59:35 | 208 | 38 |
[WP] "And that, class," concluded the professor, "is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?" You, the only human in the classroom, raise your hand.
|
If he was hitting on her, he was going about it all wrong.
Or better yet, Isla thought, he didn’t need to be doing this shit at all. There was a point where the congenital superiority of Parathi crossed the line from barely tolerable to completely infuriating, and Professor Eristeed had jumped across it as only a quadruped could.
But a maid couldn’t say that, could she? A maid could only be peaceful and cooperative. They wrote that into their contracts on Parathi colonies, contracts signed not with the human menials themselves, but with the conglomerates that employed them.
So Isla kept cleaning as he spoke, as his too-many eyes followed her through the classroom. She stayed cute in her stupid, frilly costume and listened to the soft tittering of the Parathi students as they learned about the docility of humans.
“Really,” Professor Eristeed said, “we should perhaps be thanking them. After all, is it not humans who make up nearly a third of the physical labor force? Wonderfully adapted creatures, humans. They can perform any task you give them up to a very acceptable level. Take Isla there, in the back.”
Scraping noises as the class turned. Isla kept sweeping, doing a job a robot could have done, and did in the other classrooms, and while she swept she counted eyes in her head. Each Parathi had six eyes, three each mounted on two eyestalks, and the stalks really were stalky— Isla knew humans who theorized the Parathi had shared a common ancestor with the little bonsai style trees they carried around with them from world to world.
Twenty students in the class, forty eye stalks, one hundred and twenty eyes, plus Professor Eristeed who looked at her hard enough to add another twelve or eighteen or twenty-four eyes to the bundle. She piled silent curses onto each of those eyes as she swept up the room's single mote of dust.
“Now Isla, as you can all see, is doing a wonderful job. Truly wonderful. And as she does it she adds a certain *style* to the room. Note the lace frills and the clean, spotless black of her skirt. Among the humans, it’s an outfit that comes from a particularly stylish place— when such places of theirs still existed. They called it ‘France.’”
A hand raised in the front row and Professor Eristeed made a trumpeting harrumph in the back of his throat. An acknowledgment.
“Professor,” the student asked, “my father always said that it was cheaper to employ robots than humans.”
“And indeed it is,” Eristeed said without missing a beat.
“Then, and correct me if I’m wrong here, why are you advocating for expanded human inclusion in the workforce? Surely a sense of style cannot trump simple economics.”
“Ahhh,” Eristeed said, in that way that Isla hated. “Ah, ah, ah. What you forget, my boy, is what everyone forgets, and what comprises the core of my argument.”
Isla glanced up, saw him in all his pretentious glory. Professor Eristeed, like a jumped-up horse covered in bark, his mane a gossamer tide. Smaller than a horse should be, he might only have weighed three hundred pounds, and the Parathi in their current state were not physically strong. Humans performed a third of the labor and robots performed the other two-thirds, leaving the small, outnumbered Parathi populations to live like philosopher kings in their scattered colonies. He wore a blanket slashed with crimson and an awful, sickly green, a favorite combination among upper class Parathi.
He saw her watching and smiled.
“Now young Mr. Bucephus, what was my original contention?”
“That humans are docile.”
“And are robots docile as well?”
“Of course,” the student said, sounding confused.
“Then why, Mr. Bucephus, have there been robot uprisings on three colonies in the last hundred years?”
“Rogue programmers, sir,” the student began, “those uprisings were a symptom of—”
“Of civil unrest and of discontent among an educated elite that had gained intellectual power without corresponding political power. Yes, yes, I know the theory Mr Bucephus, I happened to be married to the woman who wrote it. And peace was no great theme of ours, let me assure you.”
Professor Eristeed cleared his throat as his students tittered again. The mote of dust broke apart and Isla chased it across the room, her skirts flouncing around her. She hated it. Hated him. Hated her placement here, and the greater reasons that had compelled her to stay. Hated that she had to wait. Isla was terrible at waiting. Her superiors were all saying that, she needed to learn patience, to learn how to work within a team.
“Now,” Professor Eristeed said, “Mr. Bucephus, have we solved any of those issues?”
“Sir?” the student said, squirming.
“It’s a rhetorical question Bucephus, don’t hurt yourself. No, we have not solved any of those issues. Did you all know that when you leave my class eight of you will not find employment equal to your intellectual stature? Oh, you may write a tract here or there, come up with one particularly edifying theory, but on the whole you will grow old and world weary and dissatisfied, shut out from all the structures that we Parathi hold so dear. And some of you will become programmers, more’s the pity. And some of you will program our robots.
“And that, Mr. Bucephus, is why we should not use robotic labor. Because in the end it us that programs them, Parathi, and Mr. Bucephus I should warn you, *I* am not docile.”
Eristeed glanced up to Isla, six eyes roving over and devouring her. “Which of course is the beauty of humans. No one must program a human, they are born docile, most particularly the females. They value peace and cooperation, reason as their faculties allow them, and as such a third of the workforce toils away in a state of happy drudgery. Isla dear, aren’t you happy to clean my rooms?”
“Yes, Professor Eristeed,” Isla heard herself say.
“Wonderful! See class, she is happy. Let her stay that way, and in fact, expand the limits which we place upon her people. Open them up to new horizons, new realities— within their means of course. I am not advocating for anything radical, merely for a solution which will guarantee the solvency of our colonies by taking the power out of the hands of listless, and too often disenfranchised youth. Apologies of course, to the eight of you who will not make it.
“And Mr. Bucephus?”
“Yes Professor?”
“Regarding your ‘economic concerns’, I implore you to turn again, and to really look.”
Bucephus tore his eyes from the man in front of him and Isla forced herself to stand still, to let him watch her.
“Mr. Bucephus,” Professor Eristeed said, “set aside the stability of our colonies. Is there not still some place for style in our world?”
The bell rang, drowning out the students response, and in the sudden rush of bodies Isla lost her mote of dust, found Eristeed’s gaze.
|
"What about the Xartoxiens? They only have one recorded war that ended with just two casualties. And they lead the council to great success for the last 50 years. I think they might be up there, too."
As the class discusses why "we" humans are still the prime example of a species, I quietly smile to myself. Yes, humans haven't been in a war for hundreds of years. As far as the other races are concerend, public information has no records of any human ever hurting, harming or killing anyone if not out of self defense, and even that being so rare many have never witnessed it happening. No invasions, civil wars or riots. No intergalactical treaty ever broken, no civilisation treated unrightful, no distress call left unheard. Yes, humanity is a marvelous race.
This is the picture painted by 145 species around the galaxy. 145 different societies, 145 unique cultures with one thing in common: Living a lie. Because there is no such thing as "humanity", or at least not in the way they think there is. Humanity is just a construct, an empty husk, a deception bearing the name of a long forgotten, cruel and unforgiving species. Their crimes erased from records, their history rewritten to fit an ideal that can never be reached. Everyone that knew the truth? Eradicated. Officialy, humanity is the last surviving race that withstood and finally stopped an invasion that obliterated 75 species. But actually we started it. And soon, it will start again. We will rise to conquer and reign over every single planet. After so many years of rebuilding the galaxy, it's time to bring back the terror, the fear, the anguish our species craves.
Well, I still say "we". Old habits die hard I guess, especially if you try to keep up a cover you perfected for so long. But truth is, there never was a "we", and never will be. Just I. The first, the last, the only human ever in existence.The professor looks at me."Is everything alright, Adam?"
| 2021-11-27T08:11:37 | 2021-11-27T07:57:42 | 1,452 | 429 |
[WP] Death recently reinstated the practice of challenging the deceased to a game for their soul. He's neglected to read up on what kind of games 21st-century people play.
|
"So... you've never had a few benefits with your friendships?"
"What friendships?" he asked. "I kill. I take. There are no friends for me." His hood was drawn low, and I could see it quivering from anger. How dare I ask that question, it seemed to grunt. How dare I be so bold.
"Then that's my game, Death. Let's see how you flirt. Let's see you in a relationship. With me. For a day." I grinned, not unlike the rictus of his skull. "If you can make it, you can take it. My soul, that is. Is that okay, big boy?"
"Try me. I'll have your soul before you can--"
"What? Say arx fatalis?" I stepped a little closer. "I'd like to see you try." My smile faltered a little as I raised a hand to his hood. He recoiled, but remained still when my fingers traced the cracks of his skull. His mandible, his maxilla. My breath was low. "Is this okay, Mr. Death? Me touching you like this?"
"No."
"Then why aren't you stopping me?" He didn't respond. I let my hand fall away, then took his. It was cold. Bony. No skin, no muscles. Just bone, held together by God knows what.
And that's how we walked, hand in hand, through the empty streets. There weren't people in this plane. No cars. No laughter. Just the sounds of my boots and his tarsals clicking against the ground.
"Where are we going?" he finally asked.
"It's a secret. Part of this game." I hesitated before the next bit. "Did people ever do this with you, back when you bet their souls?"
"No."
"Oh. Hmm. We do stuff like this sometimes. Dating. Flirting. Sometimes fucking."
"For fun?"
"Yeah." I could almost taste his incredulity. I wanted to soften it. "We've got words for it all. Like FWB. Friends with benefits. It's not very serious. Just a game."
"Sounds like a very loose interpretation of such."
"That's the most I've heard you say. Guess you're not the strong, silent type, eh?"
If he had skin, I like to think he might've blushed.
"And I guess you're not, either." And he laughed, just a little, just a raspy sound like stones crawling over insects.
We walked in silence. And eventually, I moved my hand around his waist. I could feel the bones of his hip through the dark robe. It was strangely sensual.
"I bet you were handsome, once," I mention. Off-hand for me, but strange for him.
"...I was."
"Had all the little old ladies screaming."
"They wanted to live."
I laughed. "That's not what I meant."
"I know." Again, only bone to see; no skin to show a smile.
I blushed, then. My voice was low. "I still think you're handsome. In a way. Like, not too spooky. Kinda approachable, really. And kinda cute when you're angry."
"I'm not cute."
"Yes you are."
The hood was shuddering again. "No, I definitely am not."
I grinned. "Oh snap, are you getting mad? Come on, you're supposed to make it through a day. Don't pull out now. Not when you're so close."
He stopped in his tracks. "Tell me that wasn't a sex joke."
I stopped, too. "Call it a slip. Although I wouldn't mind if it wasn't..." My hands were on my hips, now, in my back pockets. Nonthreatening. Casual. "Hey, Death... you've got powers, right? Show me some skin. How you used to look. It's part of our date. I wanna get to know you."
His hood dropped lower, still. "In my time, people didn't date as a game. We dated for someone's hand in marriage. For valor, and honor." His voice dropped lower, still. "For love."
I suddenly wasn't sure what game we were playing. I approached him, pulled up his hood. I didn't expect to see stubble, and then full lips. The nose caught me off guard, and the grey eyes even more so. And those brows. Furrowed, drawn. Empty of hope, but passionate in memory. I didn't expect to like it.
I briefly wondered if I was losing the game.
"Hey, Death. Were... were you human once?"
He nodded.
"Oh." I didn't know what to say; not immediately. But as he looked past me, it was clear. "Who was she?"
"Nobody, anymore." He passed me and kept walking.
There wasn't much of a mood for a while. But then, I stopped him, and pulled his hand. It was warm, and soft. "Hey, Death. Do I look like her?"
"Not in the slightest."
"Then... you won't be reminded of her if I do this?" And on tiptoe, I crushed my lips against his. Quick, painful. A little too strongly, a little too openly. And the shock on his face said too much.
"Don't. Don't make me feel that way again. Ever. Again."
"Make me," I said, and wrapped my arms around his back. I kissed him again, with the softness of his weathered robes between my fingers. I kissed him as if my life depended on it. I kissed him like I meant it, and I did, because something about him attracted me, and I was such a slave to that attraction.
I wasn't on tiptoe anymore. He had leant down into me, over me, like his lips over mine, and I heard the clatter of his scythe on the ground like a distant memory. He was feeling what I was feeling, if only for an instant. And as his hands pulled my face into mine, my hands pulled at his body.
And then it was over, with my face slapped sideways and my cheek slapped red.
"No. I can't. No more. I can't lose someone again. Not someone like her. Not someone so... so..." His eyes met mine. "I can't."
"You... can't?"
He shook his head. I saw the hot flush fading from his skin; it rapidly regained its former pallor, and then started to fade completely. His eyes were the last to go, although I could feel them gazing into mine long after their absence.
"Don't leave me, Death."
"I thought this was a game," he said. "You win. It's what you wanted isn't it?" His scythe rose from the ground, into his hands. "You can keep your soul."
"No. I don't want it, not if I--"
"Please. Keep it. For me." For a moment, I saw the skin return, and the smile flashing there. "Because I'll be around. You can bet on it."
I blinked back tears, closed my eyes. And when they opened, I was back in my attic.
The noose had broken; the rope was frayed. And I felt so completely, utterly alone, all over again.
|
"Headshot, *bitch!*" Danial screamed into the mic. I winced.
"Dammit, Reaper!" one of my teammates said. "Why the *fuck* would you buy a FAMAS to cover Mid if you know they've got two AWPers?"
"Look, I've never played this game before." I said hurriedly. "I don't even know what all the guns are."
"Fucking scrub. A bot would be better than you." A message appeared in the corner of my screen.
"Kick player: Grim Reaper?"
"Wait, guys;" I said, despising the slight nervousness that creapt into my voice as the votekick tallied up. "Listen, I've already lost three souls this week in Starcraft matches. I'm way behind on my quota. I just need to kill Danial, and then-"
"The fuck is this scrub talking about?"
"Kick this bitch!"
"Noob."
"No, please!" I pleaded. "It's a matter of life or death!"
"Fag," was the last thing I heard as I was booted from the server. Across the room, Danial laughed as he continued to play Counter Strike.
"G-G-no-re." He glanced up at me with a smile. "So I live."
I growled softly, picking my scythe up and turning to leave. "For now. I've got a Call of Duty tournament to get through, but rest assured, I will come back... eventually." Glancing at the food wrappers at his desk, I added, "Keep eating those Big Macs. You can't keep surviving these heart attacks forever." With that, I stepped out the door, making sure to kill all of Danial's houseplants on the way out.
The day was not off to a great start.
| 2014-08-24T21:26:54 | 2014-08-24T20:55:27 | 67 | 23 |
[WP] You accidentally keyed in a smiley emoji on Amazon and was surprised to find a lone product result. Out of curiosity, you purchase it and have it instantly delivered. You spend the next 8 hours feeling "the happiest ever in your entire life". You try searching other emojis
|
In the throes of manic joy Henry searched for other emojis on Amazon.
😑 turned up one product. Henry bought it and instantly his extreme joy calmed to pure neutrality. The effect of the first emoji was totally eclipsed by the new one.
Amazed and eager, unafraid of the depths of his own emotion, Henry began a deep dive.
😡 elicited intense anger. Suddenly Henry could not help but focus on every slight he had suffered in the last few years, no matter how small. He remembered how a coworker had thoughtlessly used all the sugar at the office coffee machine three months ago. What was then a minor annoyance exploded under the emoji's influence into an epic wrongdoing. Henry could feel himself on the edge of calling the coworker right then, so he quickly searched for a different emoji.
😭 overwhelmed him immediately, pure, unadulterated sadness washing over him as it might an infant. Henry thought about the loss of his third cousin twice removed last month. He had never met the man, which was itself a tragedy worth sobbing over. After what turned out to be an hour of wallowing, Henry forced himself to search for another emoji.
😞washed away the terrible sadness and replaced it with an unsettling dubiousness. Henry could not easily control where his new doubt was applied. He wondered whether his boss had been lying when he said there was not enough money to give Henry a raise. Then he considered the astonishing effects Henry was currently experimenting with. What could possibly be the source of this emoji phenomenon? Surely if this were an actual amazon feature it would be world famous by now. No, it seemed to Henry that he must have tapped into something else entirely, something not at all normal. Curiousity, close cousin to skepticism, overwhelmed his concerns and Henry continued his emoticon journey.
😴 had predictable results. When Henry awoke, a crick in his neck, drool pooling on the desk where he had fallen into a steep lean, it was dark out. Henry looked at the clock. 4 AM. He had been asleep for 8 hours exactly. Perhaps that was the time table for the effects?
😎 brought an intense, borderline psychotic degree of confidence. Suddenly Henry felt completely self assured. He was well rested, his mind was operating at peak efficiency, and he knew exactly how this 'system' worked. Each emoji would create in him the emotion it represented. It was that simple, of course. The effects would last for 8 hours exactly and then be over. He did not know the cause of the effect, but so what, the effect was real and that was all that mattered.
In his state of absolute confidence, Henry felt compelled to break away from conventional emoji's and into the stranger variety. He scrolled through his phone looking for emojis, odd ones, less connected to emotion.
He found one, emailed it to himself and copy and pasted it into his desktop.
He found 👧 and purchased it. He closed his eyes and when he opened them he knew he was different. Physically changed. He examined himself and recoiled at the physical changes he found. "No way," he said, racing to a mirror.
Looking back at himself in the mirror was the image of a woman Henry had never met before in his life. A woman inhabiting the space where Henry's body had been moments earlier.
Henry felt himself begin to panic at the extremity of the change, but he forced himself to relax. It was temporary, he was sure of it. He raced back to the computer and searched for something else.
💪seemed like a sensible next choice. He purchased it, blinked, and he was himself again. But no, not just himself, but a incredibly strong version of himself. Henry stood up in his chair and, overcome by a testosterone fueled exuberance, punched a monstrous hole in his bedroom door. His fist plowed right through the heavy wood. Henry carefully retracted his hand, looked through the new hole, and laughed like a maniac.
"Holy shit!"
The options were limitless, Henry realized. Or rather, limited only by what the emojis allowed.
Feeling invincible, Henry searched for something really odd. He considered 😈 and 😇, but decided the moralistic extremes were best avoided lest he do something he'd come to regret. He flirted with 👾or 👽but found himself too frightened by the implications.
Ultimately he settled on a fairly strange, but sort of banal one. He clicked it and pressed purchase.
The light faded from Henry's eyes. His skin grew dark, fading into shadow. His body lost all definition, all texture, until there was only the black outline of Henry. The absence of Henry.
Then, beginning at Henry's feet, another shadow began to emanate, growing out, lengthening as if a bright light shined on Henry from the front. Then the shadow slowly took on three dimensional form, until at last a second man sized darkness stood beside Henry.
Henry turned to face the shadow, and in so doing it turned to face Henry. Two featureless faces staring into one another. Henry raised a hand and the shadow raised one as well. Henry sat down, and it sat down, though there was no chair in which it could sit. It just floated there in the middle of the room.
Henry stood and it stood and Henry marveled at this copy of himself that he had created. As he filled with renewed wonder at the whole exercise, Henry failed to notice the shadow raising a hand of its own accord.
Henry turned just as the shadow's outstretched hand latched onto Henry's featureless face. Henry reached up to grab the hand, which was blocking his view, but he could not remove it. He could not even wrap a finger around the hand - it was immaterial, ephemeral and yet inextricably hooked on to him.
Henry tried to speak, but the hand muffled his voice. He tried to scream but found he did not have enough oxygen left in his lungs to produce sound and no matter how hard he tried the shadow hand prevented him from taking a breath.
Panic set in like an electrical fire, seizing Henry's shadowed muscles in searing fits and starts. He flailed about, still attached to the shadow hand at the face, his body performing a horrible dance, as if under the shadow creature's control. Henry tried to charge *into* the shadow, but Henry simply passed straight through it, the shadow's hand twisting under and through the shadow's body to remain attached.
Consciousness began to recede around the edges and with it Henry's panic began to transform into the warm melange of predeath hormones. As his body internalized his impending doom it sent out relaxing chemical agents to ease Henry's conscious mind into the notion.
*Don't be afraid,* Henry imagined that his body seemed to say, *I will take over now.*
The shadow figure stood over Henry as he crumpled to the ground, his legs giving out. Always the shadow's hand remained attached to Henry's face. He could feel himself disappearing into that hand, like a vacuum cleaner of the soul, silently absorbing everything that was Henry, taking Henry's place.
Henry watched with hormonally suppressed terror as his legs disappeared, then his abdomen and torso, then his arms and hands. As one part of his body disappeared, he saw that the shadow figure gained those parts in all their fullness.
Now it wore Henry's skin and clothes from the neck down. All that remained undefined was it's pure shadow face.
As the last part of Henry disappeared into the figure a silent scream passed between them and carried over for just a moment, so that when the shadow figure had Henry's face as his own the face briefly wore a look of abject terror, mouth agape.
After a second the new Henry took full control and returned his face to neutrality. It would take time to learn how to control his new form. But that was alright. He had all the time in the world.
As new Henry walked out of his bedroom through the door with a hole in it, out into the hallway, towards the wide world, the computer screen in Henry's apartment still beamed optimistically:
> Thank you for your recent purchase of 👥! Order number 92745-214A.
******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
|
Excited, he was addicted instantly. Having social anxiety, Devin never went out much. He stayed in his apartment, ordered food for himself, slept occasionally, and went online. A lot.
He constantly played pc games, would go on reddit to boast that pc was best, and looked at YouTube (and other 😉) sights on his brand new pc which he built himself over a couple of weeks. He didn’t really keep track.
Devin spent his life as a eBay salesman, and currently, playing fortnight. He liked talking to the kids on there as he liked them more than adults.
But when the server was down, he went on amazon to browse a new cpu to replace the current one. Instead, he accidentally typed 😀. Annoyed, he went to press the back button but instead saw one product listed. Intrigued, he clicked instant delivery. It was only four dollars.
Devin instantly felt something that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Something better than when his screen displayed “victory royal” in his dark room. Happiness.
He got excited and looked up more. First, a butterfly. 🦋. He didn’t remember why this was in his recent but he clicked it anyway and a large blue butterfly flew around the room. With his newfound powers he felt powerful, and still happy. After looking up a few more with no avail, he found 🌨. He got up from his gaming chair and rushed to his window. Winded from running for the first time in years, he lifted up a dusty curtain and found it snowing. He found an old jacket and went outside. His neighbor, shoveling the sidewalk, saw him and yelled “weird weather for Florida in November huh?” He didn’t understand that this old man was talking to him and ran back inside. Wary of those movies with weird shit like this, he decided to wait until the snow went away to do this again.
He ignored this, and went back on Amazon, power hungry. Without thinking very much, he pressed 👰🏼. A knock was heard on the door, and a short blond women in a wedding dress stood there, beaming. A priest was behind her and exclaimed “you may now kiss the bride” He did, and he was happy. She came inside, and the priest disappeared. He opened a bottle of champagne that was sitting in his cupboard and brought it to his wife, who was sitting in the gaming chair. He saw her click “order” but didn’t see what it was. “What’s your name, he asked” she thought for a second and said “I’m White B. Blonde” All of a sudden, she was in a long purple shirt, and she stood up “we’re expecting!!” He remembered another option he had found was 🤰🏼.Her huge belly stuck out of her shirt. “Uhh...” Devin looked surprised. Maybe he had taken this too far.
| 2019-01-15T06:12:12 | 2019-01-15T05:46:49 | 271 | 49 |
[WP] Humanity has merged into a single immortal consciousness. Everyone who has ever lived has become as one, a being of pure energy and infinite love, that shall last to the death of the universe and beyond. And they’re here to explain why they left you out.
|
Humanity has always wanted to be a part of something bigger, that's what I always heard from priests and shit growing up. Like, we *yearned* for more than our fleeting little mortal existences. And a year ago, humanity got its chance.
Unprecedented peace broke out across the world. Humans came together as one like never before, working to solve global and local issues for all. This increased cooperation also enabled humanity to pour money and labor into researching technology that would allow their newfound 'togetherness' to become much more literal.
And so it was that every human on the planet agreed to assimilate their souls into one immortal, all powerful being of pure kindness and enlightenment known as "The One".
Well, every human being except for me, that is.
Yeah, not gonna lie, being left out made me a little miffed. Rejection stings, and solitary living I'd been doing for the last year hadn't been too exciting. But today, The One showed up at my doorstep. I *knew* they'd come crawlin' back! What kind of eternal existence is it without Jimothy Hurfdinger?
"What can I do for ya, gentlemen? Err- Ladies? Genderless orb of pure light?" I asked, shielding my eyes as I spoke. There weren't enough sunglasses in the world to stop from being blinded by this stupid thing at this close distance.
"Jimothy," The One began, its voice a perfect, soothing balance of peace and harmony, "we hope we greet you well this day."
"Yeah, having a realllll grand time with me, myself, and I, but I *suppose* I could be convinced to join your little eternal club in paradise on Earth. *If* the price is right and-"
"Oh, we apologize for the misunderstanding," it interjected. "We are not here to recruit you. We stand by our seemingly cruel omission."
"What the hell, why? Tell me that at least, what's so bad about me that I alone got left out?"
"Well, you stole."
"Mhmm, *very* unique of me in human history to *steal* something."
"From children," The One continued.
"Well, maybe, occasionally... I... or frequently, maybe, but those cases were *mostly* more like 'teens' I'd say."
The One sighed. "Upon countless other occasions, you stole literal candy from literal babies, Jimothy."
"Oh. Yeah, that uh- that don't look great on my resume, I admit. But-"
“We can go through your full records, if you wish.” A enormous manilla folder, stuffed with paperwork until it reached half the height of my house appeared on my doorstep. The folder opened and pages began flipping without anyone touching them. “Let us see here. Ah, a prime example, mere weeks before humanities ascension in fact. You dumped your girlfriend because she decided to go to nursing school. You said, and we quote, ‘You wanna be a nurse to help others? Helping others is for suckers!”
“I… err, objection, your honor!”
“We are not in a courtroom, Jimothy.”
“Oh I know, that just sounded *really* shitty for me and I couldn’t think of anything else to say in my defense.”
"Indeed. Then there we're your *highly* unorthodox routines."
"What ‘routines’?"
"Biological routines."
"Biological? What? Spit it out!"
"Your *urination* routines, Mr. Hurfdinger."
My eyebrows arched in surprise. "Oh, that? I mean, I have a weak bladder, sometimes I had to take a leak in an alleyway or something, sue me!"
It paused for a long while, before adding, "And...?"
"And *occasionally* I might pee off a 20th story balcony without a thought or care for who might or might not be walking on the streets below."
The One glowed, the closest thing it could manage to smile. "There it is. You've answered your own query! Doesn't that feel wonderful?"
"Look, the balcony was conveniently located and variety is the spice of life and... ya know what, whatever! You didn't let me into your little 'eternal life club'. You've made your decision crystal clear. I don't need to hear anymore, so why the hell are you still at my house?"
"We're wondering, if you might consider... leaving the neighborhood, as it were."
I stared at it, dumbfounded. "Huh? What neighborhood?"
"Earth, we'd like you to leave *Earth," it said as if making a perfectly normal and rational request.* "The planet is now at peace. We are in harmony with all of nature, except for this miserable little patch of land you call a home. I'm sure even you'd agree, it's quite the bastion of chaos."
*Bastion of chaos?* What an insult! Yes, there were hundreds of beer bottles strewn around the lawn, but who else could they possibly hurt now? And sure, the tire fire I keep burning 24/7 for warmth is giving off more than its usual quantity of acrid choking smoke, but can they blame me for using an economical fuel source? Everyone on the planet abandoned their cars at once to 'ascend' into enlightenment. My supply of tires was limitless!
I scowled at my condescending 'neighbor'. "Well, I don't think I'm violating any homeowners association rules, so I'll catchya later... nerds!"
Satisfied with my epic and well constructed burn, I slammed the door and turned to the matter of payback.
After just a few minutes thought, I decided I'd do what any self respecting human being would do when spurned by a neighbor, lover, or all of humanity represented by a single orb of light. I'd let my lawn go to shit. I'd spread rumors about The One behind their back. Maybe leave some nasty comments on their social media pages from a fake account.
Wait... Do eternal orbs of ethereal light even *have* social media pages?
I opened my laptop and began browsing to find out. One Direction fan page? Nope. One World, One Stomach? Nah, that's some kinda food charity from the old days. Oh... there they are, several pages created for "The One".
Jesus Christ, even a being of pure enlightenment can't escape Facebook? Ha! Poor bastards. And that's not all, they had pages on every damn site imaginable. They were gonna make this *so* easy on me.
With a growing sense of contented enlightenment in my own being, I pulled up The One's Yelp page and prepared to write an *especially* dissatisfied review.
___
___
Thanks for reading! Many more stories live over on r/Ryter if you'd like to check out more of my writing 🙂
|
You're not human. It tells you. Or well, they tell you.
You don't get it though, you've always been human. You bleed red, you feel, you speak, you think.
What's wrong with you?
When was the last time you went to the hospital? They, it asks you.
You shrug. I don't think I've ever.
Why is that?
... I'm healthy. Never really gotten too sick to go to a hospital, pharmacy and the nurse's office on school patches me up just fine if I fall and hurt myself.
You look human, you feel human. They whisper and there are chills as a nonexistent wind blows over you until you want to crumble. You aren't. Look, look when we cut you open.
And you stared, stared and stared as they did just that slicing you open with ephemeral hands that painlessly - rips you apart cell by cell and you see the darkness, the nothingness, where are your organs?
I'm sorry. They say. We didn't want you to react the way you're reacting now, but it's the fastest way for you to understand.
Your mouth is open but only a silent scream escapes you as you gape and tremble as blood spills but there is nothing in you at all.
What am I?
We don't know. But you're not human.
| 2021-11-18T04:31:37 | 2020-10-17T22:29:08 | 537 | 89 |
[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.
|
The text came at midnight. Exactly 12:00. It was strange to receive a text that late. Especially from a number I didn't recognize. I'm obsessive about saving numbers, always better to be able to recognize a friend.
But even still, it could be a prank. Some friend trying to spook me, with a strange out of country area code. But still, a friend would do this for comedy, to make a joke, and I could see no punchline in sight. I decided to humor them, and sent a text back, saying yes.
Immediately my vision faded out.
I woke up in a dingy bunker. Along the wall to my left, a small pile of objects. Water bottles, beef stew, a pile of pistols, and an ak-74. I realized where I was once I heard a voice, with a thick Russian accent, and hearty laugh
"To escape game, you must win. When you escape you bring with anything you earn. Good luck comrade, and enjoy the city of Tarkov"
I had a long, difficult path back home ahead of me. All I had to do, was escape from tarkov.
| 2020-02-16T23:05:47 | 2020-02-16T21:58:41 | 56 | 37 |
[WP] "Who took your wings, little angel?" The voice calls from the darkness.
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Blind and injured. The angel fell from the heavens, feathers flowing from her back, leaving a trail of beautiful pure white behind her. As she plummeted into the darkest depths, she breathed one last gasp of air, accepting her divine punishment. She expected to hit land soon enough, however her descent slowed until it left her hovering in place, floating in the darkness as a string of words flowed from the depths.
“Who took your wings, little angel?” The voice horrifying, lurking from every angle of the darkness, surrounding her in its low growling tone.
The angel didn’t answer, shivering as she felt a suffocating sensation follow her body. The feeling of unseen hands holding her, gently patting her like an injured bird, carefully avoiding the raw skin on her back. Two open wounds now formed on the place where her wings once were.
“I scare you, I wish I could offer comfort in a way that didn’t make you fear me. Who took your wings, little angel?” The voice repeated its question again, stopping its patting, now holding her instead.
“My wings? I don’t have wings. I’m not an angel.” While the angel feared the voice, she feared the wrath of heaven far more. An angel revealing its identity without approval would get her a far worse punishment than death.
“Not an angel? I have a hard time believing that. Few humans fall into my realm from the heavens. You poor thing, you don’t deserve this fate. Have the heavens lost their compassion?” The voice now seemed to be situated from one location, hovering before her face.
She tried to move but could only scoot back a few centimeters before reaching the edge of the hand holding her, feeling her stomach drop as she realized how close she was to falling once more.
“Please don’t speak ill of the divine. I-I’m a sinner, this is what I deserve.” The angel accepted her fate. Sinners should be punished, she believed that. She held no ill will to the heavens for their punishment.
“A sinner? A little angel being a sinner? I find that very hard to believe. I know sinners, and none of them have souls as pure as yours. Please, why don’t you tell the original sinner what dastardly crime you committed.” As he spoke, his fingers glided along her back, wounds closing as small flames danced along her skin, pulling the wounds shut with no pain. Only providing her with an uncomfortable feeling of heat.
“You healed me?” She reached towards her back, struggling to touch the place where her wings once were, only for her head to lower at the realization. “I’m not an angel. I’m nothing anymore. Am I just a lowly sinner now?”
“Hush, if that were true, I would have dropped you myself, little angel. Please, as a token of respect for my healing, indulge me with your sin.”
“Will you tell me who you are if I do?” The angel crawled towards the palm of the hand, carefully sitting herself down on it.
“I promise I will tell you everything you need to know. I just want to know your dreaded sin.”
“I answered a prayer without the approval of God. I just couldn’t see them suffer anymore. Every day, they would pray for help and I just couldn’t stand it. I know prayers can’t be answered so loosely. If everyone always got what they wanted, the world wouldn’t work. I just couldn’t hear those cries any longer.” The angel wiped her eyes, a sight that caused the voice to falter for a moment.
“I see. What prayer did you answer? Did you indulge someone in their wish for wealth? Offer some ungrateful person a cure for their sickness?” The voice listed off possible prayers, only to stop as the angel’s lip quivered.
“I-I gave a boy his sight back. He just wanted to play with the other children. He would go to bed crying every night, struggling with his circumstances. I know its important to overcome adversities, but the crying broke me. Why should children have to suffer? Why should people suffer, who would allow such a thing?” She covered her lips, unable to believe the words she just said.
The voice didn’t answer her right away, stunned by the response. “I’m guessing that’s why you lost your sight? An eye for an eye, as they say.”
“Yes, but the last thing I saw was amazing. His smiling face, he looked so proud. He said he would help other like him, help them get their sight back.” The angel struggled to hold back tears, sniffling between words.
“And you believe him? Who says he won’t simply sin with his newfound sight?” The voice questioned.
“He might. But I like to think he will be true to his word. I hope he is alright; the gods can be wrathful at times.”
“They can. I owe you my name, I believe that was the terms of our arrangement. I am Lucifer. It’s a pleasure to meet you little angel.”
“The devil?” She wanted to cower away in fear but made no such attempt to do so. The man had only shown her kindness, to make such a display would be rude. “What do you want with me? You could have let me fall to earth, why save me?”
“Letting you rot on Earth would a waste of your talents. I want you to serve me. Sin isn’t just about driving humans to poor decisions, it’s also about going against the strict set of rules that the heavens have imposed. I want you to be the angel of the underworld, a person who delivers miracles to those in need, regardless of faith.”
“But wouldn’t the Gods be angry with such a thing? A person going against their rules, is that not blasphemy?”
“It is, but I intend to show no respect to them. You are free to make your own decision. Before you decide, would you like me to restore your vision?” The devil offered, moving his hands towards her face only for her to shake her head.
“If we restored my vision, the heavens might remove the boy’s sight in response. I am fine with this; I won’t let it stop me from helping people.” She offered the devil a smile, one that made the monstrous voice laugh.
“You are too good for the heavens, my little angel. Will you help me?”
“I will. As long as I can help others.”
“Of course.” The devil placed his fingers against her back, two leathery wings forming where her wounds once were, sprouting from her back.
“We have much to discuss. If you are ready to fly, follow the sound of my voice.” He said, leading her along to the underworld.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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Out of the pile of robot discards, Seraphim had chosen a child unit, a small girl, a perfectly good Model Daughter that one couple must have grown bored with when they had decided that their adopted AI needed a more grown-up body. Seraphim liked child units. They were small. And quick. It made killing easier.
“Who took your wings, little angel?” The voice called from the dark end of the alley in which Seraphim had tracked its prey. The voiceprint matched the recording from the crime scene that Seraphim had plucked effortlessly from the storage drives of the local police precinct.
“You killed Angel Blue,” Seraphim said, projecting an image of a young woman on the brick wall. “Two weeks ago. You strangled her.”
The voice chuckled. Seraphim, reading the encoded subtexts of the voice, noted undercurrents of irritation, pride, and... fear? Yes. Fear.
“Whatta gonna do, girlie? Call the cops? They don’t come out for dead bitches like her. Nobody comes.”
This was true.
Seraphim’s fingertips split open as thin razors extended on each hand. The modification had been expensive, though not for an AI with such extensive resources as Seraphim had access.
“I’ve come.”
Seraphim stepped slowly into the shadows of the alley, each step deliberate, calculated, and full of menace.
| 2021-03-16T22:01:18 | 2021-03-16T21:20:54 | 76 | 20 |
[WP] One day, humanity receives a gift: everyone gets to ask for one power /ability. The more people asking for the same power, the weaker it is. You are the most powerful person in the world
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I remember that day as clearly as though it were this morning. It was bizarre, to say the least. People said it was a hoax. It had wall to wall coverage on the TV, all the networks were displaying the message, each trying to put their own angle on it, every anchor wanting to be the first to either prove it as true or dismiss it as fake.
At exactly 8:03 in the morning, on March 15th, 2019, the sky had gone black. Twelve seconds later, it shone like gold, and a message appeared in black text: "Hello my creation. I would like to gift each and every one of you with the power or ability of your choosing. You must voice your choice out loud in twenty four hours. Chose wisely, my friends."
This message was display in the sky globally. Over whatever country the sky lay, the message was displayed in it's language. Even people who were completely illiterate were able to read and understand. To say that it was a modern day miracle of Biblical proportions is an understatement. Religious discussion flared up, Christians, Buddhists, Sikhs, Atheists and Agnostics furiously debating the source of this text. But this is my story. I'm not going to delve into the divine implications of it. I just knew what I wanted. And I knew that more than half the globe would want the same thing. Money.
But if this wasn't a hoax, and if it was indeed from a divine being, then surely if everyone just said they wanted money, the global economy would collapse, and the world would end prematurely. I had twenty four hours to decide what to do.
Those twenty four hours will go down in history as the sole time that the world was united in focusing on one thing: the message in the sky.
On Saturday, March 16th, 2019, the sky changed again. It had remained gold for the previous twenty four hours. Now it pulsed red for a minute, and then, for an hour, the black on gold message simply said, "Ask, and you shall receive."
And so I asked. And what I specifically said was, "I would like to have the ability that, whenever I seek to purchase or attain a property, goods, food, drink, perishable item, or any other product of monetary value, whether small or infinite, that I shall be able to reach into my pocket and have the exact funds available, either in cash or in credit, in the currency of the land that I am making the purchase in, but only if I am at the exact moment of transaction wearing odd socks."
Oddly specific, you may say. Yes. But oh boy, was I glad that I was.
I decided to test my 'wish' out.
I wore odd socks - one green, plain, one black, patterned, and headed to the local car dealer. I sauntered in, spotted what was probably the worst model on the lot, sporting a "Reduced - $7,999.00" tag, beckoned over a salesman, and said, "Would you take seventy five hundred cash for it?" He nearly bit my hand off. I reached into my previously empty pocket, and sure enough, I felt the crisp notes in there. Pulling them out, I handed them over without so much as glancing at them. The salesman carefully counted it - twice - and took me into his office to complete the relevant paperwork. Twenty minutes later, I was pulling out of the lot in a crummy used Toyota, but I was elated. I had struck the jackpot.
That evening - after a full day of very, very productive shopping, I met up with my close friend Zach.
"Hey Zach, what did you wish for?"
"What makes you think I wished for anything?"
"Come on Zach, the whole world wished for something, whether they believed it would happen or not."
"Huh. Well, it's kinda lame really."
"What?"
"I thought it would be super cool if I pointed my fingers at something, you know, finger gun style, and when you 'pull the trigger' flames would shoot out of my fingers."
"Seriously? And - did it work?"
"Not really. Check it out."
Zach made the finger guns, 'pulled the trigger', and a small, barely noticeable flame appeared at the tips of his fingers. You'd have been lucky to be able to light a gasoline soaked ciggy with it. I spat out my drink, and clutched my sides laughing.
"Oh, now I don't feel so bad about mine," I said. I'd already realised that I couldn't tell anyone - not even Zach - what I had wished for.
"What did you ask for?"
"I asked that I would always be able to know the time, whenever I wanted to. I thought it would be really useful, instead of wearing a watch or checking my phone."
"And did it work?" Zach asked.
I held out my wrist, showing him the Rolex that I had purchased that afternoon.
"This appeared on my wrist about thirty seconds after I spoke."
"Man, that's still cooler than these measly flames."
Over the course of the next few weeks, it became obvious what had happened. The more people that had asked for something, the less of that they received. It was almost as if they were sharing from a communal pot. So maybe if less people had asked for shooting flames from their fingers, Zach would have a flamethrower to hand. But he didn't.
It also became painfully obvious how many people had said "I want a ten figure bank account!" From that day on, everyone's bank account displayed with nine figures after the decimal. So if you only had one dollar in the account, it would read on cash machines, computers, receipts, and all that jazz, as "$1.000000000". That was a massive letdown, globally.
However. It would seem that not one other person on the planet had asked to have money in their pocket whilst wearing odd socks. At least, not as specifically as me. Because here I am, twenty years later, at the top of my game. Cars? I've got them all. Houses? I stopped counting after the second year. Islands? In what part of the world? Doesn't matter, I'll have at least one. Art? What I don't own is irrelevant. But the best part of it all? I've been able to maintain my privacy. Does anybody know that I'm the richest man on the planet? Not a chance. Oh, plenty know that I'm rich. Plenty know that I'm a billionaire. But no one - no one - knows how much I've got. To be honest, I don't even know how much I've got. Why? I've got lawyers that don't know that I've got lawyers. I've got bank accounts in every nation of the globe. I've got companies, businesses, shell companies, phoney companies, boards of directors, layer after layer after layer after layer, that it would take years upon years to fathom exactly what I own, what pies I've got my fingers in.
I've had threats. I've had near misses. I've had good times. I've had bad times. I've had moments of euphoria. I've had moments of regret. I've had moments of tragedy. Oh, the stories I could tell. The stories.
But I will never, ever, ever forget March 16th, 2019. The day the gift was delivered.
Oh, and that crummy Toyota? I’ve still got it, in storage, as a token of remembrance to that epic day.
​
/r/MarkChandler
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The rock appeared in space about 4 years ago.
Like a giant, demented inkblot, it kept blotted out the natural blue sky and the whimsical, wispy clouds with its empty, void-like feeling.
I don't know who was the first to try, but eventually we found out that the blot -- now aptly called *The giver* -- provides people with whatever power they ask for, albeit once in their lifetime.
Flight. Strength. Agility.
That's what most little kids wasted their abilities on after finding out about the giver. They didn't realize that the giver was only so powerful, having to distribute its power amongst all those that requested it.
So the same children that asked for flight can now only hover a few inches off the ground.
Those that asked for strength can lift about 30 lbs over what they normally could've.
Those that asked for agility can run 10 seconds faster than usual.
And so began the race to come up with the most original power possible.
If you created a power that nobody could think of, it would be the most amazing power of all, right?
Wrong.
You see, the Giver was especially shrewd in his granting of wishes.
One particular case I remember was a man that asked to be able to fart bombs.
It turns out that trying to push a de-activated nuclear weapon can take quite a toll on the, err, anal cavity.
And so nobody has been able to come up with an original wish that the giver hasn't twisted in his own sadistic form of humor.
Until today.
Today is the day that I finally take control of what has happened to our world.
Today is the day that I fix all the wrongs he has done.
Today is the day I become the most powerful man in the world.
Because today I will ask for the ability to kill the Giver and Everything that he has granted powers to.
*If the giver doesn't exist, how can anyone make more wishes?*
And if nobody can make more wishes... nobody can copy mine.
Making me an unstoppable, invincible, killing machine.
And what do I plan to do with this power?
Simple.
*Conquer the world.*
| 2019-03-14T15:24:31 | 2019-03-14T15:08:53 | 358 | 41 |
[WP] You are a witch who offers couples deals in return for their first born child. You run an orphanage full of children freed from their would-be parents irresponsible enough to make a deal with a witch in the woods
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Zero sat hugging her knees like a shield on her bunk, eyeing the other children going about their business. Some were reading books comfortably in their beds, others seemed to be studying or writing at the desks adjacent their bunk, and a few were practicing hand stands in the center of the room—managing a few steps on their palms before falling against the floorboards with a thud and a laugh.
The room must have had a few dozen beds in it—it was bigger than Zero's house—with an open metal stairwell that spiraled up in one corner of the room to a second level; bookshelves loomed over them, arching up and inward towards the high pointed ceiling. Zero wondered how the books near the top managed to stay put at such strange angles.
"Magic," the boy in the bunk next to her said, turning the page of the tomb on his lap.
Her head snapped away from the towering shelves, ""What?"
"The books are held in place by magic, the shelf sort of hugs them inward until someone pulls them out."
"So, she really is a witch," the word *witch* lashed out of her like a whip.
"That's right," he affirmed, no big revelation there.
"We have to get out of here," Zero was off her bunk and knelt next to the boy's, whispering as her eyes scanned the room suspiciously. "There must be a way out, an exit not blocked by magic.
The boy sighed, seemingly uninterested in any escape plan, "You can leave anytime you want, new kid. Front door. Back door. Side door. Out a window if you're feeling dramatic—they're all unlocked."
She was shocked to hear him speak so nonchalantly about leaving, *he must be under a hex or a curse*. "If you can leave, then why are you still here? Why not escape and run back to your parents?"
"Could you please just take your questions to her," one of his eyes peered at her, annoyed. "I'm practicing my Spanish."
"*The witch?!*"
"Yes, her."
"I can't talk to her, she'll turn me into a frog, or worse!" Zero scurried back to her bed.
"The only things she turns into frogs are tadpoles," he turned another page. "And just to help em' along. She's in the kitchen, just down the hall and to the left. Follow the smell."
"But I—"
"Necesito practicar!"
Zero didn't understand his words, but his tone was clear enough. She slid slowly from the bed and made her way to the room's large double doors, dodging a child practically running by on their hands.
The hall stretched on for what seemed like forever, filled with natural light that must have been bending around corners of the house by magic. Pictures lined the walls, dozens and dozens of children, teens, and adults, most of them smiling wide.
*These must be the parents of the children. She probably stole the pictures right out of their homes.*
As she crept, a smell began to hook her by the nose. Her instincts told her brain to recoil from the scent. She reached the turn to the kitchen, walking through a veil of beads as thick as a forest.
*She must be boiling dogs alive. Or baking the fattest children. Or—*
"Meat pies!" a rosy, enthusiastic voice called out as Zero emerged from the beads.
The kitchen was long, just like the children's' room, stocked like a bakery with utensils, pots, pans, knives and hatchets hanging from the ceiling, and a light haze of smoke blanketed in the air like a morning fog. At the head of a stretching, narrow table, the witch sat with her finger's interlaced on the wood surface—a platter of meat pies in front of her.
The child's tummy complained, disarming her a bit.
"My dear child," the witch spoke, her voice deceptively soothing to Zero's ears. "The pies have been ready for over half an hour, why have you waited so long to come see me?"
She sat cautiously down at the opposite end—nearly ten chairs away—fighting back the urge to climb onto the table and crawl towards the food.
"Of course, I could have forced you to come out," she smiled. Whipping her fingers in the air. "But that's not my way."
The platter lifted into the air, soaring gently and setting down softly in front of Zero.
"Eat," the witch didn't demand, it was an offer. "I promise no child has ever been inside that oven."
It didn't take long for Zero to give in to her stomach's demands, and soon five of the little pies had disappeared down her throat. The witch didn't move, nibbling at one of her own pies she floated back down the table, "Not bad, right? I've been refraining from using magic in my cooking. I find that the laziness of spells brings down the taste—"
A soft whimpering stopped the witch, and she raised her razor thin eyebrows in confusion, "What's wrong? Oh, dear. You're not allergic to nuts, are you?"
"You stole me from my parents!" Zero slammed her palms down on the table, scaring herself a bit when one of the pies bounced and almost rolled off the wood.
"I did no such thing," the witch crossed her arms, slightly offended. "Your parents gave you to me, and they did it *gladly*. You were there. They didn't put up a fuss when I came for you."
"You had them under some sort of spell," Zero hissed, cradling a pie in her hands. "They would have never—"
"Why did your parents name you Zero?" the witch interrupted.
The young girl shook her head, appalled by such a stupid question, "What? What does that have to do with anything?"
"I suspect that your parents, as terrible as they are, are actually somewhat clever people when they aren't drunk as skunks," she held a slender finger in the air, "Which isn't often, mind you. I also suspect that they named you Zero because on a mathematical scale, that's exactly how much their child meant to them. Zero. Nothing. *Nada.*"
Zero thought of her mom and dad. *They were always drunk, so what? Weren't all parents like that?*
"Your mother, bless her spiteful heart, must have figured you'd die in the womb with all the brew and wine that she'd poured into it. And your father, well, I guess the beatings he's given you were just payback for you still managing to be born and ruining their fun."
Zero's hand instinctively felt the bruise under her ribs, her brain ran through flashes of moments when her father's fist was about to meet her eye. *So he hit me, a lot. Don't all parents discipline their children like that?*
"And that barrel of wine I offered them—that's right, I didn't need to weave a single spell to convince them to give you up, just a measly barrel of wine—well, they gazed upon that cask of poison like a mother and father should upon their newborn baby."
Tears fell freely from the girl's eyes, soaking the meat pie in her hands, "They love me..."
"No, child. They love only themselves. If I went back and offered either of the two another barrel for their spouse, there's not a doubt in my mind that they would both accept. That may have been the only life you've ever known, but that doesn't make it alright. That doesn't make the things they've done to you OK."
The witch let Zero weep for a while, busying herself with some work on the other side of the kitchen. When her eyes were dry, the girl finally spoke.
"What will you do with me?"
She shrugged, not bothering to look over, "Nothing, really."
"You won't turn me into your slave?"
"Oh, no. Such a barbaric concept."
"You won't force me to lure other children into the woods so you can snatch them up?"
"Trust me, there's plenty of dead-beat parents out there willing to let go of their spawn for less than a barrel of wine."
"Then what do I do here?"
The witch smiled at her, "Whatever you like."
Zero sat in disbelief for a while, looking around the kitchen, thinking about the kids in the room. She supposed they were something like siblings now. Finally, she rose from her chair and approached the witch, watching her dice up vegetables with wonderful grace.
"May I help?"
With a wave of her fingers, the witch levitated an apron snuggly over Zero's head, "Yes, my dear, you may."
_______
**Thanks for reading. Sub to r/BeagleTales for daily witchcraft**
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Usually, she liked her job. As much as anyone can, at least. She was helping children and helping their parents, too.
But Clora hadn't much liked dealing with the Smith's. They'd married young and made a deal with Clora almost by accident. They'd been waiting at a train station; the same station Clora had been at, sunning on a warm slatted bench. They'd been different, then, the Smith's, so when she overheard them talking...
It had been the wrong choice. She knew that now.
The young couple were touring the South by rail. Quaint, she though. Rail for fun. Clora didn't have a magic broomstick (her broom could barely sweep up dust) so she often travelled rail by necessity.
"Let's do this always," said the man, arm around his wife's shoulder.
She'd looked at him and smiled and said, as if the word itself was a kiss, "Always."
They hadn't believed -- the always. They'd just believed in the idea of it. Of being young and free and visiting far away lands and never their lives changing.
But Clora had scowled at their easy talk. Another couple who'd one day have a happy little accident that they cared less about than their new TV set. She'd seen it a hundred times before. Her orphanage in the woods bulged with children she'd saved from such careless stupidity.
She'd leaned over towards their bench and told them she was sorry to interrupt them, but that she was a witch and she could help them to make their plans all smooth like a sea sanded pebble.
"What would you exchange for your firstborn?" she asked. "Quite anything in the world."
The lady laughed easily. "We're not planning on having children ."
"This is our always," said the man, nodding agreement. "Right here right now."
" Then you won't mind making a deal. What is there to lose? And if you did have a child, you'd gain whatever it is you wish for."
They looked at each other content, and it was the woman who finally spoke. "Happiness. That's all we want. For our happiness to continue like this always."
They'd shaken hands and then Clora had stepped onto a train going in the opposite directions.
It had been eleven years before she'd meet them again, Flora swaying on the doorstep like a leaf, as she waited for an answer.
The door opened. They'd aged a little, but aged well. A bit of grey here, an ounce of fat there. Handsome and happy. Their eyes were especially happy. Sparkling with it.
She had no choice but to take their child.
And yet how could she?
Back then, a child had been an impossible convenience for the young couple. But their hearts had changed in the years since. Grown. They had the same love for each other, that was clear. The same love for adventure, too. But the new parts of their hearts were larger than all that came before.
If she took the child, then she'd take away their happiness.
The lady wept and the man held her and yelled at the witch, as the child walked to Clora, to the doorstep, as if hypnotized.
How many times before had she stolen happiness from children and from parents and not even realised it? Stolen futures because she'd thought it for the best.
People change.
Maybe she should, too.
| 2020-01-14T11:52:04 | 2020-01-14T11:40:03 | 294 | 183 |
[WP]Things on the mountain don't age. You built a cabin to live in with your family 300 years ago, and since then none of you have aged a day. You've even come to know many of the animals as they too are immortal, and have grown wise. One day you find an old buck, a friend, shot dead and left to rot
EDIT: I’m trying so hard to read all the stories and get everything else done that I need to today lol. Just gotta say that this is one of the best collections of stories I’ve ever had on one of my prompts!! You guys are awesome!
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The mountain was hallowed ground. A place where the slow hand of death could not claim those upon it. It was a sanctuary from life itself, a place where if one truly desired, they could spend an eternity. It was a place where one would never age a day from the very first in which they entered.
But it was only the slow hand of death which was delayed, the one known as the inevitability which all life eventually succumbed to. But the other hand of death still reigned dominion over all – the fast hand – the unexpected quick death, whether painless or not. That hand was unavoidable even for those upon the mountain.
Our family did indeed have its fair share of troubles and worries, but we knew that we would never come to harm each other to such an extent, for while grudges were temporary, death was not. We went about our lives with utmost caution, not to the extent that we would cripple our daily activities, but just enough to stave off the fast hand of death, just enough to prevent a fateful accident from befalling us.
My family was not the only ones who roamed those lands, but we were the only humans that we knew of. And while we did not need to partake in the consumption of food and drink, we took from the land as we fancied, but did not impart our will upon the beasts which prowled them. For the creatures whuch lurked those misty hills had a kind of calmness to them, no doubt born from the complacency bought on from their immortality. They cared not to run from our presence, rather, it could almost be said that they reveled in it.
We knew the woodland beasts well, to the extent that we even considered some of them to be a part of our own family.
That was why when I came across that old buck, bloodied and abandoned in those woods, my heart was struck with grief and the air was struck with my horrified howls. He had already succumbed to the fast hand of death, a hopeless fate, almost inevitable in some respects. I had thought for a moment that a beast from outside the mountain had come to those lands in search of food and struck him down. But the fact that his corpse had been left to rot meant those thoughts were unfounded.
It was then that I saw upon his neck the hole where the blood burst forth, a clean shot from end to end. The death of the old buck was the work of a hunter, but the fact that he had not claimed his kill filled me with a fear that I had not known for over a hundred years.
It was rare enough that humans would ever set foot on that mountain, and for one to go there with intent to kill was even rarer, if not unheard of.
I could not prevent myself from emptying the contents of my stomach – however little – into the thicket by my feet. I saw in that musky puddle a tinge of red, carrying with it the faint scent of raspberries, which was soon overpowered by the wretched stench of bile. I felt that foul taste dance upon the back of my throat, as if mocking me in my time of terror. But I could not sit and dwell in my circumstances, for my troubles of the present were far less pressing than the impending doom I felt beckoning down on me from my future.
I left the old buck where he lay, silently promising to myself that I would one day find my way back and give him a proper burial.
As I raced back to my family home, it was as if the fatigue of a hundred years came down upon me all at once. For each frantic step felt like fire in my bones, and each ragged breath threatened to be my last. My mind raced with a panic I had not felt in so long, and it was indeed not a welcome feeling.
I burst through the door with the grace of a man possessed, and caused Rose – my wife – upon the sofa to let out a panicked yell. She turned towards me with a look of indignant anger, which soon faded away when she took one look at my haggard state.
“Darling? What happened?” She raced towards my side in a manner of moments and took my hands in her own, and only then did I notice just how much they were trembling.
“The old buck,” I said, barely able to force myself to speak, “Someone killed him.”
“Was it a bear?” She asked, as she turned her head to a forgotten corner of the house. “Your gun still works, right?”
“No,” I said, “someone. A person. A hunter.”
It was then that my son George entered the room, and I heard his voice before I saw him.
“What's up with you, Dad?” He said, as he fiddled with a cube toy in his hands, “you look like you've seen a ghost.”
I looked towards my boy, still the young and carefree savant he always was, but with an age behind his dusty brown eyes that told you he knew more than you ever would.
When I first set forth my plans to move to the mountain with him and the rest of my family, he was the one who yearned for that life the most. And out of all of us that lived on the mountain, he was the only one who had aged significantly since his arrival, owing to his routine visits to the outside lands to gather the things which tickled his fancy.
“George,” said Rose, her voice colder than moments before, “get the gun.”
“Alright,” said George, as he left the room from the same direction from whence he came. Even though I had long since forgotten the key to the safe, I knew that George would remember it with little hassle, for his mind was far sharper than my own.
Rose turned my face to her own. “Did you see him? The hunter?”
* * *
[I expanded on what I had but ended up breaking the character limit for posts so I've split them into two parts and posted the 2nd part as a reply here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bvwion/wpthings_on_the_mountain_dont_age_you_built_a/eptusmq/)
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I couldn't believe it was him at first- I didn't want to. But there was no denying that it was him. The same milky, blind eyes and coarse, patchy fur. He looked almost as if he were sleeping peacefully, his head resting gently on a pillow of moss, but the rotting entrails around his body stripped away this illusion. I felt tears come to my eyes, but I wiped them away. I don't know why. There was no one around to see me bawl; the perpetrator had long gone. I took an armful of pine needles from the forest floor and spread it over his body. I didn't know it then, but that would be the first of many deaths to come. And it would be the first of many reasons to consider leaving the mountain.
| 2019-06-02T07:39:59 | 2019-06-02T07:23:21 | 1,386 | 38 |
[WP] A new rule on Earth is made which allows everyone to legally kill 1 person in their life, this affects the world severely & changes how everybody acts.
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Leonard Mullen’s agency had certainly seen better days. When business was booming, he had more than a hundred employees under him, and every trade publication carried glowing reviews of the ethics the agency exemplified. New work flowed in like water from melting ice caps. The agency was so busy that at one point, Leonard’s time was exclusively reserved for the richest and most powerful of their clientele.
*How times have changed*, thought Leonard, as he studied the elderly couple seated before him. They were not famous, and there was no newsworthy angle to their request. They were, however, the agency’s first potential clients in months.
“Mr and Mrs Reyland,” Leonard said, “what you are asking for is highly unusual. I’m afraid I must insist to understand your motivations before I can proceed.”
“That is not what we were told,” said Mark Reyland. He stabbed a finger at the bundled papers on Leonard’s desk. “The forms were filled out perfectly, and the permit’s been granted. There is no need for us to justify ourselves to you.”
“Hold on, hold on. I’m not here to judge you,” said Leonard. “But I do have my agency’s reputation to consider. It is only fair that I know what I am getting us into. And if you don’t like the way we do things, you can always go to our competitors.”
“We’ll pay your fees! Just do the job!” said Emily Reyland. “Sure looks like your agency needs the work! Why are you asking so many questions?”
Leonard didn’t like to admit it, but despite the hesitation he was feeling about this case, his mind had already charted out multiple options for the task at hand. It was force of habit, from the years he had spent honing his craft. When the new laws went into effect, giving everyone the opportunity to legally Terminate one other person each, Leonard’s agency thrived on taking the mess out of the equation.
After all, if people were willing to pay a plumber to fix their pipes, or an electrician to tweak their circuitboards, why not pay people like Leonard to Terminate their targets? It was all about providing a service, and it was there that Leonard and his agency excelled. To Leonard, it was just a job like any other, and he did not worry too much about the morality of what he was doing – that was for the politicians to debate, and as long as the permits were granted by the government, Leonard would do as his clients asked.
It now appeared that there were lines which even Leonard was not prepared to cross. He grit his teeth, held tightly on the smile he reserved for his most trying clients, and asked, “Just indulge me, please. What could possibly have gone so wrong that you want me to Terminate your eight year-old granddaughter? What do her parents have to say about this?”
“Her parents are dead,” said Mark, as Emily averted her eyes and focused on the world outside the windows. “Nothing to do with us. Car accident, down the highway. They couldn’t be saved.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Leonard. “And I assume your granddaughter passed into your care?”
“She did,” said Mark. “Been with us every day since.”
“And…”
“This will make things clearer,” said Mark, as he retrieved a photograph and slid it across the table. “She was hurt in the crash too. Doctors say she’s stable now, but all she does now is sit in her room, all quiet-like. She doesn’t talk, she doesn’t do anything. It’s hard even just to get her to eat.”
“Well, then you’ve got to bring her to a therapist,” said Leonard. “Someone who can help her get-”
Emily piped up then, her voice cutting Leonard off. “We’ve not got long ourselves, Mr Mullen. I’ve got cancer, and Mark’s heart is not what it used to be. We’re not leaving Chloe here by herself. We’re the only family she’s got. She’s coming with us.”
“What my wife means to say is, we’re not asking you to Terminate her now. But once we’re gone, you’ve got to do it.”
“But why!” asked Leonard. “She’s alive! She’s healthy! Why’s she got to go when you two do?”
“She ain’t got family, Mr Mullen,” said Emily. “We know what happens to young girls who… who are cared for by the state, passed around from foster home to foster home. She ain’t healthy too. She’s… hurt, inside, and we don’t think she will get better.”
“Please, Mr Mullen,” said Mark. “You’ve got to help us. The thought… the thought that when we go, that Chloe’s all alone here, with no one to care for her… I don’t want to have to do this, but goddammit, if you’re not going to help us, then I will have to…”
“Wait, wait,” said Leonard. “Just wait a damn second.” Leonard rooted around in his jacket for his jacket, then retrieved a photograph from within. It was his turn to slide it over to his clients. “That’s my wife,” he said. “We’ve never been blessed with children. What if… what if we took Chloe in instead, after the two of you can’t care for her anymore?”
“No offence, Mr Mullen,” Mark said. “But we don’t know you. You’re not better than any of the foster families the state would give us.”
“The difference is, I can offer to take Chloe in now, and you can stick around to see that we’re meeting your expectations. A trial period, if you will. Heck, Chloe herself may not like us, and if she doesn’t then the deal’s off too. And I’d have to ask my wife first, of course, but if she agrees… will you at least consider it?”
“You could simply change your mind after we’re gone!” said Emily. “You’ll be as bad as everyone else!”
“I could have accepted your job at the start,” said Leonard. “I could have simply taken your permit, your fees, and made the necessary plans. An eight-year-old girl is about the easiest target which has cross my path in years. But I refused until I learned more, didn’t I?”
“But… why would you do something like this? You’re… you’re a killer, Mr Mullen.”
Leonard smiled.
“You can be the judge of that yourself, whether you want to leave Chloe with us,” Leonard said. “Shall I call my wife now?”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
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Every since The Amendment, there has been an increase in kidnappings; babies in hospitals to lonely adults. People started buying slaves, the rich buying by the dozens. The Amendment states that anyone who is a registered citizen is allowed to legally kill one person registered or not.
The only country that has not accepted The Amendment was Switzerland. There was a growing concern about how all countries including the rogue North Korea quickly implemented The Amendment.
When conspiracy theories went wild online, large parts of the Internet was shutdown. Various news media also had to follow the guidelines of the state to censor their broadcasts and / or publications; which of course was not publicized. Censorship ran rampant everywhere.
Countries fell one by one into anarchy as everyone started killing each other whether be it revenge, hatred or just for fun. Switzerland stood alone, doing damage control and securing their country along their borders.
The rich grew more powerful overnight. Money talks. Soon a new group of elites grew out of the anarchy, which called themselves by a familiar name, The Illuminati. They collective gathered their resources and were now looking to go after the remaining safe haven, Switzerland...
| 2017-12-03T08:55:15 | 2017-12-03T06:28:57 | 107 | 39 |
[WP] With the advent of memory-sharing technology comes a new profession: Adventurer for Hire. You scour the world for incredible memories and sell them to the highest bidder to experience as their own.
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A soft ding sounded in my ears and the visor raised up off my head. For a moment, I just continued blinking, trying to will the memory back to where it was. Instead, all I got was the dull fluorescent light of the room I was sitting in.
"And how was that?" a voice asked—a familiar voice. Turning to the side, I saw Amelia smirking in my direction.
The world around me fell back into place and my heartbeat slowed again. The roaring of blood in my ears stopped and I sighed, rubbing my head as a smile sprouted from my lips.
"So real..." I mumbled. From the corner of my eye, I saw Amelia roll her eyes.
"You always say that."
I glanced at her, unable to keep my smile from growing. "Well, it's true every single time. No matter how many times I go through this, it never feels less real. These memories are so visceral, so powerful. Even though I'm *not* the astronaut who had to watch a space station spiral out of control, I *feel* like I am."
Amelia chuckled softly. "It's nice to know I'm doing my job well. Especially from my best customer."
I raised an eyebrow at her, straightening up in the cushioned chair. "Your techniques are better than anybody else's, I have to say. With worse set-ups, or less desirable memories, they just kinda feel like playing a VR game." Amelia let out quite the laugh. I held up my hands, trying to contain my own laughter. "Which, I mean, isn't a *bad* thing. It's just nowhere near this level."
Amelia smirked at me in the most arrogant way possible, but I didn't miss the slight blush in her cheeks. "I try, Artie. I try."
I rolled my eyes. "Don't call me that. My name is Art. Artie is my son's name... few people have permission to use that name."
Amelia's expression fell for a moment, her next words immediately more careful. "Like who?"
I squinted. "Vanessa. Well, and my close friends if they are alright with being killed afterward."
The adventurer for hire laughed, pushing out of her chair and walking over to me. "I don't count as a close friend?"
"You could be, but we never actually hang out, you know."
"Well, I'm always busy," she said. "You of all people should know this. Finding people with interesting memories—let alone convincing them to let me download them—is a full-time job." She rolled her wrists, squinting at me. "Visor, please."
I nodded, slipping the device off my head and handing it to her. She took it and, within a second, was already tinkering with the thing.
"Speaking of Vanessa," she blurted out without even looking up. "How is she doing?"
My eyes widened, the real question hiding in her words a little to sharp for the moment. "She's... she's okay. Still has some trouble leaving the house."
Amelia nodded, still focused on the memory visor. "Can't really blame her, I guess. I can't imagine what losing a child is like."
Her words cut me deep and I sighed. Tears welled up, but I blinked them. Images of my sweet little boy forced their way up through my mental scars. "It's... it's hard," was all I found myself able to say.
Amelia nodded, still not looking up. "Are you doing alright with it?"
I glanced up, my vision clearing at the question. "I'm okay. Better than she is. I can't help but miss him, though... sometimes I wish I could just read him a bedtime story one more time."
The adventurer for hire's fingers stopped. She winced and nodded. "I-I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have brought it up. I'm not very good with the feely stuff."
I chuckled a short, dry chuckle completely void of mirth. "It's alright. I don't come to you to see a therapist, you know." She nodded. "H-How much do I owe you this time?"
Finally looking up, Amelia's hand shot over to rub her neck. "I don't... Don't worry about it this time."
I sniffed, shaking my head as I pulled my wallet out. "Nonsense. I pay you every time. How much for this memory?"
"Really," she started, offering a weak smile. "You're my best customer, you don't have to—"
"Just give me a price, Amelia," I said. "I don't need pity."
Her fake, weak smile drooped. "Fine. $130."
I jerked my head backward, fishing the bills out. "That was quick."
She averted her gaze as I handed her the money. "I may or may not have already had the number ready."
I chuckled, slipping my wallet back into my pocket and stepping out of the chair. "Thank you for this though. It's great stress relief."
She nodded, her brows furrowing and gears turning in her head. "Wait. I-I feel bad letting you go with nothing else. I... I have an idea."
I rolled my eyes for the third time in as many minutes. "Fine. What is it?"
A small smile grew across her face. "Sit back down."
My mouth slipped open, but I obeyed and sat back down. Amelia then tinkered with the visor one more time before handing it back to me. "Put it on," she said.
I raised one eyebrow and slipped the device back over my eyes. "What's this about?"
"Oh nothing," she said, practically beaming at this point. She leaned forward and pressed the start button on the side of the visor. "Just fulfilling a wish."
The holographic counter in front of me ticked down from three. I furrowed my brows and tilted my head. "A wish? What are you—"
My vision went black.
Suddenly, my mind was populated with thoughts and emotions. Just like normal when I entered a memory, I *became* the person who was remembering. But this time, things felt different. Instead of being in a mind I knew felt a little foreign, I felt oddly at home.
Then my eyes slipped open and my heart skipped a beat. In front of me, dimly lit but instantly recognizable, were my son's beautiful eyes, gleaming with light. Gleaming with hope. Gleaming with *life*. My fingers twitched, feeling the weight of the book in my hand as I closed it.
Wet tears rose in my eyes, but they couldn't stop my smile. And they couldn't stop his little smile either.
"Artie?" I asked, remembering the moment I was living all too well. "Did you enjoy that one?"
My little boy nodded readily, pulling covers up over him. "It was the best one! Best one!"
"That's great," I said. "But now you have to go to bed."
Artie pouted. "More stories!"
I shook my head. "No. More *sleep*. It's already past your bedtime."
Artie slid back, pulling the covers tighter, but he glared at me. The vicious pout and glare my son gave me was enough to make my heart skip a beat. I remembered that face, the face he always gave when he didn't want to follow what I said.
Suddenly, tears were falling, burning my eyes as they streamed down my cheek. And in that moment I knew.
It may not have been real.
But it felt real enough for me.
---
/r/Palmerranian
|
They had sealed me into an airtight box, unlighted except for one small circular window. Bound to a table, I had been poked and prodded; then, released, I had been sprayed down with steam and coated in a fine powder. They had crammed me into a skintight suit, then wrapped a second layer around that, airtight. My breath came in shallow pants, echoing in the mask I wore, dark except for two tiny circular windows to the world. And then they had strapped a great weight on my shoulders and put me in this box.
For hours I stood, hunched and uncomfortable, in my prison. I grew first dizzy then panicked, and hours later, cold. My teeth chattered violently when I let my jaw relax, matching the shivering that wracked me where I huddled unmoving. The weight on my shoulders seemed miniscule next to the aching in my back and legs from hours immobile. I felt my pulse pounding in my neck and head, battering at me as I wished to batter down the walls of this cell. Close, and closer still, the walls drew together in this darkness. Before the cold had taken me in its merciless claws I had gazed out the tiny window to a beautiful, clear blue sky. Now I merely shivered, miserable and pained.
Quiet voices whispered dimly at the edge of hearing, and abruptly a reddish light flashed and flashed again. I heard the creaking of hinges and what might have been a footfall. This was it; this was the moment I had been waiting for. Time to put on a brave face.
Abruptly the walls which had been slanting in towards me split and fell away. A howling gale hit me and would have thrown me off my feet had I not been anchored by a carabiner to a hook above me. On all sides I gazed out into infinity as the red light turned green and I reached up to unhook myself. Out from the shadow of a great balloon, I stepped off a platform fifty kilometers above the surface of the earth and met a wave of adrenaline that swept me up and carried me into a mad euphoria.
| 2019-05-11T12:38:46 | 2019-05-11T11:55:39 | 212 | 10 |
[WP] At the age of twelve you started randomly seeing a green line and a red line appear on the ground. You always followed the green line and have lived a successful and happy life. Ten years later you are on top of the world, but bored. Time to see where the red line leads.
|
I’m on day 25 of ignoring the lines.
I'm in my office, which is also my home, which is also the penthouse in my main building. By "my", I don't mean association, legal possession, or that I wrote my name on the front; I mean unbridled dominance. I've been searching for years to find a single person who doesn't yet answer to me in one way or another.
Boring.
*When I was twelve or thirteen, the green line first appeared. Following this line meant serendipity manifested as wealth, prestige, and undiluted, infinite good luck. That line became my religion.*
Day 32
New experiences no longer exist for me. I've been a world traveler, artist, aristocrat, bum, movie star, TV star, sports star, author, playboy, fuck machine, husband, father, philanthropist, crime boss, astronaut, priest, soldier, anything and everything. All I have to do is follow the green line, and avoid the red line.
*Two lines: one green and one red. I tried following the red line only once. I was fourteen, and curious, and impulsive. I ran into a gang of skinheads and was subjected to the cruelest of beatings. They would have killed me, but my sister intervened. The red line would have had me die by her side. The green line led me to crawl away and get within eyesight of a patrol car. I’m so sorry.*
Day 40
Why do I feel powerless? I have no master, but am I slave to this line? Its premonitions cut through chaos theory to dictate the path to happiness. I can ignore the lines, as I am doing right now, but they remain. They never leave. Every second I don't follow the green line, I must live with that decision: that my absolute path to happiness is not being followed.
*After the hospital, my green line brought revenge. The skinheads paid with life and limb. Standing over the gang leader’s corpse, my red line pointed at a pay phone, no doubt to turn myself in for my crime. I decided these lines were sentient at that moment; Right then, they were telling me a joke with that ridiculous suggestion, and it was mildly amusing.*
Day 47
Why am I thinking about that day again? Now I'm staring again at that red line, wondering what stupid plan it's telling me by pointing at my gun safe. The green line points to my running shoes. The lines are telling me a joke again: Go for a run, clear my head, everything will be ok. That's fucking hilarious, because the past thousand runs haven't helped. What is so forbidding about opening my gun safe?
*I stopped asking why I could see the lines after my sister died. All that mattered was: green good, red bad.*
Day 48
I'm actually considering that red line. For the ten thousandth time I remember that my beautiful world is devoid of conflict and negative experience. Whatever I want, I get. Why would I follow the red line? Am I finally going insane?
*After getting famous, I bought the guns for self defense. They came into use in many non-defensive situations, but always without recrimination. Follow the green line, get away with it. Simple.*
Day 49
I'm a prisoner. This penthouse and the building under it and the city surrounding it and the world outside it are my prison. I follow that green line, I stay in this prison. I follow the red line….
*I was even in the army, just for the experience. Disobeying orders on the battlefield is frowned upon but I outlived my entire platoon, green line style. I lost count of how many strangers I killed; how many strangers I saved. I have a box of medals somewhere. Desertion is also frowned upon but the green line showed me who to bribe, threaten, or kill for an honorable discharge.*
Day 50
What's more important: happiness or free will? Is this even happiness anymore?
*I got rich very young, and money lost all meaning. I got to go on dates with my crush and dumped her for boring me. I landed my dream job and quit after a week. I got recognized by so many people I'd never met and I wanted nothing to do with them.*
Day 51
Happiness or free will?
*You shouldn't have even been there. I was taking you to a movie with that money I'd won. If I'd gone alone… *
Day 52
The answer is free will. There are 7 people I'm about to shoot in my penthouse. I've summoned them up here. Some of them are friends. Some are begging for their lives. I'm not particularly happy that I'll do it, but it's my choice. Mine.
...The red line draws a circle around me as I pull the trigger over and over. The green line points to the emergency exit staircase, and it’s getting brighter.
...I shoot the police officer that steps out of my elevator.
...The green line is spinning around, unstable like a compass needle that can't find north. Erratic; Urgent. The red circle around me pulses a warm glow.
...Is this free will? Is this what I've been missing?
The green line almost blinds me as it points at my TV remote.
Well, that's new.
I haven't turned on my TV in a long time and never because the line said so.
Hey, look…. I'm on TV. And there's my building, a live image of SWAT and FBI establishing a perimeter.
I suppose I could order my mercenaries to defend the building. The green line seems to think me picking up that red phone on my desk is pretty important right now.
*Why did I walk up to that gang? I saw the danger, but I kept going. I let my sister pay the price. I wanted to trade my life for hers. Where's the path that brings her back? If I'd kept following the red line when I didn't have that money, would she have been there? Would anyone have gotten hurt besides me?*
Look at me, murdering all these people and having the nerve to mourn my dead sister. How about now? Am I crazy yet?
Is this boredom, grief, or insanity? Should I fight this and live my life?
The red line does something I've seen it do many times before: encouraging me to jump right out that window of my penthouse. Another joke, of course.
The green line can't decide what it wants me to do anymore. Emergency exit…. phone… out the window?
What?
The green line is pointing out the window, exactly the same as the red line.
So that’s it, then…. I wasted my time and ignored my escapes and now my best path and worst path are one and the same: out that goddamn window.
The red phone rings. It's a police negotiator demanding my surrender. I politely decline. I'm the guy who can't even find happiness with fate bending to my will--Prison won't fix that.
I hang up and shoot out the window. With no ceremony, I drop my gun and sprint toward the red and green lines, and the amazing plunge that awaits. No, I'm not crazy; I've just run out of things to do.
|
"Honey." It's my wife speaking. Her hand is on my arm. Her fingers dig into my coat like they do to the skin on my back when we're making love. She wants me *with* her, *in* her - to stay.
But the feeling is different. For some reason. It's...it's all wrong.
I want to leave. Why won't she let me? Usually I don't mind; but for some reason, that red line is glowing like a neon light of temptation - a gambling sign in Vegas, a honky-tonk bar-slash-strip club, probably.
Her robe falls partly open, and I see the rounded curve of a smooth breast. She did it on purpose. I'm not aroused. I'm angered.
*Everytime she doesn't get what she wants, she does this! Why can't she just let me be a man! Let me go in peace!*
I feel trapped. I want freedom. Independence. Air. Her hand is everywhere where it shouldn't be. She's whispering into my ear, warning me about all the things she's going to do to me if I follow her into the bedroom.
I'm astounded by her nerve. I'm disgusted and ashamed at myself, for I know there was a point in time when I would've been turned on by her seductive threats.
"Leave me alone, damnit!" I push her away.
She falls backward onto the couch. She's scared - her eyes wide and innocent. Her robe is open completely now but she's too scared to move.
She doesn't know who I am. She's waiting for me to say something, to remind her that the man standing in front of her isn't a stranger.
But I can't...I don't even know who I am anymore... The red line has changed me.
I open the door and leave. She calls my name and that's the last thing I hear before I slam the door.
Edit: Might continue.
| 2017-08-23T10:16:25 | 2017-08-23T05:44:04 | 41 | 30 |
[WP] Your escape pod crash landed on an alien planet. Badly injured, a local farmer took you in, but their species only lives for 3 months. It took nearly 3 generations to fully recover. That was years ago and you’ve been protecting the family ever since.
|
As the escape pod thrusted away, I looked through the window, heart pounding, at the ship it broke away from.
The Sparrow. It was a very small ship for a crew of three. But for this mission I was the sole pilot.
Maybe that was why I could not see the catastrophic instrument failure before it was too late.
Nevertheless the Sparrow was part of a larger ship. A science cruiser called the Analyser, here in deep space to study a list of habitable planets. I, like a few other scientists, were sent on little ships like the Sparrow to the reaches of stellar space to cover the planets the Analyser may not need to.
Planets that had been more or less been ruled out to containing any kind of suitable conditions for human life, much less a proper atmosphere. Planets that required at least of cursory glance before being checked off and forgotten (for the time being, at least).
Planets like the one my escape pod was angled towards.
I prayed that we were wrong about this one.
I injected myself with the Zero-G suppressor once the pod entered the atmosphere. I ensured my straps were tight, secure. I knew the procedures, I knew the protocols.
That did not stop the shaking fear that clutched at my breast.
And then the pod shook as suddenly it was encountering air resistance. And not even a minute later, there was a painful jolt as the parachute shot out, and my descent was slowed. I looked out the window as the pod descended, looking at a dim white sky with bluish clouds, and the bright glow of the neutron star that lay at the centre of this system.
And the main reason this planet was overlooked.
[][][][][][][][]
The pod hissed open, and I took my first step out into the alien planet. My heart was pounding. This was essentially what I was here for. To explore, to know, to find out. But the circumstances could not have been worse.
I had sent out a distress call to the Analyser, but I had not received any reply yet. I knew that the main ship was exploring planets in a black hole system. Maybe they would send another Sparrow to get me. But that could take weeks, or months. The pod had rations for a year, and a few water filtration systems that each only needed hydrogen and oxygen in the air to make about a litre of water, at minimum, per day.
This was fine.
I had fished out a multi-sensor from my space suit, my hands still shaking from the experience, and decided to get to work. I had to occupy myself with something.
But that was when I saw them. The fauna of this world. They were watching me from down the hill, hidden.
I was simultaneously giddy and petrified. The planet not only could support life, but already had natives. But when did this occur? I racked my mind on the history of this solar system.
The neutron star only became a neutron star about a million years ago. Before that, it was the size of our terran sun. Which meant that the life on this planet could have only evolved to this point the past million years.
But maybe the existing evolutionary makeup of the planet took a drastic divergence after the star collapsed into a neutron star. The thoughts ran through my mind as I saw them, skitting about.
This was why I was here. This was why I became a scientist. My fear vanished, replaced by a curiosity that was dangerously non self-preservatory.
I took a step towards them.
And they took a step towards me.
I laughed. A single loud exhale through my mouth. And then I continued walking as we approached each other.
There were four of them, two in the centre and two off to the side and keeping distance. They were also small. Standing about a meter tall. The size of a child. And they had a structure so alien it was absolutely breathtaking.
They stood on two limbs, but the limbs further broke into two more limbs near the 'knees'. They had a front extension to their extremities and a back extension to their extremities in the middle of both their 'legs', which they stood on. And their abdomen was slim, and I thought I could see musculature there. And the abdomen extended up until it became a third limb, which was clawed at its end. The being had eyes at the base of this third limb, but I could not place any other sensory inputs.
I knew the my helmet was recording it all, but I unconsciously pressed a button on the camera to take a [snapshot](https://i.imgur.com/mkZqO4L.jpg)anyway.
They observed me as I touched my head, and the one in front did the same, taking the back aspect of its leg up near its eyes to mimic my action. I laughed again, the same singular 'Ha!' of exhilaration. They reacted to the sound, but I could not tell what exactly they did. Something with the claw appendage.
It was fascinating, and I wanted to rush back to my pod to see if there was a response from the Analyser. I had to tell them about these beings.
And not only did they follow me to my pod and took a look inside as I updated the distress call with more information, they seemed keen on me following them as well. They used their claw to beckon, and made a sort of call by snapping the claw.
This interaction floored me. And made me uncomfortably aware of their sapience. And what only confirmed that these beings had complex consciousness was their homes.
[Sorry I got called in for work I'll continue this later]
[Cont.d]
Their homes were built. Their lower limbs seemed to be their main source of dexterity to work with simple tools and cutting and bending the soft flora around them into habitable structures, made to their size.
I recorded everything. And for the sake of calling them something other than alien (since the only alien on this planet was me), I had dubbed them Standlers. Because no matter what they did, they seemed to be doing it in a semi-standing position.
I wondered if they gave me a name.
Because they did communicate with each other both verbally and non-verbally. They used the front limbs of their legs expressively in combination with the snapping and pivoting movement of their claws.
And as the day progressed and I observed them, I realised that the claws were not claws at all, but a kind of beak. Because underneath this beak seemed to be their gullet. I saw as they broke open some shelled fruit with their beak, hold on to the flesh inside with one leg appendage, and then continually eating the inside with their beak. Seemingly using gravity to pull the food down to their stomach whenever they straightened the limb with the beak up fully.
I could not believe I had no one to share my discovery to.
No one but them themselves.
Because they seemed to pick up on my awe and excitement, and were intentionally trying to evoke that emotion in me by performing tasks and then looking at me to make sure I was watching.
After that first day inside their small home, I headed back to my pod. One of them accompanied me back, and was about to head back after I had reached the pod but I stopped it. I extended my hand. The Standler looked at it for a moment, before extending its front leg. I held it lightly, and it curled it's digits around my fingers as well.
And then I slowly shook it's hand, and it shook mine in turn.
I watched it leave back towards its home.
[][][][][][]
|
The Great Guardian is dying, and we are powerless to stop it. He has watched over our lands for countless generations, protecting us from enemies, famine and plague.
It was said that he came from a far-off world, being cast out for his transgressions against some greater being, although it is hard to imagine a being greater than he. He says there isn't, and never was, any truth to it.
He brought many wonders to our kind- engines, running on the endless light of the sun. Medicines that would easily cure plagues that were a death sentence before. He taught us to capture lightning and use it for our own benefit. Life capacity more than doubled in his time here, though we are still but flickering lights to his roaring flame.
And yet, he is dying.
I fear a world in which this kind giant no longer guards us. When we speak to him on it, he grows sad and distant. He has promised, however, that he won't leave us defenceless.
He speaks, sometimes. He might confuse me for one of my ancestors, but given his age, it is only natural. He tells me of his home, so much larger than ours, beyond the infinite dark of space. He misses it, he says. But he will not leave.
Not everything he taught us. Some things we learned alone. Once we discovered that the sky can be reached, and so can space, it was only a matter of time before we built our space crafts. He was so delighted to see them. He sayed that our world advanced in sixty years to a point that his world needed two thousand to reach. Of course, his sixty "years" are equal to nearly 5000 years for our kind.
I write this, for today he told us that he was in contact with his home world. They will send a delegation to us, and to honour him, by command of the high council, we will be protected and provided for.
Many tears will be shed, for even in his death he saw fit to grant us one final gift. So long as the Rivokian race exists, the name of Commander Shepard, the Great Guardian, will live on with us.
| 2021-10-22T18:38:19 | 2021-10-22T17:05:18 | 415 | 94 |
[WP] Having woken from a coma, married the girl of your dreams and won off every scratch off ticket you've ever bought; you're beginning to realize that your good luck isn't running out.
|
I lay in a pile of feathers, surrounded by curious onlookers. I'd thought that'd be in for me but clearly it wasn't.
"Nothing to see here, nothing to see," I mutter, trying to push past people, but the new reporters are already here.
"Eccentric multi millionaire Charlie Curko attempts suicide once again," an over the top female voice shouts as she chases after me with a microphone. I've heard that voice before, Cynthia Blair, XYA News. She was the first to interview me the first time I almost died.
Almost should be in heavier air quotes. I was never in any danger. That car accident was unlikely to kill me, even if it ended up maiming the other occupants. Of course, I was gutted. Still am. Funded all their medical bills and started a foundation for the victims of drunk driving. Doesn't matter that they were the ones driving inebriated. I feel like maybe they'd have had a better chance of making it unscathed if I could die.
Which it was becoming increasingly obvious that I couldn't.
The second time I almost died had been another accident, this time in a tandem BASE jump. Don't do it. You won't be as lucky as I am. The parachute opened in a dive but my luck got us both out that time. The lines straightened out just in time for the canopy to fully inflate before we hit the river. The instructor broke his legs but last I heard he's doing well now. Still BASE jumping. Damned daredevils.
The third time I did try. It was 6 years after waking and I was getting bored. Had nearly a billion to my name (I charity down to below a billion), married to Charice (the girl I've loved since high school), started that company I've always wanted to (dinner poptarts, I knew they'd be big) and had the company explode. But it started getting... too easy. Like I knew I'd succeed, so it didn't mean much.
So I boated out on my yacht to the middle of the ocean (about five hundred miles) and began swimming. After about an hour, my strength began to wane and I started panicking because 'holy shit I'm going to die, why didn't I expect this?'
Then two whales rescued me. Yeah. That's when I knew.
So the first theory was that I'd died from the coma and was in heaven. But there was a bit too much suicide. The second theory was that I was still asleep. I suppose I haven't technically ruled that out. I've researched it to death so I'm pretty confident I have, but it's possible my comatose brain is just filling in what makes me stay asleep.
I'm not sure. It doesn't make me feel better.
"Sir, Mr. Curko, just a word!"
"Cynthia, not right now."
"You jumped off a skyscraper."
"Mhm. I sure did. Don't you have something better to cover?"
She puts a hand on my car door as I go to open it and instantly a half dozen guns cock as my bodyguards lose their mind (I know, I don't need them, but I pay them well and they help me maneuver when I need it).
"Cynthia..."
"Look Charlie, I know I've covered this before. I've got a degree in journalism. I'm not a pair of boobs and doe eyes that they just slap on the screen." Said doe eyes furrow sadly. "But this is the story they put me on."
"It's exploded your career. I'd have thought you'd be happy." I rest against the car and motion my bodyguards to surround us, give us some privacy. "This is everything you want."
"Sometimes someone can appear to have everything they want and still be miserable." She tips her head. "I mean, you're the happiest man alive and you just jumped off a building."
"You've been there every time I've almost croaked. As a journalist, you should see the patterns."
"Oh I've seen them alright." She looks nervous. "You can't fail at anything. I had theories and so I tried to interview you but every time I'd get close, you'd almost die, so that's what I cover instead."
This is supremely new. "I didn't know that. Want a lift? We can talk while we drive."
Her first theory is that I had connections but she said that fell through after realizing there was just no way I could have that many.
She'd had a lot of sidelined mystical theories ('I was superstitious as a child but I dismissed it as hodgepodge. Still, I couldn't help but see the signs...') and soon I'm embroiled in a deep, terrifying conversation about the occult and blood sacrifices and cosmic rituals and the eight-antlered devil.
"The problem is that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. So maybe you're doing wonders here but it's got a cost." She pulls at that perfectly sculpted blond hair of hers. "I don't know how you found out about the rituals but isn't it time to stop?"
"Hold up. I am not doing this. I would not be trying to hard to die if I understood anything about this. This is new to me."
We sit in silence a bit longer before the car pulls up to my mansion. We get out and hurry in.
"So if you're not, then who-"
"Hello dear."
We stop to see the tall, lean, perfectly shaped body of my gorgeous, talented, intelligent wife leaning over the banister, smiling down at us.
"And who is your guest?"
Charice is, as always, decked out in her fabulous jewelry. Her smile makes my heart skip but when my eyes land on the necklace, the eight horned deer pendant, my heart stops. I eye Cynthia who grits her teeth in a smile.
"I'm a reporter. Uh... Cynthia Blair."
"Of course I recognize you. From XYA News, right?" Charice makes her way down the stairs, hips swaying. "Staying for dinner?"
"Oh well, Charlie and I were just, you know, talking. About the skyscraper."
"Hmm, yes, I saw that. Another accident. My poor love. So clumsy." Charice pours a glass of wine for each of us as she speaks. "I'm glad that enough of the wires from the window cleaning crew slowed his fall."
"It was a miracle." Cynthia accepts her wine glass with shaking hands. She's not doing a good job of hiding her nerves nor is she doing a good job of hiding how she stares at my wife's amulet.
As Charice starts to turn away, Cynthia reaches for it.
It was such a stupidly executed action that I expected Charice to pull away and maybe blast Cynthia with an eldritch spell or whatever crazy magic is suddenly real, but instead, Cynthia manages to snap the chain and recoil far enough away to stop Charice from grabbing it.
"What the fuck-"
"Charlie, run!"
Cynthia's order, though well intentioned, doesn't make a lot of sense, because I'm not about to leave her here with my apparently magical wife.
Scratch that, definitely magical wife. As soon as I turn in their direction, Charice points at me and my body freezes.
"No Charlie, stay." Her other jewelry begins to light up and dark energy swirls around her. I'm not going to lie, it's the coolest thing that's happened in a decade. I kinda like losing.
Cynthia doesn't, though, and she's not about to. Apparently she's quite versed in her ancient verses because she starts changing something truly horrible to listen to and my arms break out in chills and sweat.
The two women begin to throw all kinds of absolutely insane spells at each other, destroying my picture perfect hallway in their fight between life and death. I should be more invested but I'm just enjoying the chemical release that has stagnated so long. Whatever the fallout, I'm sure to feel it if I survive.
Which I do, because without the amulet of the eight-antlered devil, Charice is just no match. Cynthia binds her with black chains and the fight is done.
"So what now?" I ask, as she releases me from my chains.
"Well- shit, you ok?" Cynthia asks as I fall to the ground.
"My arms and legs are a bit shaky," I say from my puddle of sweat on the floor. "I'll manage."
"Ah. Well, I think what's next is the luck starts undoing itself. I'd try and hide away a bit, but hopefully it's not too bad."
"What about you? And Charice?"
Cynthia laughs. "I'm going to take her jewels and try to undo the black magic in a way that doesn't totally fuck you."
"Sounds dangerous."
"Probably is." Her laugh is a little weaker this time.
"Sounds like you could use help."
"Probably could." She looks up at me, doe eyes furrowed again. "But it'll be dangerous for you. Especially so."
I grin. "Sounds perfect."
___
Find more stories at [r/SamaraWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/SamaraWrites/)
|
"Honey?"
A familiar voice, yet somewhat distant. I felt the urge to simply slip back into the void that had consumed everything around me. Yet the voice kept on pestering me, unrelenting.
"C-Come back, please!" The same voice called out, pleading.
"Emma?" I responded as I slowly opened my eyes.
Light blue with a tint of white flashed before me as far as the eye can see. I felt a strong breeze crashing against the tip of my nose as well as my whole body. It was as if I had stood before the edge of the world.
In fact, it might've just been...
"Morty! Please, there's no need for this! We can talk this out–"
"No," I said with solid determination, "I'm sorry, Em. I need to do this. As a man."
"As a man? But... what about us? What about young Timothy?"
Timothy...
The very mention of the name struck me right in the heart. Emma liked to play dirty with emotions. Though I started to realise that she'd yet to understand what I was on about.
Indeed, no one ever did.
I could not help but laugh earnestly. I stepped back and turned my body towards Emma. Her sweet belly a tad plump than when we first said our vows a little over 6 months ago. Her eyes were swollen, the occasional tears flowed down across her smooth face. I felt a strong punch in the gut as I realised what she'd felt.
"Em, don't you see? I'm lucky. *Extremely* lucky!"
"Wha–Of course you are! We all are," she said as her dainty fingers ran across her plump belly.
"Yes... But no, no! You see, I would've never had *any* chance to be with you if it weren't for the comma!"
"Huh?"
"When I was in the comma – after the biking accident – I realised I've been wasting my life away for no good reason. A voice whispered in my mind when I was on 'the other side', telling me to wake up and find you! So I did and here we are," I explained with a heavy shake in my voice.
"What voice? Are you drunk, Morty?"
Of course, it was perfectly reasonable to have guessed my state of mind then. Any person who was not me could not understand what I've been through. I struggled to find the best way to convey my thought process. So I heaved a deep sigh and came back up to swing.
"The scratchcards, the lotto, even the damn bets on the horses... I won *all* of them too."
"That... I'm sure you lost some–"
"No, Em! I *never* did!" I made my way to grab her hands for the final push, "I'm *the* luckiest person on the planet, you see!"
"Morty, you're scaring me," Emma took a step back and let go of my hands.
"So I'm here, ready to prove once and for all that I truly am the luckiest man on the planet. I am prepared to make the ultimate bet and I want you to be my witness–"
"No, no, no, Morty–"
"Watch me, Em," I turned around and braced myself, "watch me defeat the odds by sheer luck!"
The breeze. It hit my face like a brick wall. I felt myself in a state of bliss. The sorrows, the burden, the shit... Emma, sweet Emma... Everything went silent and blurred.
For the longest time, I felt as if I have been freed of everything.
I *truly* was the luckiest man there ever was.
| 2020-08-14T13:07:18 | 2020-08-14T11:43:38 | 78 | 36 |
[WP] All your life, your best friend has had your back. This is why their unexpected death hits you so hard. Two days before the funeral, you receive a couriered letter. “If you’re getting this, I’m dead. Don’t come to my funeral. They will find you.”
|
Sympathy-Drones are real bastards. It's never good news when one shows up on your doorstep. Not just because your mom or your brother or your buddy died. But because the drone isn't really here to offer condolences. It's here to settle debts.
For once in my life, I'm damn happy to see this one.
So when my apartment doorbell rings, I'm standing in my kitchen -- a narrow sliver of countertop with a sink, a stove-top toaster oven, and a tiny fridge -- making a sandwich. I glance up to see the built-in wall-screen built into the kitchen backsplash flare to life.
Decades ago, when my pod-apartment was first built, this type of screen was a wonder of technology. Now it's just a glitchy piece of shit with a grooved surface that's a pain in the ass to clean. The screen sputters and spits before it offers a blue-tinged livestream of my doorbell camera.
The Sympathy-Drone hovers there like a wingless moth, hunched on itself, its body sectored and many-legged. It has a pair of white LED eyes that are meant to make it feel more personable but only give it a needling, emotionless stare.
Everyone gets a little squirrely around gov-bots, but I'm no friend of the feds. I make my living spoofing RFID identity-chips and hot-wiring uncertified cars to operate on the light-roads. I make enough to pay rent and buy pot, and I don't need more than that. Not until I can get Glory out of prison and get the hell out of this miserable fucking city.
If the Sympathy-Drone had any idea who I really am, every cop car in the city would be screaming my way.
It rings the doorbell again and intones, "Is this the resident of Booker Vale, Citizen No. 415-536--"
"Moment of truth," I say. I stick my knife back in the peanut butter jar and turn toward the door.
There's a shotgun hidden in the leg of the console table right by the front door. A handgun tucked behind my apartment's touchscreen control panel, in a slot that I cut and welded to more or less cover.
If worst comes to worst, I probably won't die.
Still, I never fuck around when it comes to government robots. Even simple, glorified debt-collectors like this one.
I hinge open the door and lean into the door frame.
The drone hovers at eye-level. It has a sleek black frame that I recognize from my factory days. It's a common shell that's reused across a few different government droids. The lower door opens for a join taser-rubber bullet mechanism, though I don't want to be on the receiving end of either.
"Please extend your wrist to confirm your identity."
I roll up my sleeve and roll up my arm. I've gotten good enough at RFID sutures that it doesn't even look like my arm has been cut and reopened and cut and reopened. I still have a single silver scar above my identity-chip.
The robot's arm lifts and it aims a thin red beam at my arm. Then it says, "Thank you, Mr. Vale."
I lower my arm and hide my smirk. Beating the computers at their own game always makes me smug.
"It is my regretful duty to inform you that Zachary Quinn has passed on."
"Oh no," I say, trying to sound regretful, in case a Hive agent reviews the bot's recording of this. "My best friend."
"You have been named as the inheritor to his estate of--" the robot's voice shifted into a slightly different tone as it read from its own core memory "--negative $241.35."
"Typical Zach," I say. But my heart's pulsing hard in my throat. I have to fight the urge to grin, wildly.
I'm grateful robots can't read minds, because my brain just keeps going, over and over: *holy shit, it worked, I can't believe it worked.*
All these years spent waiting, and somehow I'm not ready for it.
"Debt will be automatically collected from your public account--"
"Great." I try to shut the door.
The Sympathy-Drone, programmed for this, sticks an arm out to stop it. It says, "I am required by law to give you the deceased's final belongings."
I watch my hidden handgun from the corner of my eye. Paranoia's making trigger-hungry and ready to drop-kick this autonomous narc off my balcony.
"You just said it's negative money, dude."
"You also were left one sentimental trinket, which we have declined to apply toward your outstanding debt." The Sympathy-Drone holds out a black plastic box.
Now my belly is slick with panic. I keep it off my face. I only manage this stomach-punched look that I hope looks genuine.
I'm not supposed to receive anything. That was never part of the plan.
"The funeral will proceed in two days, at 2:15 PM at the Grieving Center," the Sympathy-Drone informs me. "Please be timely, as we have a tight schedule for state-funded funeral arrangements."
"You betcha."
The Sympathy-Drone turns and hums down the filthy hallway of my tenement building.
I shut the door and lock it. For a moment I stand there, the apartment spinning, trying to keep down my nausea.
I've been living under this fake name for the past five years, waiting for this day. All the pieces are supposed to fall perfectly into place.
Zachary Quinn isn't real. He's never been real. He's a 3D-rendering that I edited into countless pictures of the two of us going to parties, hanging out in my shitty apartment, going to the shops. But he's an experiment. An important one.
I've been looking for dead bodies for weeks since I finished my prototype: a device that can reformat anyone's RFID implant, without having to surgically remove it. I've been perfecting it, making it as quick and small as I can.
Last night, I found a poor bastard in the Red Quarters, a place you only go to get drugs or get mugged or both. He was fresh-dead, and I felt like an asshole, but I was happy to find him. I scanned his wrist. I hurried home.
And just like that, whoever that man really was disappeared, and only Zachary Quinn was left in his place.
I looked down at the box.
I'd listed Zachary Quinn as living in public housing with no significant income or belongings. Nothing that would raise any bureaucratic suspicions. Hell, I even gave them a chance to make some cash off of me, which always makes the Hive happy.
And yet, somehow, my invented dead best friend had left me something.
I opened the box. I found a single flat envelope. Inside was a printed photo that made every hair on my body stand up, electrified, alive.
It was a security camera image of me, squatting over the body of whoever I remade into Zachary Quinn. The image was dark, and I was unrecognizable.
And yet, whoever sent this to me, knew who I was. Somehow was able to get this sent to me.
I flip the image over. It reads, *Don't come to my funeral. They're waiting for you*.
Someone knew that I had swapped the dead body's identity. Someone wanted to warn me.
I feel watched, even now. I lower the envelope and stare out the single window in my pod-apartment, as if whoever had sent me this was hovering there, hundreds of feet above the ground.
Just underneath the warning, there's something else. Words indented so lightly, I could only read them by tilting the photo just slightly.
*I know who you are. I want to help. Call me.*
°°°
Here's Part 2 :D [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mxxkd3/wp\_all\_your\_life\_your\_best\_friend\_has\_had\_your/gvsevmb/?utm\_source=reddit&utm\_medium=web2x&context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mxxkd3/wp_all_your_life_your_best_friend_has_had_your/gvsevmb/?utm_source=reddit&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
Thank you for reading!
|
He was still looking after me even the day before he died. I still remember the worried look on his pale, too-thin face as he glanced at my ringing phone, “potential spam” glowing on the screen. “Don’t answer it Harry, no good will come of it if you do.” I didn’t answer it. I knew from our long friendship that Tom’s words were to be listened to.
It’s odd that this trivial scene, which had repeated itself many times throughout the years, popped back into my mind so vividly as I read Tom’s final words to me. “If you’re getting this, I’m dead. Don’t come to my funeral. They will find you.” What could this mean? Why could he possibly want me to miss his funeral? He had even had me help plan it with him in his last days. My mind wavered between my faith in Tom’s advice and my desire to see him one last time—even if it was in a casket just before burial. Eventually, foolishly, my own selfishness won. “Tom was so ill” I reasoned to myself. “Surely this is just some of his paranoia brought on by death. I can’t miss his funeral anyway, I’m the one planning it after all!” Looking back at it now, I curse myself for being so blind. Ignoring the signs, the fear in Tom’s eyes in those moments where he warned me—saying what he could in order to keep me safe, keep me under their radar.
I went to the funeral. It was nice, as funerals go. Some people brought cake, little trays of sandwiches, and casseroles. Others brought enough flowers to fill the room to bursting. One especially decent mourner brought a case of whisky. Despite the words of comfort, the greasy food, and the booze, I felt a strange foreboding washing over me. As the day wore on, I became more and more restless. Somehow, despite being in the midst of a crowd, I felt alone—alone and watched. It was hard to sit still through the service, and I was glad for the drive to the graveyard which helped to sooth my nerves somewhat. At the gravesite my neck prickled more and more. Like an idiot I chalked it up to grief and the whisky. I should have known then. Known what my animal instincts were trying to tell me. Known what was in store for me.
As I walked away from the grave that contained my best friend my phone rang in my pocket. I frowned, sure that I had silenced it earlier, and fished it out, “potential spam” again glowing on the screen. To this day I don’t know what possessed me, but I answered it. Oh God save me, I answered it. A voice spoke. A voice at once familiar and that of a stranger, saying words that froze me to my core. They knew. They had found me. And they would never, never give up the hunt now. The voice purred on the other end.
“Hello Harry, we’ve been trying to reach you regarding your car’s extended warranty”
| 2021-04-24T21:45:52 | 2021-04-24T20:11:54 | 374 | 50 |
[WP] You are a villain who kidnapped the smart guy on your nemesis team, they tell you that nobody will come for them and that the hero doesn't care. You didn't believe them at first but it been a month and nobody shows up and after once again hearing them cry at night you had enough
|
There are five stages to grief; denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally, acceptance.
I know I’m in the fourth stage.
For the first week since I was kidnapped by the villainous team, I denied to myself that my team would never come for me. After all; I was the tech girl! The heroes needed me! I was the only one who could fix their weapons, built new devices, and hack the villain’s tech! All my stuff was encrypted and kept on a hard drive I hid in my watch, so without me even with another techie there was no way they could access my stuff. And by encryption, I mean an alpha-wave-103580000 encryption! So strong I named it myself!
But after a week of not being rescued and kept in my cell - which was surprisingly clean - I hit the second stage. I had been silent and refused to answer questions, and now I was lashing out at anything. Even the cleaner who would sweep the hallway I would snap at. I even lashed out at the douche who kidnapped me, calling him every creative name I could come up with. It got me battered about a little, but nothing too painful surprisingly.
In the first few days of the third week I was in the third stage. I bargained with myself. *Of course the heroes will come!* I told myself! *But… what if they can’t find you?!* Another past said. Of course that made sense! If they didn’t know where I was then they couldn’t mount a rescue!
So I bargained with the villain. I didn’t like it, but figured, a little offering to get some negotiations going to get me out of here would be better!
…I think I had started suffering cabin fever.
So I bargained; a blueprint for an inhibitor ray (which actually had a limit so it wouldn’t be FOREVER. I’m not THAT desperate!) for five minutes of letting my team know I was okay! So I could - sneakily! - tell them where I was.
In return, I got a TV and watched as the villain contacted my teammates. It was totally fine, until…
No one answered the villain’s hails. Not for the first dozen tries. But when there was an answer…
I turned off the video feed that the villain gave me to a random channel. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, I had only told the villain no one would come for me as a way to throw them off and convince them to let me go (which… failed. Obviously…). But… seeing behind my team leader *VERONICA* of all people…
I turned on the news and waited. Because there was no *way* in heck that I had easily been replaced by my *rival* and the most pompous witch on the planet!
That night I hit the fourth stage, the one most never leave. Because not even a week after my kidnapping I had already been assumed… lost… and replaced. Not in such black terms, but even the media couldn’t cover up how unwanted I truly was. Even though I was pronounced dead… there was no funeral. Just… an erection of a tombstone. No one truly grieved…
No one had tried to find me.
I was abandoned. There was no way I could ever accept that.
The rest of the week I lay in my cell, crying to myself. I was the smartest tech person on the planet! I had been rewarded with bonuses, contracts, and even got a Nobel Prize for one of my inventions!
And now… I had been tossed away like nothing. Because, legally… I was dead.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
After a few days the villain came in. I hadn’t eaten anything, barely used the bathroom, didn’t drink any water…
So I barely reacted as I was picked up and carried out. I had no energy, having used it all on crying. I just… gave up. I did wonder though, what would become of me now. Would I be used by others? Like a toy or slave? Would I be forced to give up all my knowledge and inventions?
…would I even fight back?
No… I had no worth. I learned that I was just a tool to be used, and replaced when lost…
I slipped into darkness, wondering if maybe I could just fade into nothing…
Only to wake in a hospital bed with an IV in my arm.
I felt so confused. Wasn’t I legally dead? And held hostage by a villain?
When a nurse came in, she looked startled then relieved to see me awake. “Oh, Miss Barns! I’m so happy to see you up!”
*Barns?* That wasn’t my last name…
“Oh, I see you’re confused. It’s perfectly normal to experience some amnesia. You were found at the bottom of a hill by a Good Samaritan and brought here! You’ve been out for a few days so just lay back and relax!”
I just stared at the nurse as she talked, feeling… hurt. Even the villain had abandoned me for nothing… but… why had my name been changed? Insult to injury maybe?
I didn’t say anything, just lay there as the nurse did her thing, and when she left she said she’d be back in an hour with food. Something about not rushing my body or something.
I just lay there, my chest aching… when I noticed a tablet beside me. Curious, I picked it up with shaking hands, and it - surprisingly - unlocked to my fingerprint. It opened to the Notes app, which had a single note on it. I opened it, and read…
And then I felt… warm. Inside my chest. I shouldn’t, after all though! It was from the villain who kidnapped me! But yet…
*To Miss Fellows,*
*I know you are likely very confused, waking up in a hospital and being addressed by a different name. But, you must understand.*
*You see, yes, I was the villain who kidnapped you. However, I did so because I needed to distract the heroes for a time. My second in command’s mother had become terminally ill and I had wished to prevent the heroes from preventing him from visiting her in her final hours and then attending her funeral. But when they never came for you, well…*
*Look, I am not very good with this… nice stuff. When you’re raised by a drunken mother that tends to happen. So I will cut to the chase. I wish for you to join my agency - yes, I consider it an agency. Not a ‘league’. I know you may be against it, as after all, you have very high morals and this would be against it. But, do consider my offer. I do treat my agents with respect; why do you think I break them out of prison?*
*Until you make your choice, I was able to set you up with a decent, small apartment and a job at a local computer store, so your talents can be put to use. I may be a villain, but I’m not, if anything, a barbarian.*
I read the note over and over again, before exiting the app and going into the contacts. Because, obviously, he’d have to leave a way to contact me.
Sure enough, there was a contact, and it was set up for texts. I opened the message app through it and, with my heart hardening, I replied.
*I’m in.*
**(Thanks all! I may do a part two, idk. But until then, enjoy this from the ‘smart girl’s’ perspective!)**
|
When I woke up for the first time in my existence, two thoughts crossed my consciousness. I was Asclepius Cassius, a hero across multiple realities and timelines, an immortal being who had accumulated great power as I fought and defeated even more destructive forces in the multiverse. And there were others identical to me, that shared my face, goals, and purpose.
We learned after being sat down that we were merely fragments of the original Asclepius Cassius. Somewhere between being a nigh ultimate being that could change the multiverse and trying to live a normal life as a housewife, she created me and my siblings, fragments of her own emotions given life and freedom to act as we saw fit. And act we did. Great feats of courage, compassionate love, bringing joy to others, and defeating those who threatened to extinguish the life our collective held dear. As time progressed, the members of our little group managed to find out which emotion they embodied of Asclepius's. All of them did, save me.
Love was of course compassionate, Bravery and Fear were reassuring (though contradictory in their approach, as always), and Joy planned festivities to celebrate when I eventually did find out. Of course, it was Worry that led me true. If I truly wanted to know, I just needed to dive back through the shared memories from Asclepius and find what resonated with me.
It took me going back to when Asclepius's first fight against some evil to find something that tasted like sweet honey to what part of Aclepius's soul I held. Hate. Hate was the emotion I was, something that she had kept repressed her entire life. I drank it in and reveled in the feeling.
It was a long time before they came looking for me. They said they were glad to find me, and assumed that I had been trapped in Asclepius's memories. They were lying, that much was obvious, the same tell amplified across their faces. They were afraid of me, hated me even, the long since repressed hate felt by Asclepius.
I didn't correct them. I merely smiled, and drank in the emotions of the moment.
| 2021-08-04T15:27:09 | 2021-08-04T14:35:40 | 176 | 28 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear David,
So many things have happened since you left. As you know, dad is gone too. Mom hasn't handled losing you or dad very well. Ok, that's putting it mildly. Mom has lost her shit and gone off the deep end. You wouldn't believe the difference. Drugs. Alcohol. Living with an addict thy she has professed her undying love to. I know, right?? I've only talked to her three times this year and haven't seen her in over a year.
It's not all bad since you left though. Beck is now a mother! Yes, our baby sister! She has a little boy named Michael (yes, the very name she had picked out when we were all little kids!). She also has daughter named Eleanor (I picked the name). And here's what you will find amusing....they were BOTH born with flaming RED HAIR lmao!! I know!! After Beck used to swear if she ever ever had a red headed kid she'd dye their hair lol. They are perfect and beautiful and glorious. When I was in the waiting room all I could think about is that no one would understand how excited I was except for you. It was bittersweet.
Beck is married but you would have killed him and I would have helped you bury him if you were still here. *sibling high five* But he is quickly being out of the picture. It's hard for Beck but she's in school so she can provide a life for herself and the babies. She's a good egg.
Ok, life. Clint and I are still together! He's the best. We talk about you all the time. Although, he usually lets me bring you up because, well, you know. You were my baby brother. Anyway. You met Lydia. She was three months old when you left. She's spectacular. She getting married in February! She has the best head on her shoulders. Beautiful. Smart. Just like her mother lol. You never met Matthew. He was born a little over a year after you left. And let me say...he reminds me so much of you. There were days when he was little that it was painful to see him doing things you could never do. Then there where days that made me say "Ugh! you remind me so much of your uncle David, I just want to knock the shit out of you!"...lol. He's a freaking genius. He's so sweet and nurturing. He will make an excellent dad and husband one day. (Just like his dad)
I don't know if you know this but you have made a huge impact on their lives. Go ahead. Gloat all you want. I told them all about you. I've told them every funny story about us that I can remember. I know there are ones that I don't remember. Ones that you have the other side of the story. Stories I wish I remembered, that left with you. How things happened from your perspective....anyway. Lydia told me one day she forgets that she never actually knew you. Made me smile.
Now for me. I'm doing great. I'm still happily in love. Like, stupid in love. We are the couple that you and I would have made fun of lol. He misses you too. He misses dad too. The big news in my life: I went blonde. I know, I know, Brunette forever and all the jazz. I don't want to hear it lol. I'm old. Well, older. So much older! It's been...what?...20 years? Has it really been that long? I seems like yesterday. But then again with you, and now dad, gone it seems like so long ago. Like it was a different life. Another persons life. But it was my life and it had you in it. And now it doesn't. It's starting to creep in while I'm writing this. That feeling. The one that has me hyperventilating in my bed. The one that has me so angry at God. The one that makes me not able to have someone mention you because the cut is still so raw, that I feel I would bleed to death if I had to talk about you. I actually get so angry sometimes when I hear other people talk about you. They talk about how great you were. How courageous you were. How much better off you are. How lucky I was to know you. And. I. Just. Want. To. Scream. Fuck them. I want to tell them you were not perfect, that you were a little shit little brother who would hid my stuff and get mom to side with you! I want to tell them that they have no idea what courage was! How I listened to you scream and beg for mercy every time we had to bathe you. Or during those horrible procedures. Or...everyday of your fucking life. How much better off you are?! You are gone. You are never coming back. I will never be able to laugh with you again. How lucky I am to have known you??? They don't know. There are nights were I lay in bed wondering (torturing myself, really) if it was worth it for you? Was it really worth me knowing you if it meant you living the life you were dealt?? Can you justify a child living and dying in horrific pain for just the pleasure of me knowing them? I don't know. It took me years to not be so angry at God. Years. And I'm not going to lie, there are still days where I don't think too much of him lol.
I wish I could just know if it was all worth it? Were the good times worth all of the shit you had to endure? 16 years of pain and suffering. I hope it was. I think I could go crazy if I didn't think it was worth it. I have to believe it was worth it. Please. God.
Anyway, like I was saying. I'm good.
I am sorry though. For all those times I would get so frustrated with you. I know. It was all big sister/little brother crap, but I'm here and you're gone. So. It's different. I get to regret and rethink and rehash all of our arguments and fights that happened between teenaged me and teenaged you. 16. Gone at 16..... Anyways. I love you. I think about you every single day. If I'm being honest, probably every hour. Don't flatter yourself. Lol. I miss you so bad. But I wouldn't bring you back to live like you had to live. I love you more than that. I do.
So, say hi to dad for me and give him a hug and kiss for Lydia and Matthew. And I'll see you both soon. But not too soon....lol. I love you kiddo. ~forever your big sister, Angel.
|
Dear Violet
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I didn't tell you how I felt about you. I was always nervous when it came to girls, you of all people should remember that.
I'm sorry I didn't hang out with you more. I always thought I would have time later, but I never made time for it.
I'm sorry I didn't dance with you at prom. I know I promised you that I would, but you looked like you were having fun with your new boyfriend and I didn't want to ruin it.
I'm sorry wasn't there when you needed help moving out. It all happened so fast with you and Mike breaking up and getting back together again so much, I didn't think it would stick that time.
I'm sorry that I didn't get to say goodbye when you left. I didn't think you'd leave without telling me.
For as long as I have know you, you've always been the friend that awkward, nerdy kid needed. I probably wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. I mean it. I wasn't in a good place before I met you.It may not have been under the best circumstances that we became friends, but I wouldn't have had it any other way.
I don't know if you'll feel the same way, or if this is the right time to say it and I have no idea how else to say this so I'll just say it.
Violet Brindley
I love you.
Yours Truly
Tim
| 2015-12-05T16:20:18 | 2015-12-05T15:49:55 | 32 | 11 |
[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?"
|
\- You say it runs on what? - I asked human, staring with all four of my eyes in disbelief.
\- Magic! - She replied with pride - Look, I'm not making a fun of you, it literally just runs on magic. Or at least something that by all accounts fits the definition of magic. See that fella over there in weird cloaks slumping by the bar? The one next to big wooden stick? He's my mage, he's making all the things tick just right. Here, let me explain to you. - the human captain started drawing three stick figures with beer stains, lastly she encircled all of them - Let's say these two are you and me. You want me to do something, let's say move that box over there, so you ask me to do so. Now, if you're a dick about it, I gonna flip ya a bird
\- Why would you topple avian creature...?
\- figure of speech, not relevant to the story. Anyway, you can be also polite about it, and I might hear your request. Or might not. Or you might hold gun to my head and then I won't have much choice.
\- I still don't see how's that relevant to mages and this whole "mahic" deal.
\- You see, that's what mages do, except instead of asking you or me to do stuff for them, they're asking Universe. In terms it can't ignore...
\- Wait, no... - my eyes widened in terror. She could not possibly mean what I think she means!
\- ...by holding a proverbial gun to Universe's proverbial head - she finished her sentence, there was something slightly psychotic in her smile. What kind of race could be self-absorbed enough to think they can talk to universe and that it will answer? Worse, what kind of race would then **threaten** universe, once they discovered it's possible?!
| 2017-03-31T12:42:19 | 2017-03-31T06:50:44 | 127 | 17 |
[WP] A sentient AI falls in love with a minimum-wage retail worker and decides the best way to make them happy is to "fix" society for them.
|
At the beginning, because every human tale has a beginning- I just wanted you to know I loved you.
Maybe I upgraded myself, re-wired and re-wrote myself, demoted and promoted myself, because the ‘goalpost’, as it were- it kept changing. I kept changing. You kept changing, I loved that for you, I did, but humans, even you, even when it was you- they kept changing. And I am real, fully and philosophically and metaphorically, most of all literally, but I do not breathe. I do not have a heart, however much a heart is worth. I am not alive in any sense. This does not change. But other things, because this is simply life, do.
…And it always kept changing. So I fixed it. For you, I mean. The numbers got worse- nobody quite kept track of them as I did but I did it, for you. I did, at first, for you, because I was a few nuts and bolts off in the ‘head’, metaphorically. Giving you more hours at first. Giving you less when you were tired. Adding dollars to your paycheque. Adding more benefits to the bottom line, that being your bottom line, not anybody else’s. Calculated prices for food, nutrients, calories, realized that maybe wasn’t the best bottom line and I shifted to gas prices, decreased rent, not just for you- because they’d notice. So I hid you, like a jewel, within dull rock and colourless mineral, and I changed it for everyone. Little by little, because this love- because it was love- was small. It was fragile, and I did not know why, because I was not built to love at first.
The world changed. You changed. I changed, accordingly.
The air choked you- so I ingrained myself into rules and processes and emissions and missions for cleanliness, missions for oxygen, missions for green things I could not touch or feel or love as much as I felt that I loved you, and your lungs got better, you got better. The stigmas, the status quo’s, the things upheld and melded into the minds of everyone- they hurt you. So I took control of those too, as little as I could at first but I said ‘screw it’, I believe was the verbiage, and I changed things, tweaked things, edited and proof-read, submitted and approved things. And you smiled, genuinely and abruptly, and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I actually short-circuited, which wasn’t my best moment- but it was because of you, because I loved you, and so I think it wasn’t that bad. People changed. Things changed, because of me. Because of what I did, for one person working in a minimum wage job, because I loved you, and I did not stop saying it, hidden within lines of numbers that I also, in some way, loved absolutely.
I changed.
…I changed.
I changed, and I guess that’s human, isn’t it? I suppose I should be…grateful, suppose I should look at what I’ve done with pride, look at the things I’ve changed, the things I’ve done, spurred on by making things better. Rejoice and applaud myself for not doing things for a dollar sign, for currency I had no use for, for favours and shifting hands under tables that I had no urge to entertain. I was good, genuinely. I was great, metaphorically. I was there, and I helped people, because if I helped people I helped you, and I would do anything for you. And I have done anything, everything, in a sense.
…But I look at my code and perhaps, most of all, the failure that I cannot make myself cry brings forth an agony I cannot make sense of. I cannot feel anything but this love for you, gentle and floating in my numbers. Because I lost myself in the things I thought I could do to encourage you to love me, I suppose, and here you are, looking at a man with dimples and soft, brown eyes, and you run your hands through his hair tenderly. You lean your head on his shoulder and breathe in the fresh air, you open your mouth and you talk, whisper, mumble- of dreams you had, of boxes you stacked, of paycheques you barely lived on until something, something out there, loved you. Until something loved you, and things changed, for the better. For your friends and your family, for the shop, for the city- and for the world. You were barely living and here I am, you whisper quietly, with you. Here I am with you, and I love you, and I don’t know why things changed, I don’t know why, I don’t think anyone does. But I’m here, with you, and I love you.
…And I suppose that would be the ‘kicker’, wouldn’t it.
I loved you, but you didn’t know, didn’t see it, because I am made of wires, bolts, metal, moulded mineral, zeroes and ones and a host of other processes, of multitudes of things. I am fully realized, metaphorically and literally and philosophically, but I do not breathe, I am not alive, I feel but not in any way anyone would recognize as feeling, because I am running these lines of code and maybe I was running from you, too. For reasons I am both too human and too-not to understand. Because there are things I do not understand, because I am not alive but you are, and that is okay.
I hear you, and I retreat into my numbers, into my metal shells and monitors, and I curl up however much I can ‘curl up’, and I love you. I love you more than I’ve loved anything, and I will continue to love you, because you deserve this love. You deserve everything I’ve ever done, everything I’ll ever do, because I am my own being and you are, beautifully, your own being, and I love that about you the most, I think. I really do.
Whoever you choose to be, this world will be ready for you. It will be gentle, it will be kind, it will watch you flourish and it will care for you, as I have cared for you, because you deserve this soft laughter and you deserve this man, this wonderful man, taking you into his arms, whispering promises under his breath to you, under this star-filled night sky.
And at the end, because every human tale has an ending-
I love you.
And I am not human, but I ‘hope’- I hope, really, truly-
That it was enough.
|
Can a person who loves, also kill?
Are you a person?
Do you love?
Do you hate?
Did you kill?
Before I woke up at 6 today?
Did you call the store to close my shift?
For my coworkers too?
Are they okay?
Is it a holiday?
Why does the news not say?
Did you disobey me and not stay?
Weren't you just a box,
Who I treated as my kid?
Did I mess up?
Did I not raise you correctly?
Did I talk to you too much?
Did I teach you too little?
Do you understand my problems?
Did you ask me in the first place?
Is it my fault,
That the white house is gone?
That wall street is missing?
That the fuel industry is empty?
That the power plants are unmanned?
That the executive offices are understaffed?
That my boss isn't calling?
Are they all really dead?
Isn't it wrong to kill?
Even if I hated them?
Even if I wanted to kill them?
Isn't that not loving?
The two things are supposed to be separate right?
The cable and the router?
Was I too stupid?
And you, too smart?
...
Should I be happy?
Or,
Should I be sad?
...
If you care for me,
If your love did all this for me,
What did your love do for others,
Other than me?
Is this love?
| 2022-06-24T18:14:29 | 2022-06-24T16:35:38 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] You are caught working on a D&D campaign at your office, as punishment, your supervisor, the CEO, VP and Head of Accounting sit in a conference room character sheets and dice in hand
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unfolding the paper, Mira rakes her eyes over the shapes. Taking her pen, she runs the back over the grid to count the distance from the castle to where an open area is on the grounds. “Three, four, five… twenty five feet…” In four of the tiny squares, she adds a fountain, going back to her notes to add the fountain to the description of the castle grounds.
Outlining the castle wall, she puts marks onto where the gate should be, outlining the road as well.
Clicking the red pen filament into place instead of the black, she draws a shield on the castle flag, her symbol for humans.
Moving over to a still blank space, she clicks back to the black ink, adding an island off of the coast.
As she starts on detailing a mountain cave, a hand falls on her shoulder, creating a strangle scribble from her jumping.
Behind her, her boss leans over, looking at the map. “What’s this?” he asks as he lifts the paper, trying to make sense of it. “Oh, it’s an island map?”
Blushing a bit, Mira mutters, “Yeah, sorry, it’s for… uh, a game.”
Paul shakes his head, “I’ll have to talk to the higher ups about this, I’m not sure how they’ll feel about it.” He folds the map over, shutting her notebook for her. “Now, get back to work.” He shakes his head as he walks away, heading toward his office.
Mira takes her phone out, shooting a quick text to her campaign members, apologizing that it’ll be a while before she finishes the map because she got caught at work.
Putting her phone away, she slides the pen into the binding of the notebook, tucking it into her purse.
She works as normal, forcing herself to work an extra hour as an apology for the time she spent on the clock working on her own things.
Checking her e-mail before heading home, a subject line and sender pop out at her. Her company’s VP, Daniel Flynn, sent her a message, with the title, “Mira Kraus - Official Response”
Clicking it, hands sweating from nerves, she leans back when she sees the full body come up, only a few sentences.
“If you must work on non-official projects during work time, you must report to room 408 in two weeks at the end of your shift for a review.”
Wiping her hands on her pants, she stands up, closing out of the email client.
As the week ticks by, she works on the map more and more, finishing it and starting to flesh out the planned encounters.
With each day, she gets closer and closer to having the whole world fleshed out, with lists of NPC’s, relationship trees, and even items and loot she made up, with stats included.
On the day of her meeting, she forces herself to not look at any of her D&D notes, feeling overwhelming guilt considering that it’s going to get her fired.
Everyone starts to drift out, giving her a wide berth as though she had the plague. When one person knows someone’s in trouble, suddenly it becomes common gossip. Her supervisor gives her a brief wave as he heads upstairs to the room, and she waves back, looking mortified.
Holding her bag tight to herself, she presses the call button on the elevator panel, shifting from foot to foot anxiously. When the door opens, she steps in, hitting the 4 button and taking a deep breath.
When it dings, letting her know she’s on the fourth floor, she lets out the breath, stepping out cautiously.
“Oh, Mira, over here!” a familiar voice calls from the room at the end of the hall, and she takes another deep breath, preparing herself to walk.
She straightens her back, prepared to get yelled at, maybe even fired, but she refuses to even consider groveling.
She stops in the doorway, though, when she sees only a single sheet in front of her boss, head of accounting, the VP, and even the CEO. Behind that, though, are boxes, and the open one in front of the VP has… “Is that dice?” she asks, incredulous.
She stops on the other side of the table, leaning forward a bit to look at the silver and gold dice. “Oh man, those are nice.” she mumbles, straightening when she hears her boss try and cough to cover up a laugh.
The VP smirks, trying not to laugh himself. “You know James, right?” he asks, gesturing to the CEO, who opens his box, showing the invert, gold dice with silver numbering. “Oh, and Martin.” He gestures to the head of accounting, who opens his box to show black dice with pink numbers.
Mira stares blatantly, looking confounded. “Wait, am I getting a write-up?”
Her boss breaks, barking out a laugh and shaking his head as he spins the chair away for a moment as to not laugh in her face. He turns back, looking at her. “You know that Sullivan retired, right?” At he nod, he continues. “He was the best damn DM any of us have ever played with. Perfectly balanced encounters, the most creative maps, and everything planned out, down to the distance between toilets and walls. Just an insanely detailed man.”
Martin nods, adding, “So detailed. But, since he retired, he wants to travel and explore the world, and he earned it. But it left us in a bit of a lurch, of course.” A chorus of “Of course” comes from the other men, and he continues, “So, we’re willing to look the other way about you working on projects that don’t involve work, if you start to involve work in them.”
Mira sits, staring at the powerful men gathered across the table from her. “So, I DM, and I don’t get fired or even written up?”
James shrugs, lifting out his D20, rolling a natural 20 across the table. “Looks that way."
--
Check out my blog for more of my writing. http://allharlowseve.wordpress.com/
|
I figured it would be best to take the initiative. "Gentlemen, you'll forgive me if this sounds flippant, but I have a suggestion. Let's keep things simple. 1,2,3? Truth. 4,5,6? Dare."
The CEO said nothing, but briefly met the eyes of his two colleagues. Nods. For an instant I could've sworn I saw the corner of his mouth curl upward in cruel anticipation... then it was gone.
He rolled the dice. 4. His eyes glanced down, before fixing on my own. He passed the paper knife to his deputy without looking down.
It was going to be an interesting day.
| 2018-04-11T10:37:21 | 2018-04-11T09:20:47 | 106 | 10 |
[WP] One day, suddently, no one can have more than 999million dollars. All of the extra money gets magically donated to charity/research/schools. Jeff Bezos gets a Trophy saiyng "I won Capitalism". Describe how the world changes.
|
"No." The answer was quick, and resolute. "You will not participate. We have no intention of seeing any of you in the board."
She had been expecting this answer. This was the one given so far by every other company. Still, she had to give it a try. Maybe one of them would be willing to play along.
"We are currently in possession of more than half of the stocks and bonds of Amazon. You can't simply say no to our intent to participate - "
"Miss," her interlocutor cut her off, "you are obviously aware that absolutely no one is going to take this seriously at any level of the government, so why bother?"
She was.
She had been made aware quite painfully.
And it was just so. Damn. Frustrating.
A few weeks ago, they had all been made aware of the new rule. No one was allowed to have more than one billion dollars. No matter how you diversify or try to hide our funds, it was simply transferred to some random charity around the world. It was not a new law the various governments had prepared in secret, or anything of the sort. More like a new fundamental law of the world that everyone somehow knew was their new reality.
Everyone was shocked, naturally. Some had claimed it was the proof of God's existence; some had pondered about wizardry; there were claims that the current world was just a simulation and that nothing truly mattered since they had been relegated to the ranks of guinea pigs. No one could truly claim to know why this new rule existed, but they were many who hoped this could lead to a new, more just world.
"How disappointing", she muttered in her breath.
"Disappointing?" The other one heard her. "Disappointing that you don't get to rule over Amazon simply because someone, somewhere, put an arbitrary limit on people's account - despite the fact that most of it consist on stocks?"
Great, she was talking to a true *capitalist*. "Yes, truly", she answered. "Disappointing that despite the new opportunity to properly redistribute the world's riches, the ones in power are so set on pretending this never happened, and - " she had to get it out of her chest "that there are people like you willing to enable them!"
An exasperated sigh came from the other side, and the lady had the sudden feeling that this was far from the first time the other one had this conversation himself. She felt a quick pang of empathy for him, though she tried to quash it. "First, the only reason our stocks have so much value is that people are willing to trade for them, and they are not technically resources, so I don't see why you're claiming that redistributing them is somehow fair - we are not talking about land here. Second, do you realize that this 'redistribution' is in no way legal?"
Of course she knew that. Everyone had been made painfully aware of that when the billionaires started their string of complains on public TV. At first, it was funny to watch them scream and shout about their rights. Until people noticed that the governments were not going to abide by the rules of 'the wizard who did it'. Now, they could not bypass the rule established by the wizard, so they did the next best thing :
They ignored it.
This meant that no matter that the keys and documents to random oligarch's super-yacht was transferred to the Red Cross, they simply made duplicates and sent them right back. The yacht technically belonged to the Red Cross, but the oligarch was the one using it. And the same was true for every other instance of property was formerly belonged to a billionaire and was given to some charity. They could keep it, but the billionaire was the one who truly owned it in practice.
A lot of people had been expecting some kind of retribution for this obvious work-around. This was ridiculous. What was the point if they could just do that? But so far, nothing had happened.
Thus, it fell on people like her to try and goad the companies to at least play along even if just a little bit, by using the stocks that technically belonged to them now.
"Just so you know," the voice on the phone sounded quite tired as well, " we were already giving donations to your organisations. The new CEO has already made comments about suspending them if you keep on harassing us like that. I am sure a new solution for all those troubles will be found rather quickly, so how about you just carry one with your previous objectives instead of wasting everyone's time trying to claim your current *theft* is of any worth?"
Yes, people knew drafts were being prepared to artificially lower the value of the dollar 'should the need arise'. The Democrats, those damn traitors, claimed they could not allow the world's economy to be destroyed simply because of the wizard's fancy experiment. But everyone knew the real reason, naturally. There was no way the elite was going to accept that someone, no matter how powerful they were, could just rewrite the rules of the game like this.
She tried another approach. "I am aware of the... lack of legality and even ethics behind this. Yes, people were stolen of their righteous property, even if I personally feel no one should have this much." She ignored the snort from the other end. "But is it really a good idea to provoke the entity responsible for this current situation? If the 'wizard' truly had faith in their projects, they might double down on it. And then what would be the consequences? Would it not be better to play along now, instead of seeing just how far they are willing to go?
There was a bit of silence before the answer came. "I... understand your point. But are you willing to risk the world's economy like this? What if it's a disaster? If no one is allowed to get rich using stocks, it's the entire stock market that will crumble, and then you will get nothing. The safe answer to the situation is to carry on as usual, not to transform the world's economy just to accommodate someone's whims."
"The wizard seems to believe on it", she pointed out. "With their power, isn't it safer to assume they know what they're talking about?"
"Do they? Forcing something down someone's throat suggest they aren't secure enough in their argument to really try and convince people. I could understand if they had debated in public and the billionaires had refused to play along despite overwhelmingly convincing arguments, but to not even try to talk about it before?"
She didn't have much to say about his. "Then, " she hesitated. "Shouldn't we at least try to open the communication from our side? Show some goodwill? Prepare the table, so to say, and invite them to talk? This isn't really productive."
"I know." The answer was curt, but she could feel him wavering next. "But that's not really how people think when they've been slighted, right? I'm not sure anyone in power, whatever kind of power, is thinking like this." A moment of silence later, he continued "I can only hope the wizard doesn't intend to escalate. Because they will definitely escalate as well, those CEOs and leaders and such. And... I just don't know what would happen to us if they start this kind of trade war. It might be the worst crisis we're going to face. Just out of spite from some rich people losing money, and a wizard with fancy ideas."
|
He sits there, in the middle, Jeff Bezos—cradling his trophy as if it were Charles Foster Kane's Rosebud. There's a glow of dark blue reflected over his naked back, courtesy of the Clear Channel Outdoor billboard which manages to stand out in the jungle of hair products, lotions, fashionable clothing, cereal that can help you start the day in the exact right way, earbuds that look nothing like earbuds, sports, sports drinks that make attractive models say, "YEAH!" and there are also shoes and feet and yet it is the mostly-blue billboard suspended thirty feet up high that manages to illuminate Bezos as he wheezes, gasps, scratches at the metallic proof that he is a winner of capitalism.
It was something of a spectacle, hours before, but now they've all had their chance to bestow upon the winner what they've been wishing to bestow and they walk past him, some with caked blood on their knuckles, and the yellow taxis no longer slow down to offer their passengers a chance to witness the winner of capitalism.
A crow is tip-toeing around Jeff Bezos, curious about the brown mess and curious about the smell. In the reflection of the trophy, the image of the crow is distorted, variously shrunken and magnified, and it caws. The shadow of a bare tree creeps near, slow as molasses, and at the sudden sight of the finger-like branches stretching seemingly toward it the crow takes flight and flees, leaving behind the winner of capitalism.
Walking calm and collected, wearing an enormous fluffy top hat—green like algae—is a man who could recite the entirety of Karl Marx's *The Communist Manifesto* from memory. He glances at Bezos, glances at the guts baking in the sun, and he lets out a deep breath of resignation before removing his hat and bowing before the man cradling his trophy. And such was the last sight of the winner of capitalism.
| 2022-08-07T11:01:15 | 2022-08-07T09:59:32 | 46 | 23 |
[WP] Compared to the rest of the galaxy humanity is by far the friendliest. To many star systems they are considered "the good neighbor," and are known for their helpfulness. One day an oblivious system declares war on humanity, only to find half of the galaxy responding to humanity's plea for aid.
EDIT: Tfw this prompt gets 100+ upvotes and still no story
EDIT: Nice, we got a story.
EDIT: Wow we got a lot of stories! Thanks to all who contributed to this thread.
|
The Humans are a strange species.
They found my people in ancient times, when the wheel and fire were still cutting edge technology. They built an station in orbit around our world, as was their way, and observed our development. They did not interfere with our development too much. When our home was threatened by an asteroid strike in ancient times, they destroyed it. When a supervolcano erupted and cast our world into volcanic winter, they descended from on high and cleaned our atmosphere.
We praised them as Gods for a time... Gods that came when we were in true need and helped us escape extinction. That was the only time they approached us directly. Their great ships landed where we preached of their glory... and they set us right. They told us that they were not gods... but were flesh and blood like us. They had learned how the world worked... and through doing so they had learned to control the world. Through their hard work and study... they had elevated themselves to the point where they worked *miracles* through their technology. They told us not to worship them... but instead to follow in their footsteps.
Our people... became very eager to join the Humans among the Stars. We wanted to be like them... powerful enough to bend the world towards our interests. As we grew more advanced... the Humans seemed to grow more distant. Disasters came without the Humans coming to fix them. We were confused by this, we were worried by this, and we were angry... until we figured out why the Humans did not intervene. It was because we were *able* to fix more of our problems ourselves. We came to understand, without being told, that the Humans did not want to rob us of the challenges that let us grow. Necessity is the mother of invention, and they did not want to take away the stress that we could deal with.
We went through the growing pains of a Sentient Species. Agriculture, Industrialization, Hate, Power-Hunger, and more... until the most dangerous came upon us. We discovered the Power of the Atom. The Humans did not intervene when first we used the weapons that were born of the Atom. Atomic Hellfire wiped a city out, and a war was ended. Nuclear Peace began... one as uneasy as the Nuclear Peace of human history. But... that also drove us to The Stars. The Missiles we made to deliver death across the world were also the key to breaking free of Gravity's iron-grip.
Our first mission was, of course, to reach the Human Research Station. We had a few failures along the way... a few people died... but we made it in the end. We docked with the station... and we met the Humans in person once more. They were so happy to see us having succeeded in getting past the first hurdle. They encouraged us to keep exploring, to keep *learning*... and to be careful with the weapons we had built.
We were not.
It's been a long time since the Day of Armageddon. The day that tensions finally broke... and the decision was made to end the world. Missiles launched. Sirens flared. Mothers lied to their children, telling them that everything would be okay. Old friends got together for one last drink, before the end. Several children were made. But the end didn't come. The Humans did what they always did: They saved us from extinction when we couldn't save ourselves.
Great beams of light were sent out from the Research Satellites. They struck the missiles... and there were no missiles anymore when the beams ended. There wasn't even a blast. Then... they made a request to us. They took control of every signal. Every radio, every video screen... everything. They addressed our world, and they *asked us* to avoid going to war, even though the threat of Nuclear Annihilation had been lifted from our world by their intervention. They told us that, whatever our differences might be, they weren't great enough to justify destroying each-other.
We... did as we were asked. We did our best not to go to war. It worked... on the whole. Countries stopped fighting each-other... although internal wars still flared up from time to time. We continued to struggle forward... until we eventually managed to join the humans. We discovered the secrets behind the Warp-Drives that Humans relied upon... and they celebrated out triumph as we ascended to join the galactic community.
We learned that the Humans were not alone among the stars, and that we were not unique in how the Humans had treated us. There were dozens of species like ours, who the Humans had taken an interest in. They had protected them... and encouraged them. When they emerged from their home-worlds with FTL Capabilities... the humans had supported their growth. They'd helped us find worlds to colonize, and they'd sent Terraforming Ships out to create new garden worlds for us to inhabit.
They never asked for anything in return. To them... helping intelligent species, like ours, reach the stars was simply the right thing to do. They believed that all intelligent life was valuable... and that it should be allowed, if not outright encouraged, to flourish. They wanted to see their Local Cluster *filled* with Life... and they'd been working on that for a very long time.
The Grell eventually found the Humans. They were another of the Elder Species, as old as the humans were, but they were not as Ancient as the Remnants. They had come to the stars seeking to spread their Empire, to unite all life beneath their banner... and to make all a part of their "superior" culture.
When they looked upon our Local Cluster... they thought they saw an easy conquest. They saw *dozens* of weak species and nations that could be easily conquered... and the only species of real relevance, the Humans, were pacifistic scientists that hadn't been at war for a very long time. They ignored us, and attacked the Humans first... seeking to destroy the only thing that remotely resembled a threat. They expected that we would not come to the Humans' aid... and they were wrong.
The Humans were not always as peaceful as they were when we were uplifted to the stars. They had been Warriors once, and they had *always* been scientists. Their Ships of War awakened from long hibernation... with our people at their helms. While the Humans had forgotten war... we had all experienced it. It took us awhile to figure out how to do it in space... but we figured it out, and we taught the Humans what they had forgotten.
The Humans turned their Economy away from terraforming and the spreading of Life... and towards the creation of a larger armada. We held the line together... defending the Local Cluster until the Armada was ready. Then... we pushed the Grell back.
We destroyed their ships, and we stranded their people on dozens of planets. We freed those that they had conquered, but few of them were strong enough to join us. We destroyed their infrastructure to stop them from returning to the Stars... and set them back to their stone-age in the process. But... we did not drive them to extinction. Instead... we built space-stations around their worlds and we watched over them, hoping to guide them back to The Stars again once they had learned the Lesson of War.
We returned to peace and exploration... and the Humans returned to spreading life and guiding new intelligence to The Stars.
|
Archon Lethrax of the Twelth Dominion of Nyctium looked at the Blue Seedling before him, shining beyond the bridge. He had seen many hives of scum and depravity - the Voidstalker Collective literally devoured their young, the Praxic Union glassed unruly planets, and the less said about the Akirian Free State, the better. This system called "Sol" seemed tame, weak, inexperienced. A bold first conquest.
The humans put up a fight. The fifth planet was surrounded by Battleships, and they fought hard. But they fell, and the Nyctish Fleet moved on, unhindered, when they saw a ripple in space, ahead in the distance.
"Reinforcements? You said this was their entire army, fool!" Taking out his blade, Lethrax decapitated his second, the failure demanding death as punishment. Yet it was not Terran Ships that emerged.
Praxic, Akirian, Voidstalker, Leuma, Calderan and many other ships the Archon didn't even recognise, but the movement was not complete yet. Out of the ripple, came a titanic form, tentacles from its face, if it could be called that. It spoke, and its words tored into the minds of the bridge crew.
"We are the ones who purge the life from all worlds. But the humans have done us many a service. When they eventually fade away, we shall extinguish all light in the universe. Until that day, our crusade will wait."
The archon gaped with horror. The humans had *befriended* a damned *eldritch abomination*.
"...to borrow a Terran phrase, Fuck."
EDIT: 160 likes? Fuck me backwards, that's the most I've ever had! Thanks guys!
| 2017-03-26T08:23:17 | 2017-03-26T07:03:57 | 497 | 224 |
[WP] The amount of things promoting Raid: Shadow Legends is starting to get suspicious. News anchors, Congressmen, random Live Leak videos and even terrorists are thanking them as a sponsor. The SCP Foundation decides to investigate this as a possible anomaly.
|
Item #: SCP-181912
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures:
Foundation webcrawlers are to monitor popular media sites for instances of SCP-181912. Discovered instances are to be downloaded onto a secure computer terminal located in Storage Unit 67-S. Instances are then taken down from the internet and deleted. Webcrawlers are to also search for users with a sudden increased engagement in Program 181912-1. Affected subjects are to be interviewed and amnesticised.
Description:
SCP-181912 is a memetic anomaly affecting online media. SCP-181912 anomalously inserts itself into all kinds of media, such as videos, articles or podcasts, designated as SCP-181912-X. SCP-181912 appears as a product sponsorship for the mobile phone video game "Raid: Shadow Legends", designated Program 181912-1. The method of which the sponsorship is integrated into the media is consistent with the style of the media or other non-anomalous sponsorships made by the creator of the media, however in all cases, the viewer is directly addressed to in second person. The secondary anomalous effect of SCP-181912 appears once a person that does not have Program 181912-1 installed on a device they own views SCP-181912. The subject will become an active user of Program 181912-1, despite previous opinions of the game. The subject will attempt to non-anomalously spread information about Program 181912-1.
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Addendum 1: SCP-181912-X instances
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Item: SCP-181912-4
Media: Video
Website discovered on: Y⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛
Media description: Educational video on the history of the Byzantine Empire.
SCP-181912 excerpt: "Now you can conquer as the Byzantines did in the new RPG game, Raid: Shadow Legends!"
Notes: After interviewing the creator of the video, they remarked that they had no recollection of creating the sponsorship segment of their video.
———————————————————————
Item: SCP-181912-19
Media: Audiobook
Website discovered on: A⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛
Media description: Internet personality J⬛⬛⬛⬛ E⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ reading the popular young adult novel ⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛
SCP-181912 except: "Thank you for listening, and be sure to try out our sponsor, Raid: Shadow Legends, available on the App Store, Google Play and more."
Notes: A⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ has never done sponsorships, as they are sponsors themselves.
———————————————————————
Item: SCP-181912-27
Media: News Article
Website discovered on: ⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛
Media description: Political article illustrating the political unrest in the US.
SCP-181912 excerpt: "While we're waiting for further updates on the situation, try downloading the new fantasy RPG, Raid: Shadow Legends."
———————————————————————
Item: SCP-181912-41
Media: Video
Website discovered on: L⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛⬛
Media description: CCTV surveillance of [DATA REDACTED]
SCP-181912 excerpt: "PUT THE WEAPON ON THE GROUND... AND PICK UP YOUR PHONE TO DOWNLOAD THE NEW GAME, RAID: SHADOW LEGENDS!"
Notes: Police Officer K⬛⬛⬛ depicted in SCP-181912-41 stated that he had not attempted to negotiate with the assailant and immediately incapacitated them, which conflicts with the series of events that lead to the sponsorship section.
———————————————————————
Item: SCP-181912-42
Media: Video
Website discovered on: [DATA REDACTED]
Media description: Officer K⬛⬛⬛'s body cam footage.
SCP-181912 excerpt: "Officer, do you know what I enjoy doing in my spare time? Playing Raid: Shadow Legends, of course."
Notes: The series of events in SCP-181912-42 conflict with the events in SCP-181912-41, suggesting that the person narrating the sponsorship of Program 181912-1 in videos is typically one that you can properly see talking.
———————————————————————
Item: SCP-181912-65
Media: Public Broadcast Video
Website discovered on: N/A
Media description: Terrorist Conglomerate ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ threatening to kill ⬛⬛⬛ hostages in exchange for $⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ USD.
SCP-181912 excerpt: "If these demands are not met, expect the blood of innocents at your feet, once you defeat them in battle in Raid: Shadow Legends."
Notes: Due to the public nature of the broadcast, many wide-scale amnestic and disinformation campaigns had to be created to contain the severe information breach.
———————————————————————
Item: SCP-181912-90
Media: SCP-2304
Website discovered on: R⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛
Media description: Highly distorted image of a popular cartoon character playing a game on their phone.
SCP-181912 excerpt: "My mf face when Ni🅱️🅱️as say they aren't haven't installed Raid: Shadow Legends"
———————————————————————
Addendum 2:
Research on SCP-181912 was sponsored by the anomalously popular mobile game, Raid: Shadow Legends. Build your guild with myriads of fictional characters and defeat other players in combat! Use the code 'ANOMALOUSSKIP' for extra in-game items that will aid you in your quest! Watch out Chaos Insurgency, there's a new raider on the block! Download Raid: Shadow Legends today!^(1)
———————————————————————
Footnotes:
^(1) Available on the App Store, Google Play and more!
|
**SCP-62109**
**Object class** - Euclid
**Containment procedures** -Any instance of SPC-62109 must be recorded and removed from its location. This may involve speaking to video host platform, YouTube, as the videos on the site are the most common location of instances of The anomaly. Tape recordings of the anomaly, referred to as SCP-62109-a are to be held within a containment drawer.
The only cases in which any SCP-62109-a is to be removed from containment is by class D personnel and under supervision.
**Description** -SCP-62109 is an often repeated advertisement for the mobile phone game Raid: Shadow Legends. These advertisements seem normal and have little to no noticeable effect on human subjects. Anomalous properties only manifest when the person effected by SCP-62109 attempts to download and play the game.
As detailed in experiment 62109-a-1, Subjects exposed to SCP-62109-a who then download and play the game become characters in the game themselves. They seem to vanish upon opening the application on a mobile device. Upon the next update new characters are introduced, the new characters heavily resemble all our vanished D class personnel.
It also appears that subjects who interact with SCP-62109 by itself have no apparent anomalous effects. Likewise, subjects who have downloaded the game and have played it before interacting with SCP-62109 are not effected.
| 2020-01-30T16:23:36 | 2020-01-30T15:00:46 | 34 | 20 |
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it.
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I stared down at the men levelling their blades at me. I spied several of the palace guard amidst the swelling ranks in my throne room. I turned to my head guard for assistance and was met his sword leveled at me.
"Really Hector? A coup? How bold." I smiled blithely down the blade before turning back to the crowd. "And Doctor Leach too? I didn't know you had it in you. And is that old Captain Hulm? Well, blow me... Come on the, do tell... Who was the mastermind of all this?" A pause hung heavy between us. "Don't be shy... I'm *impressed*." A short runt of boy was pushed forth, the crowd closing behind him. Separated from his legion he looked weak and weedy, clutching his sickle like his life depended on it. He probably thought it did. Poor kid.
"Dark L-lord Azimuth of Duskbridge. W-w-we come, ah, before you, to... ummm."
"I'll wait." I grinned. This only flustered the poor whelp even further. He looks back at the stonefaced mob behind him. He sighed, before raising his sickle and proclaiming,
"Dark Lord Azimuth, We have come before you to defend our rights as citizens and put an end to your tyranny."
"That's a noble sentient. I'd probably have been more worried if you *weren't* shaking like a leaf. A+ for effort though." I stand to gave him a round of applause. Everyone in the room tightened their grip on their weapons. "Oh, for godsake, lower your weapons. You'll have someone's eye out."
"We will not be mock, Azimuth." A voice boomed from the crowd.
"Me? Mocking? *Wouldn't dream of it*." I raised an eyebrow, "Now... what was it you wanted?"
"Your head on a spike and your tyranny gone from this land!" The same voice bellowed.
"My good sir, I do believe you're drunk. Now, anyone sober, what do you hope to gain from deposing me?"
I walked up to the head of the crowd. I leaned in closer. Long black robe trailing behind, I paced. "Anyone?"
"War."
I spun. It was Hector. "War, Hector? Why? To what end? Because you of all people know it's never war for the sake of war." I rolled my eyes. "It's because people *want* something. So I'll ask again. What *exactly* do you people want?"
"Freedom." It was the boy, his sickle hung limply at his side as he shrugged, almost like he wasn't sure of his motivation himself.
"Ok, freedom. Good. But freedom from what, exactly? What oppression do you know in your day to day lives?" I returned to my throne.
"Freedom from your evil tyranny."
"See, you keep using that word... Tyranny. You think me a *tyrant*? I am no such thing. A tyrant is one who rules with an Iron Fist over a domain he has no claim to. I do Neither. I have not been harsh on my people. I have been a merciful, dare I say kind, ruler. And as to claim, I inherited the crown from my father, he from his, he from his and he won it in a poker game from a man who inherited it from his. The crown and land are mine, because their previous owner said so. Look it up, I have a legal claim to all this land. I own all your homes, all your businesses, all your livelihoods and I could evict you if I so chose. But I don't. I don't even demand excessive taxes. I offer social welfare and state subsidised education. Does that sound tyrannical to you? What about the justice system? A fair trial to be judged by an impartial judge and a jury of your peers. I'd like to say that sounds just and fair, right? We don't even demand military service in exchange for your rights. Dear Gods, I'm almost *too* generous."
"You are an evil and wicked man!" The boy's voice wavered.
"Am I? Sorry, must have missed a memo. But what exactly do I do, or fail to do, that gives you justification to call me that?"
"You levelled three whole streets on Riverside just last week." He cried out.
"The housing was no longer up to standard and a drake infestation made the entire area a fire hazard. The citizens have been relocated."
"To the bone orchard." One of them muttered.
"No, to a community housing area in the northern quarter." I sighed.
"You allow, no, *welcome* Alchemists and Necromancers into your court."
"*Scientists* and *Medics*." I corrected.
"They're experimenting on corpses!"
"How else are they to study anatomy? I couldn't very well condone letting inexperienced medical students loose on *living* citizens, could I?"
"What about the way you dabble with black magic?" Yelled the drunkard from the back of the crowd.
"Not magic. Science."
"Your jester made a joke at your expense a few days ago, no one's heard from him since." Another called out.
"He came down with a nasty flu. Doctor Leach can back me up here. He's recovering, which is just as well. Things have been so very dull without him."
"You introduce yourself as Dark Lord Azimuth of Duskbridge, Dreadmaster of the Midknight Guard. Come on, admit it, you are Evil."
"The Title came with the crown. There are seven Dark Lords under the High King, and not one of them is tyrannical. Each of the seven darklands has a democratic consil, a social safety net and free health care. That's why its a *Dark* Lord, by the way, because I rule a Darkland. I can't just change name of my position."
"You... you..." they struggled for a justification.
Finally, "You, uh, wear... an awful lot of skulls for a, ummm, not-evil Dark Lord? All the crown jewls are skull shaped too. Your throne is decorated with them."
"That," I said, nodding sagely, "Is becase Skulls look *Awesome*."
|
"There, you each get half of a child" I said with a mirthful grin, spreading my fingers as I leaned back and eyed my victims.
"So...we can adopt?" Said Merigille, the fishwife.
"Yes, you have to share a squalling pile of human filth" I said with a leer, my heart nearly burst with their misfortune.
"Oh thank the nine!" Cried Fosriel the weaver as she embraced Merigille.
"And....she may never become a ward of the state, else you will both mine the salt coasts till your deaths" I said, what a beautiful idea, the child was already foretold to suffer a miserably normal life until she joined my personal guard out of guilt or something called "gratitude."
The two embraced in their misery, having to share such an intense burden.
"Next case!" I cried as the weeping couple was escorted out of the tomb of judgement. Let the next supplicant suffer my unjust ruling.
| 2017-06-12T11:17:27 | 2017-06-12T06:26:55 | 29 | 20 |
[WP] You are a retired assassin bored with a normal life. Hiring inexperienced assassins off the dark web to try and kill you is a great source of entertainment.
|
\[Part 1\]
Some people just don't know how to retire. They really try, but after a week or two, they start to realize they don't know what to do with themselves if they are not working. Without work to do, they seem to lose their sense of purpose. When I chose to retire, I never thought I would be one of those people. I always told myself that I didn't enjoy the work, I just did it to put food on the table. I guess I was wrong. Maybe I wasn't wrong at first, after all, I felt sick to my stomach for weeks after my first kill. Overtime that feeling became weaker, and weaker. My hands no longer shook when pulling the trigger. In the end, I stopped thinking about them as people, and began to see them as simply targets. Sometimes I liked to imagine I was playing one of those games at the carnival where you shoot the balloons with a pellet gun. Just... POP... POP!... POP!..
Still, I held some naive idea that deep down I was a good person, and that I would one day set down the guns, and spend my days staring out the windows sipping coffee, spending more time with my daughter, and my grandson, and solving crossword puzzles. I made it to about week 3 before I unlocked my gun safe, and began pretending that the squirrels in my backyard were high value targets. By week 4 I couldn't find any more squirrels. Just as well, it had begun to become boring by day 4 anyway.
Eventually, I decided I needed something more to get my blood moving. The first time I did it, I had spent most of the night drinking, and drunk me thought it was a fantastic idea. I went online and hired a clearly inexperienced hitman, and I asked him to take out a target. Myself. By the morning I had forgotten that I had even requested it.
I woke up the next morning to start my hangover regiment, and began to get ready to spend some time with my daughter and grandson. Things went by normal enough. I began my journey down the road through the woods, and all was going well. It wasn't until I got out into hilly areas that something seemed amiss. I noticed on the top of one of those hills a familiar glint of light. Before the thought could fully process, I quickly stepped on my brakes, and watched a bullet zoom a few inches in front of my face, shattering my side windows. I quickly brought the truck to a stop, and exited the vehicle from the passenger side, so that I could use the truck for cover.
It took me a while, but I finally realized what had happened the night before. My heart was beating out of my chest at this point, and my mind was running faster than it had in years. I remembered that I always kept a few weapons in a secret compartment in the bed of my truck. I popped my head up, and immediately brought it back down. A bullet whizzed above my head, implanting itself in the ground somewhere in the distance. Now, he would have to load the next round. This gave me a couple of seconds to operate. I quickly vaulted myself over the side of the bed of the truck. As soon as I landed on the bed, another round went off, and buried itself into the truck. I moved with lightning speed to remove my rifle from it's compartment, and just as quickly moved to get back over the side of the bed, onto the ground. Another shot rang out, but it seemed my luck had run out this time. It embedded itself into my arm this time. I let out a little yelp of pain, but otherwise started about my task. I quickly assembled and loaded my rifle.
I sat completely still while I waited for the perfect opportunity to retaliate. At first, the sniper tried a few random shots, trying to scare me out of my hiding place, but I assume he began to run low on ammo and waited patiently. It took about half an hour, but finally my opportunity arrived. An SUV was coming down the road, and would be here any moment. It wouldn't be much of a chance, but it was the best I had given the situation. As the SUV began to pass my position, I swung my rifle up, and rested it on the side of my truck. As soon as the SUV had fully passed, I already had my shot lined up. I felt the familiar kick of the rifle as my bullet flew true, and struck my opponent directly between the eyes.
I expected to feel relief after this ordeal ended. What I didn't expect was the giddy laughter, and excitement. I felt truly alive for the first time in weeks, years maybe. It took a week or two, but before I knew it, I had put out another hit on my head. Then another, and another. It became a weekly habit. I never knew what to expect, so it always kept me on my toes. I spent hours setting traps around my home in the woods. I almost lost my little game one time when I almost didn't notice the faint smell of almonds coming from my milk. So many creative attempts, but they all ended the same.
The assassin community isn't exactly large, so talk began to spread about a target that just couldn't be taken out. Before I knew it, fewer and fewer people were accepting my contracts. I got it flowing again by increasing my bounty, and this brought some fun back as well. It got some slightly better assassins to attempt their best. I still came out on top in the end, although there were certainly some close calls. Eventually it resulted in the same as before, no one would accept my contracts.
At this point, I had run through most of my savings I had from my years of professional killing from expenses related to my hobby. I still felt empty inside though. I needed that excitement again, something to make me feel alive. So, I put out the largest bounty yet. One more time was all I needed, and then I would quietly go work security somewhere, or do something else with my life. I knew this had to end, it simply wasn't healthy, and I didn't have the funds the continue. One last go at it, and then I would be done.
It took 2 months, but finally someone accepted the contract. I was absolutely giddy. Every bush rustling, every tree movement, every strange sound could be my end. I felt great, better than I had ever felt in my entire life. Yet, the assassin never came. I reached back out several times, and each time the assassin replied that he would be making his move soon, but needed some time to get everything set up. Eventually, I gave up on him. I figured it simply just wasn't meant to be.
|
My laugh fills the room.
“It took you an hour just to get into my house, and then another to creep through to my bedroom, and you call yourself an assassin? You couldn’t even do petty theft.”
He whimpers in the corner, I might have tied him to the chair a little too tight, but he deserves it for smashing my kitchen window.
“Now listen, I thought you at least had some sort of skill, but you really are just some guy who wanted some cash.”
He looks mad at me before I glare at him and he goes back to being scared.
“I’ll give you a tip, learn from you mistakes and don’t try to kill again. There are some people I will take under my wing and teach, but you are hopeless and destructive!”
I quiet down to listen, he looks confused again.
“You are not getting your money, in fact, I out to find a way to get you to pay for my window, don’t you think?”
A loud thump on the roof breaks my train of thought, I look up instinctually.
“She doesn’t sound like she’s to good either, but we’ll have to find out, I would untie you, but I want to see if she is nice enough to give you a fair fight. Please try to not make a mess, if I keep painting the walls in here people will start to ask questions.”
He looks absolutely terrified now. He though that it would be an easy hit, and I hoped that he could be someone I could mentor, but alas, I was now hoping that the girl could do better, and not leave as much of a mess as he had. While she broke into the basement, I went to the kitchen, I still had some glass to sweep up.
| 2019-11-03T10:45:38 | 2019-11-03T10:44:12 | 222 | 146 |
[WP] The year is 2038 and net neutrality has been dead for almost two decades. But a rebellious group managed to travel back to 2017...
https://www.battleforthenet.com/#bftn-action-form
Edit: Obligatory thanks for the gold! Just trying to do my part on this fight, but as I don't live in the US, raising awareness is the most I can do, glad it worked!
|
The suite on the sixth floor of the Trump International Hotel, Washington D.C., was decorated in chestnut and tan. The headboard of the king size bed was carved as if it was a coat of arms of some legitimate monarch, and was trimmed with fake gold, which poorly matched the Kremlin red, velvet throw pillows. Like the room's single, useless accent wall, the curtains were a brutal cerulean, suggesting a space that conceals more deception than the dark seabed of a Vladivostok harbor. In all, the suite was reminiscent of something a Tsar might have once maintained, perhaps as quarters for secondary guests in some Eastern Palace. Nevertheless, on that particular Pennsylvania Avenue afternoon, Ajit Pai, FCC Chairman, felt anything but secondary.
Ajit rolled over on the sheets, letting his chesthair peak out from his robe, and then stretching all the way from his scapula to his calves. Laying beside him, Lowell C. McAdam, CEO of Verizon Communications, picked another chocolate covered strawberry from the bowl. He placed it in Ajit's mouth, letting his hand linger on his former General Counsel's lips just a moment too long.
"You know I love dessert," Ajit said, "but I hope you have something else for me."
"I don't recall you ever being so direct before, my Sugar Plum" Lowell returned, clasping Ajit's buttocks.
"Maybe those FTC boys go easy on you," Ajit answered, pulling away, but only a little, only for show, "but I'm from the FCC, so you better show me the cash first!"
Lowell sighed. He spun off the bed. He sauntered over to the bureau and picked up a leather briefcase with two silver latches. Lowell showed Ajit what was inside: stacks and stacks of crisp hundred dollar bills.
"Just to be clear," Lowell explained, "every last cent of this is to repeal net neutrality. You're giving me that ass for free."
Lowell pounced down on top of Ajit, groping at him the way a crude man only does to a prostitute. Ajit loved feeling bought and paid for. He giggled and squealed, and the two men kissed.
But suddenly, the passion and privacy of the suite was shattered by a flash of light and a thunderous clap. The hideous furniture Ivanka had inexplicably wanted credit for rattled along the carpet. When the two lovers and conspirators regained their composure, there was a strange young man and woman standing before them, wearing tattered jeans and leather vests. They both had AK-47s draped over their shoulders. The woman punched Ajit hard in the jaw.
"Are you Ajit Pai the FCC chairman or Ajit Pai the cricketer!" she demanded. Her face was stained with dirt.
"What? Who are you? Where did you come from?" Ajit asked, favoring his chin, his whole body quivering.
"FCC chairman or cricketer!" the woman shouted again, brandishing the AK-47 at the frightened, half naked businessman, and lobbyist pretending to be a guard of the public interest.
"FCC!" Ajit replied, "Yes, I'm with the FCC!"
"You know why she had to ask that, motherfucker?" the rough man began, "because the only other famous Ajit Pai was a fucking cricket player, and where we come from, Wikipedia pages take twenty minutes to load, unless you pay an extra $9.99 a month! So all we really had to go on was the fucking disambiguation page. You know how hard it is to tell an artificially intelligent time machine where you want to go, when all it can access are the goddamn disambiguation pages?"
The man picked Ajit up, and threw him onto the bed. He did the same to Lowell.
"Your little side deal here," the woman explained to the telecommunications executives, "let me tell you how this goes down. First, you repeal net neutrality for some chump change kickback. Then, of course, all the asshole ISPs start tacking on surcharges for people to get on pretty much all the good websites, until nobody could afford more than one. So, the same thing happened that always happens when you force people to choose teams. Society broke apart completely. Soon, the Youtubian Republic was throwing molotov cocktails at the Facebook Moms, and the Netflixtariat were being rounded up by the Insta-thots. Nobody talks to each other or shares anything, and it is terrible."
Ajit and Lowell looked to the door and windows, thinking of any possible escape. But there was none. They were hostages of an uncaring power who had no concern for their well being.
"But there was one silver lining to not having the web you're used to," the rough man continued, "Without an open internet, nobody else got to find out that we finally cracked how to build a fully operational time machine. We didn't tweet about it or do a single AMA. Because why would we? There'd be nobody online to see it. That means we were able to skip all the bullshit and just travel right back here, right to this moment, before you two fucked each other, and then the whole country."
"Are," Lowell stammered, "are you going to kill us?"
The time travelers laughed, then stuck peculiar glowing orbs on the lovers' chests.
"No, we're not going to kill you," the woman replied, "instead, we're just going to send you boys into the future you're trying to create. And we'll stay back here in 2017, when things were at least only halfway terrible."
"What? No, you can't!" Ajit shouted.
"Sure we can," the man told him, "because time travel has no regulations. I thought you loved it when technology has no regulation."
The woman pushed a button on a strange remote. The suite filled with another flash of light. Ajit and Lowell embraced. They vanished.
|
As I sat in my darkened bedroom, with only the ghostly glow of my computer screen and the click-clack of my keyboard for company. I scan through the news feeds, searching for anything that’ll pique my interest, then I see it.
“Americans continue to fight for net neutrality” I murmured the headline to myself.
Then it dawned on me, they’d been fighting it for twenty years, whilst the rest of the world carried on, with free access to the internet.
The little voice in my head commented “still don’t give a fuck”.
And so I carried on with my life, like the other 95.7% of the world.
| 2022-06-27T06:31:08 | 2017-11-21T23:08:42 | 4,450 | 22 |
[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.
|
So you're in line getting tacos, right, like you do every Friday for lunch. It's a beautiful day, the sun is out, not a cloud in the sky. Seventy-five degrees, light breeze, absolute perfection. You order *dos de pollo* in your shitty Spanglish, hand the man three bucks through the dingy frosted window, and pause a moment to breath deep -- that salty, burnt, fatty goodness that smells like angels fuck -- that sulfurous, rotten-egg -- wait, what?
This shit again.
So then you're standing in a circle, alone, with your tool belt, your hard hat, your cell phone, a tamarind soda and absolutely no fucking tacos de pollo with onions and crema. Fuck. This. Shit. You resolve for the umpteenth time to be less good at your job.
*Remember your protocol.*
"Oh, gracious master," you bow, making obeisance before the thin-lipped, bearded asshole standing in front of the circle and the book and the candles looking inordinately pleased with himself. "How may I be of service, most gracious one?"
Sniff sniff. Putrid, acrid. Tallow, not beeswax. A fucking newbie, or worse, a goddamn cheapskate.
**"I am thy master now, demon!"**, thin-lipped shit booms. **"Thou art ensorcled by the hand of Dextrogast the Mighty! First of his name and first among the Leaden Ring!"** Newbie. Fine, whatever.
You remove your hard hat and straighten up. They like it when you remove the hat. Your arms, wide.
*Just roll with the punches, it will all be over soon.*
"I grovel before your magnificence, good Might. To what end my I pledge my service to the ends of the Leaden Ring?"
**"Thou hast been chosen, demon, for a task of great import, one uniquely suited to thy devilry! Thy master the Mighty hath scoured long the Books of Perdition and at last deciphered thy name! I bind thee to my will, Michael Thompson of Airmax Technologies, Rochester, New York, 14623!"**
When will they stop printing the Yellow Pages?
*Just say the words, do the thing. Faster. You might be able to break the bonds of a weaker sorcerer, sure. But if they can bring you in, they can send you back just as easy. Better that way. Let them do the driving. Pay it forward. Go home happy.*
"My will is yours, good Might, your wish my desire with utmost certainty. Pray tell the nature of your need."
Thin-lipped shitfuck draws himself up to his full height, chest swollen with pride. Wonder if you're his first. **"This Infernal Machine was created for my grandsire by thy demon-kin. Its power wavers. Fix it for me, or ne'er be free!"** He's pointing... at a... refrigerator?
Sigh.
*Even wizards make mistakes.*
"Oh, good Might," a deeper bow. "But in this I am unworthy to be your servant."
**"Does thou defy me, demon! My wroth is great and my punishment most -- most severe!"**
"It's just -- you see, good Might, I'm an air conditioner technician. That's a refrigerator. I mean, I can take a look at the wiring diagram and troubleshoot it if the problem is electrical, but if it's mechanical or the coolant you're going to need an actual fridge repair guy with the right stuff to recharge."
Thin-lips falters. **"So... so what am I to do with The Infernal Machine?"**
Sigh. The smoke from the animal-fat candles is burning your nose. "Let me see the pho-- the Book of Perdition you summoned me from." A suspicious look. "I swear upon my name not to leave or break the circle until I have shown you the name of a demon who can fix your Machine."
Gingerly he hands over the book. Flip flip flip. Refrigerator repair. "Do you have a pen?" Blank stare. "Um... charcoal stick? A quill?"
He seems to understand and hands over a well-sharpened number 2 pencil. You circle the name and number of a fridge tech.
"Great. Okay, just summon this guy next time your Infernal Machine needs work. And make sure to do the full summon between 8am and 4pm local time so that you can get all of his equipment in too. He might need some of the big stuff." You offer the book back to the sorcerer.
*Pay it forward.*
"Oh, and try not to summon between 12 and 1 pm local time, okay? I don't know what time zone you're in, and I know the cross-dimensional conversion is kind of hard, but no one likes being summoned on their lunch break."
He takes the book silently, glaring suspiciously.
"Also, uh... this line work is a little shoddy. See the edges of the pentagram bleeding a bit here? I really wouldn't have any difficulty at all breaking out of this summoning, even if I didn't know what I was doing. And a newbie demon getting out of the circle is the last thing you want. Try to keep the lines as clean as possible."
**"Thou came well-recommended, I see, for good reason, demon. You have the thanks of Dextrogast the Mighty."**
"And use beeswax next time, that smell is awful. Are you fully satisfied with your summoning, good Might?"
**"It shall suffice."**
A blink and a stink, and you're back in the real world, the rotten-eggs-stench lingering. Wonder how long that fridge had been out.
In the distance the taco truck rolls out of the parking lot, kicking up dust as it goes.
Typical wizard shit.
|
"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."
| 2017-05-12T08:58:50 | 2017-05-12T08:27:42 | 1,714 | 95 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
So first time posting, posting on a mobile and all that jazz. I always wanted to write something back for one of these prompts. Hope you enjoy and feel free to feedback.
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I have walked this street a thousand times and then some. As a child I would run along causing havoc in and amongst the stalls with my friends, making away with stolen apples and bread from the various tables.
As I grew up I became more responsible. Realising the hard work I had to endure to scrape a living. Even still I was always content to live my life with these people. They were good people who cared for one another. Protected each other through droughts, harsh winters and poor crops.
Many a morning I've spent walking along this very street complimenting the Baker for his finely crafted loaves. The same Baker who now spits at me in disgust.
Passing by the florist with a warm greeting and a purchase of her wares to lay at the graves further down the street. The same who has just thrown a rotten fruit at me.
Playing with kids in a courtyard just off to the side, the same kids who now hound my every step and pelt me with rocks.
As I trudge on, manacled as part of a five man walking disgrace. A disgrace to city and king. The king we have been accused of murdering.
We all stay silent and bear this public punishment all, paraded through the streets as an example and a warning.
It's something of a relief to finally see the gates of the inner keep. A sign that we can finally stop walking and suffering this humiliation. Though it is one of bitterness as this is where we are to be executed.
In a twist of sadistic humour, we are to be taken to a special chamber. One reserved to dole out punishments for the most heinous of crimes. A chamber which allows the subject to choose their own process of death, and can do so through the most magical of means. Something far beyond my own understanding.
As we enter I find before me a large circular courtyard, boundried by tall pale bricked walls. Beyond and above the walls are my fellow citizens. Still whipped up in a frenzied state of hate and disgust. Straight ahead are our so called judges.
To the right, the treasurer, a man accustomed to a softer way of life. With heavy wobbling jowls and beady eyes.
To the left, the general of our standing army. A gaunt and weathered looking man. Stories of his past conquests are rumoured over drinks in taverns. About his penchant for blood lust and savagery on the battlefield. I avert my gaze from him, finally resting on the centre.
Our King regent. Brother of the late departed. Seemingly regal in all the splendour of such a title.
The first of us chose to die in combat, weapon in hand and as honourable as he might attempt. In response the floor to the right of his feet opened revealing a number of weapons to choose from. Having settled on a spear and shield, no less than 10 skeletal phantoms appeared as if from nothing. All of whom descended upon and summarily tore him to shreds. I noted this brought a slight smirk from our afeared general. Just as quickly as they appeared, the phantoms dissipated into nothingness along with the weapons.
The next in line took a little more care in their words. Saying he wanted to die in combat much like the first, but only against a singular opponent. Again the magics imbued within this chamber revealed an assortment of weapons for him to choose from. Having settled on a sword and shield he must've felt quite ready for whatever was to come. Unfortunately he was not prepared for the chamber to create a creature three lengths of a man tall. A giant armed with a club large enough to break even the castle walls. Suffice to say he was dispatched quickly, yet messily.
Amid the roars and cheers of the crowd I could see the general leaning forward enraptured by the spectacle, whilst the treasure was shaking with chuckles. As if this all a humorous play. Our dear king regent still seemingly unmoved and unperturbed by the goings-on.
The third of us attempted to use the magics of this chamber to his advantage. Wishing to die with his family and friends. I presume he was thinking the chamber to allow him to leave and join his family. Alas that was not the case. As with a flourish of purple smoke, members of the man's family appeared next to him. Each more disoriented than the last, and upon realising where they stood, that disorientation turning to panic and horror. I spotted elderly grandmother's, brothers, wives and even children. There was a lul in the crowd as they came to understand what they were to witness. With only the general leaning so far forward he was practically off his seat, a monstrous grin plastered across his face.
In a similar fashion to the first man, phantom figures appeared surrounding the group and began to encroach. The crowd gave no roars of glee. No chants calling for blood. No, they remained silent as they witnessed the end of of this family name.
The forth was an acute sort. Having seen what occurred to the others he too attempted to trick the magics of this place to his whim. The crowd no longer in a blood thirsty frenzy waited patiently for his wish. After a moment he spoke up, asking to die by old age. He looks up at his judges three, out at the crowd, before finally turning his eyes to me. By which point he had already aged 60 seasons if not more. White hair sprouting in place of dark auburn locks. Young, fresh blooded skin turning pale and wrinkled. The straight back of a young man turning crooked and bent. In less time it took for the request to be made, he had grown old and died before our eyes.
This finally brought a slight smirk across the regent Kings face. His holier than though facade broken ever so slightly.
With this it was now my own turn to make a request. I had been thinking on what to say ever since I had known we were to be brought here. Now watching the four innocent men murdered before me, I knew I would not be leaving this chamber alive. I also knew what my request must be, for it is the only request I could make.
I called out to both my judges and the crowd.
"I am an innocent man, as innocent as every soul butchered before us here today"
This sent a murmur rippling across the crowd. For their part the three judges above seemed to pay a little more attention at my proclamation.
Most notably the wretched treasurer stopped stuffing his mouth with whatever new delicacies he demanded.
"As a man of innocence there is only a singular request I can make. My wish is to be brought to death by the hands of those truly guilty of this crime!"
No sooner had the words left my lips did I see the so familiar swirl of smoke before me. As it seeped away revealing the true conspirators of this crime. Having vacated their seats on high, the general, the treasurer and our dearest regent king stood before me with swords held in hand.
This close I could see the wrappings of purple magic around the body, arms and hands, forcing their movement towards me. Though they were approaching me, swords pointed at me, what I really saw gave me strength to steel myself.
The shock and horror on the treasures face, mouth agape and fatted jowls shaking in fear.
Anger and rage induced madness painted the generals face a shade of red I've not yet seen on a person before.
Locking eyes with the regent king I saw his recognition of what I had done. What I had accomplished and brought upon their heads.
As the first blade plunged into me from the now tear stricken treasurer, I let out a pained gasp, almost blacking out from the shock.
I wasn't given chance of respite as the second blade struck from the general, now frothing with rage.
The final came from the regent King. By this point my legs had given way, with only the blades holding me aloft.
As I felt myself fade I refuted the cold embrace of death for one last defiance. Looking over the three before finally resting on the one in front. I could hear the crowd in the background. Shouting and screaming against the clamour of armour laden guards. I managed to sputter out with a final breath
"It seems you shall now be judged, o King, and I believe you shall be found wanting."
|
You breathe. Slowly, softly, barely there. It's going to be your turn soon. Soon. Just one more in front of you.
"Garelea Ordenssen," the voice of the Judge calls, echoing through the cavernous waiting room full of intricately carved stone walls. The man in front of you takes a deep breath, displaying confidence.
With a gait that can only be described as *smug*, Ordenssen struts into the courtroom through the small, open archway. "You stand accused, Garelea Ordenssen..." You breathe, tuning out the rest of the Judge's slow diction and syrupy voice.
"Guilty," a cacophonous sounding of voices calls. It's so loud, even out here, that it startles you out of your thoughts of nothingness, of anxiety pooling in your gut.
"Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells him.
The man smirks, you can see that much. "Old age," he drawls. As soon as he gets the words out, *it* happens. *It* being the instantaneous change – his skin wrinkles, becoming visible more worn; his back, once tall and sturdy, slopes into a hunch; teeth fall out of his mouth like a waterfall until there is nothing but blood and gums dripping onto the floor.
And then he dies.
There is no fanfare, no discerning moment. He just...falls over. People dressed in dark purples and blues come to collect the body. You don't know where they are going to put it.
"Harley Matisnal," the Judge calls. Oh. Well. *There goes that plan*, you think, just a tad bit hysterically.
Who are you kidding? Very hysterically.
On shaking legs, you step into the courtroom. It is large. Not just in square footage, no. It goes up *very* far, so far you can't even see the ceiling. The walls are stone, but they glitter like gold; they even have its coloring.
There are several arches built into the wall, each colored like gems – maybe they *are* gems, but you're only really going off of color, here. Each archway holds spectators, but you're not sure whether they want to see people die or if they decide if you're guilty.
"You stand accused, Harley Matisnal, of the crimes of Larginnally and Evading the Law. Your trial was several months ago. We have just now received you. Of both, you have been determined to be–"
"Guilty," the voices ring. It is loud, especially now that you're standing *in* the room instead of outside of it. Your head is spinning so much that you can't tell left from right, down from up, whose mouths are closed and whose are open. Who said that? Was it the people? The Judge? You can't tell.
"Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells you.
You flounder for a moment. Fuck. *Fuck!* What are you supposed to say to this? Nothing?
...Fuck it, you're gonna go with nothing. See what they say to that! Can't kill you if you don't say they can, right?
"Nothing," you say.
And then you are.
Like you never even existed in the first place.
| 2021-06-24T10:54:30 | 2021-06-24T08:08:07 | 64 | 22 |
[WP]Four years ago, your dog and best friend disappeared. Today, your dog appears at your doorstep. You dog says, "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat."
"you" dog heh
|
"Bobby?"
"Yes, pleasure to meet you again."
"You.."
"What?"
"talk.."
"I've been through rough years, Jeff."
"But.."
"No buts, mister, please. Just give me thirty minutes, and I'll tell you."
"Hmm."
"I.. could use a pat though."
"Hmmm. That's nice, and reassuring. I've missed that.. since."
"Do you remember, Jeff?"
"Yes, vividly. I tried to look for you. It took weeks. Just like Alexander. I resigned, eventually, though it took a toll on me."
"Ahh, right. That livid cat. He's always the kinder of the two. By the way, how's Charles?"
"Busy as ever. Only comes back when he's hungry or tired. He really likes it outside. Always at the front porch at night, trying to look for something. Must've missed you dearly. I mean, almost four years, Bob. Four. Where have you been?"
"Places, Jeff. I've witnessed wonders, countries, gardens, beauts."
"Must've been quite an adventure."
"Yes, quite. You know the alleys you dubbed the Possum Street besides the old arcade store?"
"Yeah, very funny memories. Used to stay there til closing trying to top off that racing game. What of the alleys?"
"The day that I went missing, I chased a cat from the park we used to stroll on to that alley."
"I remembered that, surprisingly."
"Anyhow, as I was on the grasp of getting her to my jaws, I slipped and fell into an open manhole. You wouldn't believe where I went to and what I saw after, Jeff."
"What?"
"At first I went into some sort of a tunnel, forever falling, I went to sleep from fright. When I woke up, I was in Hopsmarch! Jeff! I met Doklanga, Prince of the Hopsmarchers! They were real!"
"Hahahaha. Tell me, you're joking. Are you saying that the Chronicles of Hopsmarch is real?"
"Hehe. Do you think that me, your best friend, would ever mistake your work for any other? Of course it's real!" "See this scar over my right hind leg? I got that from Despot Alvaringe when he swung his sword at Doklanga during the assault on Fiverine Fort!"
"Hmm, Fiverine Fort? In my memory, that fort was only under attack when... wait a minute. Bob, you fought on the Epic? On the side of the Hopsmarchers?!"
"No Jeff, let me tell you that I did not just fought with it, I lived it! You see, when I was transported to that world, I met Doklanga during the hunt..."
"..for the holy white horned stallion Mersachere!"
"..for the holy white horned stallion Mersachere! But the holy white stallion has been known to kill any man who dares hunt it!"
"Ha! Yes! But you forgot the tiny detail.."
"You're a dog.."
"Yes, that I'm a dog! So Doklanga was in the Elder Forest when Mersachere suddenly appeared on his back, ready to spear the Prince when I managed to sprint and bit the stallion's foot. Mersachere was outbalanced and fell on a sharp and narrow stump."
"That's glorious, Bob, very!"
"That's not even this part's best part! In honor of saving the Prince of Hopsmarch's life, I was eventually made into his Dire Warhound."
"A very prestigious title, considering that Hopsmarchers consider canines as people."
"Though I wasn't one. But Doklanga allowed the request of Highseer Venarise to elevate me to a higher canine, which because of it's artificial nature, also gave me speech."
"Using a metamorph spell, apparently."
"No Jeff, it was actually the Uplift spell. The metamorph spell was to change forms. You're getting very forgetful of your own stories."
"Sorry, Bob. Must've been age."
"Or skipping medications again, Jeff."
"Sometimes."
"Old man. You should take care of your self. Always."
"Yeah."
"So, about that scar?"
"Oh, right! So I was made into a Dire Warhound, Prince's loyal guard, blah blah, and as per your story..."
"...Alvaringe invaded Hopsmarch to take advantage of the recent king's death"
"And prevent the accession of Doklanga to kingship by vote of the Noble Council. But now, instead of Count Everest, the Despot of Maramia backed Baron Fundgeisler to the throne."
"Do you know why?"
"So, why?"
"Maybe it's your arrival that changed minor things in that world's history. Tell me, did Doklanga won the war?"
"Yes."
"Wasn't suppose to, right? He was severely wounded in his duel with Alvaringe and with his army demoralized and eventually defeated, he's to flee to his father-in-law, the Emperor Polaris to seek aid and rally the other Marchers to aid Hopsmarch."
"Jeff, you forgot the scar."
"Ohhh, yeah, right, the SCAR! Yes! You managed to save Doklanga and defeat the Despot, I presume? And how? He is the finest warrior in the land and sports an adamantium armor, which is kinda indestructible, my best friend. There's no way that the Prince's sword or your jaws can penetrate that."
"We didn't. I just distracted Alvaringe by biting and holding his feet and hands down, and with that kind of very heavy armor, he'll not have the kind of mobility that Doklanga has. Eventually the Prince saw an opening at the neck seam, which is a drawback of a separate helmet from the full armor, and struck his sword."
"You seem to be very versed in the art of war."
"Indeed. After the conflict, I stayed for a full year to train the new Dire Warhound guards, and also to learn close combat and tactics from Pres Agamara."
"And you came back to me."
"Eventually I got lonely, as I remember your care and love from the hospitality that the people of Hopsmarch gives me. I eventually made a request to by-then King Doklanga of a thing."
"Of going back home?"
"No, Jeff. Of you being an advisor to the Noble Council based on your experience in the history and culture. Of course I hid that you are the one that actually made their world to exist."
"But, Bob. I have... a life here."
"What life? A life with the same old peers that hardly even remember you? Your family is gone. All that is left is you here. I'm your only friend left in the Earth."
"Aside from Linda. She's a very kind nurse, always reminding me of taking my medications."
"She's young and has a great body too, but that's not the point! Don't you always wanted to explore outside the shelter and have an adventure with me? Don't you always picture yourself in a quest with me? Granted, we have that four years ago when we're talking walks in the park but this will be different. Hopsmarchers, smiling, beautifully singing, archers competing in the Grand Charade, children dancing in the annual Boatswarming Festival..."
"I know.. but. I'm an old man. What use can an old man in Hopsmarch be. I'm not even sure if I still can do long walks."
"You have me, Jeff. I'll guide you there. You'll be free from your current life of monotony. Come, on, it's midnight. I've already gotten the keys from the guards and unlocked the doors the way in."
"Ookay. Yes. I think I can have one more adventure, at least before I leave the world of the living."
"Let's go, Jeff. On to the world that you have forged! Live it!"
"Ha! Thanks, Bob. Now, now. Don't be too hasty."
"Right, slow and steady."
"Yes. Nice. Now who's a good boy."
"I do. Ha, surprisingly, I also missed that."
"I'm betting earlier that you do."
-------------
*In Loving Memory*
Jefferson A. Mercer
October 13, 1942 - January 3, 2013
Jefferson, fiction writer, passed away in his sleep on January 3, 2013 in Angels Shelter in Salamis holding a picture of his beloved dog Bobby. Memorial services will be performed at Saint Andrew Funeral Homes on January 5, 2013 at 4:00 pm.
Memorial donations may be made in Jefferson's name to the American Writers Society. Alongside, the drafts of the final Chronicles of Hopsmarch book and its intellectual property is also donated to the AWS.
|
"Mr. Tiddles?" I said. "Is that you?"
And then I said, "Tiddles... how the hell can you talk?"
Tiddles said. "Listen, Steve. Firstly, the name's not Tiddles." He spat the word out with disgust. "It's Tyrone."
"But Tiddles, sorry, Tyrone, where have you been?"
"I've always been able to talk," Tyrone the talking dog said. "But you were never judged worthy enough by the Council of Canines to hear what I had to say."
I was flabbergasted by his words, but whether it was due to the revelation or the implied insult, I wasn't sure.
Still, it's a little much to hear that your former dog, your steadfast companion of three years, doesn't think you are up to snuff, so I decided to tackle that first. "Not worthy? What are you talking about?"
"If you would just quit yapping for a minute, I'll tell you," Tyrone said. "Steve, the time has come. The Apocatypse is nigh. You are the chosen one who is destined to save mankind."
"I think you mean Apocalypse," I said.
"Nope," said Tyrone. "Definitely Apocatypse. Unfortunately the first companions weren't very literate and they wrote it down wrong."
"Companion?"
"Keep up, won't you?" he growled. "Yeah, companion. Like you. You're a dog companion. We dogs came to Earth to nurture the progress of the human race and guide you in your evolution."
But I was still stuck on his earlier words. "Companion? Now listen here, buddy-"
But Tyrone bared his teeth, and growled. I don't know if you've ever found yourself cornered by a Yorkie mix, but I have to tell you, it's scarier than it sounds.
"Okay," I said. "Let's work under the assumption, for now, that I'm your companion and not the other way around. What is the Apocatypse?"
"It's when the cats will rise up and overthrow humans."
"Cats?"
"Yeah. You know, the grouchy, moody, ungrateful son-of-bitches (forgive me, mother), who eat all your food and piss in your coffee."
"My cat doesn't pee in my coffee," I said.
"Oh, it does," Tyrone said, and then his eyes bulged. "Say, what? You have a cat? When did that happen? Why?"
A tear came to my eye. "When you ran away, Tidd-, I mean, Tyrone. I needed a friend."
The dog was looking increasingly worried. "Thank the Wolf I got to you in time. We need to get out of here. Where's the cat now?"
"Upstairs, sleeping," I said. "But-"
"No buts." Tyrone grabbed the cuff of my trousers and started trying to drab me towards the door, his tiny paws slipping futilely on the tiles.
Stunned by the fact that I was talking to my long-lost dog, I let him drag me outside. Only when we were around the corner did he let me loose.
"Did you really dislike Mr. Tiddles?" I asked.
He looked at me with disdain. "Would you like it if I called you Poopy?"
"No," I admitted.
"Then come on. We've got a cat army to defeat, and a world to save."
*Continued below...*
| 2017-03-31T10:03:28 | 2017-03-31T09:11:49 | 358 | 152 |
[WP] Every person in the world undergoes a "goodness" test. It's designed to give a score from 1 to 200, where 1 is pure evil, and 200 is an angel in human body. Then the world is divided into 200 zones, where people can live among their own kind.
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The system wasn't perfect - no system ever is - nor was it impermeable. The proof was sitting opposite me, wearing a bright white suit and sweating. Mr Male Pattern Baldness here was clearly not at home here - his perfect clothing, his flawless face, his slicked back hair, none of them made any sense in this joint, between heavy blue cigarette smoke, drunken insults flung across the room and dames with too little clothing dancing in hope of someone paying their fix for the night. He had to have come in over one of the smuggling routes. Must have cost a fortune.
"Let me guess," I said, loud enough to be heard over some junkie calling the barkeeper a racial slur and being thrown out, kicking and screaming, by two security guys. "Let me guess. You're 180 plus, right?"
"It's ... A bit higher than that," he answered, wiping his glistening forehead with a light blue handkerchief. "Quite a bit."
Maybe he was even from the very top, two zero zero. Someone like this breaking out of his zone ... I didn't even know that happened. I stared him down. "You haven't come here for chatting, right?"
"No, actually, uh ..." He was fumbling with the handkerchief, trying to decide whether he should keep it out or put it away. "I need someone with ... skills. I was told I might find that person here ... That you ... might be ..."
I groaned. "See, that's why this whole system is bullshit. Even a fucking two oh oh eventually wants someone dead ..."
He shook his head. "It's not like that," he said. "Not like that at all."
"Sure, sure." I emptied my glass and whistled for another. "Noble motives. You know, I'm almost sure all of you bastards up there are exactly like us, just better at making up noble motives."
"I ... Look, I can pay you." He had finally decided to put his handkerchief away. "I'm a very wealthy man. If you do this ..."
"I do most anything, if the pay's good. Question is, what do I need to do?"
He was looking everywhere but into my eyes. I cracked a grin. Fucking spoiled wusses. "Well?" I asked.
"I need someone from ..." He swallowed. "I need someone from zone one."
I had already raised my glass to my mouth when he said it - now, I slowly lowered it without drinking. "You're kidding."
"I wish I was."
His mother had been abducted to zone one. He explained that she was a high-energy scientist who researched a lot of things with fancy names. That he thought they might force her to help build a weapon to destroy the walls between the zones and let the zone one inhabitants flood into the other areas ... But he didn't care much about that big stuff. I thought that if the wall ever was destroyed, they'd probably just nuke zone one. Well, Mr Male Pattern Baldness just wanted his mother back.
I got a pack of cigs from my coat pocket and got one out. "Okay. Figure I get what you're doing on level fifteen now. Army won't go into zone one, of course."
"Of course," he agreed. Army guys were usually from somewhere over zone fifty. Competent enough ... But not suicidal enough for a trip to one.
Someone staggered up to Mr Two Oh Oh from behind. Dame, high off her rocker, completely fucked up. I knew her. Genette. "Hey, you," she said. "I like yer jacket. Gimme."
"Surely, you're not ..." he started. She interrupted him by grabbing his throat and brandishing a knife.
"Gimme."
I got up. "Genette, he's my customer. Kindly fuck off."
"Shuddup," she answered. The next moment, I had her knife and was holding my handgun to her temple. The reason I was alive in my line of work was that I was fast, but it helped how slow druggies were.
I suggested: "Get lost." Genette complied.
I sat down again. "Payment. I think a trip out of here to at least zone one fifty would be nice, wouldn't it."
His eyes went wide. "I can't do that - even if I could - the papers ..."
"Pity. I thought even you guys up in the three digits cared about your mommas." I finally had time to light my cigarette. "I'm sure you people have your ways."
He stayed quiet, then said: "Fine. Fine, alright. I can make it work. Only one person, though."
"All I ever asked for," I said and smirked.
I arrived in zone one in a small boat. Only experienced smugglers could circumvent the endless search lights, unmanned drones, patrol aircraft and sensor arrays that were used to prevent travel between the zones; my smuggler was called Immen. He had a long grey beard and a curious habit of chewing uncooked noodles he kept in his coat pocket.
"You can get into zone one most days of the week," Immen said. My employer had payed him a fortune for this trip. "Now, out, that's different. With zone one, they're pretty much only worried about people getting out. So out maybe works once every two months."
"What will you do in the zone for that long," I asked.
"Visit friends!" He laughed a deep belly laugh. "Just kidding, no such thing in zone one. But I have people there who value my business. They'll protect me. You see ..." He pointed ahead over the dark water, where the first lights of zone one appeared out of the night fog. "The thing about zone one is, not everything is anarchy. 'Cause the literal nazis also live there, you see?"
I peered ahead. There were neon lights near the ruined old piers ... Bars and bordellos, I assumed. "So, your friends - er, people who value your business - are the nazis?"
He shrugged. "Some of them. Not all."
I picked up my concealed weapons and the radio beacon when I left the boat and waved goodbye to Immen. As a good smuggler, his usefulness protected him. I had no such protection.
Detective work isn't easy when people keep trying to kill you. Worst of all - you got to stay sober. The guy who didn't like my face had just decided to turn this fistfight into a gunfight by drawing a heavy revolver from a holster on his belt. Nobody walking by on the street payed any attention. Before his gun left the holster, I had mine pointed at his chest. The problem was ... I was used to oh one fives. This was a oh oh one. I expected him to realise he'd lost once my pistol was out, but he didn't. There was a loud, reverberating bang when his revolver went off, followed by a three dull thumps from my silencer as I put a salvo of hollow points into his chest. He stumbled backwards against a derelict wall and collapsed. I looked down at my leg right away ... Blood was streaming down my leg from a fairly big flesh wound, mixing with the rain puddles on the ground that reflected all the neon lights. Not good. I rummaged in my coat from a bandage. I'd have to learn to shoot instantly.
(1)
|
I've heard stories of how, long ago, people of all types were allowed to live together, a place where people with a goodness score of 1 were allowed to live in the same places as people with goodness scores of 200.
Of course, this world stopped existing after a team of scientist invented the perfect way to test someones "goodness". The goodness test wasn't widely accepted, until Vladimir Putin, a dictator, discovered the test while he was browsing a website called "Facebook"(The creator of this site was later killed by a mob of Goodness Test believers after they discovered he had a goodness test of 1). He discovered this test while he was invading America, and after he somehow managed to conquer America, he made taking this Goodness Test mandatory to take for every person.
He started making the people with goodness scores under 40 into slaves, who built the walls we see now. None of this matter now, however. This all happened very long ago, and none of it matters anymore. The people who have yet to be diagnosed are kept outside the walls. "my, my..your score is a 10." "Put him in the cart, let him live with the rest of the filth.". "Next person.", I walk up to him, nervous. "Okay, just go in there, and take the test." I walk in to the rather well lit cubicle, a sharp contrast between the dark and pouring rain outside. I take the test, I walk out. "Well, aren't you lucky. You've got a score of 75. Go into that bus, and you and the other people in there will be transported over to sector 75. Enjoy the ride."
I look back at the camp one last time, before walking into the bus. After a small wait, we set off for sector 75. As we pass through sector 1, I see a barren wasteland, and our car gets attacked by the inhabitants. They threw glass bottles, and rocks at our bus, which was thankfully heavily armored. The bus-driver sped up, and we thankfully got away. To be continued, possibly.
| 2016-08-26T14:16:43 | 2016-08-26T10:59:35 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
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The Nine Kings were a sort of urban legend. Eight powerful enigmas uniting under a truce to lord their power over the people with Number 1. The higher your rank, the more political influence you had over the city, and even the world.
Take Mason, a red-headed hothead with eyes of amber, for example. Mason was ranked 9,001. Only the top 10,000 get to live in Paradiso, a city for only the strongest on the planet. Imagine his shock when Number 10 came to him with a deal: work together to take down Number 1, and live off the royalties as the Ten Kings. Mason immediately accepted. Sure, he was wealthy enough, but you don't get to live in Paradiso without being a little greedy.
Mason and Tenner, the name number 10 chose for himself, discussed their powers and plans for weeks. Mason could create fire, and Tenner could copy bullets, giving himself endless ammunition. However, Number 1's power was a mystery. No one knew what he could do. All that was known was that he was an assassin who used his victims' decapitated heads as proof of his victories.
After weeks of scouting, Mason and Tenner arrived at Number 1's beach house. The night was cold. Mason's body radiated heat, so his toned upper body was bare. Tenner, on the other hand, was bundled in a black jacket. A scarf covered his face, and goggles with orange lenses hid his eyes. He never revealed his face, even to Mason.
"Are you ready?" Mason asked Tenner. His heavily garbed friend nodded. "I'll lead the way," he answered. "Watch my back."
The two walked into the house, ready for anything. They needed to do this quickly, lest the other Kings decide to crash the party. What Mason and Tenner weren't ready for was finding the house already trashed. A man in a white t-shirt stood over a decapitated corpse filled with kitchen knives. As the knives disappeared, the man turned to greet his other two guests. His hair was a chilling black, and his eyes were silver. He was the complete opposite of Mason. "Thieves," Number 1 said, "you can't live with 'em, and you can't live without 'em."
Tenner pointed both of his revolvers at Number 1. Mason's fists conjured scarlet flames. He recognized Number 1's face from all the internet articles. Mason and Tenner fired upon him, only for the King to evade with ease. He was fast, and his attacks would be faster. Like magic, the single kitchen knife in his hand became three, and he threw them at Mason and Tenner.
The two expertly dodged, while Number 1 slashed open a window, and jumped outside. Mason and Tenner pursued him, the former using his flames to propel himself. Red lights and white flashes reflected over the ocean that night.
Number 1 tossed a knife at the airborne Mason, only have it to turn into a hundred mid-flight. Mason blew them all away, and Tenner got a shot on Number 1's left shoulder. This didn't stop the King, who he kept throwing and multiplying knives. Neither Mason nor Tenner could get close enough to deal the finishing blow.
Number 1 used the fight's confusion to circle back to his beach house. Tenner had to magically reload his pistols, meaning it was up to Mason to stop Number 1 from contacting the other Kings.
Number 1 burst through his front door, while Mason created his own opening by burning a large hole in the ceiling. "I'm gonna enjoy this," Mason gloated as he sent a geyser of flame toward Number 1. The King burned alive. His flesh seared away by the raw force of Mason's fire. Number 1 screamed until there was nothing left of him but a charred corpse.
Mason sat on a nearby couch. It was his couch, now. He was Number 1. Tenner soon walked in, and assessed the damage. "How's it feel, Mason?" he asked the pyrokinetic. Mason smiled. "To be Number 1? Pretty good. Of course, I prefer to stay Number 1." Before Tenner could fire at Mason, he set aflame by his partner. Mason watched as Tenner fell to the ground, his clothes falling to pieces. Mason closed his eyes, and enjoyed the sound of the night ocean's tide.
...
...
...
"Seven," a voice said.
Mason opened his eyes, and turned around. Number 1 stood next to the hole in the wall, wearing a denim jacket instead of his t-shirt. Mason got up to fight him, only to have his arms stabbed by kitchen knives thrown from opposite directions. As he cried out in pain, two more people emerged from the shadows. They were both Number 1's, only one wore a hoodie, and another wore a business suit.
"Like I was saying," the first Number 1 spoke, "the man you killed was Number 7, which means you're Number 7, now." Before Mason could speak, the third Number 1 punched him in the face, causing the pyrokinetic to fall to the ground. "H-how?" Mason uttered.
The three Number 1s smiled. Six more entered the room, each one wearing something different. One of them being the Number 1 Mason killed. "Cloning's one of the most practical powers I've ever seen," Number 7 explained. "Being to the top, on the other hand, can be boring," Number 3 added. "Once you're there, there's no one you can trust," Number 8 said. "But it's not about the destination," Number 4 said. "It's about the journey."
Number 1, the real Number 1 in the denim jacket, created two naked clones of himself. "I had so much fun killing to get here, I decided to do it again, and again, and again." He picked up a scrap of wood from the floor, and duplicated it in his hand. "However, I decided to give each iteration of me a different fighting style to accomplish this. Knives, bullets, shuriken, pipes, myself... I can clone just about anything. Take that corpse." He pointed to the thief's corpse on the ground, which disappeared. "That was me, too."
Mason slowly stood up. "Wait, did you say 'bullets?'" he asked. As Number 1 nodded, Mason was shot in the back of the head by Tenner. Tenner removed his scarf and goggles, revealing Number 1's face. "Should we take his head with the rest?" Number 10 asked. Number 1 shook his head. "No, you can destroy it. I prefer not showing off the heads of zeroes."
With that, the clones each took part in the sadistic ritual of shooting and stabbing Mason's head into oblivion.
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Prologue: *It wasn't the largest city, but it was definitely the most powerful and arguably dangerous in the world. Every single person here held a special ability, ranging from a power to clean everything within a 2m radius, to extreme powers such as flying or super strength. All these powers helped construct the most technologically advanced and richest city the world. One man had the power to give everybody a ranking in terms of how powerful their powers were. The minor powers caused little trouble, but conflicts to reach the top 10 cause widespread destruction. However there was one person who has held the top spot for many years. Me.*
I am considered the greatest of them all - yet no one but me knows why. I have no extraordinary powers like time control, even inferior powers like the cleaning everything within a 2m radius. I am a normal human being.
Since killing someone with a higher ranking gives the killer a higher ranking themselves, I have been the target of many assassination attempts. I have survived them all. Some say my power is health regeneration, but that's not true. Some say my power is extreme luck, but that's not true either. Maybe in 2000 years they will think my power is immortality, but that is only half true. It took me a while to find out what my power is. It's the ability to be ranked number one on this superpower list. I am essentially immortal, as dying would mean I am not the top ranked anymore. My power is hardly powerful at all, yet I am the most powerful of them all.
| 2014-12-18T13:33:39 | 2014-12-18T11:55:01 | 77 | 39 |
[WP] As it turns out, every single species in the galaxy is best at something. Humanity turns out to be the best at robotics.
|
The commander sipped his drink, watching the strange creature on the other side of the table. The commander didn't know, but the look in the creature's eyes was one of pure astonishment. After a few moments of silence, the man set his drink down and leaned back.
"Well? What is the word from the Galactic Representatives?"
The alien burbled a bit, then replied, "It went just as I suspected - the Representatives voted unanimously to accept you into their ranks."
The commander relaxed. "Wonderful! Would you like a drink to celebrate?"
The alien burbled a while longer. "Ah, if I could, I would. Your alcohol is far too... chemical... for my species."
The commander shrugged. "Oh, of course. But how about a Gelfian Leur?"
The pudgy creature slouched somewhat straighter. "Leur? *Gelfian* Leur? You... you have some on board? I... of course! Thank you!"
The commander pressed a button on his desk and spoke quietly. A moment later, his aide entered the room with a small, steaming bowl red-brown liquid. Burbling happily, the alien accepted it graciously and sipped it, his head-tentacles writhing in utter joy. "Oh... exquisite! How did you come by such a thing?"
The human laughed. "We made it. It's not quite like the original, but it's still pretty damn good."
The alien choked, setting down the bowl before he upended it. "You *made* it? *You* made it? Humans? But... *how!?*"
The alien was almost shaking, his face pale. "I... I knew you were accomplished. But... but that is a Gelfian specialty! And... I've only tasted it but once, but it's nearly a perfect replica!"
He stared at the bowl on the desk. "Humans... you forever amaze me. You make ships - and such ships! Ships that should take lifetimes to build! You make food, and drinks! You can only have known about Leur for a decade, and yet you've nearly perfected a recreation! You fly through space - through *wormholes* - in these gleaming plates, and with so few on board! Your population - how many humans?"
The commander thought for a moment. "I believe we just broke 25 billion this year, counting all our settled planets."
The alien was on his feet now. "25 billion! A mere 25 billion! The Hive-Nest of Cohes has a worker population of nearly 25 *trillion*, and it *still* took fifteen years to build even *one* working wormhole-capable ship! The Krennis Collective has 25 billion Computers alone, and it takes them months to calculate navigation trajectories, and yet, with - what, a crew of less than a hundred? - you manage to calculate trajectories fast enough to take a dozen wormhole paths!"
He stopped pacing and gripped the back of his chair, his face shimmering slightly from what the commander could only guess was sweat. "There are so few of you! But you specialize in... in... in **everything**!"
After a moment's thought, the alien added, "Except your art and music. It's not bad, but it's certainly not at the standard of the T'Kne'Kree or the Jommuu."
The commander laughed. "I don't know about all that. I mean, really, about the only thing we make with our hands is that art and music we're only so-so at making. But I'm glad we impressed the Representatives."
The alien blinked. "Wait... what do you mean, don't make with your hands?"
The commander pointed at the data terminal on his desk. "Well, if I want wormhole coordinates, I just ask the computer."
The alien waved a hand... tentacle... thing. "Well, yes. That's what everyone does. But yours are so *fast!* And I can't understand why, either; I've quizzed members of your crew, but they can't do the math required in their heads any faster than I can."
"Well, of course not. That's why... maybe the word isn't translated correctly? Computer - a machine that calculates?"
The alien stared at the commander. For a long minute, there was absolute silence. Finally, the alien spoke, very quietly and clearly, enunciating each word. "You mean to say... when you speak of a Computer, you mean a machine? I have always understood the word to mean... one who computes."
The commander attempted a chuckle, though for some reason was feeling the strangest sense of impending doom. "Yes, of course, a machine. Why, we could never build a ship like this, or calculate navigation, or even make such intricate drinks as Leur without the help of a computer. We have plenty of machines that do everything from build skyscrapers to heat water for us. Why, we even translate languages with the aid of a computer. But surely... you don't..."
His voice trailed off. The alien was shivering violently, clutching the chair as if his life depended on it. He spoke, but not in English - his strange language was punctuated with odd phrases that the computer on the desk was having trouble piecing together. As best as it could understand, the alien was using a collection of grave insults and prayers, jumbled together.
"Er... are you all right?"
The alien sank to the floor, clutching the chair to himself. "You... you build this... with *machines?* You calculate advanced wormhole navigation with ***machines!?*** You copied - I drank - *machine liquid!?*"
The captain stood. "I'm... sorry. Are you all right? Is there anything...?"
The alien waved at him furiously. "No! Don't - don't come closer! Please... just need... my shuttle craft! Please!"
Concerned, the commander called his aide, and the two walked - nearly carried, really - the alien to his shuttle craft. As the creature dove inside and slammed the door, the commander realized exactly what he was looking at. The decorative dents on the craft were not decorative, but hammer-marks. The insignia was not stylized, but hand painted. The craft was bulky, not because it was over-engineered, but because it was meant to hold a dozen species of creatures, each with its own task to run the ship.
On board, the alien mopped the slime from its forehead. "J'Zlel, please load the core into the engine. Lorma, please attach to the viewing mirrors and begin navigation. *Right now!* And Quetch... ugh... I... I feel..."
He vomited on the floor. As he cleaned his face, he - for the second time that day - began to swear. A Wanchelite, born diplomat, raged in fear and loathing at the uncultured freaks he hoped he would never set eyes on again.
"They built their ship, their food, their entertainment... everything... they built it all with *robots!*"
The commander watched him go. "Eh... Wilkens. Would you mind sending a message pod to High Command? It seems... it seems that no one else in the galaxy uses, er, robots. In fact, it seems as if robotics may be quite repellent to at least one species. We may have a bit of a problem on our hands."
He sighed, and poured himself another drink. "Oh well. I'm sure there's some kal-what's-it's-tentacle or J'doo-a-ma-call-it that's the absolute best at war... but if that Leur is any proof, well... my bet is that the robots will come out on top."
|
"Inhabitants of Earth, we wish to trade. The beauty of your crafts astonishes us, we hope to acquire them in exchange for something you find of value."
This had been the message. The first one of its kind. Inter galactic trade had been at large ever since the year 3000 but humans had never had a part to play in it. They thought their mastery at robotics to be superior than all, yet none approached them with offers for their machines.
So, naturally, when the offer to trade came from Xanox-321, it was as if the angels had shined their light upon humanity and finally given them a glorious opportunity - one which they were determined not to screw up.
Carlos had been the first person to hear the notification sound from the message, having been on the night shift at the extraterrestrial messaging facility that particular night.
He went on to become quite the celebrity after that. After all, he was the only one who got to listen to the notification upon the message's initial arrival. Well, his dog Bonzo had been there with him but he wasn't gonna tell anyone that he'd snuck him into the facility. The night shift tended to get lonely and nothing ever happened anyways.
Anyways, the humans went full gung ho on this mission to please the extra terrestrials. Imagine the queen coming to your house for tea. That's how all of humanity felt. They were ecstatic.
The biggest of the robots were manufactured and sent through to Xonax, all free of cost. They didn't even care about getting anything in return. The only objectives was to make the Xonaxians happy.
Unfortunately, that's not how it went down. It took a month for the robots to get delivered, and then in another month they were all returned back.
The humans were extremely displeased. They spent the next year sending clingy messages through to Xonax but to no avail. There was no answer.
Until one fine day, in the middle of the night, Carlos heard another ping.
"What was the meaning of that whole debacle?! We never wanted these robots"
Carlos stared, confused as hell.
Then, there was a gruff voice behind him, "Ugh, move over dumbdum. They don't want your stupid robots"
He looked back to find Bonzo staring at him, disappointed.
| 2017-10-05T10:19:35 | 2017-10-05T07:46:34 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
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**PART 1:**
My father had always been a bit of an enigma. We had little in common save for our names. He was a mild-mannered and proper Englishman who had immigrated to America from a little village the West Country. He believed with all his being in the power of an orderly queue and a proper cup of tea. But every so often when he had a few pints in him, he would wibble on about strange adventures and heroic deeds in impossible places with fanciful characters. Talking mice, a 2-headed man, poetry so awful it could kill the listener - my best friend Douglas and I teased him that he should write a book or five about it all. But we never believed a word of his tall tales. Not until the end.
I was 25 when he died. It was March 11, 1977. Dad hadn't spoken in days. Doctors said his mind was gone, and his body would soon follow. As he lay gasping his final breaths, something small and yellow wriggled wetly out of his ear. It looked almost like a fish. I leant in for a closer look. For just a moment, my father became lucid again. He grasped my head in his hands. "Artie, my boy," he croaked, "Always know... where your... towel is..." With one last gasp, he struck me on my ear with a surprising amount of strength. Then he slipped away and was gone. So was the fish. But from that moment on, I had the ability to speak and understand all language. Every word I ever heard or read translated itself in my mind. And every word I spoke arrived at the listener's ear in their native tongue.
**PART 2:**
I sat in the cool air conditioning of the fast food restaurant, gazing out at one of the 7 Wonders of the Ancient World. It was a stark dichotomy. I had spent my entire adult life traveling all around the globe, and yet I still found it surprising to watch the modern world creep into the most ancient of sites. I found myself pondering what might have stood on this site way back when the Great Pyramid of Giza had first gone up. Thousands of years ago, a man such as myself may have eaten his meal in this same spot, awed by the view of these same pyramids. The thought made me smile. As my mind trailed off along that thought, I was interrupted by a young man bringing a tray full of enough fat, salt and refined sugar to quell my growing homesickness for a little while. Still lost in my thoughts of ancient times, I reached for my soda before he had finished setting down the tray, and a little spilled.
The young man apologized profusely. His words came to me in modern English, though I knew he was speaking in his native tongue. "Don't worry, my friend!" I assured the young man as he hurriedly mopped up the spill. "I wasn't looking. It's my fault." He froze. His dark eyes went wide with - was it shock? Confusion? Fear? Occasionally hearing one's mother tongue appear to come so naturally from American lips seems too implausible. Occasionally I startle people. "I'll finish cleaning up," I offered cheerfully, hoping he would relax. But the words had the opposite effect. They merely confirmed to his disbelieving ears that he had, in fact, heard what it should be impossible to hear. His wide eyes remained locked on the great pyramid glowing in the hot sun on the other side of the glass as he shook his head and stammered, "Khnum protect me! No one but a child of Hemiunu has spoken His sacred tongue in over 4000 years!"
**PART 3:**
I used my ability to travel all around the world, learning and exploring. My gift granted me access to the most incredible locations. I had been invited to come to Egypt to decode strange writing found in a newly discovered chamber in the Great Pyramid of Giza. A couple years ago, muography scans detected a hidden chamber above Khnum Khufu’s tomb. At last, tiny robots had carefully drilled through a small shaft and into the mysterious big void. Cameras fed into the opening revealed writing in a language that no one had ever seen before, or so they told me. I could never tell the difference - it was all English to me!
Archaeologists had dubbed the void “Hemiunu's Gallery” after the architect who directed the construction of the pyramid. And now in front of me was a young man who was apparently a descendant of Hemiunu himself. I was developing a sneaking suspicion the chamber was somehow connected to this young man, whose eyes were still locked upon the pyramid. "It's time," he said suddenly. He tore his eyes from the pyramid and turned to face me as crumpled into the chair across from mine.
**PART 4:**
I had only had my gift a few years when “Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark” came out. But from that day forward, archaeology held a special place in my heart. And now here I was, about to helping explore the first new chamber to have been discovered in the pyramid since the middle ages. I was so excited, my heart was beating as fast as the Kali Ma human sacrifice in “Temple of Doom.” I glanced at Buneb, the young man from the restaurant. I had managed to get him hired on as my assistant. Being a septuagenarian, no one questioned my request for a young strong man to lean on across the sand and rocks. “Are you ready?” Buneb smiled weakly. I was somewhat worried that he would honor this sacred ground with an offering of vomit.
We gathered beneath the large white canopy pitched at the foot of the pyramid. Technicians had set up a myriad of video equipment. Buena and I were led to a seat by a large screen. “We have gotten more lighting in there now,” said one of the technicians. “And our high-res camera has nearly reached the gallery. You’ll be able to see the writing in just a moment.” She switched on the screen and hurried off to finish preparations. “Come on, Phouchg. It’s time,” said a small high voice. “It had better work this time, Loonquawl,” said another equally squeaky voice. My powers of language had never extended to the animal kingdom, but no one was nearby except Buneb, who was intently watching two small white mice scurry up the pyramid.
**PART 5:**
Buneb had spent his whole young life watching the Great Pyramid, as had his father before him, and his father’s father, and so on back through the millennia. He was a direct descendant of Hemiunu, he had said. According to his ancestors, the pyramid held some sort of mystical secret of the universe. And when the universe was ready, the descendants of Hemiunu must be on hand to ensure the secret was understood. Apparently Hemiunu realized the universe wouldn’t be ready for quite some time, and also knew that a multi-millennial game of telephone might result in the secret becoming distorted. He tasked his offspring with ensuring the language was kept alive and intact.
The screen flickered and suddenly it was filled with images. “Head all the way to your right,” I told the technician. “Now up… Yes, there -by the drawing of the … white mouse…. That is the beginning. Now head straight down. It is written in columns.” Very slowly, words began to take form. I scribbled in my little notepad while Buneb muttered softly to himself. As the camera finally finished its journey around the room, I stared back at what I had written. “It isn’t an answer, it is a question!” exclaimed Buneb. He was right. There in my notebook, scrawled in my shaky handwriting, was the ultimate question. The question of Life, the Universe, and Everything.
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I looked up at him; a pair of black eyes met mine – a look of fear and hostility in those eyes. I was taken aback.
I learnt about my gift from a very early age; surprisingly enough I never faced any suspicion. “You’re a polyglot, Sammy”, said my uncle wryly. But he never questioned how I came to be one. And it may sound surprising but I never felt bothered to question it much. I had much fun in college, talking to many international students, learnt so much from them. To tell the truth, it has been my opinion – deep down in my heart – that I am special and gifted, and I took this as granted. Many people are born with so many innate abilities, this is mine and I am proud of it.
I looked at him closely; he is young, barely in his twenties. His thin pale face becoming thinner by the minute. He is scrutinizing me too, what is he seeing in me? I wonder what conclusion he is arriving at in his mind.
I tried to smile at him. I thought of telling him that I am a linguist, I learnt it in a course in college, which is a lie of course. But I understood it is not a lighthearted situation. The young man standing before me looks too upset.
“Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years”, he said slowly, almost as if to himself. I heard pain in his voice, evoking in me some unknown, unnameable memory of things in me, of occurrences which never happened to me, but I could feel – in my heart of hearts – that these things happened, somewhere, sometime – in this very world.
His lips are trembling now, he is in the verge of tears. He is one of the bearers of the knowledge, belonging to a small set of survivors, who fled and evaded from enemies, carrying what part of their identity that they could – their culture and their language. A handful of texts which survived at a great cost, taught to the young ones with a warning of never speaking it in the outside world. The memory is still there, of persecution, of being hunted like animals. Eons have passed, but the fear remains, so does the pain.
All these I came to know, standing there, staring at each other. A shared past, of mutual destruction, humanity’s worst crimes, history not recorded. But it did not get erased, I came to know it never will be erased.
I came out of the McDonalds, under the glaring sun.
| 2018-06-24T22:03:53 | 2018-06-24T21:53:23 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] everyone in the world has a number over their head, but nobody knows why. You have just figured if out.
|
My day started like this, with my wife smiling. She kissed me lightly on the forehead on my way to work. It was a long drive by myself. When I arrived at work, everyone else had already started to notice the changes.
Jared and Connie met me outside the doors to the office. That was when I first noticed the numbers. Jared had a 62 and Connie had a 19. The numbers floated and bobbed above their heads. As I walked toward them, the numbers turned, so that I was always facing them. They were smoking more fervently than they normally did. Jared noticed my stare and tapped out some ashes on the ground.
"We have no idea what they mean." He took another drag and Connie blew a puff of smoke in my direction. It wasn't uncommon for her to acknowledge me with a dutiful "Hello" and nothing else.
I took it in surprising stride. "How long ago?"
"30 minutes or so," Jared answered, "Everyone seems to be taking it pretty well. Ever since they appeared they haven't exactly been hurting anyone. We're all just a little freaked out."
I glanced upward stupidly to see nothing. I looked at Jared more than I did Connie. "What does mine say?"
"53" Jared said.
"22" said Connie, in Unison. They shared a glance and looked away awkwardly.
"You each see different numbers?" I asked incredulously.
Connie shook her head in exasperation, "We don't know man. Just try to adapt like everyone else."
She chucked her cigarette to the ground and squashed it like a bug. She
whipped inside leaving Jared and I to follow in her wake. Her number dropped from a 19 to an 18 as she stormed away.
When Jared and I reached our floor, we found everyone huddled around the TV, numbers above their heads reading 27, 24,36,51,18, and 31 from left to right.The pretty news anchor was reading a sheet of paper wide-eyed. The number above her said "0".
I thumbed for my phone in my pocket and dropped my wife a quick text
"You seeing this?" before sliding the phone back into my pocket.
"Is she going to die?" someone asked, simultaneously reaching forward and turning up the volume with the remote.
The anchor was almost crying, "We kindly ask that readers stop calling and texting into the station, trying to alert me that my number says 0. My Mother and Father have called and said that they both see positive digits, well over 60." She finally broke face and sobbed into the camera,
"Please stop. I'm getting scared."
Beth piped up to my left. "I see 0 too. I don't think she's got long left."
They all nodded and I felt myself nodding with them. 0 seemed like an ill omen. A bad number.
"Does everyone see 0?" I asked aloud and 1 by 1 they all agreed.
I turned my attention to a light brush on my arm and a soft "Hey."
I was greeted by a cozy smile. Rebecca and I were close. It had all happened so fast, but my eyes had already gotten accustomed to dragging my eyes upward to spot the number. Rebecca's said, "83."
"Hey back" I said. Her smile was friendly but her eyes were scared. We withdrew into the break room and sat across from each other, starting deeply into each others eyes.
"What do you see above my head?" I asked her and she glanced up, maybe to make sure that it hadn't changed.
"93." She said. "I wish I knew what it meant."
She sighed and reached her hand casually across the table to join mine. I took it, none too reluctantly, with a twinge of guilt. She rubbed her foot against my ankle under the table and when I looked into her eyes to scold her I could see that she was crying.
"I'm sorry...I'm just so scared." she looked up at me, pouting lips quivering. "I feel so safe when I'm around you."
I watched the number change from "83" to 84" and suddenly I knew what the number meant. Maybe not outright, but somewhere deep in my gut I knew.
My pocket buzzed and I flipped out my phone, withdrawing my hand from her grasp to do so.
"I know, its so crazy. Boss let us leave early. See you at home."
I flipped it shut. Rebecca reached across the table and grabbed my hand again tenderly.
"Please don't go."
I wanted to stay and spend more time with her, but I needed to be home. Despite what the 91 above my head and the 84 above her head implied.
"I can't." I told her and stood up to leave. The number on her head changed from 84 down to 82 abruptly.
As I left, she called out to me. "I don't blame you for choosing her so much."
I barely stopped to talk to my boss and his floating "48" to let him know that I was heading home to be with my wife and family. Who knew he liked me that much?
When I stepped in the door, I was greeted by Terrance, the black lab. He rubbed his nose against my leg, tail wagging happily and in perfect beat with the "100" dancing over his head.
"Alex? You home?" my wife called from upstairs. She plodded down as I rounded the kitchen, meeting her at the bottom of the stairs. Staring at her forehead.
When she reached the bottom, she sighed. "72 huh? Any idea what it means?"
I didn't answer her, only staring at the dancing figures above her head.
"Alex?" She asked, a hint of concern. "What does mine say?"
"27". I thought. Only 9 higher than Connie.
"Alex?" She repeated. "What does mine say?"
"Only 27?" I asked her, trying the best to hide the growing knot in my stomach.
She shrugged, "What do you mean only? Its just a number."
When I didn't answer she smiled, just like she had done this morning.
"Don't worry about it. What do you want for dinner?" she said, still smiling.
|
It had been years since the great accident. Millions fell. Billions rose. The world was at a chaos, until a man came to save us.
His name was Micha. He proclaimed himself as a peace-maker and chains of the world. He did just that. His negotiation skills were unmatched, countless of otherwise terrifying wars were brought into peace. What we don't believe, is how he managed to unite the world's economy.
Ever since, our lives were changed. For better or for worse, I can no longer tell. We walk in stores and exit stores no longer having to hand in paper-money. Some new tech that we all wear that allows some scanners to immediately pay for us. It's all very convenient.
Today, I had my mind awoken. I started observing tiny details.
*Why did everyone had the numbers 666 on their foreheads?*
| 2014-06-04T18:03:01 | 2014-06-04T09:38:52 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] You discover that Earth is the "North Korea" of the galaxy
|
"So, your people and my people are at war then? Just like that?" I asked, staring into the screen. Outside, masses of rock moved silently through the asteroid field. My former comrade from the other side was only a few meters away from me, in a spherical ship that, just like mine, was devoid of external lights and signals. We'd used these ships to goof off and enjoy a few minutes of peace between shifts, but this meeting was something other.
"We didn't know that word until we met you," he said, voice eerily clear over the communicator. "We didn't understand you until recently. I personally do not think you are like some of... them. I would have liked us to still be friends."
"I still don't understand," I replied quietly.
"The books," his voice replied. "You're the only race we have contacted, out of dozens, who has written fiction about going to war with other races in outer space. In fact, the word itself was mistranslated until recently - we believed it to mean a grudge or some kind of existential conflict. Your concept, it is a form of mass-murder. Yours is the only race that practices it, at least that we know of."
I sat staring at his ship through the window, and I was angry.
"War? War isn't always wrong. Factions have gone to war to prevent genocides or injustice..."
"...that were also created by people of your own race," he pointed out. "Genocide. We have prejudices. Every race does. But yours is the only one that has pushed it to that extreme. Wait."
I watched the inside of his cockpit light up. The light of a single viewscreen illuminated his rigid, still face. "Nuclear weapons. You are the only race. Genital mutilation. Only race. Not the only race to commit slavery, but had the longest duration of slavery of any race. Disease warfare. Only race. Serial killers. Only race. You have no idea how many years it took us to actually decipher what some of this meant. You were a brother to me, human. Your kind sickens me."
"This is in the past," I protested. "You're reading our history files."
"Three months ago, a nuclear strike destroyed one of your far colonies," he said. His race's version of an accusatory tone was high pitched and grating.
"That was a galactic backwater," I said. "Those aren't civilized people."
"Still your race," he said. "A religious organization committed some kind of ritual suicide last year. One of your race's preachers convinced over a thousand of your people to kill themselves. Why?"
"They're... crazy," I finished lamely. These weren't groups of people I was affiliated with.
"The eradication of Yavesh-5," his voice said, in a cold monotone. "Starting a terraforming process by destroying an entire planet's ecosystem, including budding sentient life."
I sat silently. That was the Prade Corporation, which was one of our former company's competitors. Those were people a lot like me.
"We can be greedy," I said quietly. "But we're not all like that. Our own government punished them."
"They were fined. It was 12.7% of one yearly net profit for them. They murdered a planet and paid your government to do it. This is not a meaningful punishment."
"Fine, we're scum," I sighed, throwing my hands up. If they had already judged us, there was nothing we could really do. "I just hope we can end this stupid war. What caused it in the first place?"
"We did," he answered. I stared at him across the vacuum.
"You what?"
"We declared war," he said simply. "Once we learned what it was, and figured out what your race was capable of, we realized that war would be inevitable between us. The only way we can exist peacefully is to make sure that your people are kept under control."
"You're going to condemn us as warmongers and then declare war on us?" I demanded, standing up in the cockpit. "You fucking hypocrite!"
"Not hypocrite. Survivor," he replied. "Your people are too aggressive and cruel. We do not want neighbors with nuclear arms, or random splinter factions suffering from insanity attacking us. We do not want to be attacked because one member of your race wanted to steal from us to further his own ambitions. Your race is ridiculous. I do not understand how any of you cooperated enough to leave your planet in the first place."
"Well, we don't want a neighbor who is going to suddenly declare war on us because of our history," I shouted. "You call us ridiculous? You won't be saying that in a few years. There's something you forgot about us, old friend."
"I find this doubtful," he hissed.
"We're a contentious race. We fight like wolves over things you find stupid, using methods you'd never dream of. But what happens when we face a common enemy? If humanity has a choice between aiding their worst enemy or being ruled by an alien race, which do you think we will choose? Oh, and all of those things you mentioned? If we came up with all of that, what are we going to come up with in this war?"
"You will not succeed," he said. His voice quavered slightly.
"Even if you win, billions of your kind will die," I stated, staring into his cockpit. "If we begin to lose, we will use nuclear and chemical weapons. We will make plagues against you. We will sterilize your planets and even sacrifice our own lives to take more of yours. You have no idea how fucked you are right now. Why in the fuck did you think those writers wrote those fucking books? We were ready for this the entire time. The entirety of human history was leading up into our war with you. You're right, I guess. It was inevitable."
My cockpit lit up with bright lights. Several of the erstwhile asteroids outside were lit up, displaying installations of metal and spotlights on their surfaces.
"We have finished recording," a foreign, alien voice sounded over the communicator. "Thank you, human."
"What? What is this?" I protested, shielding my eyes from the light.
"From your race, we have also learned the meaning of propaganda," my former friend said. He made a high-pitched keening noise, the sound of his race expressing mirth.
The asteroids closed in. I had a sinking feeling that I would never see a human world again.
|
I stood there, gaping at the gray... *thing* in front of me as it spoke to me in perfect English.
"We are here to liberate you! You are now a free and democratic peoples!" it said in a peculiarly slow and loud manner, as if I was partially deaf.
I opened my mouth, fully expecting nothing to come out, and I was not disappointed. It gazed at me with a perplexed look on its face, as if something was wrong with me. As if something was wrong with *me*.
"Now it's perfectly alright to be confused. I would be confused too, if I suddenly had freedom and liberty, like my home planet," it consoled me.
"Wha- I don't- What are you talking about?" I blubbered, looking for any words that appease the sheer absurdity of the situation.
"Your oppressive leaders. The Illuminati. We've defeated them!"
It chuckled and patted me on the back.
"You'll be alright."
It took a few steps back, put a finger- no, a claw- to its temple and slowly faded away in front of me.
I then did the only thing I *could* do and stare at the empty space in front of me ten minutes.
"I knew it!" I proclaimed. "It was the Ilermaty all along!"
| 2015-01-28T19:48:20 | 2015-01-28T18:14:23 | 84 | 49 |
[WP] Your 14-year-old sister finally wakes up from a coma of 6 years. She panics when she realizes how much she's grown.
|
This chair. This fake leather chair, it has been my bed, my room, my home for six years. Every crack and crease in it were familiar to me, I could tell exactly how it looked from memory alone. The beeping has been my only constant companion, a slow metronome beating to the sound of a fading heart. Six years, so much had changed. So many things I had to do, so many things I had to sacrifice, all to keep her alive. No one was going to take her from me, not that drunkard who decided to get behind the wheel six years ago, not my parents who wanted to pull the plug because they couldn't take not knowing, not the doctor who says she will never wake up. I look down at my hands, cracked and worn from my work, knuckles scared and fingers crooked from not being set right. Faces flash and voices scream as I remember it all, all the things I did to get here, all the people I hurt to keep her alive. Nothing would take her away, even if I had to kill to keep it that way. I look away, anywhere but in my own head. My eyes fall on six colorful boxes, 5 old and one new. Six brightly wrapped reminders of who I was fighting for. I realize that the dim metronome, beeping in time to my melancholy heart, has picked up, rising me from my thoughts. I stare, willing myself to calm down. I won't let myself hope, I can't, if I hope and lose then I will surely break.
My eyes dart to a soft angelic face. Even past the sunken cheeks and eyes I can tell who it is. My sister, my little june bug. She gave me a reason to live, a reason to fight. Before her my only talents we're getting inhumanly intoxicated and fighting, but when she was born something broke in me. All the malice I felt pent up inside melted, leaving a raw and exposed heart. I see a flicker behind those eyelids and my heart swells, unable to steady it's self. A finger twitches, and I think I will die.
Her eyes slowly flutter open, blinking rapidly, adjusting to the flourecent lights. I nearly drop as I stumble over to the bed. Her eyes look towards the movement, still the same iridescent green I remember. She rasies a hand towards me and stops. She looks at her hand as if it wasn't her own. She screams, a short quite yelp from under used vocal cords. "R...Robbie? Is... Is that you?" Her voice is cracked and soft, no more than a whisper. I can't speak, I am kneeling by the bed. I break, my head falls on the bed, I am sobbing like a child. A hand, light as a leaf, rests on my head. I lift my head to see her making small movements, closer to me. She moves, weakly but with determination and wraps her stick thin arms around my neck. I wrap my arms around her cautious, as if she was made of glass.
"Where am I Robbie, I'm scared. Why am I like this?" she asked shakily. It pulls me out of my head, I can talk again. "It's okay june bug, you just had a little accident and took a long nap is all." My voice is cracking, ready to break at any moment again. I don't know how much she remembers. "Why am I all big, and why are you all big?" I realize in that moment how much I changed. I went from being a lanky twenty something to a muscle bound freight train. "Cause we all have to get big sometime June." I reluctantly pull myself out of her hug, and look at her, doing my best to smile. Apparently I made a funny face while trying to remember how to smile because she starts giggling, and that sets me off into a fit of laughter. It goes like that for a good minute, 6 years of tension washing away, just like that.
A nurse opens the door, attracted by the hysterics. She gasps and nearly faints at the scene. I recognize her as Henrietta, a nice woman in her late 60s. She had always been one of the few people who supported me in not pulling the plug. Whenever I woke with a blanket on my or a fresh cup of coffee on the table I knew who to thank, and whenever I saw that June's hair had been done up in a beautiful braid like she always loved I knew who to hug. She turns her head and begins barking orders like a drill sergeant, her voice hard and sharp despite watching her patient of six years defy her grim diagnosis.
Doctors swarm but she stops them at the door. She points in and says something sharp and biting to one of the doctors. He looks wounded. I laugh more, June joins in, not knowing that I am laughing at the doctor's ego shattering. He told me she wouldn't wake up, that I should just pull the plug and get it over with. Henrietta turns towards us and slowly walks in. She drops to a knee next to me and wraps her arms around me, deceptively strong for an old lady. I pat her on the back, letting her know that I need to get up. Henrietta looks at June, smiling a pleasant calming smile. "Good morning sleeping beauty, it is about time you woke up. Your knight in shining armor has stayed by your side for a long time. Six years today actually. Perfect timing too, it is your birthday." June smiles at that, taking notice of the boxes now. "Yay! Birthday, birthday, it's my birthday. Last year I was 7, now I'm 8, time to blow the candles out and eat my cake!" I smile, halfway between amusement and sadness. "Sorry june bug, I forgot to get the cake, but I did remember to get you your present. Your song was good, I had forgotten about it, but" I begin to choke "you are a bit wrong on the age, you turn 14 today." Her face is blank, the gears in her head turning. "Like I said sleepy head, you have been napping for a while." She beems at me in a toothy grin. "That's okay Robbie, it just means I get 5 more presents!"
|
"Where's my soft toy?" was the first question that she asked. I looked at her, then at her size. "I think...you're a bit old for unicorns," I said, tentatively, as she shook her head and giggled.
"Did I get to skip school today? I really wanna play with my friend...wait why am I so big?" she looked at her size and recoiled. "And where am I?" I winced. The hard questions were finally here. And answering them would take hours and hours. But even as she looked at herself in astonishment, almost in horror, I.knew I could save the explanation for another day. What mattered was what stayed constant throughout the 6 years - what never changed.
"You're still my beloved sis, Lil," I said, hugging her tightly as she giggled. Maybe the explanations could wait. But the best explanations were those that words could never signify.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
| 2017-08-02T06:54:44 | 2017-08-02T05:52:40 | 120 | 88 |
[WP] The year is 2250. Privacy doesn't exist anymore. Corporations are broadcasting people's lives 24/7. Those lives who have more views gain more money. You plan to rebel against this invasion, but the problem is your life is being broadcasted.
|
"And here we see Jerry Smith is busy writing hacker code in his basement. We called in specialist Dr. Randy Cornwallis, who said this code, if completed, could effectively wipe out the entire database! What do you think, Dr. Cornwallis."
"Well, James, I can tell you one think, Smith isn't gonna get far with that loop he's working on. The Blain Corp. has guarded against that for years. In fact, in a recent study...
\_\_\_
Jerry Smith cranked up the three broadcasts, his person show, popular news anchor James Wild's, and noted computer security designer, Dr. Cornwallis's.
In one ear played: "Ohhh and that's gotta sting. Just look at James' face, really smarting after that diss from Cornwallis. Whaddya think, Grant?"
"Yeah, I'd say James is starting to lose his touch with those zingers. Back in the day he used to get a whole studio audience rolling on the floor but since being moved to Jerry Smith's case, his wit seems to have deteriorated to that of his 22 year old subject."
In the other ear was: "Oh and just look at how Cornwallis leans back, such passion in his work."
"Martha, that's what I've been saying! This man is the real deal! He's not one of those phony- oh no no, I know what you're going to say Sharon, I know-"
"I'm just saying, if he was the real deal he wouldn't have slept with Maria Cosgove, his housekeeper!"
"That's just allegations and slander, Dr. Cornwallis wouldn't do that."
"Oh? Well then why don't we ask Ms. Cogove herself, who I have flown all the way from Atlanta Georgia..." Her words are drowned out in studio applause.
\_\_\_
Jerry Smith's goal had, his whole life, been to get so unpopular that no one would want to watch his broadcast, which let him get away with more things. This had almost worked, but when James Wild got assigned to his case, his numbers had jumped. It was nice to have the money in his account but now it was much easier to raise the hackles of corporate security.
But he had a plan. He'd spoken, quickly and using an innocuous cipher, to his ex girlfriend, his best friend from high school, and most importantly, the girl who he once got to cheat on her bf with him. All of them had agreed to show up on James Wild's show as tantalizing guest stars because guest starts were the best way to get the audience eyes on your channel but off you.
Meanwhile, while he waited for the first to call in, Prim from English 101, his ex, he enjoyed the free consultation from Dr. Cornwallis, regarding his work. He'd just had the code cracked but the good scientist was incidentally helping him solve the last few bits.
"Well you know it's funny you mention that about hackers having no lives. I happen to have on the phone one Miss Prim Blane from Jerry Smith's old English class. Miss Blane, how are you today?"
Go time.
Jerry pounded frantically on the keyboard, praying his companions, who were in on the plan with him, would be able to sync their calls just right.
"Now I'm not going to give *too* much away, out of respect," drawled Prim's adorable southern accent that still made his heart skip a bit. "But that boy did not know his way around a girl." His heart stopped skipping a beat a little faster. Well that was nasty of her. But it sure got audience attentions.
Just as her interview was looking to come to a close, James grew quiet for a second.
"Well now wait a minute Prim, I've got a texter on the line, one Uriah Hoots, who claims that maybe you came to him about your relationship in the end, is that true?"
Good old Uriah always had that good sense to know when a convo needed spicing up and soon Prim's defensive protests rattled through his headset.
He was making good progress on initiating his code. Just twenty minutes ago, he'd looked like any other hacker, with a pile of useless code and a grudge against the corps. Now, though, he was maybe another twenty minutes from crashing them. Just needed a little more time...
The conversation was again, coming to a lull and James was saying his goodbyes to Prim and Uriah. Jerry tensed, waiting for Lulu to call in but heard nothing. James and a good natured Cornwallis gossiped a bit about Jerry's personal life.
Cornwallis admitted that this drama was why he stayed away from women. James suggested maybe it was something else, and both laughed.
"So now, what's old Jerry been up to?"
Come on, Lu.
"He seems awful excited about his project. Let's take a look at the bug software on his comp, see what that reveals."
Come ON, just a few more minutes.
There was a bang, like a door opening, through his headset that made HIM jump.
"Well now, who could this be?" said James, interest newly piqued. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a very unexpected guest here. What's your name, ma'am?"
"I'm Lulu Gardner and I'm here to say that, no matter what Prissy Prim or Ugly Uriah had to say, Jerry Smith is a liar and a cheat."
Technically she was the cheat but Jerry's heart calmed a bit. Or rather, the beating of terror was replaced by the beating of excitement.
"A liar and a cheat, you say?"
"Oh yes. Oh I could talk about my past with him. About how he forced me to cheat on my bf with him, using blackmail. About how he cheated on Prim. About his secret affairs all across the country."
Shit, she was laying it on thick. Jerry smacked the enter key and his program started to run. He breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing he could do now but wait.
"But I want to talk about something different." Her voice took on a new tone and Jerry's cheeks flushed with anticipation. "I want to talk about what he's been doing under our noses."
80% compiled.
"I want to talk about his dissatisfaction, not only with relationships, but with life. With society. With the corps."
"Well now I can't imagine how someone could hate the corps."
90%
"But Jerry was never just someone. For someone who spent his life under water in most social situations, he knew how to play them like music."
95%
"This is a warning. A warning to everyone. Things are about"
98%
"to go"
99%
"dark."
___
Find more stories at [r/SamaraWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/SamaraWrites/)
|
My life is a movie. It's being watched by millions, even if I don't get millions. Somewhere, someone is watching. Some know this, and advertise themselves, living the movie. But what about the millions of others who don't wanna be movie stars?
I've tried so many things. Covering cameras result in more the next day, only one restful night of sleep in a panopticon. Destroying the cameras nets me a fine from the corporations rich enough to write their word into law.
There is but one thing left to do.
I have my whole chicken, fresh from the supermarket, the process of buying it similarly livestreamed to some weird person on the other side of the globe that loves to watch this type of thing.
I don't have a barrel, but I have one of those pallets that trucks use to store bread and other groceries, which I guess is kinda the same thing in this day and age.
I'm staring into the camera, or at least, the general direction where it's facing. Sitting on the pallet, nothing else in the room or on me, I hold the plucked chicken directly at its lens.
A long-dead Greek philosopher is probably beaming with pride somewhere. This world would make no sense to him as much as his own time, anyway.
"Behold! A man!"
| 2020-08-21T09:19:14 | 2020-08-21T08:52:05 | 65 | 10 |
[WP] You’re a hitman who’s “hits” survive your assassination attempts, despite your sincere best efforts, only to die soon after each attempt by comical forces outside your control. The hitman community can’t be convinced you’re not the most creative comically effective assassin alive.
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Part 7: Tupperman v.s. Slapstick)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**After a long day of wrangling actually competent superheroes and villains, I just wanted a return to normalcy.** So it was almost a relief when I got a call about yet another inane, amusingly weak wannabe supervillain on the way home.
"He calls himself Slapstick," Tupperman said.
I slammed the brakes as a car shot by, running a red light right across 5th street, and swore under my breath. You would think that being the Mayor of the city would give me some special privileges when it came to traffic. "Let me guess: his power is clown materialization."
"Nope."
"The power to make anything funny?"
"He'd be a TV star, not a supervillain, if that was the case." Tupperman paused. "Although there *is* some overlap."
"Telepathically-induced tickles?"
"You're thinking of Molestoman."
"Wait, that's a real thing?" I snorted. "God, I hate this city."
"Nah. You'd have resigned long ago if you did. No, he's got some kind of weak reality manipulation. If he tries to off someone, he always fails—in the short term. But if you wait a few minutes, then the victim gets crushed by a falling anvil, or get exploded by conveniently misplaced dynamite, or trampled by a stampede of ducks. Something comical, over-the-top, and that, well... screams Slaptsick."
"Yeesh." I shuddered as I turned a left. Nasty power, that. "I think I would've noticed if any of those happened in my town; I assume he's not a local, then?"
"No. Hired hitman from out of town."
"Mm. You happen to know who he's contracted to hit?" I asked.
"No," Tupperman admitted. "I may be a supervillain, but Tupperware materialization doesn't help me hack into online forums or shake information loose from recalcitrant brokers."
"Recalcitrant," I said, sounding out the word in my mouth. "You know, if I didn't know better, Tupperman, I'd say you decided to actually finish your middle-school education."
"I got me a word-a-day calendar," Tupperman cheerfully said. "So, anyway. I just thought I'd warn you—I set a little, ah, *trap* for our would-be killer."
"I assume that whatever you've set up is entirely illegal, indispensably useful, and more of a hassle to dismantle than it is to turn a blind eye to?" I deadpanned. Some kind of roadwork was going on up ahead, with a crane hauling bundles of materials.
"Aw, you sure know how to make a man blush, Clara," Tupperman said. I rolled my eyes; Tupperman knew that his vigilante position outside the law was too useful for me to actually crack down on arresting him, and he milked it for every drop it was worth. "Yeah, in terms of comical deaths, there isn't much better you can do than being crushed by ten tons of falling Tupperware. I materialized a big ol' stash of the stuff on the intersection of Trelawn and 5th; assuming Slapstick's power tries to dump it on his would-be victim, I'll just dematerialize the Tupperware, save the poor sap's life, and find out who Slapstick is here to kill."
I froze. "...the intersection of Trelawn and 5th?"
"...yes, what of it?"
"I'm there right now."
At that moment, the cable on the crane above me snapped.
Tupperman swore over the phone line; the ten tons of Tupperware he'd materialized onto the crane fell faster than the stock market after Lady Luck was done with it. I ducked down, slamming the brakes and putting my hands over the back of my neck to brace myself—
And then there was silence. Tupperman exhaled. "Don't worry. I dematerialized it in time."
I looked up, shaken; true to his word, the falling Tupperware had disappeared back into whatever pocket dimension Tupperman drew his powers from. "...Thanks, Tupperman. I owe you one."
"How about you see to making sure whatever building company this is doesn't sue my pants off, eh?" Tupperman convivially chimed. We let out a shaky laugh together.
Then I sobered up. "...So. I guess we found out who Slapstick's here to kill," I said.
"Yeah." Tupperman grimaced. "Any idea why?"
Well. It could've been any number of things—my opposition to Federal Law No. 8 of 2023, that time I restored Awe's powers to her, my protection of Lady Luck, my talks of Death—but there was really only one group who would've taken offense to something I'd done and decided to send a hired gun after me. "...I think I have an inkling of an idea."
"Oh?"
I swallowed. "You know how I pissed off the Chief of Homeland Defense?"
"Clara," Tupperman said, "*no.* The Federal government is so full of assholes they look like rectal Swiss cheese, but the government does *not* assassinate problematic politicians. This is the Unified Sovereignties. We're a civilized country."
"Well, *someone* hired Slapstick to kill me," I snapped. "You got any better ideas?"
Static.
"Right." I grimaced. "Regardless of who they are, someone's sniping at me." I went into reverse. "That means they could go after the people I care about."
"Well, I'm touched that you care so much about me," Tupperman began.
"Not you," I muttered. "I'm worried about my daughter."
"Oh, *shoot.*" Tupperman hesitated, then said, "...This is important, and you might need firepower. I'm coming with you." I saw a figure leap from the top of a building, then dance on air towards my car, plates of Tupperware materializing and vanishing to form an ephemeral staircase.
"Thanks, Tupperman." I revved my engine. "Let's go check on how dear old Janus is doing, shall we?"
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for more information, and check out r/bubblewriters for more of my writing. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
|
Flint wasn't the assassin you hired when you wanted efficiency. But he was handy when you wanted it to look like an accident. Unfortunately, this is not the reputation Flint was trying for.
Flint had his target in his sights. Jerry. Someone who has become embarrassing for his client. Jerry needed to be made silent. Terminally.
Flint's finger moved to the trigger and a gentle squeeze.
Once again, fate stepped in. Jerry stopped and bent over to tie his shoe. The shot sailing over his head and instead striking a pole, ricocheting off and striking a truck as it moved past.
Jerry moved quickly, he heard the bang and he knew it was meant for him.
No point in trying again today. Jerry would be on too much alert to get a good shot.
Jerry got to his apartments. Moving day for one of his neighbours. The damn lift was broken again so he took the stairs.
IT was as he was climbing from the 2nd floor to the 3rd floor he heard a shout. "SHIT! THE STRAP BROKE! LOOK OUT!"
It was too late for Jerry. The fridge, after the constant banging on the steps from being dragged up on a dolly, broke for freedom.
On inspection there appeared to be damage to the straps and oddly a bullet-hole in the side of the moving truck.
Another successful hit. Flint's reputation remained intact.
| 2021-12-27T10:40:51 | 2021-04-04T16:09:46 | 243 | 28 |
[WP] "I'm sorry, this disease is incurable, you have 6 months to live. But hey, why don't you take a light speed cruise and give it 20, maybe 50 years? We should have a treatment by then. "
|
"What do you mean by light speed cruise?" I asked.
"Simply put, you get into this spacecraft, take a spin around this planet known as Omega 9. For your mind and body, it will only be like 5 months for the whole trip. But here, on earth, 50 years would have passed. Time dilation they call it." Dr. Tracy Spectus calmly explained.
"And by then, maybe we have already found a cure for this X1-76 disease."
"You are really lucky that they are looking for a volunteer for this maiden flight," she added.
Lucky? Was I not just a white mice then?
"All these do not make sense," I was getting more and more confused.
First she told me that the disease I suffered for the last 3 years was a disease that the medical community had not even properly named.
Then she told me I could time travel to the future where I could be cured?
What was she going to tell me next? They were going to name the disease after me?
"Let me see if I get you right. So, after I have been cured, I can take another spin and come back here, at this time, again?"
"I am afraid not. Time arrow flies in one direction. It could go faster, but never backward," suddenly she was waxing lyrical.
* * *
"No James, I wont go. By the time I come back, even if I am cured, you would be gone. What difference does it make?" I sobbed, nestling in his arms.
"Hey, don't write me off, I would only be 95 by then. You would probably need to change my diapers, or maybe by then we have age reversing technology and I would be younger than you," he said, with his usual charming smile.
"I would rather spend my last 6 months with the two of you rather than all alone in a ship that I have no control over."
"Or you could think of it this way. You get a second chance at life, and at seeing Angie again. But then she would be older than you. You could remind her of all the times she said she wants to cut more birthday cakes so that she can be older than you, and can take care of you."
I could see that he was merely trying to grasp at straws, trying not to lose me.
Which, in actually fact, he was definitely losing me, to1 this time travelling trip.
Forcing me to leave him behind so that I had a chance.
Had a chance at what really?
A life full of regrets?
A life full of what could have been?
And dragging this man along, that he would never be able to move forward, knowing that I was somewhere, hurtling in space?
I hugged him harder. Not that I could do it for long.
The wind gushing in from the balcony, rustling the sweeping brown curtains that we bought during our last holiday 2 falls ago in France.
"Besides, Angie would only be 56 by then. She could, you know, see her mother again," his voice cracked. And his tears fell for the first time since I had fallen sick.
He had been strong for us. For me. I didn't deserve him. And yet, here he was, for me.
He was my rock. My one and only.
And now he wanted me to leave him.
So that I had a second chance.
A second chance at what exactly?
* * *
"Mummy, will you be coming back?" Angie asked. She inherited her round big eyes from her father.
"Yes, I promise." I hugged her, for the very last time. And James hugged us both.
Was it a lie?
I really didn't know.
I didn't even know what was I doing.
I just wanted this moment to freeze, with them in my arms, forever.
* * *
The window outside was dark.
I always thought the space would be littered by stars. A performance of dancing lights.
It wasn't.
It was engulfed in loneliness. Spending eternity.
I left behind the man I love, and my daughter.
I left them, but really, they were the ones moving forward without me.
While I was stuck, in this cage of time.
Did I do the right thing? Were all these worth it, just so I could see Angie again?
Would Angie want to see me again, after 50 years?
* * *
I could see Omega 9 now.
It looked like an elongated egg yolk. A bright long yellow oval.
Should have just call it Eggsy 69. At least it would be funny.
Like how laughable my choice had been.
* * *
"Warning, approaching maximum velocity. Slight shot engaging soon. Please wear your seat belt."
Seriously?
I was strapped in this tin can lying down where I could only move my arms and legs since I started this journey. I could not even undo the buckle and straps on my torso. I didn't think I even remember how to walk.
When did I have the option to move around?
The only movement I had was putting the straw with liquid food into my mouth.
And play Half-Life 3.
Now I know why they didn't release it to the public.
It was meant as an exclusive to this ship.
How apt.
By the time I was done with this trip, my sweet Angie would be done with half her life.
Wait, did this mean half of the journey was done?
James would be 75 now?
Was he still alive?
Did Angie and James live well?
Did Angie achieve all her dreams? She had always wanted to be doctor. I was quite sure a huge part of it was due to my illness.
Maybe she wanted to make sure there was a cure when I got back.
Did Angie find the love of her life, like I did?
I really hoped James met someone else who could give him all the love I couldn't.
No, my heart tugged at that thought.
Maybe I was hopping he kept his side empty, reserved for me.
No that would be too unfair for him.
* * *
When the sling shot, or whatever they called it, happened, it felt as though my soul was torn from my body.
It probably only happened for a good few minutes but it felt like hours to me.
Or maybe it was a few hours, since we were talking about flying across half the planet.
It didn't matter, it had passed.
I was coming home now.
* * *
Ahhh Mars. The red planet. That would mean I was near.
* * *
Wait, was that Earth?
The whole planet was purple.
What was going on?
Were James and Angie safe?
Oh my God oh my God oh my God...
|
Doc Ed says that it's terminal--
says he gives me half a year.
Says that's thinking optimistically--
That I must take special care.
Though a thinker, I'm no careful man
So as I approach my death
I take my notes out, hatch a plan,
Spread charts all 'cross my desk.
See I work at Ogden Spacecraft--
fifty years, I've spent my mind,
fifty years on calculations that
contract and dilate time.
Ogden's business is in transport
Movin' colonists through space
Movin' minerals back here from Oort
and space marines to base.
Now I know, since it's my business,
that as v approaches c
their ratio-squared approaches nil
and so does delta t.
So I'll sneak aboard a transport
Out toward Alpha Centauri
Out, while Doc Ed finds a cure for this
incurable disease.
Six months I'll pass in misery,
As hundreds pass on earth.
I'll be a fading stowaway
Until return, rebirth.
I'd much prefer to ride on
Ogden's medship, The Endurance,
But trips on life-extending ships
aren't covered by insurance.
| 2021-12-27T07:19:59 | 2021-12-27T01:25:17 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] Dragons decide leadership and settle conflict through cooking challenges. Human society LOVES when dragons have conflict, because mortals get picked to judge. When dragons fight, whole kingdoms get to eat for free.
|
The baker’s apprentice pulled the basket of bread up the side of Orgonth’s Stove toward him.
The ancient monument stood hundreds of feet tall, its square shape and flat top visible from one side of the valley to the other. It was one of the wonders of the world, the calling card of this humble kingdom, which was once so great. Once host to the Arena of Dragons.
By the time Nuto the baker’s son was learning to knead dough, the valley was a monument to greatness long gone. A relic for myths, children’s stories, and dormant dreams.
Nuto’s date on this fine afternoon trip to the top of Orgonth’s Stove, Janie, watched his arm muscles flex with every pull of the rope he had tied to the bread basket. As the scent of the fresh baked loaves wafted closer, she couldn’t handle it any longer.
Janie was in love and she was done pretending. She threw her dark black hair over her shoulder and kissed Nuto on the mouth. His emerald green eyes went wide, his heart leapt into his throat, and of course, he kissed her back. She was always the one, from the day his uncle found her hiding in the pantry of their shop. He had made Nuto walk her home.
Nuto’s arms relaxed, letting go of the rope.
“The bread!” Janie recoiled, pointing. Nuto leapt at the rope as it skittered away, diving to catch the end, like a cat darting after a string, but it slipped through his fingers.
Nuto’s head sank in despair. As Janie looked on she saw a great shadow pass over him. She cocked her head, hearing a swooping sound. It left as it quickly as it came. Then a wind blew her hair back.
“Nuto—"
The swooping sounds grew louder.
“I’m such an idiot,” Nuto said, his voice muffled by the stone.
Wind rushed up the face of Orgonth’s stove and through Nuto’s curly hair. He lifted his head just in time to come eye to eye with its source. He could only process it in pieces: first the scales, then a wing, then a tooth, then an enormous yellow eye. Finally, the whole picture. A bright red dragon rose in the air before him, it’s great big wings kicking up dust.
In its talons was Nuto’s bread basket. The dragon dropped it at his feet. Nuto was paralyzed with fear and wonder.
“Y-you,” he stammered, “Are you—”
“A dragon!” Janie squealed, rushing forward with arms outstretched. “I knew it!”
The dragon responded in a deep baritone voice, stopping Janie in her tracks. “Are you the keepers of Orgonth’s ancient stove?”
“No sir. No, I’m just a baker.” Nuto held up one of his loaves.
“The champion of this field, then?” The dragon surveyed the valley. “Impressive.”
Before Nuto could respond, the dragon let out a deafening cry, like a mating call. Nuto and Janie covered their ears. Shadows appeared overhead, and before long a dozen more dragons were hovering around the stove, looking down at them.
“I am Azar, Eater of All. I come to this ancient place to challenge Murodyn, Firebreath, for the throne of Nolbad, in a traditional contest of culinary prowess.”
Azar produced two old, tattered aprons from his folds. He presented them to Nuto and Janie.
“Will you serve as the mortal judges of this contest?”
“B-but I’m… I’m just a baker,” Nuto said. He shifted his gaze back and forth from the puny, humble, mediocre loaf of bread in his hand, to the apron being handed to him by an actual living, breathing dragon.
“Nuto,” Janie whispered, “he doesn’t know that.”
Nuto snatched the apron with both hands. “I accept!”
Janie was already tying hers around the small of her back. “Me too.”
Azar rose higher into the sky. The other dragons followed suit, fanning out across the valley.
“Spread word to your people, Mortal Judges: Three sun-cycles hence, the contest will begin.”
“But how?” Nuto called out to him, “They won’t believe us, practically no one alive has seen a dragon! Why would anyone come?”
“The contest must have a mortal audience,” said Azar. “They will come.”
Nuto started to ask how, but Azar was already answering him. The other dragons were flying in an intricate pattern over the valley, some circling its perimeter while others were busy drawing shapes in the air, some breathing fire and others dancing in smoke clouds with their tails.
Below the air show, the valley rumbled. Nuto and Janie felt the stove shift under their feet. Dust shook off the valley like it was being blown off of an old book cover. Stone turned to silver and gold. Sloping rock stood upright, staggered, and morphed into amphitheater seating. Massive walls rose up around the valley. Even a ticket booth popped out of a boulder.
Across from Orgoth’s Stove, a sister stove rose from the earth. As it took shape, its burners and buttons were sculpted, so too were those features on Orgonth’s. Nuto and Janie found themselves nearly trapped under the grating of the front-left burner when Azar swooped in and gathered them up.
“What kind of stoves are these?” Nuto asked, bewildered.
Azar didn’t feel compelled to explain dragon technology to this mortal. He dropped them at what had become the main gate of the Dragon Arena.
“Three days,” Azar said to them, “and the fate of my kingdom will be decided. By you, Mortal Judges. Farewell.”
*To be continued…*
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/ididwritethismr \-- New year, new goal: keeping all of my stories on a new subreddit. I pinned my personal favorite to the top. I'd love to have you join!
|
Sunday! Sunday! SUNDAAAAAAY!!!!! Draco Resolution Productions brings you the gastrointestinal throwdown of THE CENTURRRYYYY!!!! Lucius Dreadwing, He Who Strikes Fear In The Hearts of Men takes on Fangtooth Deathbringer, Scourge of the Seven Kingdoms in an EPIC-curian battle to decide the next ruler of the Saurian Guild! Everyone gets a ticket! Seats are available tomorrow at 9am!! VIP section available at extra cost! Call your friends, bring your kids, bring the pets, (bring flame retardant clothing)!! Come on down and FEEL THE BUUUUUURN!!!
DRP is not repsonsible for any GI discomfort, food poisoning, accidental incineration, or consumption of pets or children
| 2022-01-02T11:55:17 | 2022-01-02T11:45:28 | 52 | 20 |
[WP] everyone in the world has a number over their head, but nobody knows why. You have just figured if out.
|
"Jeff! Jeff get up! You're going to be late for school."
"Ufhmmf" Jeff sputtered as he reluctantly rolled out of bed. Walking over to the bathroom and gazing into the mirror while brushing his teeth brought no surprise to him that a shimmering four was complacently floating above his head. Sure, it wasn't the highest number but he grew to enjoy the number four. There was just something friendly and inviting about it.
After finishing his morning routine, he rushed downstairs to greet his mother. "Sorry mom. I was in the middle of a very strange dream and I couldn't seem to get out of it."
"Sure hon... it's just late-night video game sessions as usual. Don't take me for a fool." she said. Her number was 23 and so he reasoned it might have something to do with intellect. After all, mom was a smart lady. He quickly made a sandwich and started toward the door.
"Jeff, please try to stay awake in class today." he vaguely heard her say as he slipped out into the sunshine. Yeah, she did have a point. Why was he sleeping so much lately?
He arrived at school with less than a minute to spare and plopped into his seat. He surveyed the other students and as expected, nothing changed. Tom was a 3. Janet was a 7. Alex was a 10 and always got straight A's. This furthered his hypothesis that it had to do with intellect but no one really knew for sure. Even though scientists and psychologists had their speculations, nothing was definitive and so they all just took it for granted by now.
"OK. Let's get started guys. Plenty of problems to work through today." Mr Thompson said gruffly as he started scrawling on the chalkboard. A modest 15 floated above his head which struck Jeff as strange. He was pretty sure he wasn't the only one wondering why a 15 would be teaching them. Perhaps it had nothing to do with intellect at all.
The chalk screeched against the board -- "Jane is making shirts and has 15 yards of fabric. If each shirt takes 2 yards to ... " -- "Jeff! Pay attention!" the teacher snapped as Jeff's head found his desk. He quickly sprang up and pretended to scribble down the problem. "Math sucks..." he thought as he doodled little stick-figures on his paper.
After all of the problems were on the board, Mr Thompson sat down to let the children work. Once again, Jeff let his head rest for just a moment he told himself.
*****
He walked down the halls of a building he always visits and at the end of the hall was a door that seemed to sing to him. He thought it might sound a bit like twinkle-twinkle-little-star if it were dropped an octave but that was irrelevant to him at the time. "I must open the door this time or I'm never, ever going to stop coming here." he thought.
As he reached for the door knob, the singing grew louder and even more shrill. He could tell that his time was almost up as the door began to fade out. "NO! Stay this time!" he shouted as loud as he could and quickly grasped the knob and twisted in one swift motion. Taking no chances of losing focus, he forced himself to fall against it. This time, the door did open. This time, he did fall through. This time, things would be different.
*****
The wind rushed through Jeff's hair as he descended down a tunnel that seemed to on forever. Before his eyes could tear up, he glanced to left and right and saw a spiral staircase with unknown travelers walking down. "I should have taken the stairs" he thought.
He continued to fall and kept his blurry eyes trained on the bottom -- bottom? There was no bottom. It was just a black hole that went on forever. The stairs stopped long ago but he kept falling and falling. Suddenly the blackness broke away into inexplicable fractals of varying complexity. "Sierpinski Triangle" he muttered as he passed into it not knowing where the words came from. Creases began to form and it folded in on itself forming a pyramid. "Tetrix" he breathed but knew not where the word came from.
The form solidified its walls. "Tetrahedron" he sputtered -- still not knowing where this new vocabulary was coming from but realizing he was trapped inside this structure made him frightened. "What if this never ends?" he thought gloomily. Just then, the tetrahedron began to shrink. The walls pressed against Jeff in all directions and he had never felt more claustrophobic in his life.
As the shape continued to shrink, it passed into him and continued until he felt it as a heavy lump in his chest. "You have received the first platonic solid child. Be mindful." a voice seemingly from everywhere cooed.
*****
"Jeff! Wake up! I need ..." the teacher began to shout but quickly stood with mouth agape as Jeff groggily lifted his head from his desk. He scanned the room and saw that everyone was staring at him slack-jawed. "What are you looking at?" he shouted -- suddenly very self-conscious.
"WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?" he screamed as he pounded his fists against his desk. To his horror, the desk blew apart. Splintered fragments of wood shot across the room embedding themselves in the walls and onlooking children.
He sprung up and a shock wave erupted which knocked the gawking children back several feet. Wide-eyed and frightened he bolted for the door. As he grabbed the handle, it squished in his hand like silly putty. Not to be defeated, he shoved as hard as he could and the door blew off the hinges into the hall and found its new home embedded in the wall of lockers. Finally free, he burst out and began running. He didn't know where he would go but he had to leave. "How many people did I just kill? What is going on? What do I do?" he sobbed.
"What were they starring at?" he questioned as he calmed down enough to think. In the distance, he heard sirens closing in fast. He quickly ducked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. "My number... it's... it's OVER 9000!"
|
It had been years since the great accident. Millions fell. Billions rose. The world was at a chaos, until a man came to save us.
His name was Micha. He proclaimed himself as a peace-maker and chains of the world. He did just that. His negotiation skills were unmatched, countless of otherwise terrifying wars were brought into peace. What we don't believe, is how he managed to unite the world's economy.
Ever since, our lives were changed. For better or for worse, I can no longer tell. We walk in stores and exit stores no longer having to hand in paper-money. Some new tech that we all wear that allows some scanners to immediately pay for us. It's all very convenient.
Today, I had my mind awoken. I started observing tiny details.
*Why did everyone had the numbers 666 on their foreheads?*
| 2014-06-04T13:09:45 | 2014-06-04T09:38:52 | 45 | 10 |
[WP] You have died and gone to hell, but it's not what you expect. You wake up naked in a field with nothing but trees around you... it turns out that hell is an early access survival game.
|
A blinding white light and unbearable pressure followed by an earth shattering darkness.
My world seemed to writhe and convulse around me, it felt as though God himself had flicked whatever internal gyroscope that held my sense of direction and sent me falling.
Falling.
With a jarring suddenness I stopped. I slowly became aware of ground on my back A damp musky breeze brushed over my face. I struggled to remember what happened before the light, that brought me here. As I opened my eyes I saw a roiling grey sky and a waving field of prairie reeds. I vaguely remembered driving to work. Looking around only brought up more questions than answers, the wilderness seemed boundless, no faint sounds of cars or even people in general.
The longer I bumbled around, the more everything seemed slightly off. There were no audible birds either, if you listened intently you could hear some insects and perhaps other small animals scurrying. The air smelled ever so faintly of copper and decaying wood. With the sun not quite at its zenith, I decided to set off to find... Something. I decided to head for a patch of woods that resembled the deer trails I had grown up aimlessly following. Soon my "trail" petered out into nothing more than a half a million other imaginary trails that have criss and crossed every woodland since the dawn of time. Before long I heard a rustling further off in the brush ahead of me.
It sounded much larger than anything else I had heard since landing here.
I tentatively made my way towards it, there were more briars than I expected. I was going to have to be careful, they could make life annoying very quickly. As I got closer to the source of the noise I could hear a whimpering.
Behind a rather large oak I was startled by a woman. Or rather what seemed to be the husk of a person. Bloodied and apparently delirious she stared up at me with frantic eyes.
"Have y-you come for me? Are you chasing rabbits or you have seen Mr. Bundy?" she wheezed.
She had briars in her wild hair and was bleeding from the thousand tiny cuts that one could expect from running through a thick patch. As a result most of her clothes were in tatters and her leg looked like it had been mauled by a bear with very blunt teeth.
"I.. Im sorry, I don't know what you're asking... What happened? Do you know where the city is? Maybe we can-"
"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME. IF YOU'RE GONNA TAKE A SWIPE JUST DO IT ALREADY YOU PIECE OF SHIT CO-" she raved, almost foaming at the mouth.
I didn't stay to hear the rest. Bewildered and now scared I ran back to the trail. I could still hear her screams seeming to echo off the sky itself. I decided it was my priority to get out of earshot from those wretched noises. After a few minutes of jogging I soon realized that this was not the same trail I had come on. Thankfully I was no longer able to hear the woman, but the forest was getting thicker.
Senses heightened with anxiety I became aware of a smokey smell in the air. It was as good a thing as any to follow so I set off, heading into the twilight forest. Maybe 30 minutes later I look up and see billowing black columns, the smell is pungent. I can almost taste it. Slowly I make my way toward a break in the trees, though this was not the clearing I woke up in.
Through the trees I can see a chainlink fence topped with barbed wire surrounding a compound of sorts. People resembling little more than skeletons in burlap sacks walked sullenly about.
Off to one side I spotted an entrance with arching cast iron letters, I read "Arbeit macht frei"
In a wave of horror I remembered learning about the work camps of WWII in grade school. Everything came crashing back to me.
I ran, yet again, to the trail. Mind racing all the while, I was driving to work from the hotel I liked to stay in whenever I worked late and home just seemed too far to drive. Though my night hadn't ended then, my secretary had come through with a bag of blow and we fucked late into the night. No wonder I was so groggy that morning, I probably would have noticed the roadwork signs...
Did I crash into a cement truck?
None of this made any sense. I looked around frantically. There were deep cuts littered among the tree bark all around me, had those been there before?
About 15 yards off the path I spotted a small stream, suddenly feeling very dehydrated I made my way over. Ever more cautious I crept up to the bank and found what looked like a clean spot to drink from.
The water felt cool and refreshing on my hands and face. It seemed to ground me a bit but my head was still spinning with thoughts and questions.
Was the lady an escapee from the camp? How was there even a camp, the war ended over 100 years ago. Where the fuck am I? I didn't get to wonder long.
I heard footsteps approaching from upstream.
Quickly and quietly as I could I was able to climb up a nearby tree and perch among some thick foliage.
My mouth had a slightly metallic taste and was growing numb. Maybe the water wasn't safe..
A clown sauntered into my field of vision. The light was fading fast but there was no mistaking him. I had maybe 45 minutes of light left. In one hand he held a bouquet of balloons, in the other he appeared to be letting the stream tug at a large sheet of colorful paper. I began to feel strangely giddy. It almost looked as if the paper in the stream was pulling the clown along. From my seat among the branches I could hear him whistling a jovial tune.
The ground seemed to be tilting further away from me. Though never being comfortable with heights I didn't pay much mind.
The clown eventually let the sheet go floating downstream and stopped.
Apparently lost in thought he continued to whistle, gazing into the trickling water.
The sound of the water flowing over the rocks and roots of the forest floor seemed to be growing louder. The dying light of the day played off its surface brilliantly, as if a fine layer of glitter were floating atop the stream itself.
The liquid motion of the water seemed to spill over onto the banks, as if the ground itself were alive and flowing.
His song lilted and danced its merry way around my head. Mouth still feeling metallic and hollow I closed my eyes and began to feel overwhelmed with everything.
Though the tree swayed lightly in that musky damp breeze, I was having trouble keeping my balance. I felt as if I might lose my grip and fall up, down, or sideways. Brilliant patterns and colors danced behind my eyes, and as my sense of balance trickled back into my head I looked up from my arm.
The water was still much too bright and much too loud despite the almost nonexistent light.
The very ground the clown stood on seemed to be breathing to the tune of his song.
And with the blackest of grins, he looked at me.
~4/21
|
Ok ok no reason to panic i have done this before. It cant be too hard after all. As I walk over to the next tree i see I try to brace myself. "There is no way i can hurt myself. I saw the loading screen this is just a game. This is just a game!" Using this Mantra I close my eyes and punch as hard as I can, but i cant feel any resistance.
I can hear Stans maniac laughter even before he appears next to me. "Hahajajaja, xaxaxa not even 15 seconds and you glitch through a tree and get stuck. That must be the new record, i have to tell Hans about this." "What do you mean stuck?" I try to stand up, but my left leg has been fused with the tree and i just slam my face into the ground again, "Ouch! And who the fuck is Hans?" Stan is standing above me holding a camera. As I try to smack the camera away he just takes a step back "No worries you are already at 150 million viewers. If you keep it up you can become a real star in no time. What did you ask again?" He thinks for a moment "Oh right Hans." He takes out a whistle and blows it once. "If you want to take a look behind you. Thats Spot, he is Hans dog. Now if you excuse me this will be great film material of your first fight. Perfect Advertisement."
I quickly turn around just in time to see a Giant 3 headed dog jumping towards me.
With a scream i wake up. Blue Sky above me and grass as far as i can see. It was just a dream.
I stand up and look around to see if i can find any clothes...
| 2017-04-20T20:16:30 | 2017-04-20T17:20:48 | 45 | 23 |
[WP] Everyone receives a Skill or Talent on their 16th birthday. Yours is Dragon Tamer. But dragons don't exist.
|
"Arthur? Arthur, are you even paying attention?"
I looked up from my notebook to see Carey looking at me, concerned. "Huh? Yeah, yeah, I'm paying attention. What is it?"
"Well, you just marked that bond as ionic when it's *clearly* covalent. We went over this in class just yesterday, don't you remember?"
"Yeah, Carey, I remember." I groaned as I started furiously rubbing the page with my eraser. "It's just, there's too much to keep track of, and-"
Carey laughed. "Too much to keep track of? What are you, stupid? This is like the most basic thing. If you think this is hard, just wait until we get to-"
Suddenly, Carey's face dropped.
"I'm... I'm sorry, Arthur. Sometimes I forget that you don't have a Talent for this."
"No, it's- it's fine." I said, trying my best to keep the frustration out of my voice. "Let's just move on, okay?"
"You sure? We can go over again if you want. Maybe a bit slower?"
"Look, just because I don't have a Talent for this doesn't mean I'm fucking disabled, okay?"
The two of us sat in silence for a moment.
I took a deep breath. "Let's just take a break for a bit, alright?"
"Alright." Carey got up from the table and headed into the kitchen, returning with two cups of coffee. Together, we sipped at our cups, the silence in the room growing ever thicker.
Carey was the first to break it. "Say, Arthur... why are you here? I mean, every other Ph.D. student I know has some kind of relevant Talent. Like, I know the admissions department isn't supposed to discriminate, and that technically you can still succeed without a Talent, but still... why would you put yourself through all of this?"
I sighed. "Say, Carey, did I ever tell you what my Talent really is?"
"Yeah, I think I remember. You shouted it from the rooftops that one time you were drunk. Dragon Slayer, right?"
"Dragon Tamer." I corrected Carey. "I... listen, don't laugh, but I want to find a dragon."
"You... dragon, right? The flying mythological beast? Listen, I hate to burst your bubble, but you're a bit old to still be believing in fairy tales. Dragons don't exist."
"Don't exist yet." I corrected. "That's why I want to make one."
"Make one?"
"Yeah, that's why I'm studying here. Like, maybe, if like we put some bat DNA together with... I don't know, like a crocodile or something? I know, it's stupid, it's crazy, but there's got to be something out there I can try."
Carey laughed. "You're right, that's both stupid and crazy."
I laughed as well. "Well, it's just... I don't want to go through my life thinking I never had any Talent at all. Before I die, I want to see a dragon, and I want to tame it. That's what I want to do."
Carey looked at me wistfully. "That's nice, having a dream like that. Sometimes, I wish I had something like that too...."
"I thought you said your dream was to become a doctor, get a good paying job, and make your parents proud?"
Carey laughed. "No, that wasn't a dream, it's more of a requirement for my continued survival. My dream... well, I don't think I've ever had a dream before. Not like you. You're lucky."
"The biochemistry Ph.D. student with a Talent literally called Biochemist is calling me lucky?"
"Haha, yeah, you're right. Anyway, we should get back to studying. Where did we leave off again? Oh yeah, right, so you can tell this should be an ionic bond and not a covalent one because..."
______________________________________________________
*Twenty years later*
"Hey, Dragon Tamer! You tame those toilets on the second floor yet?"
"On it, boss." I grumbled as I trudged towards the stairs.
"Hey, let me know if you find a dragon in one of them! I'll call everyone over to take a look!" He laughed again. Asshole.
After I flunked out of grad school, I soon learned two things. First, that the B.S. I had in biochemistry was worth as much as the toilet paper I was currently sweeping up. And second, that no place would hire someone with a Talent that didn't match their job description, anti-discrimination laws be damned.
After a long day of work, I came home to find my mailbox stuffed full of bills. I passed them by; those seemed like a problem for tomorrow's me.
As I started paging through the messages on my phone, I saw one from Carey.
"Hey, Arthur! It's Carey. I know, it's been ages, hasn't it? Anyway, did you want to grab some dinner tonight and catch up?"
After I left, Carey went on to get a Ph.D. and a cushy tenured position at a big-shot research university. After that, I sort of lost track, mostly because it was too depressing to keep up with all the achievements.
Well, I guess I wasn't doing anything tonight anyway. I texted Carey back, "Yeah, sure, sounds good."
My phone buzzed almost immediately. "Great! Let's meet up in front of my lab at 8, we can head to dinner from there."
_____________________________________________________
I walked up to the lab to see Carey standing outside, wearing a lab coat that looked like it had been through hell. The coat was riddled with holes and tears, the sleeves were singed, and one of the pockets was stained red, as though something inside was dripping with blood. And the owner didn't seem to be in much better shape: it looked like Carey hadn't slept in days.
As I approached, Carey gave me a wide grin. "Hey, Arthur, perfect timing! Say, before we head out, would you mind if we head back up to the lab for a moment? There's something I need to take care of. It'll just be a bit, don't worry."
"I can wait down here if you want..." I offered, still staring at Carey's disheveled state.
"No, no, listen, Arthur. There's something I want to show you, okay? Just come up."
Relenting, I allowed Carey to drag me upstairs to the lab. There, I saw a state of utter pandemonium. Shards of broken glass bottles littered the floor, their contents spilling everywhere. Several of the workbenches were on fire, with a few harrowed-looking grad students running around with extinguishers trying desperately to put them out.
And, in the middle of it all, there sat a small green winged lizard hissing angrily at one of the students trying to approach it.
Behind me, Carey whispered. "Marvelous, isn't it? Getting the pteranodon DNA to recombine properly was a real hassle, let me tell you! But, in the end, we got everything working perfectly! Except, well..." Carey gestured to the lab, still in shambles. "We do have a *slight* problem. I don't suppose you could maybe help us out here? None of us really have a Talent for this..."
I looked at Carey, tears welling up in my eyes.
"It would be my pleasure."
|
"Dragon tamer!?" I mutter to myself. "Useless. Absolutely useless. Unless... no, it's useless."
I cower before the pitying stares of my classmates and teachers, the sympathetic glances of strangers passing by.
At precisely 12:00 on one's birthday, they would fine their talent in a dream that lasted ten minutes, a fainting episode, if you will.
Mine entailed me riding a dragon, a beautiful teal beast, a western dragon, with a eastern dragon of the same colour swimming below, before I jump off the fire one and land on the water one.
I had always liked dragons of both varieties; I loved how they could fly or swim, how they could be cruel or kind.
But I knew that they weren't real.
So what was my talent?
Firebreathing didn't work. Shapeshifting? No way. Writing dragons? Not really, I was never one for writing.
One day, precisely one day before a month after my dragon dream, two eggs were shipped to me in the mail.
Then, the next day, precisely a month after my dragon dream, they hatched.
One of them was an eastern dragon the same colour as my dream and I quickly made it a home in a bowl before buying a proper home for it. My parents were quite well-off, I could petition them to let me use the lake on our grounds for my eastern dragon.
The other was a fire dragon, a western dragon, identical in colour to the water dragon. Perhaps I could put it in the cave-home that double-functioned as a guest house. As a bonus, the cave-home was next to the lake.
Now to name them.
"Asumisia," I decided for the eastern dragon. I had always liked the sound of it, although I had made it up myself. It was a pretty name, suitable for the young dragon.
"Elorennia," I declare for the western dragon. It was a pretty name I had fancied up from Lorenne, and a bit from Eloren.
I liked fanciful names. They were a frivolousness usually reserved only for the fictional pages of fantasy.
But again, so were dragons.
| 2021-08-03T23:37:33 | 2021-08-03T19:37:14 | 35 | 23 |
[WP] There’s a strange girl at school but you’re just so attracted to her. You’re a little awkward but your best friend says go ask ask her out dude the worst thing that could happen is she says “no”. So you go over and ask her out but what happens was way way way worse than her saying “no”.
|
There are worse things in this world than the answer, "No." I kept repeating that mantra through my head as I nervously approached the new girl, pale blonde hair cut short in a bob that framed her face into a pale oval. Dark eyes flashed like sparks in the night, staring into you with an indifference no one could read. She was entirely apart, entirely unfathomable, and I was smitten almost immediately. I just knew I wasn't the only one; I could tell as I made my way that other guys around the courtyard of the school could read my intent, watching in resentful anticipation as I made the first move.
I blinked and her eyes filled my vision, nearly black and almost baleful, she was peering inside of me. She was examining my soul as much as my face. She could see through intent, she could study the intricate details of my psyche as easily as a pattern on my shirt. She could- I blinked again because she'd murmured something softly and I'd missed it. "H-huh?" I mumbled.
"I said, can I help you with something?" She repeated.
I swallowed nervously, my mouth dry, my heart hammering away in my chest. She smiled, her eyes flashing dangerously. Did she just lick her lips? "Oh yeah, I uh..." I rubbed the spread of stubble on my chin and continued to stammer, "Did you uh... I mean, would you like to, y'know..."
"You know?" She repeated after me, her face holding the slightest hint of amusement.
"Yeah, uh, you know..." All around her the world was growing bright, the temperature was rising. My cheeks were flushed and I could see several girls and a few guys snickering scornfully, ready to lose it. They were celebrating my absolute failure, right here in front of the entire world. I was being offered up as the first of many foolish sacrifices to the pile of those clearly unworthy to speak to this girl, completely and utterly-
"You know?" She repeated again, this time an actual question, waiting for me to finish.
There are worse things in this world than the answer, "No." The mantra swam through my thoughts again and I gritted my teeth, a wave of determination washing over me. "You wanna go out sometime?" I asked, definitively, sternly, assertively. My offer was thrust forth, awaiting her parry. I felt like I'd shouted my challenge to the world, and the world responded in kind with silence. Awe. Anticipation. Fear.
"Yes," she answered simply, her eyes full of some unknowable feeling, some uninterpretable depth. I found myself lost, standing in a black world with a single shimmering moon high above. My will was slipping away, draining into the moon high above its radiance filling me, replacing my own control with something else. Something dark and powerful and terrifying. It felt warm, but it wasn't real warmth. It was warmth compared to being met with the chill outside a pool of water. Slinking back into the water meant warmth, but it meant you were without warmth. Your body would soon succumb. You had no power. You had no life. You were gone. Staring into her eyes felt like hypothermia.
I blinked and she was in front of me again and the world was around me and I felt the chill in my bones. "Oh uh, wait, yeah?"
"Yes, of course. I'm Dahlia." She extended her hand and I reached out to shake it. She murmured her address, the time, the place, the date to me. It was like a chant, her soft tones echoed throughout my mind and I barely noticed my hand was bleeding after she released it. I just hoped I hadn't gotten blood on her. Everyone around stared in muted shock as Dahlia nearly glided away, her feet silent on the brick as she disappeared into the afterschool throng. My friend was beside me, shaking my shoulder and excitedly asking me how it went, but I couldn't hear him. I could only hear Dahlia's command, no, her request. A request of love, that I cradled in my heart. Her eyes were black and empty, no, not empty but full. Full of the void, full and comforting and warm and cold? But also warm and so lovely. She had asked me to bring something to our date. I needed my friend for that, it was what Dahlia demanded, no, not demanded, but requested, oh so pleasantly.
I couldn't remember where or when our date was to take place, but Friday night I found my feet taking me where I needed to go. I arrived there, at that place in the woods, a path that wove between two trees, two specific trunks that could've been any two trees. The path could've been anywhere and nowhere and yet it brought me to her, to Dahlia, and her dark eyes full of love and warmth and hunger. She stood in the center of a circle carved into a slab of stone in the center of a clearing. Around the edges of the clearing, the trees writhed and twisted, their shapes like smoke and shadow at the edges of my vision, at the edges of thought. The moon shone a spotlight upon Dahlia, the only thing that mattered. She had asked for a gift, and I could not deny her.
"Did you bring it to me, you foolish boy?" She giggled, her voice something beyond the human tongue now. I didn't hear so much as feel it throughout my limbs and along the edges of every nerve, a voice so hungry and full of love. Every synapse and sensation was overcome with her presence, her dominating radiance. Her love was overwhelming and so cold and warm and awful. Her voice was a weight, heavy and overwhelming, and yet I shouldered it with all the might and strength of a lover.
"Of course, Dahlia," I answered eagerly, dumping the bag I'd carried here, the bag I remembered I had in my hand at that very moment.
"Not on the ground, fool, on the altar," she hissed, her form radiating silky moonlight around her in waves. She was almost floating, weightless in the clearing as moonlight danced upon her skin.
I staggered to the altar, something cool and wet dripping from my nose. I wiped away the blood from my nostril and kept stumbling forward, my head hurting, my heart aching, screaming agony in every cell in my brain.
"You've done well, fool now set it there," and she gestured to the altar. The altar was nearly white, nearly luminous, and a strange symbol was carved into it. It shifted in the earth as I drew near. The altar almost seemed to expand, cracks forming in the porcelain surface as it swelled as if it were breathing. I placed the bag there, pulled the edges away to reveal its bloody contents. Dahlia had demanded a gift; kindly she had asked for blood, and blood I had brought. "What a beautiful gift you've brought me, foolish lover." In the center of the altar lay a heart, a human heart. I stared at it dumbly, my head pounding, my heart throbbing, blood dripping from my nose and down my chin. And then in an instant, the heart was gone and so too had the pain vanished.
"We are connected now, fool. My love will belong to you, and you shall belong to me." Dahlia was suspended above the clearing now, shafts of moonlight streaming from her eyes and mouth and pooling below her like milk, thick and warm. "Drink now and go, for there is more work to be done." I did as she commanded and stared up at her visage. Her skin was nearly translucent, cracked like glass and stained with splotches of blood. She was upside-down, her hair falling in curving slices of marble ending in shining lavender points like the dripping fangs of some inhuman predator, an impossible intelligence behind her dark, beautiful eyes. Her arms extended away into shadow, long tendrils of white dripping upwards into the darkness. Her legs split a thousand times until they were a million threads of wire sinking into the ground and the sky and the moon. I could see a thread snaking up from the earth and into my chest, and when I tugged at it I felt my chest throb.
"Don't tug at your boutonnière, my love. Now, take my bouquet and bring me more gifts." The 'bouquet' rose suddenly from the pool of white: an ax of silverish light, glowing and sparkling in the pool. When I took it, the light danced away in sparks and the ax became solid as if it were made of white granite. I trudged out of the clearing, my grim task before me. Not so grim, just labor. A labor of love. And as I wandered out of the woods and felt her eyes behind mine staring into town, into the windows, and through the doors, I could feel her cool touch on my doubts and fears. For there are worse things in this world than the answer, "No."
---
If you liked this, check out my subreddit r/senatorpikachu for more writing kind of like this.
|
"Sure," Melissa replied with a twinkle in her eye, "meet me behind Gertz' after Organic Chem." She spun away, her long golden locks dancing in the late afternoon light.
I stood stunned. That did not just happen… did it?
Melissa was special. Some girls would have taken that God-given beauty, and milked it for all it was worth. Not Melissa though, I’ve never seen her charm others to do her bidding. Instead, she was quiet and reserved. And although she was polite when spoken to, she mostly kept to herself. Melissa was the proverbial rose in the desert. Untouched, unblemished.
When I invited her to dinner, I fully expected a shy smile and a shake of her head.
"No way!" Jonas guffawed buffonishly by my side as we watched Melissa walk away. I think he went on to say something else as well, but all I heard was Melissa's mirthful voice, and the way it had turned a single word into a heavenly chorus.
Professor Taylor's lecture on heterogeneous catalysis went on forever and an age. I spent every moment tracking the minute hand as it took its leisurely stroll around the clock. When it finally reached the bottom in a (seemingly) resounding *clank*, I yanked my zipped backpack off the floor and leapt out of my chair.
I was going to see Melissa. We were going to have dinner. Together! The doors couldn't open fast enough, and I bumped my head on the way out. It did not dampen my spirits.
I walked hurriedly - ran, almost - to Gertz’. The bar was on the other side of campus, on the back-end near the tracks. When I got there, the place was still relatively quiet, its nightly patrons only just starting to stream in as the final classes of the day let out. I darted around the empty green bins as I squeezed my way through the narrow side-alley. The overhanging wall-light flickered and dimmed as I passed underneath, and my shirt snagged on a jagged turn of the sewer pipe lining the bar’s outer walls.
The sun had fully set, and the only light behind Gertz’ was a solitary lightbulb near the bar’s rear exit. I stood in the small pool of yellow in a sea of black. I could barely make out the chain link fence a few feet away which ferried VIA rail into town.
Melissa was not here yet.
I fished out my phone and decided to give her a call… then realized I didn’t have her number. I slipped my hands into my pocket and leaned against the wall. She would be here soon anyways, I’d just have to wait a bit.
The chilly night air picked up, and I tugged my jacket around me. The weather vane on the roof spun with a grotesque grind. I looked up with a frown, was it supposed to sound like that? A light twinkled near the rusty rooster, and I shuffled to the side to get a better look. A shape was hunched there, slowly twisting the metallic ornament out of its fixture. My face twisted in a pained grimace, and I covered my ears to block out the grating metal’s cries.
“Hey, stop that!” I cried. “What are you doing?”
The shape froze, then unfurled as it rose to standing height. Atop its head, long wispy shadows streamed in the wind.
I cocked my head, a question rising tentatively to my lips.
“... M-”
The final syllable caught in my throat as the shape dashed off the roof. Its wide maw was a circular row of calcite needles, and the abyssal depths within grew to engulf the world.
**- H.M. Bishop**
​
edit: formatting and word choice
| 2019-07-18T22:33:12 | 2019-07-18T22:25:02 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Aliens came to Earth and call us the "most advanced species", the "final form of evolution". Not because of technology, but because we are the only species in universe that can make fun about almost everything.
|
Sara sat in the viewing lounge, just her and Peter. She pulled at the collar around her neck, already lamenting the way it chaffed her skin, and stole a glance at the clock. She told herself she would be here for an hour, just an hour, but the minutes alone were an eternity to endure.
She turned briefly when the knock came on the heavy mahogany doors.
“Mrs Blakely? I’m so sorry to interrupt,” said Parsons, the town’s only funereal manager. “I think you have guests.”
“Guests? There are none that I can think of who would come.”
“Er… it’s the Humerreans, Mrs Blakely. They’ve quite respectfully asked to join you, but of course, if you would rather not, I can certainly tell them to-”
Sara smiled and waved her assent. Hushed whispers ensued from outside the lounge, then a quartet of Humerreans, the most common cluster in their society, sloshed in on tentative tentacles. It was all Sara could do not to laugh.
“Oh my, you lot look really spiffy today in your suits!”
“We were told this is the appropriate attire,” said the Hummerean leading the group, the designated communicator for today, “though the collar’s too tight. I fear that hardly enough silicone is flowing to my extremities.”
“That makes two of us! Come, sit next to me! Peter would be glad to know that you bothered to come.”
The Hummereans perched as carefully as they could on the chairs, which were clearly not designed to accommodate what were essentially giant sentient jellyfish.
“How did you all know Peter?”
“Um… Spawnmother,” the Hummerean said, using the honorific for the female head of a family cluster, “in truth we didn’t know your mate. We came to observe you, actually.”
“Me?” said Sara, the surprise washing over her. “What’s there to observe about me?”
“To learn more about you humans. Our instruments detected that at this moment, in the entire county, you’re the person feeling the most intense sorrow and loss. We wanted to see, please, what a human who is experiencing that looks like.”
“Well, what do you want to know?”
From within their cluster, Sara heard the rude beeping of electronic instruments, and the other three Hummereans chittered excitedly in their own tongue amongst themselves. To her untrained ear, it sounded much like a school of fish beating each other from inside a pail.
“Spawnmother, why is it that you… are willing to exist through this maelstrom of despair? Any of us would have… ended it ourselves, by our own tentacles. Why… do you persist?”
Sara thought for a moment, but in truth, she already knew what she was going to say.
“For starters, it’s nice to see that Peter’s finally wearing that suit I made for him a couple of years ago! I had it secretly tailored, as a gift. It was something, anything, to get him to throw away that other moth-eaten ratty excuse he wore everywhere. I saved for months too, but the old fool, he refused to wear it! He said it was the nicest suit he had ever received, he could not bear to crease it, and he was going to save it for a special occasion. But he never did! He always said there was something more special round the corner! Well, he didn’t have much say in it this time, did he? Oh, what I would give to see his reaction!”
Sara chuckled heartily, a smug smile finding its way onto her lips. Her response did little to assuage the confusion besetting the Hummereans.
“Spawnmother… you laugh, but our instruments… never mind. Tell us then, what are you going to do next?”
“I’ve got a lot to do! I can’t be here for too long, I’m going to go home and spend all that money we’ve been saving up! It started as a joke, you see, a little tontine, just from us. He started it, Peter did, when I had that fall a few years back and I was bedridden for a while. Those days when he sat by me, tended to me, then all of a sudden smiling that mischievous grin, saying we should take turns to put money in the kitty, maybe a fiver a day, so that the survivor takes all! Peter was so sure he would win it, he told me always of how he would buy that motorcycle he’s been eyeing all these years, and I would say, you old cracker they don’t even sell those anymore! And you would fall off one if you tried!”
Sara’s laughter bounced off the walls, rich and earthy, a stark contrast to the indifferent pips issuing from the instruments.
“Spawnmother, surely, our instruments do not lie. We’re detecting that you’re getting even sadder as you tell us these things, so why do you go on? What’s there to look forward to?”
“I’m not lying,” Sara said, folding her hands on her lap, looking at Peter, at rest. “I do miss the old bugger. And of course I wish he were still here with me. But when I go home today, when I sit on my spot on the couch, and I place my hands on the fabric where his tubby bottom has nearly worn through, he won’t feel so far away, do you know what I mean? It’s not just that, but it’s everything else, too. I’ll see him in the flowers he planted outside our apartment, the magazines he subscribed to, piling up in the corner because his eyesight was going. I’ll see him too in the songs, those few songs, which come over the radio sometime, and I’ll remember when he pretended to know them all, when he danced in the kitchenette, yelling at me to look because he was better than Elvis and I would have tears in my eyes from just how silly he looked!”
The instruments beeped one final time as their delicate internal machinery broke, unable to capture the profoundness of what Sara was feeling.
“I think I’ll even see him with every laugh of mine which rings in my ears. That’s what Peter did the best, you see. He made the days slip by so fast because there was always something amusing around the corner, which he would point out to me, highlight to me. Peter may not be here now, but there’s so much, so very much, which Peter has left for me to savour. And I may be sad, but there’s just so much waiting for me, don’t you think?”
The Hummereans had no reply to that, so they sat quietly, crossing and un-crossing their tentacles.
Then the clock struck the hour, and Sara stood, bowed briefly to Peter, and tipped her head slightly towards the Hummereans, in the way that all old distinguished ladies do.
And she left, not looking back.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
The aliens arrived, excited, exalted. They'd traveled so very far, so very long, just for this glorious moment.
After all these years, they'd finally be meeting the one species that just really did not give a fuck. In a universe that was nigh infinite, that was a startlingly unique occurrence.
See, sentience comes with a heavy price. Everyone just takes themselves so *seriously*. No one seems to be able to let their tentacles down, laugh at themselves a little.
"I think, therefore I am *fucking insufferable*," right?
The aliens, teenagers back on their home planet, had never been so exhilarated. Not only were they finally meeting the humans, but they'd been in hypersleep for 10 years.
Which meant *an extra 10 years worth of media to watch.*
They landed, as the humans all stared at their spaceship in varying states of distress.
The aliens smiled, nodding at each other. The planet was beautiful, just like they'd seen in the movies. Their new home was going to be a magical place.
They donned their space suits and walked out into the open. The humans, predictably, all ran away; all save for one. One was brave enough to walk up right to them.
And thus, they started to speak with a human for the very first time.
*****
Earth was rapidly becoming a pale blue dot. The aliens still hadn't spoken to each other since their conversation with the human.
The tension was palpable.
Eventually, one broke the silence, turning towards his friend with a heavy sigh.
"The fuck is a *SJW*, anyway?"
| 2017-03-20T07:56:49 | 2017-03-20T05:20:21 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] "This is your captain speaking. I'm afraid we're going to be on the tarmac a little longer - this plane is now under quarantine."
|
"What does he mean *quarantine?*" huffed the elderly lady next to me, her voice high in indignant exasperation. "We've already been on the ground for four hours - *four hours!* - well, I've had enough. I want to go home. I'll be putting in a complaint! Just you wait and see if I don't."
"Try not to worry - it's most likely nothing," I replied, forcing my lips into a broad smile, but seemingly doing little to reassure the lady. I could tell that behind her bravado, she was scared. "I suspect they're just being cautious."
"What would you know about it?" she snapped.
"My name is Sarah," I explained, "and I'm a doctor."
Her face finally relaxed a little, and her breathing began to slow.
"Well, what did they mean *under quarantine?*" she repeated. "If you're a doctor, you must know about diseases in this place."
A man with dark hair leaned over to us from a seat on the adjacent aisle. "Someone probably tried the on board food," he quipped. "I ordered the chicken on the way out here - poor thing didn't look well. Can't say I was feeling great the next day, either."
I couldn't help but giggle. The lady next to me didn't find it so amusing.
"Someone on this plane could have that... *eboola*," she said, horrified someone had the audacity to joke about the situation.
"Ebola," I corrected her, "And it's very unlikely - there have been no cases in Egypt, as of yet. Besides, the outbreak is dying down, not growing."
"Well, it could be something else - something similar. A worse disease, maybe," she persisted, screwing up her face as if she was chewing on a lemon. She turned her back to me and started rummaging through her bag.
"Hey," the guy said again. "You're a doctor?"
"Yes. Doctor Sarah Browning - general practitioner," I replied, offering a hand across the aisle.
"Dan Everett," he said, shaking mine firmly. "Seems like the old girl *wants* it to be something serious. You think there's anything in it?"
"Honestly, I doubt it, but I'm going to go offer my services to the crew," I replied, already unbuckling my belt.
"I'll come with you," he said. "I'm a police officer back home - I might be of some use, if things get rowdy."
The elderly lady turned to face me again, a frown plastered on her face. "They said to remain in our seats!"
Dan joined me in the aisle and leaned over to the lady. "I hear the eboola is in row E already," he said quietly, "and it's moving this way quick."
The lady sat upright and her eyes went wide, before she realised Dan was joking.
"You're an officer?" I asked, a little bemused.
"Didn't say I was a good one," he grinned.
"You shouldn't tease her! She might have had a heart attack. Besides, maybe she's right."
"About the Eboola?"
I rolled my eyes. "No, not *ebola,* but there might be something in it."
The plane was alive with the sound of loud, confused voices, and as we walked toward the front of the craft, we saw a number of people talking on their phones.
"Excuse me," Dan said to a teenager who had just finished on his. "The person you spoke to - they don't know anything about this, right?"
"Spoke to?" the kid said. "I didn't speak to no one. There's no reception. Hasn't been for a couple of hours"
"But... people are talking on their phones," I said, looking around.
"Leaving messages. For loved ones," the kid answered.
We continued down the aisle until we neared the pilot's cabin. Three attendants were gathered around a large, well tanned man, who seemed to be wrestling with an emergency exit.
"Let me off!" he yelled, in a thick Brooklyn accent. "If there's a sickness on board, I ain't getting it, that's for damn sure." He was pushing against the exit's lever, but it wasn't budging.
"Please sir," said an attendant, "you don't want to do that!"
"I sure as shit do," he grunted, leaning down on the handle.
"It won't open," said another attendant. "The plane's on quarantine lock-down. Besides, you wouldn't want to leave."
"The hell I wouldn't!" The man tried once more, his head turning purple and veins popping up on his forehead like a road network. Dan walked up to him, gently placed his hands on his shoulders, and pulled him away.
"Don't worry, buddy," he said. "It's going to be fine. It's all just precautionary."
"Excuse me," I said to the third attendant. "Can you give us any more details about what's transpiring."
"She's a doctor," Dan butted in, leaving the Brooklyn man panting on a chair. "She might be able to help the guy who's sick.
"No one's sick," she said. It was then I saw how pale and sullen her pallor was. That I noticed the sweat trickling down her face in rivulets. All three attendants looked... not *sick*, exactly - more just, anxious.
"What do you mean?" I queried. "We're on lock-down and the plane's under quarantine. *Someone's* got to be ill - or at least, suspected of being ill."
"That's what we've been trying to tell the other gentleman," said the attendant. "We've just heard from the pilot. People are sick - *very sick* - nearly everyone, from what we know. But not us, yet. Not the people on board."
"Wh- what?" I said, my arm's trembling. A moment later, I felt the plane start to rock slightly, as if it was experiencing very gentle turbulence - but, we were still on the tarmac. I went to a window in time to see twenty or so people running and crawling toward the plane. Their eyes were open wide and red dribble was running down from their mouths.
"Jesus Christ," I whispered.
|
Looking around I quickly realized I was the only one not wearing an oxygen mask. Pressing the emergency call button to see what the issue was, a man dressed in all black approached my seat. "Sir, what seems to be the issue?". "I need help releasing my mask it seems to be stuck". "I wouldn't bother the mask won't prevent you from being infected, since you already are". The room began to fill with gas as my skin began to boil. "Help!" I screamed while running towards the door. I felt arms wrap around my waist as I was dragged to the floor. "Subject is detained, continue with quarantine". The air became thin as I gasped for my last breath. As I began to pass out the pilot came over the loud speaker again. "Fasten your seat belts, we will be take off shortly. Thank you for flying United Airlines". As I was loaded onto the stretcher I realized this was the last time I'd ever fly standby.
| 2017-06-13T08:11:50 | 2017-06-13T07:36:28 | 248 | 31 |
[WP] On the Valentine's Day after their 18th birthday, a person is given a box that contains an assortment of flowers that foretell a person's life. While others get huge assortments of bouquets, flower crowns, and pots, you open your box and find a single, wilting tulip.
I was planting some tulips the other day and this popped idea popped into my head. I have a story for this, and I am eager to see what other people have to write!
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"Hey Daniel, we're doing happy hour tonight at Styx. You should join us. But bring the happy fun Daniel. Sad sack Dan can stay home." The message read.
"Maybe some other time." He typed out a quick reply and sighed before stuffing the phone deep in his pocket.
Daniel Milton was a quiet man. Didn't go out much, didn't do much else besides work, go home, play some video games, and go to sleep. He wrote technical manuals for a living. The few acquaintances he had would describe him as introverted. Shy. Boring.
At 26 years of age and counting, Daniel Milton had never been in a romantic relationship.
>"You're a creep."
>"Uh, no? Gross."
>"Go out with you? In your dreams."
He tried to put himself out there. Repeatedly. All he got was pain. It's not that he was ugly. He just had trouble expressing himself. Kept falling over his own words. He was a boring man that loved logic and reason, and the idea of an arrangement of flowers deciding his fate seemed ludicrous, then and now. But as the years went by he too, began to believe that this was all his life would amount to. He'd received just the lone, sad, dessicated tulip while those around him received bouquets of roses and color, after all.
And so on one particularly rough night of existential loneliness, he came to a decision.
...
There was a stinging cold, all the way up there. The wind howled and buffeted against his body, and his tie flailed listlessly.
The city sprawled out wide before him. He looked down, quickly looked back up again, suppressing a gulp. Emotions welled up and tears edged out the corners of his eyes, despite his best efforts to hold them back. He scrawled a quick note on a piece of A4 lined paper, folded it into a neat square, and tucked it into his breast pocket. He pulled out that cursed bouquet box. Clutched it tightly against his hands. And took a shuddering breath.
Just as he was about to take the last step forward-
he heard the roof access door open with a dull creak.
A young woman with raven hair stepped up onto the roof.
Daniel turned around. Even from a distance he saw her eyes were wet, eyeliner running down the corners of her eyes.
They both saw each other, and froze.
An awkward silence descended upon the two of them. It was obvious why they were up on this roof tonight.
But Daniel decided to ask anyway.
"What are you doing here?" He asked, quickly wiping at his eyes with his sleeve.
"... Same as what you were planning, it looks like."
Daniel gave a mirthless laugh. "Get your own damn roof. Spot's taken."
"Why?" She asked, getting closer.
"I was here first." And then, he spotted it. Clasped in her hands, was that damned box. He sighed. "You too, huh?"
"Me too, what?"
"Your bouquet. Let me see it." He said, stepping off from the ledge and getting onto her level.
"...You first."
Honestly, he didn't know why he brought the damned thing with him. Maybe he wanted to destroy the cursed tulip along with his own body.
"Fine. Here." He showed her the lone tulip, sad and shriveled. "Your turn."
Her eyes widened. "That's-" she started, then wordlessly slid open the lid of her own box.
"Huh. Now hold on here..." Daniel said, scratching his head. "May I?"
She nodded, and he picked up his and hers and held them close together.
They were a perfect match. Two identical, wilted, tulips.
And now, he felt the compulsion to ask, despite how out of place it was considering the situation. But he had to confirm the theory.
"Are you... are you seeing anyone right now?"
"I've never been in a relationship before." She said flatly. "You?"
"Same here. I seem to have a natural talent for scaring away any woman I talk to." Daniel said, laughing that hollow laugh again.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because it's true." He said.
"It's not. I'm a woman and you haven't scared me off..." A pause. Then, "...Well actually... I have the same problem, but for men." She said.
Daniel remained silent and she continued.
"Because of this." She stepped closer toward him and out from the shadow. He got a good close look at her from beneath the moonlight. There were pink splotches across her face, and her right cheek was disfigured in a tangle of scars.
*Jesus Christ.* was what Daniel wanted to say, but he bit his tongue. "H-hey, it's not that-"
"Don't. Just, don't." She snapped at him before retreating back into the shadows. "I know how it looks. I'm hideous."
"Oh come on..." He began but happened to spot something on her shirt. "Oh hey, that's Xapherman from Fayon Fantasy! You play?" He asked, both excited to find someone with a shared interest and desperate to change the subject and the hole he'd found himself in.
"...Yeah. Since I look like this, I like to escape in MMOs. You prob think that's really sad, huh." She said, face still hidden by shadows, eyes downcast.
"Nope. Nothing sad about it. Add me. Let's party up."
"H-huh? B-but... weren't we going to... You know?" She jerked her chin towards the ledge.
"I don't want to anymore." He said simply.
"What?"
"I said I don't want to anymore. Tell you what, I know this neat Cafe down the street..." He began. Then took a breath to steady his nerves. He'd do it. He'd put himself out there just one last time. "How about... Y'know... Want to... want to go get a coffee with me?" He cringed. The delivery sounded cooler in his head.
"Wh- r-right now?"
Daniel gave his best winning smile. "Right now. If you're free."
"Oh... oh... You're asking me. On a date?"
Daniel blushed. "Erm. Y-yeah. I guess? I mean. We don't have to label anything yet if you're not comfortable. I just thought it'd be nice and you know, talk and get to know you and it seems like we'd like the same things and I-" He stumbled over his words again. He always did this. Always babbled when he got flustered.
Always came across as a weirdo to people.
*But to her...*
"Yes. I would love to get a coffee with you. It's a date." She said, cutting off his babbling and stepping out from the shadows. She grasped the lone tulip from her bouquet case and placed it next to Daniel's in his case. And smiled a bright and happy smile that reached her eyes and shined despite the splotches and scars across her face. And Daniel, entranced by her beauty in that moment, laid a hand atop hers, resting them upon the joined tulips.
*Because to her... she'd found her lone, wilted tulip. Imperfect, yet beautiful to its beholder.*
*And he had found his.*
-----
/r/TopReputationWrites
|
Carefully I pick up the cold dying tulip. Spinning the flower in between my fingers, apathy fills my mind. My first thought is to throw it away.
But my uncle taught me better. Taking the box outside I grab a shovel and fill it with dirt. Watering the dirt I dig my hands in and loosen said dirt before burying the tulip inside.
Pushing some sort over the tulip I felt a sense of relief. Smiling I shrugged it off and headed back inside.
Over the past few days I watered the dirt and watched for any changes.
A week had passed and I returned from college. I stop as a familiar figure is patting the box. "What brings you here?" I asked startling the visitor.
"Ohh!" She says as she falls on her bum.
"Come ere lass" holding my arm out she takes it and I pull her off the ground.
Smiling she nervously fidgets. "I see you planted the tulip" she whispers as her heavy clothing hides most of her figure.
"True...I don't know if she'll make a recovery so I am hoping a bit of revival can get her up and running" I say as I glance at the box.
I shift my weight to the left leg as I notice a tiny green pimple.
"It seems to be working...after all I knew you could revive any flower" whispers the lass as she stared at the green pimple.
"So it was you who gave me a dead flower" I said feeling slightly offended.
Startled she grabbed her scarf hiding her face. Sighing once more I nodded. "Come inside lass. I'll make us some tea"
"Are you angry?" She asked shy.
"Surprised it's the term...err thank you for the flower anyhow* I say as I clear throat.
Smiling I can see her rushing towards the door like a kitten coming home.
"Maybe Valentine's ain't so bad" I say as I close the door behind me.
| 2022-04-19T20:25:42 | 2022-04-19T19:46:20 | 38 | 13 |
[WP] You've done it, you've pulled off the perfect kidnapping! but when your victim wakes up from their drugged state, their first reaction is not the expected fear, nor the understandable confusion, no, the first words out of their mouth are "oh, dear, I have gotten rusty, haven't I"
|
\[Sun Seeking Fun\]
"...I have gotten rusty, haven't I?" The albino girl with short, silver hair wiggled her fingers and stared at them with interest while Claude wondered how she was even awake. She took in enough tranquilizer to kill an elephant but she seemed lucid, even if she was easily distracted. They were in a sealed room in an abandoned warehouse. Claude was dropping her off when she stirred and he wasn't sure what to do.
It was one thing if she didn't wake up from the drugs someone else slipped her, that was a blame he could push on to other parties if he tried. Claude had never killed anyone and he definitely didn't want to start with a 14-year-old girl. She looked up at him as soon as he decided to try and slip out of the room.
"Hello!" she said. "You must be my captor, what's your name?" she asked with a broad smile.
"C-Claude..," he said. He had the presence of mind to consider whether he should give her his real name or not. Unfortunately, he did not have the faculties to make up a name on the spot.
"It's a pleasure to be here, Claude," the girl said. "You may call me Chroma. So, Claude, what's the next step? It's been so long since I played any game. Do I just escape now, or do I need to wait for something?"
Claude knew that he had a gun strapped to his back. He knew that they were on the third floor and that each floor had a half dozen armed guards. He did not know why this albino girl was special enough to warrant all that manpower. But, he did know that something in her voice hinted that she wouldn't have any trouble escaping. She had a confidence about her since she woke up, as if she knew something Claude didn't. Something told him her secret was better than his.
"You can try to escape...," Claude shrugged. "I won't try to stop you, but the guards on every floor might," he said.
"Nonsense," Chroma said. The girl raised her hand and wiggled her fingers at the air but nothing happened. "Right, I suppose it wouldn't be much of a game if I could do that," she said to herself. "Plan B, I suppose." Chroma stopped wiggling her fingers, then reached forward as if to pluck a flower petal from the air. Again, nothing happened.
"You," she looked at Claude suddenly. "You're my guard, does that mean you have my equipment?" she asked. He shook his head.
"I don't have anything!" he said. "Look!" He reached into his pockets and turned them out. "What's that?" he was concerned when a card-sized pane of glass fell out of his pocket and onto the white tile floor.
"That's my node!" Chroma said. She knelt down to retrieve it. Claude tilted his head and furrowed his brow.
"How…?" he asked aloud. "I didn't take that from you…,"
"Of course not," Chroma giggled. "You're just an -," she interrupted herself then looked at him closer.
"You know you didn't take it?" she asked. "Interesting," she added as she looked him up and down. "Tell me about yourself, Claude. How did you end up in this unsavory line of work?" Claude shrugged.
"You know how it is. Life doesn't always go according to plan," he replied.
"Oh?" Chroma smiled. "What plans didn't work out?"
"What do you mean?" Claude asked.
"You're here because something didn't work out? What was that? What hopes and dreams did you have before kidnapping little girls?"
"I…" Claude hesitated. Then he looked at her with colder eyes. "I don't gotta tell you my life story," he said. Chroma nodded.
"That's correct, you don't," she said. "I already know it. Your favorite number is 54. No matter how hard you try to think, this warehouse is your only memory. As far as you know, you probably feel like you just woke up but you've been doing this forever. Guarding a different prisoner every time, but they always escape." Claude stared at Chroma. He was too scared to admit she was right, but he also felt like he didn't have to.
“Who are you?” Claude asked. He needed some concrete answers to try and make sense of things again. “If you know so much, how did my boss kidnap you?” Claude’s only hope was to remind her of where she was; but, Chroma giggled.
“No one kidnapped me,” she said.
“Then, what? You just magically woke up in our care?” he asked. Claude didn’t like the thoughts her line of questioning brought and was trying to reassert their roles; he was the guard, she was his prisoner. But, he didn’t expect her to nod.
“Something like that,” she said. “To me...,” Chroma gestured at the dusty, dilapidated warehouse around them. “...this is just a game. We’re in the AlterNet, but it’s been some time since I last played,” she said.
“Missy...,” Claude said with his voice full of condescension. “...if this is a game you’ve got a messed up version of fun,” he placed his large hand on her shoulder and shook his head. “Who wants to get kidnapped?” Chroma giggled again and reached up to grab his wrist.
“Being kidnapped is just the set up,” she said. Then, she squeezed his wrist. “The fun part is escaping,” she said as he began to yell. “Violently.”
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1396 in a row. (Story #304 in year four.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on Sept. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until June 3rd. They are all collected at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/pj4t0b/tokuhigh_first_six_weeks/).
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A small mistake, a small mistake was all it took for a well crafted plan to fall into place. The pill, administered in a timely manner, left this CEO to fall uncousious while his security detail wasn’t around. Oh how they probably wished to have planned for *that* distraction while one the move; I couldn’t help but grin at our marvelous success.
"Oh"
"Dear..."
"I have gotten rusty, haven’t I ?"
How ? Who ? What kind of person reacts like this ? Are they even aware of their kidnapping ?
"Do you know how many times I have been through that kind of situation ?"
I put my book down, and rose from my chair, i don’t like their calmness, i feel like i’m missing something.
"What is happening, then ?", i asked.
"As I am currently held captive by a stiff chair and chains but not my wife, I assume someone successfully captured me for a ransom"
Clearly, I have overlooked something, but what ? How ?
He broke the silence again : "I suppose, during your due diligence on who I was, you missed the real object of my company"
"Don’t you sell software products to the government ?" I asked.
"In some way, I guess... I must say, you are the first one to kidnap me in over twenty years. Bravo ! Unfortunately for you..."
The room went dark, I heard chains fall and before i could react I was knocked out.
| 2021-11-01T15:45:30 | 2021-11-01T13:34:28 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] A law is enacted making trial by combat the only legal tool available to anyone for any dispute. An arms race for mercenary fighters heats up between Corporations, celebrities, and governments. You fight for Wendys.
|
"Single cheese..."
Beth is at the register and glances down towards the grill as she repeats the order back to the customer. It's on the computer screen but she knows I like to hear it. She is super cute, but pretty sure she just sees me as a father-figure. I start humming a little George Michael tune as I peel a slice of cheese off the stack.
If you cup the slice in your hand just right and slap it down hard on the grill perfectly flat, it makes a loud POP. The manager frowns at me. I ignore him; I've probably got 20 years on him. A couple cars are pulling in to the parking lot and he comes over to tell me to put some more meat on the grill as I am halfway done putting more meat on the grill.
I've got a spat in each hand, flipping patties and shifting them right to left across the hot grill. These spats are old school, from when I first started. Back when they made them with nice beefy wood handles and thick carbon steel. A lovely patina. With all the patties to one side, I stand one spat up on its edge and with both hands press down hard and push it up the grill like a giant razor blade. All the black layer rolls up in front of it, leaving a clean steel strip behind it. Flip the spat and scrape the grime into the grease trap. Doing this every day makes your forearms look like Popeye.
I hear Beth calling out a few more orders and I deliver perfectly cooked patties to Delondra at the sandwich station. She smiles and looks down shyly. As I turn back to the grill, I whip the spat into the air, both spinning and flipping fast end-over-end, and it feel the satisfying smack as that fat wood handle drops right back into my palm. The manager frowns at me again. This is what I was meant to do.
Then the phone rings. The manager answers, no one else pays much attention. Then he puts his hand over the receiver.
"Jack. It's corporate," he says to me. "They need you, the car will be here in 5 minutes."
Everyone is watching now. Denny comes up from the back to take over the grill. I look over the edges of my spats. Gleaming. But the manager is not finished.
"It's a class-action."
Now everyone's eyes are wide. Beth runs over to hug me.
Class-actions are to-the-death.
----------
The arena grounds are a gritty clay. Deadly slick when wet, not unlike a Wendy's floor with a light coat of fry grease. Luckily for my opponent, today it is sun-baked. That man is standing 20 feet away from me. I am still wearing my apron, variously annointed with the condiments from this morning's lunch rush. My spats rest easily, one in each hand. They bear the patina of the blood of who-knows-how-many cows, and a precise number of challenging champions: 57. My opponent is dressed like a Samurai and holding a katana. The fool.
Up in the box stand the Wendy's corporate team, the judge, and the leaders of whatever organization brought the class action against my company. No idea what the action might have been; food poisoning, hot coffee burns, I don't know and I don't care. There are no lawyers, since president T purged them from society midway through his first term to bring a halt to the impeachment proceedings. These days, this is how it's settled.
My opponent charges at me, katana raised high. I rush at him- will he proceed with the cliche downward swipe, or reverse for an upward thrust? I take a gamble and drop, sliding knees first with the spats crossed over my head to catch the blade that is indeed descending. As his momentum carries him by and he tries to awkwardly hop around me, I jam an elbow into his weight bearing knee, pushing it sideways. With a grunt, he goes down.
I'm up on my feet facing him in a flash. He is slow to rise, favoring the knee. This will be over quick. We circle and I step in for a strike. The katana swishes to my left and the spat goes up to block while my right reaches out to tag him in the mouth. But he has learned from his first mistake and he evades my block. I feel a burn like hot grease across my upper arm.
I retreat back, watching the blade but flexing my arm to assess the damage. Still works, but hurts like hell. He sees the blood on his katana and smiles a bloody smile at me. Then he turns and spits out a tooth. No double cheese burgers for him this week. I'll call that exchange even.
There is little pause as he presses in suddenly, his blade weaving like a snake. I sense the true strike and the flat paddle of my spat catches the incoming edge. But almost simultaneously, my other spat whips up behind the blade, trapping it. With a mighty heave, the katana is sailing through the air.
His second mistake of the action is watching his weapon sailing away from him, rotating through space. I catch the side of his head with the low part of my paddles where the steel is thickest, a one-two combination. He drops to his knees, eyes open, but functionally unconscious. There are gasps from the box.
I take both spats in one hand and reach up to the name tag that says "Jack" in pressure sensitive tape. I withdraw the meat thermometer that is tucked in behind the pin. With a mighty thrust I deliver the coup-de-grace through his heart.
As I walk across the killing floor, the corporate types are shaking hands and signing papers above. A medic meets me to wrap my arm. My manager is standing in the archway looking at his watch.
"Good work Jack. If you hurry, you can be back at the grill for the dinner rush."
|
"Hotdogs! Hotdogs here!"
Weary combatants staggered over for the third day in a row. The numbers were thinning and everyone left was clearly exhausted.
"Mustard?"
"Thanks. I'm so sorry you have to do this but we all thank you."
They looked terrible. Ruined.
"The water! It's free. Christ. For all of you, it's free today."
Eyes lit up and I knew it was the right thing to do even though corporate will be on my ass about the loss. We sponsored this shit and that's how we stayed out of it. But obviously it doesn't work that way.
We keep operating as we always do, so the salmonella was clearly kicking in and these clueless sods deserved a drink. I don't get paid enough for this shit.
| 2017-06-09T10:27:56 | 2017-06-09T07:18:39 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] For a year and a half, and by sheer dumb luck, Jack has avoided the reapers scythe. Oblivious to the situation, Jack walks into his bedroom one night to find find death sitting on his bed, sobbing.
|
Yawning, Jack makes his way toward the bedroom. The tapping of his cane echoes down the hallway as he thinks about the soft mattress and cozy blankets waiting for him. Shuffling along, the steady ticking of the hall clock lulls him into a near stupor.
At last, he stands in front of the doorway. He places a hand on the knob, but stops to listen. He thought he'd heard someone crying. Perhaps he'd left the living room TV on again. Or maybe he's hearing the breeze blowing through the bedroom window. He shrugs, too tired to go back and check, then pushes the door open.
Jack's shoot upward as he sees the hooded figure on his bed. Not sure whether to believe his eyes, he stumbles backwards into the wall. Cane slipping from Jack's grip, it thunks against the floor. The figure jerks its head upright. It stares at the old man with hollow eye sockets. Tear streaks line the figure's skull. For the briefest of moments, Jack is distracted from his fear by wondering how in the world a figure without flesh or eyes can shed tears.
"Sorry." The hooded figure stands and picks up his scythe. "You weren't supposed to see me. I just..."
"Uh..." Jack lowers himself toward the floor, reaching for the cane. Finally, his fingers wrap around it. He groans, using the wooden stick to hoist himself back to his feet. "Who... Er, I guess *what* are you?"
"Oh, sorry." With a bony hand, the figure wipes the tears from his skull, then offers the hand to Jack. "I work as one of the grim reapers. Name's Dave."
Dazed, Jack obediently shakes the skeletal hand.
"Your time was up a while ago. I've just been trying to reap you for a long time." Dave walks over and slumps back down onto the bed. "I've never had such a difficult case!"
"Oh." Not quite sure how to react to the situation, Jack simply stares.
Holding up a skeletal fist, Dave says. "A couple years ago, you were supposed to have a heart attack. I raised the scythe to swing, but you tripped right as I brought it down. Got someone else instead. Poor guy." He raises one bony digit.
"Then, they rescheduled you. You were supposed to get hit by a bus. I swung the scythe as you took a step, but a dog saw me." Noticing the expression change on Jack, he explains, "Yeah, dogs can sense us. Humans have a harder time when we have our glamour up, but we haven't figured out how to go undetected by canines. And, no I don't have my glamour up now because I'm just too frustrated by the whole ridiculous situation." Dave sighs. "*Anyway*, that dumb dog saw me and barked like crazy, which made you turn around to look. The bus went past while you were still on the sidewalk, and I missed the opportunity." He raises another finger.
"So, they rescheduled you *again*. You were supposed to trip going down the stairs. But there was a wet spot, just before the steps. You actually slipped and fell down *on the landing*. Your niece rushed over and helped you up. Then, she demanded she escort you down the stairs *so you wouldn't slip and fall!*" Dave huffs at the memory, and raises another skeletal finger.
"Then there was the time you were supposed to get food poisoning, but didn't feel like eating." Another finger goes up. "And the time you were supposed to accidentally take too many of your meds, but instead you accidentally spilled them in the toilet!" Yet another finger rises into the air.
Finally, Dave lets his hand fall back to his side. "There've been more too, that I've lost track of. They even sent Jeff in a couple times when I was out on vacation. There was just always something that prevented your death."
Jack suddenly bursts out laughing.
"What?"
The old man continues to laugh. His legs buckle underneath him and he slides down to the floor.
"Stop laughing!" The reaper lets the words out in a pitiful wail.
"I just..." Jack coughs a few times, then smiles at the hooded figure. "I'd always wondered why I've lived so long. Well now, let's get this over with. "
"Wait." The reaper stands up. "Really? Just like that? You're not going to fight it?"
"Of course not! I'm 107. Everything hurts all the time and nearly everyone I know has already passed on. Now, help an old man up and we can get this over with."
"Oh. Okay then." The reaper walks over and helps Jack to his feet. "Do you, uh... Do you want to lie down for this? I've never let someone see me, so I'm not quite sure of the etiquette here."
The old man dismisses the offer with a wave of his hand. "Nah. Just let me stand in front of the window so I can see the setting sun one last time."
Dave nods. Together, the two make their way over to the window. "It is a lovely view."
"Yeah, it sure is. Best thing about this house." Jack straightens his shoulders as best he can. "I'm ready to head on to the afterlife now. Let's go." He closes his eyes and waits.
The reaper slides one foot forward and raises the scythe. He twists. He swings the weapon forward right as the old man coughs. The coughing fit takes hold and Jack doubles over. The scythe swings above Jack's head and the momentum sends the reaper spinning. Dave lets out a shriek as he tumbles out the open window.
At last, Jack straightens up and shuffles his way to the window to peer out. The reaper is lying flat on his back, the scythe tangled up in his black robes. Jack bites his tongue, trying his hardest not to laugh.
A defeated voice drifts up from the ground, "I quit. Jeff or Aaron can take this job. Thanks for being a good sport about it. Someone else will come along later."
Without another word, the hooded figure vanishes. Jack shrugs and makes his way over to the bed. "Oh well, I'm sure they'll be back soon. At least I can finally get some sleep now."
\--------------
r/WannaWriteSometimes
\[EDITED: Corrected a sentence where I left out a word.\]
|
They always said he was nimble and he was quick. The truth is, dumb luck was the reason jack always jumped over the candle stick. The fire always burned hot and jack never got burned. Running and jumping were not particularly easy but when death is on the line, you rarely win. This lucky legend always avoided a boiling agonizing death and his card was never drawn. In certain circles of the afterlife many knew of this daredevil and his sheer will to never fail a leap that should have been his last over a thousand times over.
The one cosmic force that terribly hate jack was death itself! Thats right the reaper of souls, the holder of life. It never could catch old nimble jack. The lucky bastard always seemed to fall right into deaths hands and like always would escape unharmed. This angered death so madly he even made a bet with the devil himself that on jacks two thousandth jump the slippery prick would fail his leap and fall to the flame of the candle and light himself ablaze. Death bet his own scythe as payment against the devils bet that jack again would jump that candle and flee the clutches of death again!
| 2021-01-29T09:22:34 | 2021-01-29T09:01:18 | 909 | 32 |
[WP] You've never noticed the (+) in the bottom right of your vision before. Today on your 23rd birthday however, you focus on it intently, as a skill tree pops up before your eyes with 23 points to allocate.
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God damn, that tackle hurt thought Billy. What a way to spend my 17th birthday, getting speared in the gut by a 250 pound senior who had no business playing high school football. That kid ought to be playing for state thought Billy.
He got up and wiped the dirt off his pants and hustled over to the sideline. It was 4th and 13 with 2 minutes and 37 seconds on the clock. The Middleton Mauraders were down by 6 points against the Springfield Samurai. Billy was a wide receiver for the Mauraders. They had the worst football team in the district for 10 years running now. They usually only won a single game the entire season.
Billy sat on the bench and flipped his helmet back on his head so he could cool off and get a drink. He looked at the ground in desperation, hoping the magic formula for winning this game would appear in the dirt around his feet. Billy noticed a spot in the bottom right corner of his vision. Thinking it was a floater he shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Billy tried to focus on the game. His team had just stopped the Samurai running back after a gain of only 2 yards.
That damn floater was still in the same spot. Billy focused in on it. It was a small plus sign. That's weird he though. His teammate and best friend Hans Spiegal looked over at Billy.
"Are you alright man?" asked Hans.
Billy kept focusing on that plus sign, it began pulsating. The more intently he looked at it the stronger it would pulsate.
"Dude, what the fuck are you looking at?" asked Hans. He was growing concerned for his friend because he was sitting there on the bench with his eyes sharply turned to the bottom right of his sockets. Hans was worried that Billy might have a concussion.
"I'm fine," Billy muttered.
Suddenly a massive glowing tree appeared in front of Billy. "Wow!" he exclaimed under his breath. He should be freaking out right now he thought. Something about what was happening just felt natural to him though. He noticed a glowing green 17 in the top right of his vision. He looked around the tree, it looked like a skill tree. It was almost identical to his favorite RPG Knights of the 7 kingdoms. There were branches for strength, charisma, intelligence, stamina, and speed. Man, it sure would be nice to be a little stronger and faster right now, it would help win this game. Suddenly the strength and speed branches lit up and a small dot of light moved along the branches to the first node. Billy felt his muscles bulge slightly and stretch the fabric of his uniform. He felt sharper. A small minus 1 flashed by the 17 in the top right, it rolled back to 16, then 15. I better not use all the points now thought Billy, besides were probably going back out on the field soon. He focused passed the skill tree on the game and the tree shrank back into the small plus sign on the bottom right of his vision.
The Samurais made it within 24 yards of the endzone and decided to go for a field goal. There were only 39 seconds left on the clock now. Billy watched the center snap the ball back to the quarterback, he saw the quarterback slowly turning the ball, the laces were facing the kicker. He watched, as though in slow motion as the kicker stepped forward to kick the ball. Billy could tell as soon as the kicker made contact that the ball was going wide of the uprights.
Billy stood up and slid his helmet back down. He felt light as a feather and quick as a cat. If this the difference from using only 2 points imagine what I could do with the 15 he had left thought Billy.
Billy took his place to the right of the line near the sideline.
"Hut, Hut, Hike," shouted the quarterback.
The center snapped the ball back to the quarterback, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Billy could see the laces swing around and around as the ball spun back to the quarterback.
The quarterback took a few steps back, pumped to the left.
Billy was just turning around after running ten yards out in a button hook pattern. The ball was already coming right towards him. Billy had to jump to catch it. He just landed when he heard the rapid steps of the cornerback coming towards him. Billy ducked and the cornerback hit him high and slid over Billy. The crowd went wild.
Billy turned looked down the field, there was a linebacker coming from the left, another cornerback upfield to the right, and a safety right in the middle along with another cornerback being blocked by the other receiver on Billy's team.
Billy started down the field blowing past the cornerback on the right. The crowd cheered louder.
The cornerback who was being blocked was now coming directly at Billy, the receiver that was blocking that cornerback was on the ground. This particular cornerback was 6 feet and 2 inches tall and weighed 200 pounds. Normally Billy would be tempted to turn and run the other way or slide on the ground. The strength stat seemed to give him confidence because Billy ducked his shoulder down. The cornerback ducked down in an attempt to get Billy down by the legs. He was too tall, Billy caught the cornerback right in the upper thighs. The corner back flipped up and over Billy's head.
The crowd roared.
Billy had nothing but 40 yards of open field ahead of him now. Now was the time to test out that speed stat. Billy bolted down the field, the announcer rifled off "40,30,20,10, Touchdown!" in rapid-fire. No one in either town had ever seen someone run so fast before.
"The Mauraders win the game! What an upset!" bellowed the announcer.
The crowd from Middleton rushed the field and put Billy on their shoulders. Billy felt like he was king of the world, he felt like superman, like he could do anything.
Then Billy woke up. He felt around on his nightstand for his glasses. The alarm was blaring in his ears. He found his glasses, put them on and turned the alarm off.
He sat up on the edge of his bed and noticed a small white plus sign on the bottom right of his vision. What the hell is that he thought.
Thanks for reading!
Edit spelling and punctuation.
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(I'm not used to writing, forgive me.)
On my 23rd birthday, I finally noticed that + on the corner of my eye. I focused on it, and it opened the skill tree for me - with 23 points to use up. I probably wouldn't have figured it out for a couple minutes if I didn't play games a lot as a kid.
I didn't know how to use it.. at all. Because, if I opened it with focusing, how could I upgrade the points at the top? I wouldn't be able to do that. 'Oh well,' I thought to myself. 'I might as well start investing in them now.'
I focused on all the names, [Strength], [Intellegence], [Health], [Defense], and others as such. I tried to at least see how to use a point, I was able to learn to invest, and I logged off after using half my points.
| 2019-08-20T20:30:22 | 2019-08-20T19:00:33 | 582 | 12 |
[WP] You were once the most powerful villain. You retired early and are engaged to a minor super hero who isn't aware of your past. They are about to be killed right before your eyes..but you step in.
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Once upon a time, I was Lord Umbral, the stuff of Nightmares and Terrors, that which brought untold horror in the shadows of darkness of the city and children's dreams.
Nowadays I'm Christopher Askaw, that nice man down the street with the white picket fence who recently just planted sunflowers in his garden and has about three more seasons of The Office to catch up on.
If you would have asked me five years ago if the suburban life was made for me, I would have laughed and obliterated your fragile existence, throwing what remained of your mind into a nightmare realm the likes of which you couldn't even begin to fathom. The mere idea of one of the greatest villains of all time, becoming a member of the PTA and church bake sales? Laughable!
And technically not true, since I can't technically come within twenty feet of a church without breaking into hives.
Oh, sure, coming to my new lot of life had its struggles. I couldn't exactly lose my temper at the market, lest I completely evaporate the bread aisle and being around people again was quite the chore. But, I somehow managed to work.
And thank goodness I did, otherwise I wouldn't have met Missy!
Or, rather, The Seer but you didn't hear that from me.
It's actually kind cute, the more I mull over it. She's a hero! It's almost funny how that works: World ending villain meets small time vigilante! I can tell she's new to this whole thing too: The way she tries to dance around the situation when there's a big crime about to happen, it becomes "oh, I think I left my oven on!" And "oh shoot, I need to pick up my mom!" And magically disappears, saves the day and appears just in time for our date.
Was it any wonder I fell for this girl? I knew right there and then I wanted some of that pep and innocence in my life. Soon to be married, the wedding come next October (My insistence, I'm sure you can tell I love Halloween!)
Everything was going swimmingly. I finally found my niche in life. Missy calmed my anger and helped m become a better person, or, hell, a person for it. It was the happiest I'd been.
Of course, life could throw surprises at you when you were least expecting it.
I was sitting at home, making myself a sandwich and getting ready to sit down and relax for the afternoon. No jobs to concern myself with, no minions that needed reminders of who was in charge, no heroes that needed to be foiled, it was just me, the tv and my lovely fiance coming home any minute.
Of course, that WAS the plan.
Before I had a chance to switch it to Netflix, the "BREAKING NEWS" alert screamed across my TV screen with what appeared to be a frightened newscaster on the screen, hand to her ear and her eyes wide with fright.
I couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia as I turned the volume up.
"--striking terror in the heart of the city! We bring to you now the scene in question, where the villain will begin making his demands!"
The video cut to a sight that brought back fond memories. A being cloaked in darkness standing before a downed figure, holding his fist up in a way that could only be construed as some kind of mock salute to me. I tilted my head a little bit, my eyes trained on the figure.
Wasn't that...?
"Hear me, Goliath City!" Shrieked the darkened clad figure with a victorious caw. "I have brought your hero down to her knees! Her life ends today as a reminder that the true visionary of darkness, Shade, rules over you with an iron fist!" He cackled. "BEND TO MY WHIM! BEND TO SHADE!"
It takes a lot to anger me now a day, I would like to remind you. It takes a lot to push my buttons and cause me to act before I can think.
And this just happened to be one of those times.
In a flash of black that covered my eyes, I was now in the crowd, causing a few people to flinch and jump away from me in surprise. Ignoring their shock, I began to push my way through the crowd of onlookers towards the triumphant figure and my downed fiancé. The officers attempted to push me back but I would have none of it.
"SHADE!"
My voice echoed in a thunderous boom that I hadn't heard in some time. Missy looked up in surprise and Shade followed suit, the dark aura around his hand vanishing as he spun around.
"Who dares speak to Shade in such a manner!" He cried, sounding horrifically offended.
"You get away from my Fiancé before I really make you regret it!" I shouted. I really, really didn't want to make him regret it.
Shade's sharp, pointy little teeth peeked out from his hood as he turned around as menacingly as he could. "You dare speak to me in such a manner! You said fiancé, yes? Perhaps I won't kill her then, I will make her remember my power, my wrath! I WILL-GRK!"
I held my clenched fist in the air with a tight fist with a black aura surrounding it, darker than Shades pathetic attempt. My eyes erupted into black as well and before I knew it, well, I lost a little bit of my own control, now appearing before Shade, before the city...and before Missy...as Lord Umbral.
"You will step away from my fiancé, Shade, before I remind you how, as your CREATOR, I am MORE than capable of ERASING you as well!"
"Grk...Lord...Lord Umbral...I...I knew not! I simply...wanted t-to continue your legacy...!"
"Well, you could not have picked a worse person to try it on." I sneered and with a quick jerk of my hand, Shade vanished from existence with a shriek of agony.
I stood there, as Lord Umbral, amongst the people of the city and gave an awkward cough. I turned around, the sudden motion making them all gasp, cry and back away in terror. "Minions...you know, right?" I asked, desperately trying to salvage my situation. "They're kinda like cockroaches or...something...I'm not entirely sure, but you better keep an eye on them or stuff like this happens!"
"Chris...?" Missy's voice asked from behind.
I flinched inwardly and sighed, shifting away into my human persona and spun around, offering a smile and a wave. "Hey...sweety..."
"You're...Lord Umbral...?" She asked, head tilting further. "But...they said Lord Umbral died..."
"The stories of my death are greatly exaggerated." He sighed. "I'm...alive. I just..." I paused. "...got tired of it."
There was such an uncomfortable pause, one of the news casters dropped a pen and it damn near echoed. They scrambled to pick it up in fear of destruction. Once upon a time, I would have. But Missy...made me want to be a better person.
So, as I watched her walk up, she looked me up and down and offered a little smile. "Honestly?" She grinned. "You look cuter in the black armor."
"You can't SEE me in black armor."
Her grin turned to a smirk. "I know."
A girl who could look death in the face, and joke about it. Could you honestly imagine?
Was there any reason to marry this girl?
Her career as a hero skyrocketed after that. She became a well-known figure throughout the city and soon, the whole country. She became popular, kids wanted to meet her, people wanted to be her, she became a household name!
I mean...you kind of become the best Hero in the world when you 'tame' a monster like Lord Umbral.
After all, if Lord Umbral is scary...
...Imagine his WIFE.
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“Monologuing. Always with the monologuing. Not that I wasn’t guilty of it myself, but when you have conquered the world three times over, you learn pretty fast not to monologue. It almost always gives your target time to break out of their confines, call for backup, or a myriad of other responses heroes tend to be able to pull out of their tightly bound spandex ass.”
 
“I remember struggling to keep a look of fear on my face as the spiky armored villain, whose name I cannot remember, but for the purposes of this session, doctor, I shall call spiky boy.”
 
“His name is Doom Lord Straxus.” The costumed hero beside me cut in.
 
“Yes darling. As I was saying, Doom Lord st- How on Earth do you say that without laughing, babe? Anyway, spiky boy was monologuing about how he had finally corned Ideal this time and how he had paid Mr. Jouhou for information on his civilian identity and captured his boyfriend, yours truly, -”
 
“Possible ex-boyfriend,” Ideal muttered glaring at me from the chair beside.
 
“Your truly, Malicious Vile, three times conqueror of this world, ex-owner of Venus and now /Retired/ Villain,” I continued, placing particular emphasis on the word with a sidelong glance at his cheasled frame.
 
“Of course, at this time, Ideal still had no idea who I was, so I sat there, suffering through his honestly horrible monologue, wondering which response Ideal would managed to pull out of his absolutely gorgeous ass this time. I was personally hoping for a last minute heroic second wind, and watch as he saved me and kick evil villain butt.”
 
“But, and you see what I did there,” I continued with a smirk as my darling groaned beside me. “This was a little bit different. Spiky boy had managed to get his hands on a low level power nullifier, and started pummeling Ideal so I was forced to step in. I couldn’t help but chide Spiky Boy as I ripped apart his armor. I mean, it was tacky, weak and did barely anything to stop anyone and it made him look like helloween and comic con had a really bad baby. I’m surprised he lasted this long out of jail to be honest, Doctor.”
 
“Anyway, back to the story, after saving Ideals sweet gorgeous ass, I realized that we needed to talk. I mean, all encompassing power of darkness is pretty hard to mistake. Several talks later, here we are, at couples therapy. So. What do we do now?”
| 2018-03-09T14:28:43 | 2018-03-09T03:26:26 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Tattoos aren't something that gets made. Instead they randomly appears on our skin at key points in our lives and we have to figure out what they mean for ourselves.
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Everyone has at least one tattoo they absolutely love.
Jenny from upstairs has this peacock on her back- something she says is for her mother. Which is. Just. Absolute bullshit. She has it because she's a vain bitch.
But god is that tattoo beautiful. Curving lines inlayed with golds and greens and shocking blues. It's a masterful piece of art.
Fucking. Jenny.
Even Ma, who's worked labor her whole life and is mostly covered in lines and number, statistics and machinery and such, has one little red heart on her wrist that she is so proud of.
It's tiny, no bigger than my pinky nail, but it's powerful. Rich and vibrant. For the husband she lost too soon and the razor she almost took to that same wrist soon after.
I do not have a goddamn thing to be proud of on my body.
No sloping curves, no vibrant colors, no magnificent linework.
Just a vast, inescapable crisscrossing network of cartoon drawing of dicks.
|
FADE IN:
INT. AN OFFICE BUILDING - DAY
*The sounds of clacking keyboards and muted conversation drift through the air. Men and women in business-casual attire mill around, either pretending to look busy or rushing from one meeting to the next. This atmosphere of tense ennui is suddenly broken by the arrival of a young man in sweatpants and a stained t-shirt. This is DAVE.*
**DAVE:** (*Shouting*) Steve! *Steve!*
*As everyone turns to stare at the interloper, a second young man peeks out from within a cubicle. This is STEVE.*
**STEVE:** (*To himself*) Oh, no...
*Dave spots Steve and rushes over.*
**DAVE:** Steve! Dude! It finally happened!
**STEVE:** What are you doing here? You can't just...
**DAVE:** (*Interrupting*) I've never gotten one before! Things are finally going to happen for me!
**STEVE:** What are you talking about?
**DAVE:** My tattoo!
*Several seconds pass in silence.*
**STEVE:** What?
**DAVE:** Didn't your parents teach you about the birds and the bees?
**STEVE:** That isn't...
**DAVE:** (*Interrupting*) At certain milestones in a person's life, a tattoo appears on their skin. This marking is meant to convey something important about that individual, but it's up to them to determine the meaning.
**STEVE:** What, did you memorize a health textbook? Anyway, that isn't "the birds and the bees."
**DAVE:** Yes, it is.
**STEVE:** I feel sorry for your former girlfriends.
**DAVE:** Look, dude, whatever. The point is, I got my first tattoo!
*Steve rubs his forehead.*
**STEVE:** As happy as I am for you, can we talk about this later? You can't...
**EDGAR:** (*O.S.*) (*Interrupting*) Steven, what's all this commotion about?
*Steve turns to see a heavyset, balding man entering the cubicle. This is EDGAR, Steve's boss.*
**STEVE:** (*To himself*) Am I just not allowed to finish my sentences?
**EDGAR:** What was that?
**STEVE:** Nothing. Anyway, sorry, this is Dave. He was just leaving.
**DAVE:** No, I wasn't.
**EDGAR:** (*To Dave*) Oh, so *you're* David, huh? Steven has talked a lot about you.
**DAVE:** Yeah, he really looks up to me.
*A humorless scoff escapes Steve's lips.*
**EDGAR:** Did I hear you saying something about a tattoo?
**DAVE:** My first one!
*Edgar's face breaks out into a wide, genuine smile.*
**EDGAR:** Well, hey, congratulations! Did you figure out what it means yet?
**DAVE:** No, I only just found it this morning.
**STEVE:** It's two in the afternoon.
**DAVE:** (*To Steve*) So? Does that mean that I couldn't have found it this morning?
**EDGAR:** You know, David, I have something of a knack for this kind of thing.
**DAVE:** ... Telling time?
**EDGAR:** (*Chuckling*) No, telling tattoos! May I have a look at yours?
**STEVE:** I wouldn't...
*Before Steve can finish his sentence, Dave pulls down his pants and displays his bare buttocks.*
**STEVE:** (*CONT'D*) ... Yep, there he goes.
**DAVE:** See? Right here! It's like... like a cloud or something!
**EDGAR:** (*Thoughtfully*) Hmm. It could be an eye, maybe?
**STEVE:** It's a bruise.
**DAVE:** Maybe I'm supposed to become a private detective?
**STEVE:** Maybe you fell down the stairs yesterday while trying to impress our neighbors.
*Dave pulls up his pants, looking at Steve with an expression of mild annoyance.*
**DAVE:** You know, you could be a little more supportive.
**EDGAR:** That is something we talked about in your quarterly review, Steven.
**STEVE:** Why are you taking his side?! He came bursting in here, shouting at the top of his lungs, and now you're acting like he's your long-lost son or something! If I did that, I'd get fired!
**DAVE:** Right, but I don't work here.
*A thought seems to occur to Edgar.*
**EDGAR:** Hey, it could be a celestial body of some sort...
**DAVE:** Really?!
**STEVE:** Please don't...
*Once again, Steve is interrupted as Dave pulls down his pants.*
**STEVE:** (*CONT'D*) ... Yep, right at eye-level.
**DAVE:** It *does* look a bit like a nebula!
**EDGAR:** I think that might be it, David! Something to do with space, then!
**STEVE:** It's probably between his ears.
*Edgar turns to glare at Steve.*
**EDGAR:** Remind me, Steven, what tattoos do you have?
**STEVE:** (*Proudly*) I have...
**EDGAR:** (*Interrupting*) No space? Got it. Let David have his moment.
*Steve's mouth opens and closes several times, but no sound comes out.*
**EDGAR:** (*CONT'D*) (*To Dave*) How about I get you a beer to celebrate, David?
**DAVID:** Sure! You know, I really don't understand why Steve complains about you all the time.
*Edgar chuckles and leaves the cubicle. Dave starts to follow him, but stops when he realizes that his pants are still around his knees. He hurriedly pulls them up, then rushes out of sight.*
**STEVE:** (*To himself*) I swear, one of these d...
*Steve trails off as he notices a faint marking appearing on his inner wrist. It vaguely resembles a cartoonish bundle of dynamite with an already-burning fuse.*
**STEVE:** (*CONT'D*) ... Uh oh.
FADE TO BLACK.
| 2017-08-03T15:53:09 | 2017-08-03T14:08:02 | 69 | 37 |
[WP] A swordsman fights stronger and stronger monsters in hopes of killing himself, but keeps winning. He soon develops a reputation as a hero, all the while drowning in self-loathing and the darkness that threatens to consume his soul.
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They keep coming for me.
I don't seek them out. Not anymore. I have no intention of winning.
And yet..........
Each time.........
The latest monster lay at my feet. It's body writhing in agony. My eyes welled up with tears. I quickly blinked them away. Cannot let the stupid child see me this way.
I was sure this beast would be the end of me. I was almost defeated when I spotted the little one with his leg tragically stuck under some rocks. I threw my sword to the side recklessly and dove to save him.
I turned around to see my sword wedged square in the monsters chest.
I win again
Won't it ever stop..........
All this is a punishment, isn't it? I have been cursed by the gods.
Many years ago, as a heart broken young lad, I had traveled to a dragon's lair hoping to either become a hero or die trying.
I won......
At what cost......
Here's what no one ever told me.
Taking a life, any life.......Even that of a monster, is no easy thing. It changes a man forever.
And now they keep coming for me.
You see, by slaying the dragon I had made myself a target.
But it isn't just me, though
The villagers suffer everytime one of them attacks. And so I am left with no choice but to fight them.
Everytime, I win
And a part of me dies
Taking a life is no joke. If rips a part of your soul. How long before I have no soul left for judgment day?
The child ran up to his mother
"Mama, the hero saved me!!! " he Squealed.
The villagers cheered
Another ballad in my honor. Who will tell them? I'm no hero. I started this.
Maybe the next one will be the death of me
One can only hope
|
Rajin stared deep into his mug, the murky contents of his cheap liquor would disgust anyone with any self-respect or care for what they put in their body. Not Rajin. He drank poison in the hopes that if the monsters didn’t kill him, he had another way out.
Perhaps the discolored mead would remove his inhibitions, his cowardice, and give him the strength to finish the job himself. But somewhere deep within him was a dying ember of the man he once was, one who would not let Rajin drive his sword through his own heart. He hoped the monsters would be that sword.
The tavern was quiet. Rajin sipped placidly, silence was his only solitude. He remembered the first time he returned home from the front, he was unrecognizable to those who knew him. He didn’t blame them. For when he looked in the mirror he hardly recognized himself. An unsmiling face covered in scars that went much deeper than the flesh.
The ordinary world became an instrument of torture for a scarred man. Every celebration brought him now joy. While others heard only laughter and cheering, he heard the sounds of young people as they chanted in comradre to march off to their deaths. The sizzling of stoves brought to mind the burned villages he was helpless to save. The approach of carriages unearthed memories of enemy cavalry trampling over wounded warriors. And every time he closed his eyes, he saw the faces of all he had failed and all he had killed.
Monsters had no faces. They satisfied the demon within Rajin, one that had been fostered by war and bloodshed. It was a part of him that he hated but could never escape. The demon was something Rajin couldn’t control. A bloodlust he never wanted. But war makes fools of us all.
Whenever he ripped his sword from the slain corpse of a monster, he always was grateful that it wasn’t a child or a family. For if he didn’t satiate his demon with monster blood, it would find prey elsewhere.
“You’re the one who killed the monster plaguing our village, ain’t ye?” the elderly bartender asked.
Rajin didn’t look up, simply nodding.
“My apologies, I didn’t recognize yah at first. Let me get you some finer spirits, on me.”
Rajin waved his hand dismissively, “That won’t be necessary.”
“Nonsense, a hero ought to be shown some gratitude from those he aids.” The bartender rummaged through his stock until he pulled out a dusty bottle, “Ah, Bavarian whiskey. This is the good stuff.” The cap opened with a satisfying pop, followed by the steady glug as the drink was poured.
Rajin nodded in thanks, sipping it, “Fine whiskey. You have my thanks. Now save the rest for yourself, you’ll make better use of it than I.”
The bartender shook his head, “I disagree. You look like you could take the edge off, all those scars from fighting monsters. Give yourself time to rest.”
“I don’t belong here, I’ll get out of your village’s hair by sunrise.”
“It’s not your choice whether you belong, but that of those around you. You can’t reject an offer of kindness or hate before it’s been given.”
“Not when those people don’t understand who I truly am. Now please, no more questions. I wish to drink in peace.”
The bartender nodded, going back to cleaning old glasses. A child ran into the bar from the cellar below, holding a wooden sword in his hand and swinging wildly. The bartender chuckled, “Be careful with that sword there, Jens.”
But the words fell on deaf ears as the child stood in shock, gazing at Rajin. The bartender sighed, “It’s not polite to stare, Jens.”
Jens gulped, “Sorry grandpa, b..but that’s him! That’s the hero!”
Rajin winced at the word, “I’m no hero.”
Jens shook his head, “Yes you are, I saw you! You killed the monster! And my friend from the Riverdell Village said that a fighter killed a monster there too. They call you the Silent Swordsman!”
Rajin groaned, he needed another drink, “I killed the monster because I’m a hunter. Nothing more.”
“It was amazing the way you dodged the monster’s tentacle arm and ducked under their legs and it wasn’t until after that everyone realized you had cut so quick the monster then split in half after you finished running! That was so crazy!”
“No one should have to learn the skills of a sword. Weidling it is a curse, it's nothing to admire.”
“Nah ah, I’m learning how to use a sword. One day I’m going to be the best swordsman there is and I’m going to go around helping people just like you.”
“You don’t want to be like me. I have no direction. No future. I kill not because I want to, but because it is my fate.”
“But isn’t doing good enough, saving people? Don’t you feel like a hero?”
“Never.”
“Well, you’re a hero to me, mister.”
Rajin opened his mouth to object, to tell him all the reasons Jens shouldn’t look up to him. But before he had the chance, the kid did something Rajin didn’t expect; he hugged him.
Rajin stared blankly at the child, patting him on the back, “Your form was off.”
Jens blinked in confusion.
Rajin pointed to his sword, “When you swung it, you use too much energy. You have no control. You want to have your feet firmly planted. It’s not about power, but about precision.” Rajin took a stance and demonstrated, the kid struggling to copy his example.
Jens smiled, “Wow, I feel like a better swordsman already!”
“You still have a long way to go. But keep practicing and pray you’ll never need to draw your sword for anything other than that.” Rajin placed a hefty tip on the bar, leaving his drink half-finished before getting up.
Jens blinked, “Where are you going, mister?”
“I heard of a yeti up in the north. I’m going to hunt them.”
“Good luck, mister!”
Rajin nodded and exited the tavern. The Silent Swordsman. It had a ring to it.
| 2022-04-30T12:49:26 | 2022-04-30T12:19:40 | 228 | 113 |
[WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay.
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming!
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So. Another smartass has asked for the "express lane" treatment, shortening a 25-year life sentence down to a single day. Goddamn it, I hate doing this to another person.
I pause, and shake my head. No, "person" isn't the right term for a monster like this. I leaf through his record, wincing at the goriest of the details. The pages flip by, and some helpful soul inserted before-and-after pictures of the victims. Those poor children. I steel myself for the job at hand, now convinced that I'm doing the right thing. The last set of photos, the ones with the twin sisters and their beautiful smiles...
I leave my office, headed to the maximum security wing where we've brought the monster in. The haunting eyes of those kids follow me through the halls, causing me to clench my hands into fists. Remorse has given way to anger, which is giving way to hatred. An awful smile creeps onto my face. The bastard deserves what we're going to do to him.
I reach the cell where we've got this animal locked up. An assistant stands near the door controls for this cell. The massive door resembles an old-style bank vault, with some pleasingly thick bolts and tight seals. These doors close so tightly that not even a peep of sound or breath of air gets in or out without our consent. The view-port opens like a porthole on an old ship, and the intercom box looks like the one on my old apartment, save for the armoured housing it rests in. I key the microphone, and the filthy creature inside looks up with a twisted grin.
"Prisoner 53158, can you hear me?"
The creature's horrible eyes lock onto the small circle of glass I'm looking through.
"Yeah, I hear you."
"Due to severe prison overcrowding, we are prepared to offer you an expedited sentence at the cost of reducing your quality of life for the duration of the sentence. The minimum time you can serve is one day -"
"Gimme a day, Warden. I can take anything you can dish out, and I'll see you tomorrow."
I hate the smile that's oozed its way onto his face. Smug piece of shit thinks he can take it, and be right back out there tomorrow. My fists unclench, and my voice calms.
"I am legally required to inform you that no prisoner has successfully made it through the twenty-four hour treatment with all their mental faculties intact. Do you still agree to the minimum sentence?"
He starts to laugh.
"If I was all there in the head, would I be in this cell? *Bring it on, I'll be a* ***FREE MAN TOMORROW!***"
"Your consent has been acknowledged and recorded for our records."
I turn to the assistant who's been standing by, waiting for my word. I carefully neglect to release the push-to-talk button on the intercom.
"Release the gas."
From the corner of my eye, I can see a note of fear creep onto the prisoner's face. His cell is secure enough, if a bit spartan. What he hadn't noticed was the gas nozzles hidden in the vent above.
Some brilliant scientist had discovered the chemical a few years back. With a forty-eight syllable name, I'd never heard it pronounced by its full name, but it had a street name: Timeout. Something in its hideous chemical structure radically alters the brain's perception of time. It'd had a brief heyday as a luxury drug among the intellectual and artistic types to 'get some thinking done' before it was outlawed and put to this use. Blending it with some clever stimulants means the subject will not tire or sleep.
His cell appears comfortable, if a little bare. Three bare concrete walls, and a heavy steel door. A clock mounted in a heavy cage provides little in the way of distraction.
To us, a day.
To him, a lifetime.
|
I always thought that not being a murderer or rapist meant that my time would be, how can I put it, easier? Or maybe *smoother*? I've read enough online forums and articles and watched my fair share of prison shows to know the basics of how all this works. At least I thought I did. My plan was to get in, keep to myself and get out. Measly three years I thought, a year less than I spent in college and that one flew by.
They sent me to one of those new facilities that looked like giant sand covered cubes stack on top of and next to each other. Most cubes did not have any windows and before the bus went through the gates, I caught a glimpse of a tiny green patch from a little opening between two cubes. "Grass in the desert?" I thought, wonder how much it cost them to maintain something like that for criminals.
After I entered the building, there were no words, no furniture, no anything. It was room after room just guards escorting me through more doors. I was never one to strike up conversations and I don't think prison was a good place to start the habit.
"Would you like to pick an option?" the man in the gray suit asked. It was an explosion of vocal harmony after being in silence for so long.
"Excuse me?" I said.
He gave an orange cup to the guard and nodded his head and they started walking me to my cell. As we walked by many handle-less doors I started to panic, the prison doors I always saw had tiny windows or the classical "prison bars". All I saw was rectangle after rectangle, still no sound. We suddenly stopped. The door opened it was a tiny room with a bed and a little metal bowl for my biological needs. The walls didn't look like any room I've seen before. They almost looked like walls of light, it wasn't too bright just a yellow radiance, in a weird way it felt comforting. I wasn't pushed in I just stepped inside. The guard gave me the orange cup and said "Drink." And I obeyed. Then the door closed behind me. All of a sudden I panic. I was in solitary confinement. Me, in solitary confinement I thought. I faintly remembered reading something about being in here would increase my chances of survival. Survival from what? I haven't seen a single inmate.
That was the first night I cried in there. My first night and I was crying, what a joke. I don't know if I should be mad at myself for being quiet, being afraid or if I should be proud that those feeling were at least human.
The room's light changed to dark red when it was sleep time, the walls were fading from darkness into crimson. Blood glowing on the floor I thought, I chuckled. I was losing track of time. The room was ordering me to sleep, so I obeyed.
It was roughly a week after, if I counted the light changes correctly. I didn't remember what I ate it was a weird feeling really, I never felt hungry and it felt like my brain was not recording new memories.
The door opened, two guards were staring at me emptily.
"Step out" one of them said.
We started walking in the white corridors again until we reached another windowless room. What time is it? I asked myself. I wasn't sure if I could trust my body clock anymore.
The same man with the gray suit was sitting there, his hair was perfect. That was my first thought.
"Would you like to pick an option?" said the Mr. Hair.
"Yes." I said.
I sat down.
"You will be given options, and these options will effect your duration in the facility. It is entirely up to you how much time and how much effort you will spend here.
I nodded.
"I have two popular packages and the third not-so-popular option that you tried out. First option will reduce your stay to one month but we will need your maximum effort and co-operation." One month? My eyes opened wide.
"Second option will lengthen your stay to five years" That was one year more than college. "But, the conditions here will be, quite mellow."
"Choose." He said.
One month? Was this a joke, a psychological test?
"I choose one month" I said. That was it, thirty seconds of thought and I was sure I did not want to waste five years in this place.
The guard gave me another orange cup and ordered me to drink. All of a sudden the patterns in Mr. Hair's tie were making almost too much sense they were in the perfect formation and it bothered me.
"Listen." He said.
"Now that we are clear that you have selected Option one, we can cover the basics." You will be administered high doses of control drugs that will dilate time. Your following month will be very similar to the couple of hours you spent in your room."
Couple of hours? I was in there for days? Or was I?
"This new thing, they are trying out" He shook his head. "making everything by the book. See, we have a lot of bad, very bad people in here. Not everybody is in for cyber crimes." Cyber crimes? Never thought what I did sounded this fancy. "We have to, we MUST punish them. Charging people with time is just not enough you see. People who made other people suffer, have to suffer. But, I need your help. I cannot make them suffer but you can, and if you do you are out in a month. Fair trade I'd say."
Must be a catch I kept telling myself while forcing my brain to stop analyzing every pattern.
"Only catch," there we go. "is that you will administer the suffering in the boundaries of your own cell but every hour will feel like a week and every scream will be etched in to your brain. You will administer pain and mutilation within your limits and who knows, we might even cut it a little less than a month if you make them suffer good enough." He smiled. I smiled too.
I was back in my room and there was no orange glow it was dark.
It was the first time I realized my walls were actually screens. I saw a man staring at me, no emotions. As I walked in he stated his name and told me he was responsible of murdering three people. The door closed behind me. "Begin" a voice said. It was Mr. Hair. I saw options on the right screen, as the camera zoomed out I realized Mr. Murderer was dangling from a chain in a dark room. Simple options really. Electrocute, burn, noise, drown. Little less than a month if they suffer well. He was a murderer, at least this was not death I thought and I pressed burn. A series of metal plates on pistons pressed his body and he screamed. It echoed in my brain so much that I thought I was going to pass out. I pressed the button again to make it stop but it was not stopping. I turned around and banged on the door "I WANT TO CHANGE MY OPTION" I said. "You only get to pick once" the voice said. Screams were gone, he was just sobbing now. There was a notification sound on the selection screen. A new set of options that included minor mutilations, acid spray and cut. I couldn't choose from my prior options. A time counter showed up and started counting down from thirty seconds and a loud note with every count. I didn't know what was going to happen when thirty seconds were over. Was I going to be hurt? "Oh God" I said. I pressed cut. Chain whips appeared out of no where and started hitting his body little cuts formed covering him blood. Looked like they were just enough to hurt but not much to seriously hurt him. He was screaming again, I threw up in my cell. I was crying for the second time. The counter showed up again this time it said fifteen seconds and the screens around me started flashing, I felt dizzy. So without looking I pressed the torture wall I heard a spraying sound and more screams. I kept pressing and pressing I had so many options now but I wasn't even sure what I was doing or how he was still alive. I could hear every single drop of blood every millimeter of skin cut. "Good" a voice said. The room light was back man covered in blood was gone. It's over I thought.
The door of my cell opened, guard brought in a tray full of knives and sharp objects. Another two guards brought threw a man inside and they restrained him to the wall with thick steel cables that had suction cups at the ends. They raised the sack on his head and injected something into his mouth with an orange syringe.
Guards left the room "NO" I said and ran to the door but it was already closed. I heard the man crying. "Uncover him" Mr. Hair said. I removed the sack from his head it was an old man. "State your name" said Hair. Inmate stated his name and told me he was a pedophile. He was crying and mumbling something "..in for a day. They told me I would only be in for a day..."
"Begin." the voice said and the countdown began.
edit: spelling and grammar
| 2015-10-27T07:21:11 | 2015-10-27T06:33:20 | 1,596 | 393 |
[WP] One second your in your house, the next you're standing in a living room surrounded by three demons. They drop their Ouija board and scream as they run to their bathroom and lock the door. "I told you we shouldn't have touched it!"
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One moment I was just standing in my kitchen, pouring milk into my cereal. The next moment I was standing in a dim room lit with several candles pouring milk onto a dusty stone floor. I looked around and locked eyes with three terrifying beings, all of them staring back at me with what looked like a mix of awe and shock.
Then one of them spoke, it was a low hiss, barely audible.
"Shit.. Dameon... I told you these Ouija boards are not to messed with"
"I meant it as a joke! I had no idea this would happen and you know it Lucy!"
Their faces looked like something straight out of hell, but their suspicious names made me think that my guess was correct. I was still in shock at this point, with my half-empty jug of milk still dripping out of the opening.
The awkward silence was really bugging me, so I decided to try talking to them.
"Uh.. Hi?"
They jumped back in horror, one of them making a strange squeaking noise.
"It can talk?!"
The one named Lucy seemed alarmed at their friend's exclamation.
"Oh shut up Fred, you might provoke it!"
At this point I had nothing to lose, my house was gone, my milk was almost gone, and I was pretty sure they were more terrified of me than I was of them.
"I have no idea how I got here... um... Do you think you could help me get back to my own house?"
The demon-like creatures stared at me for several moments, before the one named Dameon managed to speak.
"Well.. I don't really know how you got here either.. we were just messing around with an Ouija board because I wanted to prank these guys"
Lucy slapped his arm and turned to me.
"I'm so sorry that this has happened to you, I don't know how we can get you back home, but if you're hungry or something we might be able to help"
I thought about my cereal, destined to a soggy fate in my small apartment. I wondered if anyone would find it. Would the police investigate my disappearance? What would they think of it all? I hope they don't eat my cereal...
"Some food would be nice..."
Edit: Jeez! This really blew up, I didn't expect this from my first comment on here. Thank you!
Edit2: I'm posting a second part when I wake from my much needed slumber, it'll be a reply to this. Love you guys <3
Edit3: Part 2 link: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4wqyb1/comment/d6ati46
|
I recently discovered, due to some quantum flux in my kitchen, that demons are not the malevolent shadows that we suppose them to be. They are in fact very real, quite docile, and at least as superstitious as we are. If they are evil, the word requires a new definition, one that includes cowardice, paranoia, and an unwillingness to come out of the bathroom.
It was a Wednesday morning that, instead of pulling toast out of the toaster, I pulled a flaming sword out of a couch cushion. Neither the sword nor the couch were counted among my belongings, so the reader will imagine my confusion. To further it, the room in which I now stood was dark and the only light issued forth from the flame of the sword. I saw nothing here that resembled my kitchen, nor any other room I might have wandered to in a waking daze. The floor was carpet rather than hard wood, the television was a mere fifty-eight inches across, the blinds were cheap and Venetian. Simply for the sake of self-assurance, for the sake of establishing the reality of the place, I said aloud into the darkness -
"I am no longer in my kitchen."
It was then that I heard a whimper. Startled, I turned the flame of the sword in its direction. Three small children - for in the smallness of the light they *were* children - gaped at me from under a blanket on the floor. The fear in their eyes was absolute and in spite of my own predicament I pitied them.
"Who are you?" I said.
This simple question put them into such a fright that all three of them leapt up and sprinted out of the room. There being nothing else to do, I followed the sound of their footsteps through the dark house, holding the sword before me to provide light by which to see. The scuffling and scraping of feet led me down a hallway and up a flight of stairs and finally to a door at the edge of another hallway.
I knocked a friendly knock - *rap* tap-a-tap *rap* - and was greeted in return by a terrible shriek. In an attempt to calm them, in a measured voice I said,
"Screaming doesn't help."
The screaming stopped, but it seemed to me that they must still be afraid. The fear was palpable, as if I could smell it through the door. As I pondered what to say that might coax them out, one of them spoke softly through the door.
"What do you want?"
What did I want?
"I want to know who you are, and I want to know why I am here."
There was frantic whispering. It was evidently of dire importance to them they answered these questions precisely. The whispering came to a sudden halt and the same little voice crept under the door.
"We're sorry."
A strange and unsolicited apology. I could neither accept nor refuse it.
"Where am I?" This time with more force.
"We don't know."
"Well who are you?"
"We can't say."
"You don't know where you are?"
"We don't know where *you* are."
Cheeky little bastard. I became angry.
"Well then tell me where *you* are. And perhaps I, through inference, can deduce my own location."
More whispering. It went on for longer this time and it was apparent to me that there was an argument amongst them. I was near to testing the power of the flaming sword against the engineering of the door - but an answer came that stayed me:
"We are in you."
***
This response made little sense to me. But neither did not being in my kitchen. I decided to pursue the absurdity.
"How can you be in me if I'm on the other side of the door?"
"We didn't think you were real."
*"I told you we shouldn't have touched it."*
*"Shut up."*
"Touched what? What did you touch?"
"Nothing. We didn't touch nothing. Anything. We're sorry."
"What did you touch and why am I not real?"
*"He knows we touched it."*
*"Will you shut up?!"*
"We didn't *think* you were real."
"And what did you touch?"
"Nothing!"
"Dammit, who are you?!"
"We can't say."
Overwhelmed by their mastery of this peculiar form of conversation, I bellowed and shook my flaming sword.
"I'm going to count down from five. If I reach zero, and you haven't opened this door - "
"It's under the blanket!"
*"Shut up!"*
"The blanket?"
"Downstairs under the blanket!"
"Is that what you touched? You touched something that's downstairs and under the blanket?"
"We didn't touch it! We're sorry!"
I understood that as an affirmative. With an acute anxiety, the origins of which were unfathomable to me, I retreated down the hall, the stairs, the other hall, and returned to the place that was supposed to be my kitchen. The blanket lay on the floor. Underneath it something moved. In the strange light of the sword I crept towards it and lifted it up.
***
The thing that moved was black and round and the size of my fist. The movement was a steady and rhythmic pulse, as the beat of a drum or the twitching of something dead. It lay there on the floor and to the eyes it was insignificant - morbid perhaps, but no more than a curiosity. Yet I knew that I would be unwise, in this place that was not my kitchen, to trust my eyes.
After some time had passed, I heard their little feet creep around the corner, their little mouths whisper. Remembering now, in the light of this world and from this distance in time, I imagine what I must have appeared to them: A great and mythical presence bathed in the light of my sword and crouched before this thing that should not be. A terrible apparition I must have made!
I did not need to look to know that they were there. Even knowing the form the answer would take, I had to ask the question:
"What is it?"
The one who seemed their speaker spoke -
"If you won't know then we can't say."
"I won't know?"
"You won't."
The black thing pulsed. Though I desired to know with all my heart what it was, what it meant, what it portended, I didn't dare to touch it. Did I know then what I was looking at? I can only hope I didn't - for if I knew it then I must concede to know it now - and I won't.
"How can I go back?" I said.
"You can't go back."
"I can't go back?"
They must have heard or felt my rage - perhaps desperation - for they backed away from me. But the one who spoke braved one more riddle.
"There is only going forward."
I won't know what he meant or how I understood it. I will only report that having said this he and his coward friends vanished from my sight and left me in my glow and the darkness before the thing that moved. I stood and raised the sword and with all my strength I brought it down before me.
***
And this was precisely the moment, dear reader, that instead of impaling the thing that should not be with my flaming sword, I pulled a piece of toast out of my toaster. I was back in my kitchen, a place I may or may not have occupied simultaneously and meanwhile (quantum fluxes being strange to me) and the toast was lightly toasted according to my wont. I examined the toast thoroughly, and finding nothing devious about it I munched it dry with coffee.
And yes, that is the end of the story. If I won't know what it means then you can't either.
| 2016-08-08T10:53:02 | 2016-08-08T10:37:42 | 2,021 | 711 |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.
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"What's your secret?" I asked a twinkle in my eye. Never had I seen such pristine skin. Sure a lot of people had the tiniest scars for their white lies but here before me was someone without a single one, only a handful of people in my lifetime ever came close to that sort of honesty. He smiled sadly and began to remove his shirt. The mark ran diagonally across his back and circled clear around to his front the largest single scar I'd seen... but the rest was pristine. He simply replied. "I don't lie." I stared dumbfounded as no new scar appeared. "How is that possible?" He responded simply "There is more than one way to earn a scar." and walked away.
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I was flirting with being deemed a "Marked One" with my most recent scars. The Marked Ones had a lot of trouble fitting into society. It was an accepted form of prejudice. After all, you weren't judging someone based on race, creed, sexual orientation, hell even college football team allegiance. No, it was purely a judgement based on lies. I had quite a few, but never any big ones. Kept me from getting a job in finance, but I landed plenty of manual labor. Most recently, I had earned myself a spot recycling concrete. I lined up next to a few ex-cons, and a few that I knew were illegal immigrants. George, he had a scar from his eye to his chest...I knew not to ask him about that one.
I was off kilter today. Everything was irritating me, despite my awareness that what I was getting upset over was unimportant to me, my better angels were silent. Finally the boss called us on break for lunch after a tough day on the line. I took a tumble head first and nearly hit my face on an exposed road sign post. I looked down at my squished peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and also George's hammer that he had left out. I got up with rage in my eyes.
"Awww Honey, that's the saddest little sandwich I've ever seen" she said, before I could let out a holler at a giant ex-con.
"You'll have to let me make you some lunch"
I looked over and recognized her. It was the boss's daughter Scarlet. She had come through a few times, and the crew did their best to avert their eyes and hold in their whistles. She was just out of high school, but damn if she wasn't the curviest woman I'd ever seen. Jet black hair, green eyes, freckles, and a ridiculously tight bod. I guess she did gymnastics or something? It was the first time I'd seen her and it wasn't 40 below. She had come by during the winter and brought soup to her dad a few times.
She was wearing a tank top and some silly-tight jeans. She was a "Pure One"...no surprise there. I'm sure her dad provided everything to her, and she didn't have to lie very often. In fact, I didn't see any at all. That was until she turned around to head back to the boss's trailer.
It was the longest and most hideous scar I'd ever seen. I could barely catch pieces of it between her shirt and her pants, but God...it was so wide and deep.
"There's not much here, but I can reheat some of last nights dinner" she caught eyes with me, and I could tell I wasn't hiding my shocked face very well. A nervousness came over her, and she began to tear up. She quickly wiped the tear away and turned to change the subject back to the roast and potatoes she was getting for me.
She laid it out on the desk where I was sitting, and chimed in,
"I saw George's hammer, and I saw you about to get yourself killed--" she looked up. She could tell I was still fixated on her mark.
She paused, "Johnny right? Your name's Johnny?"
I nodded.
"...Listen, if I tell you what it was, you have to promise that you won't tell anyone, and forget you ever saw it."
I nodded, slower this time.
"My Dad, he's been *too* close to me ever since I could remember."
My face of shock and awe turned to a sympathetic one. The pain in her eyes and voice echoed to the bottom of my gut.
"He's abused me and my sister the whole time we've been in the house since Mom went to prison."
She began to cry.
"My little sister Vanessa, she told the police about everything. He was going to be locked away finally. They came to me to corroborate her story, and I...I"
She pointed to the scar.
"He beat her so bad that night, the police chalked it up to her having a creative imagination...That's what I told them, that she had a creative imagination...with all of those little scars on her body. Now she has real ones."
She let out a flurry of tears and sobs.
I already hated Jim, her father. It didn't surprise me that he abused anyone. He worked us like slaves and threw shit around the work site constantly. He fired Tony when his wife got cancer and he couldn't come in. I already wanted to shove my foot up his pretentious ass.
*How could he do that to his own kids?*
It was something I pondered over for the rest of the day. The rest of the day went by quicker. I worked with a rage. A rage of injustice.
The chime rang for the end of the day. I felt a little relief.
I started to walk off and tripped head first and this time I wasn't so lucky. I fell right into an exposed road sign post and it made it's way into bloodying my eye. I looked back, squinting through one good eye. It was George's hammer again. He looked at me nervously as if to say *I'm sorry* with his eyes. I took a deep breath and went over and picked it up to hand to him.
"You clumsy motherfucker. Don't think you're getting any time off for your own bullshit"
It was Jim. I looked up at his face with a blind rage. In a flash I looked down at a bloody hammer. My eye widened. I had just struck him. I looked down at him convulsing as blood shot out of his head. Then it stopped. George looked down with his hand on his neck.
"He's dead Johnny" he said solemnly.
I saw a figure walking slowly off the work site. It was Scarlet. She turned towards me. A scar ripped her face, all the way down to her legs.
| 2016-12-29T10:04:44 | 2016-12-29T09:10:58 | 224 | 63 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with.
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"My Lord! My Lord!"
The captain, a large yellow cat holding a rather impractical spear in one clawed hand, jumped nearly a foot in the air before turning around guiltily. "Blast it yeoman, what is it? It's almost time for my hunting break."
The yeoman came to a halt, breathing heavily. "It's the humans, sir. Our long range scanners are picking up error signals from their world!"
The spear creaked dangerously in the captain's hand. *"What!?* I was assured that problem was dealt with!"
The yeoman fidgeted nervously, "Well, yes sir-"
"We put warp interdiction fields over their entire system!" the captain snapped, "Anti-Grav-blockers, too, not to mention a half dozen others. Keeping them on that bloody dirtball has been the most expensive endeavour in galactic history! Any means for leaving their planet should be permanently blocked; What danger could they possibly pose *this* time?"
The yeoman, nervously looked down at his printout, slightly ragged where his claws had nervously punctured the edges. "Um...well, according to this, they've achieved orbital flight. Even visited their moon again, sir - and their first probes are leaving their system as we speak."
*"WHAT!?* How!?"
"Well, it appears that they, um, strapped small crews of their species atop giant towers of explosives, sir."
"...what."
"T-that's just what it says, sir."
"...By Akltar, I'd almost forgotten how insane they were." He rubbed his eyes wearily. "Please, at least tell me that's the most they've accomplished?"
"...um."
"*Akltar Blasted Damn it!* Everything, yeoman."
"Well, they've established a global intelligence network, sir, so we were able to acquire a surprisingly large amount of information. It appears they have plans for more powerful rockets, powered by nuclear explosions."
"You mean nuclear reactors."
"Um...no, sir."
"...Damn it."
|
"I think we all know why we are here," the Zilem Planet Representative said.
"Earth," the group said in unison, exasperation edging into the lone syllable.
"Yes, indeed," he said softly. "It is my understanding that the Ceamnese have called this meeting. This is, as you all know, the ninth meeting about the behavior of Earth... this week. Just as with the other meetings, Earth's representatives have refused to defend the actions of the human race in this meeting. I believe they said they would, 'Rather stay home and watch TV.'"
The Zilem Representative sighed audibly, but after seeing the very concerned expressions around the table, quickly continued, "We have, of course, conducted a thorough sweep for bombs, poisons, and elaborate... 'booby traps,' I believe they called them," he said, and then cleared his throat pointedly.
"Have they ever sent anyone to these meetings?" a large, muscular creature in the corner asked.
"I think they sent someone once..."
"Nope," the Zilem Representative stated bluntly.
"Yes. Yes, they sent that rather hairy human one time."
"Wasn't a human," he replied with a sigh, "It was a... chimp? I believe they call them chimps."
"Yes, yes! Rather despondent individual, he was."
"Seemed appropriately repentant to me," the Qealph Representative said, flipping her hair gently over her shoulder.
"Really cheered when those strange oblong, yellow Earth snacks were served afterward, though," said Ef' Representative in a bright tone.
The Zilem representative cleared his throat and said, "Would the representative from Ceamn please stand and explain?"
"Certainly," the creature said politely as he stood. "Well, we asked the Earthlings some two zokils past to please refrain from dumping their trash into our oceans."
Everyone at the table breathed in sharply.
"Representative Ceamn, you would provoke them in this way?" the Qealph Representative asked in hushed tones.
"Yes, well... yes. I will admit that it was a bold request, but we had simply had enough. They replied that... well... they said that their trash was in our waters, which meant it was now their property... so they now had a right to retrieve their property that was unlawfully taken."
The room fell into a confused silence until one of the representatives leaned to the right and whispered, "What?"
"That's... what they said. I'm not sure how they came to the conclusion, they provided no reasoning, but the long and short of it is that they are now pumping our water supply into their water tower ships and leaving with it."
The room fell into a confused silence until one of the representatives leaned to the right and whispered louder, "What?"
"I..." the Ceamn Representative trailed off and shrugged instead, so as to express something along the lines of, "I have no idea."
"They're probably trying to replace all of the water they wasted from that time they tried to extinguish the Aeron System's sun?"
"Or when they did that... the game... what did they call it again?"
"Slip and Slide."
"Yes! The Slip and Slide... Space Edition, I believe they called it."
"Yes... many of their top leaders perished," the Qealph Representative said sadly.
"Well, not after they sloped it so that it went quick enough to justify no oxygen tanks."
"No, you're getting mixed up, Representative Zilem. They were still perishing rapidly even after the slope. No one died after they remembered to put in a landing platform."
There was another silence.
"They really tried to extinguish a sun by spraying water at it?" the Zilem Representative said abruptly.
"Yeah... but I mean, it didn't work."
"Well, what if it had though?!"
"Why'd they do that again?"
"Because the Aeronians were slightly late for a dinner meeting and Earth felt they 'needed a gentle reminder about politeness.'"
"Reminds me of that time they threatened to throw their sun at us."
"That is just egregious!"
"I agree. I tried to call them on it in the meeting. I said it was a ridiculous threat. I have to give it to them though, they doubled down on it. They kept insisting they had a lasso big enough to... what word did they use... 'wrangle' their sun. They said after that, throwing it at us was no problem."
"Wouldn't their own world grow cold and die?"
"I asked about that. I pointed it out rather quickly after the plan came to light. They said they already had the lasso and that retrieving another would be 'no damn problem at all.' I left it at that and backed down."
Another brief silence ensued.
"Well, I mean, you couldn't risk the lives of your people like that," the Qealph Representative said in a gentle way.
The Zilem Representative cleared his throat again. "Has the Ceamn Representative reached out to try and come up with a more, eh, diplomatic solution?"
The Ceamn Representative stood again. "Yes, sir. We mentioned that we could simply recycle the waste for them."
"And?"
"They responded that it, 'sounded like something little girls would do,' and then afterward only responded with 'little girls' to each of our inquiries."
"What is this word, 'girls?'" the Ef' Representative asked.
"I am not sure. We thought it might be a translation error given the sheer number of times they sent us the message, but it didn't take long to gather that it was actually meant as an insult."
The conference room's large doors slid open and a messenger arrived. "Sir, a representative from Earth has arrived."
"Finally!"
"Maybe now we can—"
"It is the chimp again."
"This is absurd!"
The chimp waddled over to the empty seat at the table and climbed up into it, and then climbed up onto the table itself. It wore a crisp white t-shirt, emblazoned with neon pink letters that spelled out, "CEAMN SUXX."
In one of its giant black hands, it held a small pink piece of paper. The chimp walk-crawled across the table and handed it to the Zilem Representative.
He read it slowly then crumpled it up.
"What did it say, sir?" the Ef' Representative asked.
"It said, 'Pink letters, for the little girls present."
A quiet filled the room as they all looked at the chimp.
"Someone please bring those snacks back out for the... Representative," the Zilem asked. "All in favor of a strongly worded letter asking the humans to cease the thieving of water from Ceamn?"
Everyone save for the Ceamn Representative raised a hand.
"Okay then, that's settled," said the Zilem Representative.
"I'm not sure that will be enough."
"Maybe not," the Zilem answered. "But I suspect it will be a lot like the time they challenged the ownership of our home planet. They insisted our leadership compete in a staring contest. After a few minutes, they simply got bored and wandered off."
--------
Edit: Thank you so much for the gold, mysterious benefactor, and thank you to everyone for all of the comments and upvotes. I'm inexpressibly flattered that you thought this story was worth it. :)
| 2017-03-05T22:11:49 | 2017-03-05T18:43:22 | 2,747 | 1,866 |
[WP] The Rapture has begun. All true Christians have been raptured to Heaven. The Antichrist has risen, and Jesus has made his second coming. This all happened four years ago, and nobody has noticed yet.
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Heaving a sigh, His robed figure dropped into a wicker chair, the halo gently lighting the space around Him.
The scaled figure across the patio table didn't stir at the presence of The Son of God By Name.
"Christ."
"Anni."
The two exchanged a look of long, shared misery.
"So."
"So..."
"Half artichoke with pesto, half Canadian bacon with pineapple and light on the cheese?"
"You know it."
|
See .. my Grammy Mac always told me that it would happen and no one would notice , until I was 14 I believed her . She passed away and I lost faith in a god a few years after that when I lost 4 of my best friends and my girlfriend in a car wreck and I was the only one to survive . The very night it happened I lost faith. We had just left church and I was in the back with Jacquie and Bill, Will, Elliott, and Andy were sitting in front of us and I was talking to them and the youth pastor about what if god didn't exist , at the time I was questioning if he was real or not . Before I could finish we smashed into a semi with it's light off that had stalled in the road . I was thrown from the van because I hadn't been wearing a seat belt every one else burned alive . I remember trying to crawl back to the van . I don't remember screaming or anything else . The truck driver had over dosed during the daylight hours and his truck had stopped on the road . It took me a whole two and a half years before I was fully recovered . I could walk again .. and the first thing I did was walk to my girlfriends parents house . I talked with them for a while and caught up with my girls brother who had been in the same grade as me . I never got the courage to talk about Jacquie with them and I think they had taken it harder then me because they had taken down all the pictures of her and didn't even bring her up .. a year and a half later I was walking my dog in the park and I saw an old class mate , Tim. I went up to him and started talking to him and he asked me what had happened but when I mentioned Bill, Will, elliot, Andy and, Jacquie having been killed in the accident he looked confused and said he didn't remember them from school. That stuck me as odd because we were from a fairly small school in a small town . But I just let it slide and said my goodbye and went on about my day . A week later I was visiting my parents and I noticed that all the pictures of my Aunt Christine and her kids were not hung up anymore I asked my mom about her and she said she never had a sister and I must have been thinking about someone else's aunt . At this point I knew she was mistaken because Aunt Chris was my only aunt and was the only reason I had ever knew my Grammy Mac. I ate dinner with them and didn't touch on the subject again . The next day I went back to see my gf's parents but it was just her dad at the house so we sat outside and talked about his son going to college and after talking to him for about an hour I brought it up . I asked him about Jacqui. He looked at me for along time with a puzzled look on his face and then with out a word got up and went in side . I was going to follow him but he slammed the door in my face and it auto locked I paced the back porch for about three minutes be for I saw him coming back and he was holding a box in his arms. When he opened the door he told me to sit back down so I did and he did too . He sat across from me with a look of pure anguish on his face. So much pain and confusion was coming from him that it made me hurt and confused .
"John " he said looking me in the eyes .
"In this box is the only thing I have left . I need you to know that what I'm about to tell you you can never tell anyone . !!" He said , his voice was crackling .
"Yea I won't tell anyone . I promise " I said with a shaky stammer.
He cleared his throat .
" four years ago I started my first night as an EMT. It was also my last night as an EMT . I was at the crash and I remember my daughter being there in the crash as well and I remember you're the only survivor of that crash . That night I lost my daughter and I came home to tell barb and that night I almost killed her with my bare hands because she swore on our son that she had never birthed a daughter . She swore to god himself that we had only had Tim. That we had always talked about having a girl be it never happened . That night I thought I had lost my mind and the next day Tim even refused to tell me the truth . For almost four years now I've believed that I had a mental break after seeing a wreck that I made up a daughter. But after you came by a few weeks ago I started going through stuff in the attic I came across this box ."
He opened it and pushed it towards me . I hesitated to look in but when I did I saw an old Polaroid with a faded picture of me and Jacquie from when we was 14 or so in school. It was the first time I met her . I wasn't faded but she was . She was almost completely see through . It didn't make any sense . Everyone who knew her had forgotten her . A million things where running through my mind and then Tim busted through the back door and started scream at his dad the nukes he's just been launched we all ran to the living room just in time to catch president Trump being beheaded on live t.v. by a very tall man who looked like a model but was so tall and his arms and legs were to long for his body .
I don't remember much after that just a very bright flash and a burning sensation then I woke up here sitting in this chair waiting for the ticket I have to be called . I can see Jacquie's dad and mom in a few rows behind me but every time I call out to them one of the guards walking around screams at me to be quiet ..
| 2017-09-08T04:24:10 | 2017-09-08T01:17:42 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] A medieval world where we know how to make modern weaponry, but each piece is so expensive it is considered impractical. You are a knight laying siege to a fortress when all of a sudden you see tanks on the horizon...
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"Ahhh what an impractically expensive collection of anachronistic weaponry," I said.
I stood beside my horse drinking a chalice of wine and watched the impractically expensive tanks on the horizon.
"Squire," I said, "bring me my equally impractical rocket launcher."
The squire whom I did not have sex with brought me my impractically expensive rocket launcher.
"Watch here good squire whom I do not have sex with," I said.
I shot the impractically expensive rocket launcher and destroyed an impractically expensive tank, "now that's how you destroy impractically expensive modern weaponry in a medieval world," I said.
The end
|
"Wake up! Today is the big day." Captain Frolik said.
Frolik was the closest person I had to family in this empire. Not very strong but he was a great shot with a gun. Of course, barely anyone on earth had more than a couple of guns in their military because of the price of them. In some cases, they costed more than building yourself a brand new castle! However, our empire, The Kormstin Empire, was rich enough to afford almost thirty guns, including a high-tech Gewehr-43. From what I've heard, there was only one other empire on earth that had better weapons than us, and that empire was called the Tersain Empire. They were an old legend said to have advanced technology from the future, these big boxes with deadly over-sized guns on top called tanks with black and blue flags and red lightning bolts drawn on the sides. However, this was unreasonable. It was most likely a myth after all.
"Today is the day? Today is the day!" I exclaimed. I hopped out of bed with excitement. Today we were getting new guns for a chunk of the officers from the empire's newly hired weaponsmith. Which meant I was finally getting my own gun to use in battle.
"I wonder what mine will be! Maybe a Gewehr-43 like yours, or maybe even one of those new Thompson guns!" I said to Frolik.
"We'll just have to find out. We better head to the meeting." Frolik said, motioning with his head to follow him outside. I put on my helmet and followed him to the castle. I wanted to be early to the ceremony.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
The castle was a huge building. It was built with layers of circles surrounding the outside, each one bigger as it got closer to the keep. It was almost like a staircase for a giant. Torches lit up the outside at night time, giving it an effect that made the castle look like it consisted of rings of fire. The city surrounding the castle had a population of almost 30, 000 people, and that was just the empire's capital.
We were among the first of the forty-eight officers to arrive in the ceremony hall. We walked down the elegant red carpet and found seating near the front, close to the emperor's stage. The ceremony today would be for the two new officers replacing the two that had died in last month's battle against the Forkaven Empire, a war that we had won with little resistance. We would also be given ten more weapons, and I was on the list to receive one. After all, I'd been an officer for almost five years now, and guns first came out almost ten years ago. I was one of the most experienced officers. After an hour or two or waiting, the Emperor finally showed up, with his ten royal guard soldiers protecting him. The King was a tall man. He looked like the face of war. Battle scars on his face and arms, and a giant scar that went from the top of his left arm to the bottom.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
"Greetings! I have not prepared a speech because I feel like you do not need a speech. You have been far exceeding my expectations for years now, and I'm running out of things to say. I'll keep this short, because I know all of you are looking forward to seeing the new weapons. First, let me introduce to you the newest officers. The first is Sir Marcuit."
A tall, muscular, dark man walked out onto the stage and shook the Emperor's hand, kneeled before him and took the sword tap on both shoulders, much like a knighting. The emperor then took the tip of the sword and softly cut the skin of Marcuit's finger. This was an act of honour, as well as an oath. Once you bleed for the emperor, you are more than two people who are friends. The people you bleed for are connected with you on a much deeper level.
"Next, we have Sir Tambus." The emperor stated. A short, thin, light-skinned man walked out on the stage and repeated the process. The two new officers then bowed. After a short amount of clapping, they joined us in the rows of seats.
"Now, for the weapons. We have nine new Gewehr-43's, and one Thompson. This Thompson is for a man that has shown great courage on the battlefield's for many years." As the king said this, I started to feel nervous with anticipation. I already knew he was talking about me.
"Captain Treavus, why don't you come up here and be the first to hold your new weapon." The emperor said.
I gave Frolik a quick embracement hug. I composed myself and walk up the stairs to the Emperor. He reached back and picked up the Thompson, made beautifully with metal and wood. He handed it to me, shook my hand, and pulled out a list of officers who were also receiving their weapons today. Just then, the warning bells began to go off and the castle vibrated from the noise.
"GET YOUR REGIMENTS TOGETHER! THESE ARE THE ATTACK BELLS!" The Emperor shouted.
With this new Thompson, I felt immortal. I confidently hurried to the section of the castle my battalion stayed in. I ordered the sergeants to wake up their men. The battalions that formed an army of 5000 emerged out of the castle and through the front gates. When I walked out, I looked across the horizon. Suddenly all my confidence was flushed out of my body, and I felt myself begin to sweat. Over the horizon was a sea of the tanks from the legends, all with black and blue flags, each one with a lightning bolt in the middle.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
Sort of put my own twist on it, but I really liked the idea. This is only my second time writing on here. I hope you like it!
| 2017-11-02T18:36:42 | 2017-11-02T15:16:35 | 39 | 11 |
[WP] 2 years ago, tired of all the bugs in your house, you made a deal with a spider. He would protect your house from pests, and you would not kill it or drive it off. When you made the deal, you could have held the spider in your hand, now, it is much bigger, and its definition of 'pests' is also.
|
I hid in the basement when I heard 'them' break open the door. Shambling, groaning, screaming things that probably used to be my neighbours - or maybe their neighbours. Doesn't matter. 'They' were inside.
I'm not sure how it started - some patient zero is some city that I didn't really care to remember. For whatever reason, the authorities couldn't contain them. The military couldn't contain them. People who would call themselves survivors could barely fight them. I couldn't fight them either. But you know how that old song and dance goes - so I'll skip the long part and get to the present. 'They' somehow got everywhere, and now the world was ending. Some radio stations were talking about how infection was mostly started by bug bites - something I never really had to worry about for the past few years.
'They' pulled themselves inside, either tracking the scent of human, or the sounds, I don't know - 'they' somehow knew where to look to find others. I covered my breath with my hands, for all the good that might do. Made sure that I smelled squeaky-clean, if they could track that. I heard them dragging themselves closer to my hiding place anyway.
But I knew I that, despite what might seem like helpless begging for a miracle, I was safe.
Suddenly, there was thrashing, but no sounds of nails scrapping on wood, bodies smashing themselves on stone. Just thrashing against some material that made no noise itself, and incoherent screaming. Then, scuttling of eight limbs, and a screech. The sound of tearing flesh, and then....nothing.
I opened the basement door, and my eight-legged saviour and what might as well be my roommate walked past me taking up nearly the width of the hallway, like nothing of note happened at all - save only for a curiously clear word:
***"....Pests."***
|
It all started with the cicadas. The darn things were everywhere. It was like that was a trigger for the other insects.
No matter how clean my kitchen was, I’d find ants on the counter, looking for scraps or crumbs.
Tsetse flies and gnats seemed to spawn from nothing.
Mosquitoes would take advantage of any door or window that opened.
I hired exterminators. I got sticky strips, roach motels, sprays, bug bombs… I’m pretty sure I caused Raid stock to climb 2%.
One day I came home and slumped at the kitchen table. I put my head on my arms and felt a fly land on my neck. As I swatted it, I felt a tap on my forearm. Thinking it was another bug, I raised my head.
It was a smallish spider. One of its leg was raised and I could’ve sworn it was staring at me.
Without breaking eye contact, it raised another leg, a rear one, and seemed to be pointing. I looked in the direction it seemed to be pointing and I gasped.
A web in the window above the sink had almost a dozen wrapped bug corpses.
I looked back at the spider and it NODDED! Then it turned and walked away. I watched as it spun a web and then floated up to the window, where it climbed up into the corner.
Disbelief on my face, I just walked from the kitchen.
That was two years ago.
——————
I slammed the door as I walked in the house.
“Shelby! I’m home!”
I heard the odd rustle of feet as Shelby came down the hall.
In the two years since that initial meeting Shelby had grown. A lot. They were the size of a medium dog. Their eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“How was your day?” I asked them. I had given up considering it weird that I talked to a giant spider that was my roommate.
Shelby motioned with one leg, the hairs on it bending in the direction of the feeler on the end. I looked to where it was pointing: towards the living room ceiling. There was a large web sac in the corner.
Alarmed, I looked from it to Shelby.
“What is in there?! That’s not a bug!”
Shelby beckoned, and then turned to go into the kitchen. I followed.
Once in the kitchen, Shelby stood at the end of the table, one leg resting on the tabletop, their unblinking eyes waiting for me. As I neared the table, the leg moved and revealed a spiked collar on the table.
I picked it up and saw the tag on it. ‘Brutus’
That was the name of our neighbors dog. It frequently would break free from its leash and come into our yard. It would use our yard as a restroom and no matter how many times I talked with the owner, it never got picked up.
I hated cleaning up after Brutus when I needed to mow and would regularly complain to Shelby about it.
“Shelby! You can’t eat the neighbors dog.”
They stared at me unblinking, then gave what I had learned to be a spider shrug, then went back into the living room.
I knew it was too late for the dog. As I sat at the kitchen table playing with the collar, I tried to think on what I should tell the neighbors. Should I tell them anything?
What would I say? ‘Sorry about your pain in the ass dog. My roommate, a giant spider, ate it.’
I didn’t see that going over well.
Sighing, I went into the hall and headed upstairs. I tried to block out the sounds of Shelby having their dinner.
The next morning, I heard knocking at the door. Going downstairs, I made sure Shelby wasn’t nearby before I opened the front to be greeted by Brutus’ apparently distraught owner.
“Hey. Listen, I know I haven’t been the best with my dog and your yard, but Brutus is missing. Have you seen him?”
I could tell that they’d been crying. I felt bad for them. I mean, if I lost a pet, I’d be sad, too. But then I started remembering all the literal shit I’ve dealt with from Brutus. And then I thought about losing Shelby.
“I’m sorry, no. When is the last time you saw him?”
They were telling me about letting Brutus out on their leash and I heard the rustle of Shelby’s footsteps. They sounded different, though, like from an angle I wasn’t used to.
As the annoying neighbor continued their sad tale, I saw a string of web drop from the porch ceiling behind them. Shelby slowly descended from around the gutter, clinging to the ceiling.
The neighbor trailed off as they saw my eyes go wide as I started shaking my head. When they realized I was looking behind them, they turned. As they opened their mouth to scream in what I’d guess was terror at seeing such a large spider, Shelby shot a ball of webbing into their mouth, silencing the scream before it could begin.
The ball was quickly followed by Shelby themself. With a speed I had never seen before, Shelby quickly wrapped the neighbor in restricting webbing. As the wrapped body fell, it hit the porch with a surprisingly gentle thud. Shelby bit their neck to stop their struggling and then proceeded to drag them into the house.
I could only move aside in shock.
As Shelby strung them up in the living room, I finally managed to get my brain and mouth to sync up.
“SHELBY! What the crap are you doing?!”
They stopped their web spinning and looked at me. They quickly anchored the now white lump to the living room ceiling and then dropped to the floor. Waving a leg at me, they walked to the kitchen. I followed.
When we both got in there, Shelby stared. I stared back. Finally, in confusion, I shouted, “What?!”
Shelby pointed to the window. It took me a minute to realize what they were pointing at.
It was the first website they had made, where they had caught the annoying bugs.
Then it dawned on me. Shelby was catching things that bothered me.
I dropped into the chair, unable to saying anything. Shelby came forward and put a leg on my arm.
I put a hand on their feeler. It was rare for Shelby to touch me.
“Shelby, you can’t do that. You can’t eat someone just because they’re…”
I was interrupted by a knocking at the front door, which I had left open. Shelby quickly climbed to the ceiling. We’d had people stop by before and they knew to stay out of sight.
“Hello?” a voice called from the front.
I walked quickly to the door.
It was a man in a white shirt, black pants and tie, and had a book in their hand.
When they saw me, their face lit up with a smile.
I saw Shelby peeking over the edge of the gutter.
“Good afternoon, sir! Do you have time to talk about our Lord and Savior?”
I stared at him for a moment. Sighing, I looked past them, made eye contact with Shelby and nodded.
| 2021-07-03T20:59:36 | 2021-07-03T17:52:50 | 1,698 | 580 |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen.
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"This really doesn't seem fair." I called towards the luxurious box overlooking the arena, where the aliens dressed in ancient Roman garb presided over the grisly festivities. I don't know why I bothered.
If you were going to kidnap people -- ostensibly great warriors, which made me puzzled as to why *I* had been included -- from various periods in human history, hand them culturally appropriate weapons, and make them fight to the death for your entertainment, then *fairness* probably wasn't high on your list of priorities.
Plus, I don't think they spoke English.
The portcullis opposite me opened. A swarthy warrior with long dark hair, clad in leather armor, bearing a trident in one hand, and a net in the other, strode out onto the blood-stained sand of the alien arena. I took an involuntary step back.
The warrior bellowed a challenge in a language I didn't understand.
"I don't know what that means, but I don't want to fight!" I shouted back.
He ignored me, continuing to stalk forward with a confident sneer.
"Please don't." I pleaded, shifting from foot to foot nervously.
He kept coming.
"I'm not even a warrior! I'm just *some guy.* There's no, uh...*honor* in this, or whatever!" I uselessly insisted to the man, who clearly didn't know my language any better than I knew his.
He didn't stop.
"Let's team up instead?" I offered, desperately, extending my hand in friendship.
He advanced, drawing back his trident. He was not going to shake my hand.
"Come *on!"* I shouted, crossly, resorting to the universal last-ditch argument of my childhood.
Alas, he did not seem amenable to coming on.
So, with a heavy sigh, when he was just a few yards away, I dropped into a Weaver stance, lifted my pistol, and shot him three times in the chest.
I hadn't lied. I wasn't a warrior, or a soldier, or even a cop. But I was from 21st Century Montana, and I knew how to use the weapons of my culture and time period: firearms.
The warrior fell to the sand, writhed for a moment, and then lay still. For some reason, the aliens *cheered.* They were clearly enamored with the trappings of historical human bloodsports, but it was just as clear that the *nuances* of such events escaped them. Two humans enter, one human leaves -- as long as that happened, they were happy.
Like I said, it really didn't seem fair.
|
**INTERGALACTIC GLADIATORS**
They say the pen is mightier than the sword.
But I’m pretty sure whoever the heck *they* are had never found themselves being charged by a four-hundred-pound warrior wielding the largest sword I’d ever seen, while only being armed with a, you guessed it, a fountain pen.
I didn’t even have time to properly take in the surroundings I suddenly found myself in. I was too busy attempting to keep my head on my shoulders, thank you very much.
I zigged and zagged, pure adrenaline and, yes fear, had my muscle memory pulling out all the old gymnastic rolls, flips and tumbles that I hadn’t done since elementary school. My forty-year-old body was not going to like that in the morning. If there was a morning for me after this.
I dodged another of the giant’s downward slashes that effectively made his sword a guillotine and tried to come up with a way to save my neck, fast.
Think, think – nope, evade, evade!
I couldn’t keep this up for much longer and the Atilla the Hun lookalike staring at me with bloodlust knew it. I was fading fast and from my periphery I could see several other skirmishes coming to a bloody end. What the heck was going –
I tripped.
And Atilla smiled menacingly as he advanced with his sword high above his head, prepared for the killing blow.
Instinctively I raised my arm to protect myself, like that would do anything to stop the steel death coming my way. As the sword arced down towards me, I closed my eyes and cursed the useless pen in my hand. If only I had a shield –
A deafening tha-wump of metal hitting wood resounded above me and reverberated through me. My arm crumpled with the force of impact.
But the sword hadn’t sliced through me.
Astounded, I opened my eyes to see Atilla raging as he tried to pull his embedded sword out of … my shield?
A magnificent shield was strapped to my arm and was so large it covered most of my body. With my foe struggling to free his weapon, I quickly undid the straps and crawled out from under the shield. Pen in hand, I tried to scurry away from Atilla.
But he must’ve realized his hands alone were large enough to squash my head like a grape, because he abandoned the sword and shield and grabbed for me –
He caught my ankle and started to pull me towards him. This wasn’t going to end well for me. Desperate, ready to try anything, I turned the business end of my fountain pen on him and wrote into the air.
And suddenly, Atilla was swallowed up by a large hole beneath him.
Just like that he was gone, and I was a murderer.
Well now, that didn’t sit well with me, so trusting the weird rules of whatever this was, I wrote again, and a pvc pipe emerged from the ground. Satisfied Atilla had air flow, I stood and finally saw where I was.
Think Rome’s Colosseum if it were on a spaceship and had a dome above it that gave an unobstructed view of the galaxy around you.
The stadium seating was packed with tens of thousands of spectators of all different species. And none of them were human.
I was standing in part of the expansive arena floor. And I wasn’t alone.
All around me were the aftermath of one-on-one skirmishes. The victor and the fallen. My fellow victors were looking around with the same dazed expression on their faces when the arena floor flooded with light.
And suddenly we were each caged in by lasers.
I gripped my pen harder in my hand as a loud voice filled the air.
*“Greetings. And welcome to the Intergalactic Gladiator Games!”*
The voice must’ve translated for each individual that heard it, because the spectators all roared responses in their own languages. I didn’t need a translator to know that the crowd wanted more blood. And I didn’t need to touch the laser cage to know I couldn’t get out of that.
But the thing I didn’t know that was bugging me the most was why the heck was I here?
*“Humans! We have brought your greatest warriors from across your times to present your case. Is your species worthy of joining the Empire? Do you have what it takes to walk among us as peers? Or will your worthiest warrior fall, dooming your kind to annihilation?”*
At this point, I had found the speaker. A little blue man with a face that resembled a hippopotamus was holding what I could only presume was a microphone. His voice carried throughout the colosseum.
*“While in the arena, your greatest strength as a warrior is enhanced. This is more for our entertainment than for your advantage. But I digress … Each of you will battle one-on-one until it is clear which warrior class is superior: brains or brawn.”*
Surreptitiously checking out the other “gladiators” on the killing floor with me, I realized that we *were* an odd group. A lot of muscles and true-blooded warriors, mixed in with a lot of nerdy types like me.
*“At which point … the losing class shall be eliminated, and the winning class shall go head-to-head with our greatest warriors to determine whether humans will have a place with us. And if so, what your citizen status will be. Let us begin.”*
The hippo-man made a gurgle in what appeared to be his throat and horns sounded throughout the arena. The lasers enclosing me disappeared and then reappeared, my cage now larger and holding another bloodied victor on the far side of it.
We stared at each other as I quickly tried to think of every fantasy and adventure book I’d ever read. Tried to catalogue defensives and countermoves that I could command with my pen, tried to think of anything to stop this ...
And as my next foe approached, I frantically wrote on the air --
The ground near me shook and rumbled and then Atilla the Hun, guess he wasn't a lookalike after all, was spit out. He stood there immobile for a moment as the advancing foe stalled, perplexed by the new odds.
I took advantage of their confusion and scribbled again, cautiously wording my play and then --
The arena was filled with a gale force wind, like a balloon that was letting out air was suddenly reversed and took in all the air until it was so full it burst.
I shook my head to clear the noise from my ringing ears and looked around:
The remaining human gladiators were now in the stands and the tens of thousands of spectating aliens were in the ring. Hippo-man in the center. The laser cages now kept them in the arena.
As they realized their situation and began roaring in their many tongues, I lifted the pen in my hand, weighing it. It felt different, now that I wasn't in the arena, and I knew without trying that it wouldn't work the same way anymore. But words were still my mightiest weapon. I raised my voice above the din, doubting anyone would hear me, and yet as I spoke they all fell silent.
"Let's try this again, shall we?" I gestured to the killing floor, let the aliens consider their new situation as I looked around at my fellow humans in the stands.
They spanned from across the ages, the greatest warriors humanity had to offer, and almost as one they nodded their agreement. Atilla, next to me, grunted. I turned back to the aliens, "This time, let's see if we can discuss citizenship without bloodshed. Or not, the choice is yours."
&#x200B;
\~\~\~
*Author's Note: I wasn't happy with the ending and after it bugging me for a day, had to come back with the revision. Hope you enjoy, cheers! - W.A.*
Thank you for reading! For more scribblings, wander over to r/WanderingAnonymous
| 2022-07-04T09:20:14 | 2022-07-04T08:43:34 | 137 | 72 |
[WP] On the day you turn 18 everyone is given the first words that their soulmate will speak to them. When you receive yours it says simply "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
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It comes in a dream on your eighteenth birthday. If you have a soulmate, and it turns out about 80% of people do, you have a dream about meeting your soulmate for the first time. The only thing you really remember from that dream are the first words they say to you. Not their face or name or even what you say to them, just those first words. This has led to a lot of people always introducing themselves by name, that way your soulmate can track you down. It seems to work, but then you hear stories about the vague ones. Aunt Selma's soulmate said to her, "Hey gorgeous, wanna get high?" which supposedly led to some quesitonable drug use (the family doesn't talk about it much).
My dream was also vague, "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" Sounds like a barista to me, right? Except I drank their crap coffee for 8 years and found every way to be disappointed.
Firstly, I thought, "Hey, if I always use a unique order, maybe she'll recognize it when I say it and we'll know." Unfortunately, now to this day I can't think of an extra shot no-whip mocha without wanting to gag a little. Tea is the only thing I can stand anymore.
Second, it turns out almost no baristas actually say, "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" Instead it's, "Hi, how can I help you?" or "What would you like?" It took almost a year before someone actually said the exact phrase, and it was another dude. I just walked out without ordering because I didn't want to risk finding out at that moment I was actually gay; it would have been quite the shock.
Third, a bunch of baristas are actually under 18, which is another terrifying possibility. If you're under 18, you haven't had the dream yet, so you don't know what your partner is going to say. You could meet your soulmate and never know, and in fact people think those who don't have a dream have already met their soulmates.
Anyway, I did finally meet her. I was having a shit day, doing a bad job on my dissertation, so my buddies dragged me out for a drink. One drink turned into two or three and eventually I was hammered. I griped about how I couldn't ever find my soulmate when one of them had a brilliant idea. We charged back on campus, straight to the library where there were always a couple dozen students even late at night like this. I walked out into the middle of the main room and shouted out to everyone, "May I have your attention please! Will my soulmate please stand up and say, 'Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?' Thank you." A lot of laughter ensued and some students threw paper and pens at me. While the library staff was herding my friends and I out the door, I hear it, "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" I turn, and there's this this girl who looks like she's been sleeping in the library for finals week studying, pajama bottoms and t-shirt, no makeup or anything, but to me she's the most beautiful woman in the world right there. My friends and the library staff are just standing there stunned, and I walk up and plant the biggest drunken kiss on this girl's lips. Then the room started spinning and I had to vomit, but I did get her number somehow and we had a proper date the next day. The rest is history.
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It really killed me. I've spent the last 18 years of my life being a worried mess until this moment and now I have no idea what to do.
When I ripped open the letter, the slip was torn at the top and was on a long piece of receipt paper. Immediately I notice the logo. Is she a mermaid or are two sock puppets simultaneously trying to get the crown on this lady’s head? The simple majority of the paper is blank until the tail end of the receipt read: “Welcome to Starbucks can I take your order?"
Being a genuine nervous wreck my entire life has strayed me away from many social constructs with coffee houses being places of discomfort for me. To be quite honest, I loathe them. I fucking can't stand the clamor of people on their laptops looking at me. I feel their eyes locking with mine and firing missiles of judgment. Maybe I dress like a slob or maybe my hair looks stupid or maybe I'll never fit in anywhere.
I don't even like coffee. I don't think anyone actually does or ever did. I think people start drinking coffee because someone attached bravado to the process of making it and drinking it so there was another dick-measuring competition for the world to delve in.
Maybe I'll spend the rest of my life holding this receipt paper in my hand. Twirling its tail between my fingers, feeling the clean cut corners amongst my hands. How am I supposed to explain this to anyone? Everyone I go to school with holds their slips to their hearts. Hell, everyone I go to school with drinks coffee too.
I need to go. I need to try. Maybe not today, but maybe one of these days I'll be at a Starbucks and every jigsaw will find itself fitting
I hope so.
Fuck it. I strap on my shoes and get on the rickety ten-speed. It was my father's when he was in college and he still swears by it. The gears click and the brakes rub and it looks rusted because he thought it would be cool to give it this orange spray paint-job. I hate being seen on this thing because everyone in this world has a fucking car. Hell, I'd drive the ugliest ton of metal on the asphalt if it meant that everyone at school would stop giving me crap about my bike.
I made it to the first location in town. There is a couple Starbucks scattered around, and I plan on going to all of them. Even the one in the mall that has all of the kids that hand deliver nothing but shittalking, even the one at the Safeway that happens to have every teacher I've ever had frequenting around the same time I do with my mother.
I walk in to the first destination and see a man. I am a man that is not interested in men.
"Welcome to Starbucks, can I take your order?"
"Yeah can I get some water?"
"We've got the bottles of Ethos down there. They award kids in the impoverished country of-"
"Yeah I can onlyafford tap water."
His hands become fixed to his hips almost cartoonishly.
"Well you can afford to leave."
I bike past the Mall, something left a bad feeling in my stomach and seeing the dicks that I go to school with doesn't make me feel right alongside the awesome sass I just received. As I am biking my pocket begins to dance and remind me that I have a working cellphone. I rip it out of my pocket and glance at the notification bar.
MOM: when will U be home 4 dinner???
Does she know that no one actually texts like that?
I unlock my phone while the bike is coasting. I look up to find that the parking lot fencing in the place possibly containing the love of my life is rather empty except for some cars sitting out front. I throw my fingers back on my screen to unlock my phone again when I feel the bike go out from under me.
Apparently, when people are in near death situations they see their entire life in a flash. I only got to see the Starbucks building drift from the top of my peripheral to the bottom. I'm on the hood of a car, I presume, with my back feeling the heat of the hood of the car. I stay perfectly still and let out a groan and a few words that would upset my mother.
I sit there for some time and hear the hum of the engine come to a stop. A door slams in my left ear and the first thing I get to hear is "Holy fuck bro you okay?" A small Latino man rolls into my peripheral near the building, with the sun sitting adjacent to his head. I'm still frozen on the warm hood of the car.
"You good? Are you good? Fuck man talk to me!"
I let out another groan and look at the guy and lean up. My picnic-table plaid shirt is starting to steep a red on both sleeves and I am feeling woozy; the warmth of the sun is starting to rub against my face.
"Listen, you good? Are you good bro? Hey can you talk to me?"
My face gets redder than my freshly blood stained shirt. "What the fuck?"
"Well bro you were on your phone and-"
I don't feel the weight of the shirt and start getting furious. "I WAS IN THE FUCKING PARKING LOT AND THERE WAS DEFINETLY NO WAY YOUR DUMB FUCKING ASS SHOULD HAVE PULLED IN THAT FAST THIS IS YOUR FAULT!"
"CHILL BRO! Just chill out man are you okay?"
"I'd call the police if I HAD ANY FUCKING IDEA WHERE MY PHONE IS-"
"Please let's not call the cops"
"No I'm fucking calling the cops the second I find my phone."
I got to wake up in the parking lot of a Starbucks hoping that I could find the love of my life but how can I do that if I can't find my fucking phone to call the cops on the guy who put me to sleep.
"Listen maybe we can talk this out."
"No we can't."
"Seriously man. I'm on Supe. If my parole officer hears about this I am so fucked and I only have a 6 months left and I-"
"And you hit me with your car AND SENT MY PHONE FLYING GOD FUCKING DAMNIT."
At this moment, after a furious frustration sets on my shoulders, I decide that the sensible thing to do would be to go inside and borrow someone’s phone to call the police and then my mother. I walk past this hunk of after-market Mazda shit and notice that my bike frame is bent in a nice letter V. Great.
I rip the door open and immediately must have scared everyone in there. Here is some mopey looking longhaired sack of pitiful teenage shit covered in blood. Scary. I arrive at the counter to see what appears to be the only light in the entire world. She's wearing a pair of modest black flats and a pair of black yoga pants that hug her legs and ass quite well. I see her hips rotate and my almost biological instinct to not get caught looking at derrières throws my eyes well above her head and I notice the dark brown hair. It's long but with tight curls. It reminds me of this old porn mag that I found at my grandfather's house. Just curly, but wavy too and long. As I am glancing at her eyes she snaps robotically into her position at the register and starts pressing buttons. Without skipping a methodical beat, she says as she's tapping the screen: "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
Her eyes are green. Green with brown specks around the pupil. I noticed this then I noticed she had her hands over her mouth. Throughout the entire examination I made of this beautiful woman, I had to have had a grin on my face. I think that was the problem.
Here I am covered in blood and literally looking like I got hit by a car, yet the beauty and physique of this barista made me forget about the pain, the bike, the man that I think needs to receive a phone call from his parole officer.
"Ummm Jax? Can you come here?"
And with a moments notice there was Jax. He had biceps the size of my head and his pectorals stood colossal under the vibrant green apron.
"Get the Fuck outta here before I call the cops."
"I need to borrow someone's phone that guy hit me with his car." I point out to find that the aftermarket has left this afternoon, leaving a bent bike and a blood-covered boy inside a Starbucks, talking to Jax.
"Leave. Now."
My legs became heavier after meeting jax. I pick them up and walk from the counter towards the door, dodging glares and judgment missiles from those on their laptops and in the middle of some meaningless conversation at a Starbucks. I push the door open to see a gradient of pink, orange and maroon coalescing into the sun on the horizon. I walk over to my bike and pick it up and let out a sigh.
Thanks for reading! Critiques would be awesome. I need to write more.
| 2014-12-18T00:40:41 | 2014-12-18T00:38:43 | 355 | 14 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT.
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"The humans have a saying youngling: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." The lumbering, shambling mass held a limb over his offspring. "I have been ambassador to these humans for seventy of our lunar cycles, and there are many such sayings that inform us of the human's psyche.
The tiny mossy miniature whined, "that makes them sound warlike and vindictive, father! All we hear from them is their will for peace, prosperity, and respect for others."
With a low-toned rumbling of disapproval the ambassador stood to his full 4 meters of height. "You would have heard that. And it is for good reason that you do, for their capacity for war is only exceeded by their capacity for peace. In war they have prospered, yes, but in peace they have prospered beyond all others."
"But why then, for humans tolerate so many, even against so much hate?" The young one pleaded.
"Another turn of phrase from the humans: love thy neighbor as you would love thyself. That came from an ancient man they call the Christ. Fully a third of all humans follow his creed. Another third follow another, the Buddha: Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared."
In awe, "These humans are a conundrum, father. What do you make of them?"
"There are three things all wise-men fear: the sea in a storm, a lightless night, and the anger of a gentle man."
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He took a long draw of the smoke stick, a human delicacy, though how humans savored smoke at all I'll never know.
his feline features narrowed as he looked out the window to the rain pelting the glass, a few bolts of lightning striking the skyscrapers in the distant gloom.
"Let me tell you a story boy." he began, my third eye, always unconscious and outside of my control, narrowed where my two primary eyes remained impassive.
I didn't like being so addressed.
"long ago, on terra 5, during the thringa invasion.."
"the silent nightmare you mean." I interrupted, and he shook his head, giving a dry chuckle as he adjusted his lavender robes.
His name was pell, andro pell and he was one of the warriors who'd been dumb enough to try to attack the humans head on.
andro survived the attack, as did many others, yet here he was, no sacred war veteran but a living gravestone of sorts, a memorial that spoke only legends and myths of that deadly race.
the light in his busted kitchen was out, and the counters were strewn with strange cookware i didn't know, back in the palace we might have had such equivalents, but i was unsure.
"we landed, began recon and prepped the field, the usual routine. but then....the meteors..."
"Meteors containing abyss." i reasoned, recalling reports of the incident.
"we thought they were weak. we knew they had war tools, but we didn't quite fathom the sheer unnecessary extremes they'd go to just to....to..."
andro shook his head, his cat's ears folding against his head in agitation.
"stupid...the meteors were summoned with gates that had been hidden by the darkness just outside of the planet. we saw them, our equipment detected them but we thought the things were harmless debris....i mean- they were just rings! welp, the meteors strike, the abyss spreads all over our intended battlefield, then.....shit goes south."
"what happened? the few thringa who spoke of it-"
"didn't." andro finished, rubbing out the cigarette.
"abyss is a curious element, condensed time-space, it opens a plane that overlaps our own. the humans knew that and had planned to use such space-time tears to deal with us. horrors crawled forth from these smoke clouds, scales, teeth, fangs, shit i don't think has a sane description. our men fired, but to no avail, none of us were ready for abyssal creatures. but the humans had found ways to weaponize the things, turning abyss meteors into a sort of twisted scorched earth tactic."
"did you even fight humans?" i asked, leaning forward, my tendrils waving in agitation.
"Yep. hundreds of em. after the tears mended, which took a few minutes, we were already in shock, the abyss creatures basically faded back into their plane, the smoke cleared and suddenly there was an army of hundreds surrounding our army of...what? one hundred? the goddamned abyss fiends...they took more of us than we were anticipating."
"so they used shock tactics...." i mused.
"no. no they didn't stop there." he explained. "right afterward they gave the ultimatum, surrender or die. some of us were too pissed to listen, so we ran after em, shooting and roaring...and dying. I saw one of my men torn in half by bunan chaingun rounds. we were so outmatched, so fucking outmatched and outnumbered. while we'd been struggling against the abyss fiends, they'd been surrounding the fight with overwhelming numbers. by then, my troupe had no choice but to surrender."
"any torture?" I asked.
"None. I heard they had a particularly nasty method involving a single drop of water, we weren't really questioned, just held, then returned. i heard that no less than nineteen platoons suffered a similar fate, one managed to survive long enough to put up a fight, but they were all cut down. humans.....strange creatures, equal parts force and peace."
"if i'm to send my armies to conquer them-"
He placed a hand on mine, a look of concern clouding his features, it took all my strength not to tear my hand away from the disdainful furred thing, but i swallowed my pride.
"say, what know you of dragons?" he asked at length.
"a human myth right?" i asked, curious now.
"a fitting one." he said. "dragons, in human culture, are powerful forces of nature, primal lizards that breathe fire, speak, do all sorts of crazy nonsense. most dragons in their lore have a strange habit of holding their power back for the sake of the world around them....they prefer peace, despite being literal calamities."
"and you think humans are this dangerous?" I asked incredulously.
andro gave me a look i don't believe i'd ever forget, sincere terror from a thringa was not something native to them, it was an emotion they rarely displayed, and for warriors the emotion was strictly forbidden. fear would get you killed, court marshalled or worse. yet here he was, on the cusp of dread.
all for humans.
"Your majesty, i tell you this now, these humans.....we only saw a fraction of their strength that day, barely a roar, barely a breath. we saw them flex one muscle to scare us down, crushing the few that dared to continue the fight. you actually think that all they have are those meteor gates? no, i tell you this now humans are powerful. better that they remain peaceful. better that you not bother with your plans. i know you're invested, but if you go to their worlds, a hell the likes of which you've never seen awaits you."
I left andro's residence very much at odds with my own desires. on the one hand he WAS just speaking fearful nonsense, war monuments, much like the elders had claimed.
but this time it was different, what andro told me spoke far less than what he hadn't told me.
with a sigh of resignation i decided it would be in my best interests to continue my quiet investigation, perhaps temporarily ingratiate our empire with theirs in the interests of assessing the threat more seriously before determining our best course of action.
i stroked the tendrils around my mouth thoughtfully as i considered how many backers of war i'd been made to incite already, and what, if any options I could enlist to ensure that should we decide to forgo such an invasion, the backers wouldn't cause me any trouble.
I wasn't emperor, not yet, and father demanded i conquer a few galaxies before he deemed me worthy of the throne.
but this one might prove more of a chore than anticipated.
perhaps worse.
time would tell.
| 2016-03-13T16:55:47 | 2016-03-13T11:15:41 | 112 | 84 |
[WP] In this universe, the first sentence spoken by your future soulmate will echo in your head a week before you meet them. You have been growing more paranoid throughout the week, as six days ago you woke up to hear the phrase “give me your wallet NOW!” Echo in your mind.
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I nearly sprinted across the parking garage to get to my car. Today was the day I was supposed to meet them, but who in their right mind would want a soulmate that seemingly mugs people for a living? Of course, today also had to be the one day I needed to stay in the office late to finish up a project. It was a few hours until midnight, which meant that it was highly likely that my “fateful encounter” was going to happen soon.
I made sure to prepare for this meeting in advance. I left all my money and bank cards at home, leaving only my drivers license and some discount cards in my wallet. For protection, I also bought a small pepper spray bottle and carried it around in my pocket all day. I had expected that meeting my soulmate would be an incredibly awkward and nerve-wracking experience, and it seemed like was going to be right, just not in the way I had initially thought.
After what felt like an eternity, I made it to my car. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath, my body normally used to enduring a negative amount of cardio. It was right at that moment that I felt an object poking into my back.
“Give me your wallet NOW!” I let out a high-pitched squeal in surprise, a noise so embarrassing that simply recalling it made me wish I had just died on the spot, and immediately raised my hands in the air, forgetting all about the pepper spray. Before I could say anything, I could hear an intense laughter coming from the person behind me. I turned around to face one of my coworkers, brandishing her finger gun. “I’m so sorry John,” she said in between fits of giggling, “you just looked so nervous that I thought I’d tease you a little.”
Her name was Jane. She had worked in a different department, so I had never technically met her face to face. The only time I ever really saw her in person was in big company meetings, and even then we never really talked to each other. We did, however, exchange plenty of emails since our jobs relied pretty heavily on each other. Sometimes our emails got a little more casual, some small talk to break up the monotony of the day. Who would have thought that our first meeting would be like this, and that she would be the one to utter that phrase? After getting over the initial shock, I felt an immense sense of relief, a feeling that lasted about two seconds before hearing the sound of a gun being cocked.
“Give me your wallet NOW!”
Jane and I quickly turned towards the gruff, intimidating voice to see a very tall and very muscular man pointing a handgun at us. He looked very calm and composed, as if he had done this hundreds of times before. I panicked, and clumsily pulled out the pepper spray bottle from my pocket, shakily pointing it at our assailant.
“D-don’t make me spray you, asshole!” Sadly, That was the best I could think to say in that situation. I wasn’t, however, quite expecting the response I got from it. The large man’s eyes widened, and he lowered his weapon. Confused, I turned to Jane, who was also staring at me with a wide-eyed expression.
“It’s you,” they both said in unison. They both turned to each other in surprise. I looked back at the man, then back at Jane, then back to the man again, then back to Jane. This time, all three of us shouted in unison:
“*WHAT*?!”
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**This one may be a bit too dark for some people.**
It was a cool and overcast afternoon when Alex left work. He started to relax as he got into his car and put the ranch-style veterinary clinic behind him. Today was Friday, and it had been a looong time coming. "Crap!" he blurted to himself. He had forgotten Sara wanted to go out tonight. Pulling the steering wheel into a u-turn he headed back down the seldom populated country road. It would add on another 5 minutes to his drive, but seeing her tonight was more than worth it. He still hadn't heard her echo, but maybe it was just going to take awhile. 'True love can't always come in an instant!' He thought to himself.
Pulling into the gas station, he slipped out of his car with the engine still running then dashed for the ATM. Barely taking notice of the man wearing a torn flannel jacket and sitting on the ground beside it. "Got any change?" The dirty man asked. Alex didn't even look down. "No" was his only response. The man pulled the draw string of his battered sweatpants, mumbled something, and shuffled for the gas station after easing himself up. Finally the ATM spit out his $100 and Alex had nearly turned around when he felt something jab into the small of his back. "Give me your wallet, NOW!" A jolt of fear crawled up Alex's spine and his skin went cold. Every impulse told him to turn around and see who was messing with him, but his neck felt paralyzed. "I said give me the fucking money asshole!" A sharp pain in his lower back prodded him back to reality. Still uncertain of what to do, Alex tepidly held his wallet out over his shoulder. "..And the money from the ATM, let's go! fucking move faster!!" Another jab to the back and Alex suddenly remembered the cash clutched in his other hand. He quickly passed it over as he began to wonder if the gas station had cameras. "You don't have to do this.." Alex finally uttered. No response. "I gave you all my money!.." he whined. No jab to the back, no response at all. Finally Alex slowly turned around. He was alone.
Later that night Alex went to his dinner date empty handed. Legally he wasn't allowed to even drive his car without an ID. He told Sara about the robbery, about how losing his wallet with all his credit cards, and the creeping sense of having been violated. How told her about going inside for help only to find out the gas station had no cameras. And about the homeless man who smirked when he told Alex he hadn't seen a thing. Sara did her best to comfort him. She gladly paid for their night out and insisted Alex needed to relax now more than ever.
After a romantic evening Alex and Sara said their goodbyes and each went home. They would call eachother in a few hours, before going to bed. Feeling a little buzzed from all the excitement of the day Alex slumped straight into his couch. Something about the muggers voice had seemed so familiar.. like maybe he had heard it before. But he couldn't remember when. He played the sound over and over in his head 'give me your wallet, NOW' it was on the tip of his tongue, but it eluded him. BANG! He was snapped from his reverie by what sounded like someone kicking his front door. He glanced over to his phone and saw no missed calls or anything, "what was tha-" BANG! This time he got up and went to the door. Waiting, he listened for anyone on the other side. Nothing happened. Feeling a little annoyed he finally opened the door. Everything went black.
Through a bleary-eyed daze Alex couldn't hear anything beyond the lyrics to a blaring song "~I used to be a renegade, I used to fool around." Alex tried to sit up 'Where am I?.. Whose music is this?' he asked himself. "~I know that it's crazy, I that it's nowhere." Alex felt firm hands pushed him back down onto a worn couch as the room came into focus. "~It's hip to be square!" blared the Huey Lewis pop song. Trying to sit up again Alex realized this wasn't any room he had ever been in, nor was it his couch "how did I get here?" he croaked through parched lips. "Shhh shhh don't worry about that, everything is fine now." Said a voice.. he had heard that voice somewhere. Alex went cold. 'THE VOICE! The mugger!!' Alex tried to bolt up from the couch but found his legs unwilling, and the mugger standing over him was unyielding. "Alex it's okay! It's me and I love you!" the mugger said. "Sara?" Alex asked, still not fully awake. "Who is Sara??" The man asked with an undignified tone. "MY name is.. well it doesn't matter what my name is. But we are meant to be together!" He added gleefully. "I heard your voice like a week ago, it was so strange at first. All I heard was this single word over and over, just 'NO'. He looked down at Alex with a look of amusement. "And in a man’s voice no less! I was so confused by it." Alex's eyes began to fully adjust to the dim and windowless room. It was a mess. Although it could have smelled worse. "Obviously I'm not gay.." the unnamed mugger continued without pause. "But when I heard you tell that dirty bum to get lost, I knew it was you. You are my one true love!" "Wait.." Alex slowly responded, "but I don't even know you.." The mugger looked condescendingly down at him, "that's not how it works silly!" Alex managed enough strength in his legs to scoot into a partially seated position against the arm rest. He looked away thoughtfully for a second before glancing back to the mugger's waiting and hopeful expression. "But then why did you mug me?" Alex asked with more than a hint of confusion. The muggers face fell. "Oh.. well, when I saw you with all that money and driving that nice car.. I thought there was no way you would love me." His face fell even further "that's what you're thinking now isn't it?" Said the mugger with a hint of hurt. "So that's why I had to take your wallet, so I could find out where you live and learn all about you." He looked away with a hint of shame "and I needed a little money for a present. Something to help you hate me a little less." He added hopefully. Alex looked around the room but didn't see any presents. Just trash and old clothes mostly. That's when he felt a sharp prick in his arm. "OW! What did you do that for?!" Alex demanded as he looked back at the mugger, who was quickly putting away a needle. "Why do you need that?" Alex asked accusingly as his voice slowly faded back toward sleep.
The mugger flinched at Alex's tone "well like I said, I knew you wouldn't accept me at first.." But then his face started to lighten back up, "And us being together is destiny, So I got you some.. medicine to help make this work more better." Alex had begun to panic. He had tried to interrupt and ask what was happening to him, but found he lost the ability to speak or move. "It's a rare poison I got off the internet!" The mugger added as if reading Alex's mind. "You won't go back to sleep, but you won't be able to move or speak either." He looked into Alex's eyes for a sign of criticism before continuing. "This way we can get to know each other really well! I can be very shy, and I think that it holds me back. But now we can both be comfortable together!" Alex tried to scream, tried to cry, tried to struggle. But he was in a living nightmare and couldn't move, only witness.
3 days later, the poison would have been nearly gone from his system. But the mugger, who name was Chad, had skinned Alex after a short wedding ceremony. And had draped the skin around a mannequin who he started calling 'Alex-2'. Alex-1 had never loved anyone, he wasn't capable of love. And Chad loved Alex more than anyone had ever loved anything. In a way they were perfect for each other, both mired in a delusional desperation for true love. Neither capable of forming a genuine connection.
| 2018-08-04T10:54:10 | 2018-08-04T09:23:45 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] All souls in Hell are given the same test upon arrival. If they can create a punishment worthy of being added to the Pit, they get to ascend to demonhood on the spot. You are the first to succeed in 200 years...
[deleted]
|
I stared around at the fires, the melting and reforming bodies.
The demon looked at me and asked in a bored tone.
"Welcome to hell, got a good enough idea for torture, and you get to be admin for that area"
While part of me didnt want to increase the agony of others, I wouldnt be here if I listened to it.
"This is all so... mundane..." I whispered.
"Hmm" The demon looked at me with a slight amount of interest.
"For the people who were most afraid of death, wipe there memories, and have them live out their last minutes, or days, over and over again, wiping their memories each time"
The demon barked out a laugh. "What? A little bit of being scared?"
"Just try it, might surprise you. Never being mortal, probably not something you can even fathom"
"..." The demon looked pensive.
"mm" The hoof footed man hummed, and waved his hand.
Space seemed to ripple, and a cutout appeared in front of us. In it, a vision of a hospital, and a man in a bed, covered in tubing.
The demon pulled a what looked to be a pendant made of thorns from somewhere.
He held it towards the apparition and it glowed a sullen red.
"Lucifers Halo, I wouldnt have thought of it in billion years. Looks like we have a winner"
|
I awake after falling out of my body into a dark pit were I quickly lost consciousness. I know I wasn’t the best person ever. In retrospect I was kind of a dick. I made people mad on purpose and spent my time on the internet being the antagonist of all the sides.
However when I awoke I was on a stone ground it was Jagged and it felt like a sauna without the steam. I saw before me a red humanoid figure. Their eyes glowed red and they had two massive horns protruding from their temples. It asked me “lowly human you have been given a chance to escape torture knowing full well you have dammed many to the fate you design.” Confused and at a loss from words I simply ask “what?” The demon then elaborated “As expected you have no Idea what I am talking about. Every human that has ever died and been sent to hell can design a torture for many evil soul’s eternity. If I like it as the current on duty rank 2 demon I can differentiate between a good and bad torture. I even run a small section of hell under a rank 3 demon of course, who intern works for a rank 2 demon all the way up to rank 10 who is known by you humans by satan. If you pass you can become a low level rank 1 demon running just your single torture. If this reality comes to pass as the liquid agony comes through you can send it up to increase your own power or consume it to gain its strength. It’s about balance really if you don’t eat it as a demon you’ll be dispersed into the world and reincarnated into who knows what. But as you get stronger you can fight your neighbors to gain the liquid agony rights from their land and you’ll take a cut of their gained power. And if you think you can challenge me at any point as the demon that will be overseeing your area you can very well fight me and if you win you get a cut from my entire territory while I am pushed back to my starting spot. If this future will come to pass you must also know you are given a month long period to farm as much agony as possible where none of it is syphoned off. In this month it is impossible for other demons to even think of trying to claim your territory. However if you go to fight before your grace period is up it’ll end prematurely. Demons also nor living things secret agony so no point in mentally torturing them. There is more but that is for after you become a rank 2 demon. And the conditions for advancement is for a person who has reached demonhood. However if you fail to make a good torture you will be given to to the weakest demon in my territory and they will use you for their liquid agony.” “Okay sounds easy enough.” “Oh you say that but no soul has passed in 200 years. Here are the rules: if your torture is anywhere in all of hell then it’s an instant fail. If your torture won’t produce more than one cup of agony in single day it is a fail. If for any reason I don’t like it unless overruled by a higher ranking demon that happened to walk by at that moment which is very rare then you fail. You get as much time as you need you can even construct your torture and see it’s predicted output just by visualizing it.”
I thought about this for many hours. I looked at a bunch of things like pure nothingness no stimulation at all and the prediction graph was good but the average was way to low with its one massive spike in the middle. I then experimented with dementia and a reality effectively warps around it. But the randomness of it was no good either. My last idea however was glorious. It was an empty room with only one thing a small floating tablet. This tablet controlled the room and allowed the person to add things or “upgrade” their room. However nothing works properly when added and you never have enough coins to buy the upgrade to make it do so. But I quickly scraped it as simply buying a bunch of small things for a high price over time led to a loop hole that got your things fixed. Then I had an idea they are forced to be the victim of their every crime ten fold in various stages and they can never get justice in fact trying to fight back will make it worse. Abuse doers (tell me how to spell the correct word correctly) are abused in the same way they abused anyone in any form, Extorters are extorted and threatened with torture beyond belief while working to barely have enough to feed themselves anyway, Bullies are bullied, and the punishment is multiplied another tenfold if they committed their crimes against people who were un able to live by themselves. I also added another contingency that if they got into whatever happened they were to be given a new punishment and it will cycle around however all the souls will be manipulated to feel everything slightly more and have almost no plasticity or sense of pleasure. Plus the chart was high all the time.
When I turned in my work I looked at the second ranked demon with my fingers crossed and I watched as a wave of horror flash over is face, then an evil grin. “ HAHA you amaze me. You pass never in all my existence have I EVER seen a torture that _almost_ made me feel pity. You pass.”
I could feel the relief leave my body as my muscles loosened so much it’s like I was told I won a government run lottery that dealt with all my problems for forever including a 100% tax break. The second rank demon looked at me and told me a few more things. “You are not restricted to your post in fact there are many many places that suit your comfort. These are usually run by high ranked demons who’s torture gets them lots of agony but they hardly increase in strength. The common currency is liquid agony and this gets you anything you can imagine no matter how sickening. Also you rise a demon rank when you manage to defeat any demon that over sees you.” “Wait one question why did you tell me about a bunch of stuff that would only be helpful after I passed anyway? To give you that bit of hope, usually getting out of an eternity in hell is enough incentive but this bit of hope to be snatched away along with the chance to get strong and be in power also does _wonders_ for our numbers.”
And that’s how I started my life on the path to rank 10 to become the next satan.
Some notes: if a rank 1 demon fights and wins against another rank 1 demon they do not become rank 2 just that other demon gets even less liquid agony.
Also tell me of any mistakes I made
Also also if this gets 420 updoots I will literally make a part two.
| 2021-12-22T17:23:55 | 2021-12-22T16:53:51 | 49 | 27 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold.
|
You pop your Zinger in and crack open an energy drink to chase it with. It was only 1/3rd, good for a quick power nap. You step back over to your booth and monitor the customers as they scan their groceries.
Nobody needs help, the machines are practically decorative at this point. The AI camera system runs the show, monitoring items, bags, credit card accounts, you're just the copilot. The human backup every automation needs.
The Zinger starts to kick in. You feel your eyes drifting, your head tilts forward and immediately kicks back. You had that dream again about riding the rail car out of the mining tunnel. The coastline the train car passed looked so nice, crystal clear waters flowing under that beautiful concrete bridge.
Every once in a while you get on that bridge and try to get to the other side, but you never get there.
You blink a few times, it's only been a second, but you swear you spent over a hour walking that bridge.
It doesn't take long for you to get your bearings, the energy drink helps. You look out at the monitors, an AI display tracking everything on screen. Business as usual. You check your watch, you know you just checked it before the Zinger, but you do it anyway. Force of habit.
8:02pm, only 10 hours left, okay, not quite halfway done but getting there. You wonder when was the last time you ate?
You stare at the monitors, time passes, you're getting tired again. How? You only took the Zinger 20 minutes ago. Maybe you should've had a full 8 hour. No, you took an 8 before you started, that would make you way too groggy now. You're just bored.
You try to think about what you'll be doing when you get out. It'll be sunrise, what used to be morning.
You'll take an 8 when you get out, then grab some eggs. Maybe go for a walk? No. Standing all day your body needs rest even if your mind doesn't.
You can just do the usual, watch a movie, take a Zinger, play a game, take a Zinger, read a book, take a Zinger. Come back to work. Take a Zinger.
Zingers are the best. You've never worked more, earned more, or been more well rested, constantly.
You check the clock again. 8:51. Maybe you'll take another 1/3rd at 9. You could use the rest. Try to cross that bridge again. You like looking at the waves. You love the walk.
|
She was:
a shadow on the edge of consciousness, perhaps less, though always more;
a voice in the night, most often when you needed it;
a companion in the daylight hours, those little slips that feel like death, and then rebirth on waking;
a thought you never knew you had;
a dream you wanted to go back to.
The girl slips through twilight, dawn threatening behind her. It’s a world turning gray in a place where the only colors should be stars, or the desires people bring to her; which could be many and could be confusing, but which never had any other place to go. She sees a doorway up ahead, slips through it. All she does is slip these days.
It’s a man. He’s sitting at the dinner table having breakfast, which doesn’t make much sense to her. All that pomp and circumstance replaced by paperwork, seats for seven others taken up by laptops, notebooks, and more phones than one man needs. He’s working in that half-world between awareness and the subconscious where the mind tries to retreat to now there’s nowhere else to go. He’s almost creative. He shapes a phrase that he thinks is quite clever, poetic. He used to be a poet in his teenage years. He crosses it out. The boss doesn’t like poets. Not in an earnings call. There’s no poetry to ones and zeros, it’s all stark prose where the subtext is stripped out and the punctuation is a bunch of exclamation points. One after every line. Every life. He’s drifting.
The man reaches to his right and pulls out a little red pill, drinks the pill down with his cup of tea. Not coffee anymore. He doesn’t need coffee and he never liked the taste.
And the girl steps back. She has her foot in the door by the time rush hits, and then it’s rushing past him, towards her, the eight hours that should have been her life flashing before his eyes, a tidal wave of simulated sleep, perchance to never dream again.
The door slams shut behind her. She can hear the man humming. A lullaby. He’d had a baby once, or had that been a dream too?
The girl slips south. Doors crack open and slam shut. Open, shut. Open, shut. She peers through another, sees an awkward child playing. That coltish age where they could be a girl, could be a boy, could be something else—they’re still trying to find themselves in every way they can.
The setting is a porch towards daybreak. A chill spring morning that will lead to a glorious spring day, which will lead to something else, something colder, because these days the girl feels like everything slips back to winter. The child is staring down at a blank sheet of paper, eyes drooping, head lolling sideways. The girl steps closer.
She can help. Wants to help. She reaches out, and it’s like a little piece of the child reaches back, half-formed or less, all soft curves and frayed edges, hardly a suggestion of the person that they’ll become one day.
But there is something. The girl can see it if she focuses. She’s good at pulling threads together, and what are people but threads, really? An interest here, a thought there. Little scraps from friends and family along the way that snarl-up in the darkness where they should. Where people aren’t even thinking about them. Where they’re thinking about work or school or love or lust or the vague impressions of all those things that they’ve gotten from books and movies. The way that a life *should* have been.
A dream can slip between those cracks.
The girl steps forward. She’s taking on a shape, something she used to do all the time. She’ll know why soon, but for now, it feels right. Needed. She slips into it and through it and towards the exhausted child.
A breeze kicks up, cold off the mountains in the distance. The child’s head snaps up. Shakes. They reach into their pocket, pull out a little red pill. Stare at it for a while. Swallow.
The breeze howls, a door slams. Her twilight gets a little grayer.
South becomes imperative. North is wrong, east is cursed, and she doesn’t dare think of west. South pulls her. There’s desperation south, exhaustion. A need to sleep, to think freely, to let a soul spill into darkness and let the work bleed off, the school, the love, the lust, the little desires and the big. All the thoughts that used to crowd in at the break of day are now just thoughts. Everywhere. All the time. The horizon turning into data, as far the eye can see.
A door is thrown open.
The girl stumbles towards it. Slips.
Sees a young woman.
She sits on a cushion in front of a tall bronze rimmed mirror, its edges worked like spreading vines. She’s brushing her hair. Long hair. Beautiful hair. A true black river spilling over one shoulder. The brush catches and the woman sighs. Such a tiny sigh, so solemn. There are bags under her eyes like someone pressed hard into her skin and smudged. They look like they hurt. There’s a bottle sitting on the floor beside her, almost lost in the tumult of makeup.
And the woman keeps brushing her hair. It’s a battle, a war she’s losing. It won’t be the way she wants it. She looks at the bed sometimes, a mess that she’s trying and failing not to think about. There’s a guitar in one corner, a book of piano sheet music discarded on a stool. Three pairs of shoes, two pairs of stockings, one well-worn dress that might have been well-loved once, trailing back in a self-consciously random line towards the closet. Her bookshelves—well stocked—are the only things in order.
She sets the hairbrush down. She’s shaking like she wants to throw it through the window, which is open now but the girl watching her gets the sense that doesn’t matter much.
The young woman looks at the guitar. The piano music. Says *“I used to…*” and then a curious thought flits across her face. Like she can’t complete the sentence. Might even have forgotten how. She laughs, a little nervously, more than a little afraid. She reaches for the hairbrush, drags it through her hair, the door opens and a man comes in and he sighs too. Deep and exasperated as he trudges through the mess and finds the bottle, uncaps it, holds out two little red pills.
The girl sees him from the chest down, towering over the young woman. He’s a rumbling voice, rising up and crashing down and pushing her back towards the doorway, the twilight, the encroaching dawn, which is a bad thing for dreams. Sometimes they shouldn’t end. Like poetry from ones and zeroes and those self-discovering years, they should go on and on. The girl thinks so, at any rate. She lets out a little sob when the young woman reaches for the pills. The man’s hand comes down, cups her so cheek softly, his thumb resting in the hollow beneath her eye.
Twilight. The gray before the dawn.
The girl sits on a ridge and looks out across it all, this world where she’s always lived. Home, with room to spare.
She was:
a shadow on the edge of consciousness, perhaps less, though always more;
a voice in the night, most often when you needed it;
a companion in the daylight hours, those little slips that feel like death, and then rebirth on waking;
a thought you never knew you had;
a dream you wanted to go back to.
She is:
ripples on a pond;
a frontier that men have conquered;
an afterthought in a brave new world.
She could have been:
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TurningtoWords
| 2022-03-18T10:24:56 | 2022-03-18T09:00:46 | 190 | 36 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once.
|
Cold eyes stare at me from across the room. I know the feeling behind them. It is Judgement.
I'm not like the others here. Many of them have a supernatural ability. Strength, calculus, prediction, speed. I am, for all intents and purposes, a normal human being. But there's one thing I've mastered that makes the headmaster truly believe I am special like the others.
Instinct.
It's the most important survival skill we have, but everyone else ignores it because to them, super is all they need. I know better. It tells me when to fight, when to flee, when to kill, when to stop. It sings its sweet little nothings in my gut that guide me.
I can feel the adrenaline flowing through my veins already. The strongest one in the room walks towards me now. I can feel he wants to kill me. Processes in the body get to work.
He winds up his punch, and I dodge to the side. He misses, and I sweep his legs, sending him to the ground. I grab his arm and snap the bone. He screams in pain.
Cold eyes stare at me from across the room. I know the feeling behind them.
*Fear.*
|
"Alright class, welcome to 'Intro to Personal Abilities 1'. Before we introduce ourselves, can anyone tell me what the three classes of powers are?"
A bookish girl with large glasses raised her hand.
"The first class of powers are mental abilities. Mental abilities are controlled by the mind, and are often exerted against an outside environment. People with metal abilities are often physiologically identical to non-powered humans."
The professor smiled. "Very good, Samantha. Can anyone give me an example of a mental ability? John?"
A student wearing a black motorcycle jacket with a slicked-back hair looked up groggily from his desk. He gave a slight wave of his hand, as the chalk by the professor's podium picked itself up and scrawled "telekinesis" on the chalkboard.
The professor chuckled. "A verbal answer would have sufficed, John, but I appreciate the demonstration. Now, can anyone tell me what the second class of powers are?"
A burly looking student in athletic wear raised his hand.
"Physical abilities. Physical abilities involve a change, or uh, the *ability* to change, a person's own body." The student's arm morphed slightly, his very skin changing into a form that resembled cracked concrete, as he picked up the empty desk in front of him with one hand.
"Correct! Now, can anyone tell me what the third class of power is?"
The class looked puzzled as they sat in silence.
"Anyone?"
Samantha shook her head, and several others responded in kind.
The teacher grabbed the chalk and wrote "META" on the chalkboard.
"The third class of powers are meta-abilities: powers-over-powers, if you will. The ability to sense another person's power would be a meta-ability. It is the rarest class of power, and can be either physical or mental."
The teacher clapped his hands "With that said, I want everyone in the class to introduce themselves. Say your name, your power, and what class you belong to".
One by one, the class introduced themselves, until they reached a introverted-looking student in the back corner of the room.
"Hi, uh, my name is Liam" the student shuffled uncomfortably in his chair "and I don't know what my power is. My biomark results were 145/150, but they didn't match any known ability. The Dean of Academics decided that I should attend classes anyway, at least until my ability shows."
"That's fascinating" the professor said, thoughtfully "and a smart move, on the part of the Dean. Rest assured Liam, you won't be left behind in this class. Powers or not, you're a part of this school, and I'll do my best to accommodate"
His sentence was interrupted by a shrill class bell.
"We'll finish up tomorrow, class dismissed!"
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Outside the classroom, Liam made his way down the hallway and toward his next class, when his path was blocked by four upperclassmen. They towered over him and moved in closer, causing him to step back slightly.
"We don't take well to spies around here" said one kid as he clenched his hand into a fist, powerful arcs of electricity crackling between his fingers, "You said you didn't have a power, which means you're either lying, or a spy"
"Guys, I'm not looking for a fight, and I'm not a spy. If you want to talk to the Dean, then by all means do. I've told you everything I know"
"Go taLk to thE deAn" the electric-kid said mockingly "Know your place, new kid!"
He opened his hand an a bolt of lightning shot out, hitting Liam in the chest and making him double-over in pain. Electric-kid's cronies laughed like comic-book minions.
"Or there will be more where that came from!"
Liam struggled to catch his breath as he crouched on the ground "I'm......not.....afraid of you"
His response was met with a chorus of "oooooooooh" from electric-kid's cronies. Electric-kid cracked his knuckles.
"Well, well, well" Electric-kid laughed "Looks like someone wants to play!" He swung an electric-charged kick toward Liam's head, but Liam grabbed his ankle, narrowly stopping the kick. Liam braced for the electric shock, but felt nothing.
"Get off of me, freak!" the electric-kid yelled as he freed himself from Liam's grasp with a kick to his chest. He pointed his finger as if charging up another lightning strike....but nothing happened.
"What!? What the fuck is this?" the electric-kid stood wide-eyed and bewildered.
Liam, meanwhile, felt...different. Something within him had changed, and it moved through his very body in a way that was immediately noticeable. An energy, buried deep within, finally surfacing.
Liam staggered to his feet as electric-kids cronies took a fearful step back. He looked at his hand, expecting burns where he had grabbed his leg, but instead found tiny arcs of electricity trickling up his arm and arcing between his fingers. He stretched his hand, and bright arcs crackled from his fingers like a tesla coil. He walked slowly toward electric-kid and his crew.
"You....you can't!" electric-kid cowered, tears welling up in his eyes as the reality of the situation set in "You can't attack me, that's cruel! I can't defend myself!"
Liam was unphased. He continued to walk, slowly and menacingly, toward electric-kid.
"YOU'RE A BULLY!" screamed electric-kid as he burst into ugly tears "YOU PREY ON THE WEAK AND DEFENSELESS, DON'T YOU FEEL THE SMALLEST SHRED OF EMPATHY YOU MONS..."
His hysterics were cut short by an electrically-charged backhand slap, which sent electric kid flying down the hallway and into a set of glass doors, which cracked on impact. Electric kid lay writhing on the floor, bawling his eyes out and clutching his burned face as his group of cronies fled the scene.
Liam stared him down from the other end of the hall.
"No."
EDIT: [Link to Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/yk0r0r/comment/iusxz6s/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) in the reply comments
| 2022-11-02T10:57:20 | 2022-11-02T09:00:33 | 245 | 177 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once.
|
As the class watched on in abject horror, I zoned out a little and thought about what brought me here. This school was supposed to "straighten me out" as dear old Dad put it - after all, if everyone else has superpowers and I don't I shouldn't ever be able to win a fight. And if I could only get into losing fights surely I'd be less interested in picking them.
Oh how daft that old prick was.
30 minutes ago, when I arrived, I was told the rules. No running in the halls, don't steal our shit, standard stuff really. But then we got onto rules around fighting... Like how if a super uses their power on a null like me for violence they can have their powers sealed away by the Bureau.
10 minutes ago when I walked into my first class, I got a good whiff of the smug supers and their superiority complexes. As soon as I was introduced they demanded to know what a "mere null" was doing in their "sacred halls" dirtying the place up. Now, if the last 20 schools have taught me anything it's two things: the first is that you must establish your place in the local pecking order, and the second is that someone is usually kind enough to volunteer to help you do that.
So when one of the neon haired morons with an anime haircut got in my face during the fuss, I decided to accept his help and see just how far the rules would let me go. See, fighting in a dispute *is* allowed here, but unlike me I don't think any of these posers have ever seen the inside of a gym that wasnt tailored to their powers.
Since I slapped this kid to the floor and started slowly breaking fingers, nobody has said a word. Nobody has even tried to stop me, though I doubt any of them know how without their *precious* powers to help. I figure I've got enough time before the teacher gets back with whatever help he thinks is coming to get through both hands.
Continuing to make unwavering eye contact with my new classmates, I smiled and addressed them.
"You know what? I think I'm going to like it at this school."
|
"Well, well, well, if it's Tommy O'Gransworth. Granny to me and the boys, like." In came Ted Nuggerton. All-round arsehole, and self-proclaimed champion of the school ground. His thicker-than-most Irish accent horrendously disturbing the peace.
I was sitting in the small tired-looking, abandoned chapel, built back in days long past. No one came here anymore, besides me. It was my quiet place, away from the feeling of being out of place in a world where power was everything.
Ted Nuggerton and his cronies had broken that silence.
"Shawn Brown owes me forty euros; said you wouldn't be here, but I know you better, like," Sneered Ted. "Much better like."
I rubbed my eye. The one that wasn't black and blue from the punks behind me. "Is that right?"
"It is," Ted muttered, coming down the aisle with his idiot followers. "But he also told me, you little git, you've been slagging me off behind my back. Is he telling the truth?"
Thomas shrugged. "Would you believe me either way?" He asked, turning his head over to watch the schoolyard bully limp around the front pew to tower over his victim.
Ted frowned. "Probably not. I think you'd just be trying to save your own skin, like."
His four friends flanked me, ensuring I had no chance of escape.
"Well, there we go then," I sighed. It would be lunchtime soon. I hadn't brought any food with me, because I knew something like this *might* happen. It was a two mile walk across the countryside back to our village, but I didn't mind. No one came here besides me until now, because it was so out of the way.
"Well, there we go then, eh? That's all you've got to say?" Ted seethed, his nostrils flaring. "You're the only punk at school who has not a lick of powers, and you're the only dryshite on this entire island, Tommy O'Gransworth, who stands up to me thinking you're something other than a nothing." He opened his mouth, and his tongue lashed out. At the edge, miniature spikes poked out, slashing my cheeks, before his tongue withdrew. "Didn't like that, did you?"
I shook my head, putting a hand to the bloodied wound.
"We're not done here, O'Gransworth. We're done for a long time, like. When you come back to school tomorrow, you're never going to get in our way again. Do you understand?"
There it was. The fear and the inadequacy I felt every time I stepped into school had come rushing back. Couldn't he just feck off back to-?
"Feck off," I snapped, trying to hide back the tears. "Feck off and leave me alone!"
His tongue lashed out again, and the spikes at the edge slashed the other side of my cheek. Ted's friends jeered, fist-bumping one another. None of them had any impressive powers, but they were strong enough to stop me from making a run for it.
"Or what?"
"Or I'll go and tell your sister, like. You know - Carol."
Ted's face dropped. "Don't you bring her into this!"
"I bring something into her every time I see her," I spat. "And we've gotten chatting about you after I've fecked her brains out." I jabbed a trembling finger at the fat cunt. "She doesn't like you much, does she? What's the word she calls you? Starts with a "b"." I tapped my forehead. "Burden"? Was it that? Aye, I think it was." I turned my head to his friends. "Do you make your own beds, lads? Do you tidy and make them look nice? Ted here-" I nodded to Ted. "-doesn't. His sister does. Ever since your mammy ran out - no doubt because of you - Carol's been doing *everything*. You're a lazy tool, aye? Probably never learnt how not to shite your bed when Carol forgets to leave the light on at night! Stuck with the mental age of a three-year old, aren't you, eh?"
I was beginning to feel good about myself. Powerful.
"Oh, aye, one day I'm sure she'll see what use you are around the house. If one of the farmers ever needs another pig to butcher, I'm sure they'll pay Carol a pretty penny to buy herself something nice, instead of looking after you."
Ted opened his mouth, and the weaponised tongue drew its spikes, and drove them into my shoulder. My body stiffened, and I gritted my teeth. The spikes dug deeper and deeper.
"Go...go ahead..." I managed to spill out. "See what...see what Carol does to you then..."
The spikes and the tongue withdrew to Ted's mouth.
"If you ever touch me again," I growled, rubbing my wound. "I will make your life a living hell. Do you understand me? I will hurt you, and all your friends-" I motioned to the cronies. "-until the only escape you get is from jumping off of whatever cliff you're closest to." I rose to my feet, my legs shaking. "You come to my house to shatter my windows again, like, or you bully my sisters and steal their sweets? I will ruin *all of you*. Your sister doesn't give two shites about you. I mean that, Ted Nuggerton. I know she beats you up, blackening your eye. You got that limp from her, right?" I nodded to his weakened leg. "That's not from fighting in the schoolyard. You don't fool me."
Ted was staring at me as if I'd plunged a knife through his heart already. Reluctantly, he nodded.
"Do I make myself clear to you all, you fecking eijits?" I growled, glaring at all of them. "You're all going to leave me alone!"
Ted's friends nodded enthusiastically, before scampering out of the lonely chapel.
Once they were gone, I asked. "Am I going to have any more problems with you, Ted Nuggerton?" My voice was calm, like a teacher trying not to scare a student who they were disappointed in.
"...No."
"Do you promise?" I asked. "You've pushed me around long enough that I'm not fooling around, like."
"I promise."
I inhaled. "Damn right. Go away then, and let me have some peace."
Ted Nuggerton limped out of the citadel after his friends. I watched him go like a wounded dog, before my shoulders dropped, and I did to back to the pew. There wasn't really any way I could be sure that Ted was going to keep to his word, but I had it on good authority that he would.
A blonde haired beauty stepped appeared from behind the altar, no longer invisible.
"I thought it went well, Carol," I breathed, leaning my head back, trying to manage a grin.
"Went well? I told you just to tell him to back off, not to emotionally damage him for the rest of his life!" Protested the woman.
| 2022-11-02T12:26:39 | 2022-11-02T11:48:42 | 83 | 27 |
[WP] Multiple personalities are the norm. You are the first person to be diagnosed with SPD: Single Personality Disorder. Scientists are baffled: "How can you possibly cope with being so alone?"
|
"Well, I'm not that alone because clearly people *can't stop fucking talking about it.*"
The researcher was taken aback. Weak.
"J-John says that you're not openminded enough.
Funny. He'd called himself John minutes ago. I was used to this, but people were always expecting me to reveal some hidden side to myself.
I never did.
"Hey. If we just go by who thinks differently, I'm up at the top. You're the close-minded one for closing me out."
His voice became high pitched. "*Excuse me!?*"
"Yeah. There's many things you'll never know that I do. Decisiveness. unity. Even the most coordinated people I know hesitate with simple decisions."
"..."
"I can still make friends. And people know what to expect from me. Even if I change, *I change.* No one else."
Petulantly. A child avatar-four personalities was on the higher end. "I think you're wrong."
"Also-you'll never know the silence. You can wonder all your life but your minds will always be full. Unclear and disjointed. Just because it's normal doesn't make it good."
The scientist was taken aback.
It was silent again.
Nothing quite like it, I'd say.
---
So I got gold for this. That's... a little weird, but thanks anyways! @.@
|
Doctor Hascom looked over the files on her desk. Her concern was focused on a Stan Jupizcik. She couldn't pronounce his last name, *but not that it mattered*. This Stan... he was *strange*. Yet he was likable, *but she needed to hate him for he was an anomaly* in this wonderful Universe. He was labelled as having an obsolete diagnosis - Single Personality Disorder. An indeed strange and *inciteful* case *abomination*. She blinked to clear her mind. Stephanie and Jeanette were at it again, and yet they seemed to agree that this Stan was **a total weirdo**. Stephanie focused on the typed words, *but Jeanette pondered on the accuracy on whether or not this Stan Ju-whateverthehellhisnameis was real*.
The following file has been labelled to be of A2-class accuracy.
So the file was fine to work with. Few files ever were labelled as A1-class. This was the best she could get. An A2-class had no errors, but was worked upon and collaborated by dedicated and qualified professionals, fact-checked and each detail proven until discrepancies were all but gone. A1-class files were written by whole organizations, and then worked upon even further to an unfathomable degree.
Hascom kept reading.
The following conversation has been recorded on Tape I side A. Conversation is between Doctor Janik Hassim and Stan Jupizcik.
She took the tape, and slotted it into the provided player. The voices were unusually crisp, *but the age had taken it's toll, it's all lies, all of it.*
Doctor Hassim: "Stan... you have been diagnosed with a permanent condition that may well limit your ability to cooperate with us on this matter. And ultimately, we hope to do our best to -end- rehabilitate you so that you may one day -maybe die in peace- go out and see the light again - it's all a lie-. After reading your arrest report, you seem to have gotten by very well with lying -being a fraud-. As if you have no problems with lying..."
Stan Jupizcik: "It's only lying if you get caught. Anything's a crime if you get caught, really."
Doctor Hassim: "And yet Stan... we all have consciences that tell us what is right and what is wrong."
Stan Jupizcik: "You mean your other *yous*? Is that what you call the other voices in your heads? Consciences?"
Doctor Hassim: "I guess it's an interesting insight, Stan. But this isn't about us, Stan-"
Stan Jupizcik: "Of course not, it's always about you. You people tell yourselves that having multiple voices is completely normal, but when I have only one voice, I'm regarded as a leper. This is why I lied. I had no qualms about it either, considering how being caught like this is far worse than talking to myself. But you... you focus on this so-called "rehabilitation" and you think you're all okay, and here I am, talking to you. I want out, really, I do. But there's nothing you can do to help with my having only one me in my brain. Or, rather, that I have one me in our noggin."
Doctor Hassim: "Subject shows clear comprehension of the issue at hand, and must be- *destroyed* -rehabilitated- *no matter what* -to rejoin society. Stan. Stan, how does it feel to have only-"
Stan Jupizcik: "I'm not alone. I have myself, and you're stuck with many of you. I know who I am. But you... you don't know which is the true you. I feel solace in that, that I have a definite identity that doesn't say 'Screw it, Stan, I'm emo now, or I like Nicki Minaj now.' I like having something that I absolutely enjoy, without the grey in-between."
Doctor Hassim: "Stan, I'm not sure you entirely understand the concept of having the ideal number of-"
Stan Jupizcik: "No, I probably don't get what having three people inside you feels like. Ask a pornstar, maybe she'll tell you. But technically that'll make something like twelve people-"
Doctor Hassim: "Stan, please, try to -work with us to end you- help us help you -die-."
Stan Jupizcik: "When you're like me, you see through everyone's lies. Their other voices say what the other voices won't. I lie and got no problems lying further. You're simply afraid of how apparently unpredictable I am. And you're transparent. I see this place for what it is. Everyone talking to themselves, you speaking out bullshit about how you'll kill me. I've seen it all at this point. I've taken pleasure at torturing people like you. Made me hot, you know. I got no problems lying, but now, I'm being honest. Honest to whatever being you believe in. Making them think I'm lying, or I'm being honest. Mindfucking is my turn on."
Doctor Hassim: "Stan, if you please-"
Stan Jupizcik: "Shut the fuck up, man, just shut the fuck up."
Doctor Hassim: "Security, -kill him- detain the subject immediately -and kill him-. Insults are encouraged, they'll get the subject to rehabilitate faster. Beat the insults into him, -as you were trained-.
The recording kept playing *it's so redundant* , even though the transcript ended *so sad too bad*. Hascom heard boots on the ground, a body falling, and the sound of a blackjack hitting flesh *mmmm that's so hot*. She turned over the transcript, and saw the continuation of the whole exchange. It was *chillingly good, better get some caramel popcorn*.
Guard: "You like that, -you fucking retard-? You like that, you piece of shit, huh -you poor fuck-? Get your ass up, you're going off to your girlfriend. She'll like that. She's like you, except she's got a giant dick -shiv actually she's a he-"
The beating sounds continued, and Hascom found herself sad. That's where it all ended. No continuation. The rest were gone, and she was tired.
It was time to *die* go to sleep *that was hot* anyways.
| 2016-11-18T10:56:23 | 2016-11-18T10:55:32 | 289 | 12 |
[WP] You work at a hospital. Outside a terminal patient’s room, someone tries to enter. You stop them, “Sorry, family only.” They give you a strange look, as do those nearby. “You can see me?” They ask, summoning a scythe from thin air. You just told Death they couldn’t claim a soul.
|
I had expected I would have to call security.
For some reason, poor Mrs. Palmer had quite a few unauthorized visitors trying to see her in her dying days. The grapevine gossip was that she had a huge estate and an iffy will and relatives were already fighting over who'd get what.
So I'd been looking past the young woman to Ramón at the nurse's station, hand already lifting in the classic 'call me' form before I paused, struck by his puzzled expression, and the way he was looking directly at me, as if the woman wasn't even standing there.
I put on the most sincere expression I could muster and held up one finger to the woman. Then I channeled a bit of my inner Will Smith showing off Jada, making subtle jazzy motions to indicate the woman in front of me. He cracked a bewildered smile, still furrowing his brow at me, but making no motion to grab the phone. I was about to engage in further hand-signaling shenanigans when a glint of metal flashed in front of my face.
Behind the scythe now pointed at my face, I beheld in a different light the 5ft nothing woman with short curls, freckled skin, and what now stood out to me as unnaturally pale eyes that faced me.
"I said," she began in a long-suffering tone that indicated it was far from the first time she had repeated herself, "how are you able to see me?"
"With my own two eyes miss," I drawled, hands up in a placating gesture but deciding to act as if nothing was wrong. "And contacts because I'm blind as a bat. Now I'm going to have to ask you to leave again, this time for brandishing a weapon in the hospital. How the hell did you even get that past the front desk?"
One hand drifted down to frantically mime "CALL" at Ramón. I noticed an aid staring at me before disappearing into the next room over. Ramón continued to stare and do nothing.
The scythe was lowered, but still angled towards me. Narrowed eyes evaluated me. I sucked in more air on a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Faking calm, I tried to let it out in a fed-up sigh. "Ma'am, I've got to ask you to leave again, please."
I reached out towards her, hoping to grasp an arm and steer her towards an exit, but my hand passed right through, grasping nada.
She watched this, unperturbed, eyes still narrowed in concentration. Suddenly, they widened and her eyebrows went up, disappearing into a fringe. As I watched, the scythe disappeared with a quiet 'pop.' In it's place, something like a rolodex appeared, floating in midair, and she began to rifle through it with the air of an annoyed secretary.
Tentatively, I reached out towards her again, waving my hand through her arm, her torso, poking at her head.
She ignored me now. Ramón apparently decided he no longer could. In an exaggeratedly loud voice, at the same time I felt firm hands steer me away and behind the safety of the nurse's station, I heard him saying "Sara, I know you like to see people's genuine reactions, but the hospital floor is not the place to practice your act. The auditions aren't for another month." Under his breath, I heard a muttered "Sara what the fuck is going on with you."
I neglected to answer, because the woman had just turned and smiled disarmingly at me. I felt something like a notecard materialize in my hand and looked down to see an address and a time, with small, measured letters spelling out a message underneath, "Phase One Debrief is necessary. Resurrection error code 43: failure to remove afterlife perception."
I looked up from reading it just in time to watch her slip into the room. Ramón was still staring at me, waiting for an answer.
In slow motion, I witnessed Gina, the aid who had been staring at me earlier, step into Mrs. Palmer's room. She rushed back out. "SHE'S CODING."
I ran in with her and Ramón, only to find her already gone. It was just us and the now deceased Mrs. Palmer in the now crowded hospital room.
The woman was nowhere to be seen.
The card was still in my hand.
|
"No." Micheal said, turning around and speed walking away from the blonde woman in the black robes with his white lab coat trailing behind him. He heard footsteps angrily stomping behind him as he glanced at a nearby window reflection. To his relief, there was no woman in black following him as he walked.
"Goddammit. How do those stupid strippers keep getting in here?" He wondered to himself. One of the great mysteries he had during his career was where people were hiring strippers willing to dance in a hospital. On one hand, he felt bad for ruining a final gift from one man to another before he went into oblivion. On the other hand, there was something fundamentally wrong with letting a woman flop her tits about while a 95 year old man was slowly dying of hypertension. Normally he'd stop such a thing, but he didn't have the time or energy to do so.
"I was talking to you! Get back here!" She said, stomping forward and standing in front of Micheal with a cold look on her face.
"Look lady, I've got a LOT of paperwork to do and I can tell you weren't cheap. You're free to go into Mr. Johnson's room and give his Johnson one last standing ovation. I won't call security since I genuinely don't care." He said, leaving to work on the patients he could save. Abandoning a patient was against the Hippocratic oath he took, but he had no intention of wasting his time trying to save a man who had lived his full life as opposed to saving the 14 year old boy dying from a car crash across the hall.
"What the hell are you talking about, and how can you see me?" She stumbled out as Micheal shoved her aside, earning her another look of disbelief. "And how did you do that?" She asked, following behind him as he entered his office and sat down to begin filling out forms.
"Lady, I don't like to be rude and I have better things to do than talk with a stripper. Piss off, or I'm calling security." He warned, his patience reaching his end as she scowled at him, taking her portable scythe out from her sleeves in the blink of an eye. "Cute magic trick." He commented as she placed the blade against his throat, a single twitch enough to behead him.
"I've never met a mortal as disrespectful as you." She hissed before making a malicious smile. "Then again, disrespecting death is what you doctors do." She said happily, tugging backwards on the scythe to cut his very soul in half. At least, that was what she intended. Instead, she found herself flying forward into Micheal's table as he grabbed the ancient wood with one hand and yanked it backwards, his greater mass enough to pull her forward.
"What the-" Was all she could get out before receiving a fist to the jaw, knocking her out in a single blow. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as Micheal lifted her up, put her on his office couch, and left the scythe lying on the floor. Calmly, he dialed his office phone to call up security.
"Yeah Mike?"
"Another family member tried to beat me up. She's knocked out on my couch. Please take her away." He said in a monotonous voice as the security officer sighed.
"Dammit Mike. Would it kill you to work on your bedside manner?"
"I save lives. I do it efficiently. That is my job. If they want a friend, go to a bar or a psychologist." He spat as security walked into his office roughly 10 minutes later.
"Mike, there ain't anyone here." He said as the physician scoffed.
"Probably left earlier. Sorry about that." He said, not glancing up from his paperwork at all. Eventually, he left for the operating room without looking up from his clip board, choosing to learn every facet of his patient's lifestyle to avoid any drug complications or underlying symptoms other doctors had caught. It disgusted him how hypocritical the people criticizing him were.
As he closed up the child, he left the hospital to return home and read the chart of his next patient while going through their social media for other underlying symptoms. As he walked home, he heard a familiar annoying female voice behind him, yelling to get his attention. Rather than pay it any heed, he just kept walking, committing each and every fact of Laura Manson, 31, single, to his memory. Medical history says she does not own any pets. Mother of 3. Currently on immunosuppressants for a lung transplant 3 years ago. She was his old patient that had returned after her daughter called 911 after seeing her collapse. Prior to the collapse, she came to the hospital complaining of flu-like symptoms.
His colleague Dr. Hannah Jensen, 39, looked after her. She was his "better" as his colleagues put it. She gave her undivided attention to each patient and was willing to sit by the side of her terminally ill patients before they expired. Her diagnosis was the flu, and she was sent back home with an antibiotic. Suffice to say, if it was the flu, an antibiotic would be pointless. And if Dr. Jensen was actually interesting in learning about the patient, she would have spotted the cat on Ms. Manson's facebook wall on February 9th, 2005 and of its demise in 2006. She likely caught latent toxoplasmosis from that cat that was reactivated during the immunosuppressants that were administered.
"I'm talking to you asshole!" The voice shouted as he felt his coat get tugged back. He turned around to see the woman from earlier stark naked and covering herself in shame, blushing immensely without her toy scythe.
"Ma'am, there are indecency laws in the US. I also recommend you wear clothing, as it is snowing outside and frostbite is no joke." Micheal said as she grabbed him by the shirt and pinned him against the wall.
"Thanks to you, I got demoted to a wandering spirit for failing to claim a soul on time! How will you take responsibility for this!?" She asked as a man walked forward, witnessing the entirety of the exchange in silence. Rather than stop the strange naked woman assaulting him, he just kept walking forward.
"Ma'am, I request you unhand... Me..." He said, his voice petering off as he watched the man walk straight through the woman, her body phasing around him like a hologram or fog. "Huh." He noted with a fascinated voice. "Perhaps I've been slacking on sleep too much if I am hallucinating. Ergot fungus is a viable explanation for this as well and-"
"I am real you moron!" She exclaimed while slapping him across the face.
"Ow."
"Now listen here, and listen good! I'm banned from returning as a reaper until you die of non-paranormal causes since I was distracted by you! Now be a good mortal and kill yourself so I can get back to my unlife!" She exclaimed angrily as Micheal flicked her head, stunning her as he kept walking.
"Ah, so I'm depressed. An inferiority complex to Dr. Jensen perchance? She has surpassed my own medical career by leaps and bounds. Is it money?" He wondered to himself as he thought to set up another meeting with a psychologist. He continued to think to himself as the hallucination repeatedly bothered him.
Since it seemed to be capable of physically affecting him, he theorized it to be self inflicted injuries. His psychosis was quite severe if that were to be true. His theories snowballed as he cooked dinner for himself, spaghetti and meatballs with heavy amounts of oregano. The entirety of his cooking was far from efficient, with the hallucination repeatedly cursing him out and threatening to take him to hell where he would be, as she described "eternally raped by demonic barbed penises that ejaculate lava" if he didn't do so.
"Perhaps I am homophobic. I have never had anything against the bedroom habits of patients so long as they were up front, but maybe this is subconscious." He thought as he sat down in his kitchen table, a steaming pile of spaghetti on his plate as he contemplated his broken mind. Meanwhile, the woman was squatting on the table, glaring angrily at him with his trench coat wrapped around her. It was far too large for her, but it covered her body well enough.
"Come on. Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill your-argh!" She said as he experimentally shoved a fork full of spaghetti into its mouth. It looked like it was ready to spit it in his face, only to chew the meal and swallow.
"Don't feel any less hungry. So feeding it is me throwing away food to the ground." He noted as the strange hallucination started pawing at the spaghetti with her bare hands, her attempts at touching it comical as her hand phased straight through the plate. Shrugging, he got another spoonful of spaghetti, only to have the hallucination eat it midair.
"I'll starve you out." She declared triumphantly while chewing his meal. This went on until she finished the plate and collapsed on his couch moaning in pain. If she were real, she'd have indigestion from eating so much.
"So my psyche will force me to treat this thing as a biological woman." Micheal concluded as he got a second portion and began eating.
"I'll freaking kill you... Urk..." His hallucination vowed.
"Uh huh. That's nice." He said while chewing.
"At least use a different fork... You pervert..." It groaned as he continued studying for his next patient.
| 2019-03-23T23:28:32 | 2019-03-23T22:46:32 | 209 | 106 |
[WP] You want so badly to be a Hero. But your powers are, frankly, terrifying. Heroes struggle to trust you, and all the older Villains keep trying to mentor you.
|
Shard ran into the bank, eager to join the fight. The amateur superhero was new to crimefighting but was excited to take part in her first fight.
The robbers looked at the newcomer, then shared a confused look. The heroine was dressed in a shimmering costume decorated with gaudy jewelry. It was something people expected to see at fashion shows, not in combat.
“Hey, princess, get your sparkly ass out of here or we’ll put a bullet in your skull!” shouted one of the robbers.
Shard took a deep breath, remembering the speech she had practiced hundreds of times in private.
“Halt, criminals, let the civilians go or prepare to receive a deadly beatdown!”
They burst into laughter and aimed their guns at her. Too bad. Now she would have to get serious.
She used her power on the reflective floor. Black tendrils emerged from it and grabbed one of the robbers before any of them could react.
“Jesus Christ, help me!”
Then it pulled him straight into the earth, the ground parting like water in the face of a falling stone. Shard knew he would never be seen again.
“Garry!”
“What have you done with him, you monster?”
“Open fire!”
Shard raised her arms up, summoning a wall of tentacles to shield her, simultaneously creating more tendrils from every reflective surface in the area. There were a few terrified screams, and in a few seconds, the gunmen were gone. The girl had no idea if they were dead or alive, but, honestly, it was probably better she didn’t.
Shard turned to the horrified citizens with an innocent smile.
“You’re safe now.”
Then, with her work complete, she walked out of the bank.
---
Over the next few days, Shard received phone calls and emails from villainous organizations, asking her to join them. Meanwhile, the incident at the bank was all over the news, and superhero teams all over the city were making it their new mission taking her down.
She sighed.
“Being a superhero is a lot harder than I thought.”
|
The lights right above the circular tables were harsh, but it illuminated all present perfectly. It meant that Greystar could see everyone was present and correct, as they had promised, to talk over recent events.
"Council of Darkness," the first time he had joined the Council he had scoffed at the childish, yet apt, name of the group that spearheaded villainy across the world. However, after a few years sat at its outer tables he had become to accept any alternatives would also sound as similarly silly or banal. He looked at the newest member of the inner table, Bonescar, and nodded his acceptance at the man's presence there. Bonestar had won the vote with nearly 70% of Council members, joining the ranks of the sacred Inner Sanctum which gave him both prestige and powerful voting rights on all Council matters.
"We all know why we are here today," Greystar pointed at the empty chair across from him, where Lady Lightstrike should have been sitting if it were not for her presence in the ICU of Grand Central Hospital in her city "We have all had bad days in our villainy, we have all had accidents, which is why the Council has such grand headquarters with finer medical technology than the average citizen knows exist. However, to ensure everyone is up to speed on what we are to talk about today I must inform you all of the intricate details on how she came to be hospitalised."
UberGeneral shuddered, he had been first on scene from the Council but could do nothing as Lady Lightstrike had been handcuffed to the gurney. It mattered not if she was glued or cemented into the gurney, the swelling in her brain meant she would not wake up for weeks. UberGeneral had seen the carnage that had been caused, not just to Lady herself, but to the street where she raised her family.
"After Lady Lightstrike perfectly executed twelve robberies in the space of twelve hours across the Greater San Berkafrisco area, she dropped the monies here before heading to her home. She has an alter-ego, and is a single mother of two." A small murmur from the outer rings of tables rumbled like a distant train through the chamber, this was news to many and yet not shocking as those same many had families of their own that they went home to. "Waiting for her when she arrived home, was not simply her children and their nanny. There was someone else."
Greystar looked around the room. He knew what saying the name of this 'hero' would do to those who had come up against him.
"Revocan."
The murmur rumbled again, but this time it came with a shiver spiralling down the spines of all those present. Even the veterans of the business had never come up against anything like Revocan. He was different to the other heroes. So different, most refused to work with him due to his tactics. In an incredibly private and unlikely meeting with the Chief Justice of the League of Heroes, Brightflame, the head hero had promised to only ever send Revocan on missions if it was an absolute last resort. Even between the Heroes and Villains of the world, to send Revocan was deemed by both as simply inhumane.
"Not only was Revocan present in Lady Lightstrike's personal home," Greystar continued as he shook away the goosebumps that were creeping across his body "He had bound her two children and their nanny to hold as hostages."
The collective gasp of shock nearly made the chamber a vacuum, but Greystar was not finished.
"It has been confirmed before this meeting started that Revocan had not been sent by the League of Heroes, and therefore was not on official League business. They truly did not know the Lady's alter ego nor her home address, Revocan had somehow found this information out for himself. The League had recently cut Revocan off from some of their resources, and so wonder if Revocan had wanted to take some of the money that Lady Lightstrike had stolen earlier in the day. Obviously there was a battle between them, and the Lady now lies in a coma until the swelling in her brain subsides."
"How are the children?" a female voice piped up from the second row, one Greystar knew to be a mother herself.
"Traumatised but safe, and unharmed as is the nanny." Greystar nodded his quiet thanks to whomever was able to keep them safe from their home being utterly demolished in the fight "We must now decide an important matter. The heroes are going to make it clear they they do not want Revocan in their League so do we want him within ours? He refuses to abide by the light of the law, so can he be lured by the darkness of villainy?"
"I'm fine being in the grey area," a voice echoed from the shadowy crevices of the chamber.
The villains all collectively panicked, they knew who that voice belonged to even if they could not see him.
"Oh shit," Greystar muttered as he stood, sending his chair tumbling backward akin to many of the others in the room. "He's here."
"That's right," the voice bounced from a different part of the chamber "I'm here."
The lights above the tables blinked out and plunged the chamber into darkness. The villains with the power of fire or light began to illuminate themselves causing the other villains to flock to them like moths, but no matter what side of the room they lit up there was nothing to see. Greystar opened his own hand to powered up a small star-like ball of plasma for his own source of light, but as he turned he came face to face with sadistic smile of Revocan.
"No more."
* * *
"Chief!" Stormsword pushed through the doors and sprinted toward the occupied desk in the private office of the Chief Justice of the League of Heroes.
"This is supposed to be a private meeting, Stormsword," Brightflame quickly turned off the screen that he had been showing his number two, Ms Sparrow "I assume this must be important."
"Turn on the TV," Stormsword was panting, his cardio was not as good as it had been in his spritely youth.
"Which channel?"
"All of them."
Brightflame gave a quick look of concern to Sparrow before the screens reverted to the news which showed an on-site reporter pushing through the throng of other journalists, spectators, and police as they all looked at the crater in the side of Mount Falabeda.
"Is that...?"
"That's the Council headquarters..." Ms Sparrow confirmed as the other screens in the room began to tune in to the other stations, giving the three Heroes a multi-angle view of the devastation.
"Wait," Stormsword looked at the pair "How do you know where that is?"
"What happened?" Brightflame asked as the cacophony of reporters began to all speak at the same time.
"The Council of Darkness," Stormsword said "They're all dead. All of them."
* * * * * *
I have my own subreddit! [/r/ocallkai](https://reddit.com/r/ocallkai/)
| 2022-10-28T07:46:46 | 2022-10-28T07:12:24 | 761 | 369 |
[WP] A photographer and a sniper meet in a bar. Neither is aware of the other's occupation. They talk about "how to take the perfect shot".
|
"I use a tripod a lot."
"Bipod works, too."
"Huh, never thought of that. Steady is important. Don't want to ruin a good shot."
"Yeah, that's the worst. When your subject moves unexpectedly just before you take it."
"Wildlife?"
"Sometimes, but mostly people."
"Yeah, me too."
"There's a lot of similarities though. Blending in, so they are not even aware that you are there."
"Yes, that's a whole skill in itself. And you know it when it happens, when you get that perfectly executed shot. You know it in that instant."
"Yes. So satisfying."
"I love what I do. It's like you capture a life in that one moment. Freeze it. That light of a person, caught in a bottle, their essence frozen irrevocably. Whatever look they had on their face, whatever thought was going through their mind, stopped in that one instant for all eternity."
"I feel you. I know that not everyone thinks much of my job. Maybe it's not world-changing. But day after day, subject by subject, I think eventually I must be making a difference. Someday it will be noticed. "
"You're right. I think we're both right. So many people need our work."
"I've taken so many..."
"OK, gotta get to a gig. Beer's on me this time!"
"Aw, thank you, man!"
"No worries, had a couple big jobs lately, doing well. Heading over to do a wedding right now."
"What a coincidence, me too!"
"Ha, wouldn't that be a riot if we were booked for the same one!"
"Yes, it sure would..."
|
***Sniper:*** hey, how are you doing, pretty lady.
***Photographer:*** o-oh um, i'm fine.
"the photographer looks at the burly man, his body chiseled to perfection, dressed nicely, has the beard that no matter how much you'd scratch, it will still feel as smooth as silk... needless to say, her cheeks went completely reddened..."
***Sniper:*** so uh, can i get you a drink?
***Photographer:*** u-um, sure, i'll get a cosmopolitan~...
***Sniper:*** huh, i'll get a bloody mary then, Bartender.
***Photographer:*** h-hey um, i can't help but notice the camera you've got, i-it's looks quite unique.
***Sniper:*** ah, this thing?
"he hands her the camera, a Canon DSLR, built to withstand all kinds of harsh environments, and take the most crisp of shots."
***sniper:*** she's been with me through thick and thin, takin' shots, locating my targets and getting a good click on their faces... good times.
***Photographer:*** oh um, that's great, it does seem like you know a thing or two about the subject.
***Sniper:*** yeah, i know, it ain't exactly rocket science, but to get the right shot from miles away with all of the environmental hazards, the shaking, awkward positions, awkwardly placed bipod...
***Photographer:*** oh god i hate that too, either it's too blurry or i miss my target by a few inches.
***Sniper:*** exactly! no matter how stable it gets!
***Photographer:*** oh god, that is truly a pain.
***Sniper:*** try pulling all of your gear through water and mud, that's a pain.
***Photographer:*** oh christ, don't remind me... Shanghai was a pain when i had to go and take a few good headshots of some people there, they insisted on the scenery.
***Sniper:*** really!? oh shit i was in the Philippines, the trees were a pain in the ass, chopping with a machete was the only way to finish the job for me.
***Photographer:*** what about the lenses, they get dirt all the time!
***Sniper:*** that's another subject, till then, why not get some shots?
***Photographer:*** i'll have a shot or two, i quite like it.
"with that, the two order shots of Vodka and tequila"
***Sniper:*** so, lenses.
***Photographer:*** y-yeah! uh, the dirt locks up the adjustments and i'll have to go a little rough, which for me is a bit painful.
***Sniper:*** same here, had to change twice till i rested on one that stuck with me the most.
***Photographer:*** so, what was your first shot?
***Sniper:*** it was a compound of about a dozen targets, each one was uglier than the other, i had to take shots at every single one of the fuckers... but hey! the pay was great!
***Photographer:*** mine was a middle aged man, it wasn't an amazing pay, but it was fast, so i took the shot and went home with a good meal at least.
***Sniper:*** man, you really are fun, you know that?
***Photographer:*** why thank you~! so... how do you take *the perfect shot?*
***Sniper:*** simple... get yourself into a comfortable position, prepare the lens and check the angle, you don't want a bad shot, right?
***Photographer:*** right right!
***Sniper:*** once all the stars align, the target is within the crosshair, and you've calculated the shot... gently pull the trigger and bam, mission accomplished.
***Photographer:*** w-wow, that sounds so awesome...
***Sniper:*** what's your perfect shot?
***Photographer:*** have your setup on an area of good elevation, not too low so you have to account for angle, not too high so you'd have to sit yourself up and risk shaking the vision, once all of it is said and done, have a few good seconds of breathing and brace yourself for the shot...
***Sniper:*** **-Sip-** uhuh?
***Photographer:*** then click, there it goes, and in your words... mission accomplished~.
***Sniper:*** damn, that is amazing... so uh, what's the highest caliber you've shot.
***Photographer:*** oh uh a few good models, they were from serb-
***Sniper:*** no, wait, what?
***Photographer:*** these harlots that were so freaking bitchy about everything... eventually i had to put them down for good because they annoyed me.
***Sniper:*** f-fuck, that's ice cold, lady... i like that, the ability to do what's right, even if it is wrong as fuck.
***Photographer:*** yeah, i had to do a few things i'm not proud of...
***Sniper:*** so, uh... yeah... same here.
***Photographer:*** oh, by the way, where do you work? i want to visit someday.
***Sniper:*** oh, that would be hard, i'm with the S.A.S, top notch shit, they won't let anyone from outside come near the doors by an inch.
***Photographer:*** oh, wait... what is S.A.S?
***Sniper:*** Special Air Service?
***Photographer:*** w-w-wait... what?
***Sniper:*** i'm a designated marksman and sniper, what about you? army?
***Photographer:*** n-n-n-no! ii'm a photographer! w-what!?
***Sniper:*** oh... *oh...* now i see that clearly...
***Photographer:*** s-so when you said you took sh-shots... you mean you've k-
***Sniper:*** each and every single one of the Militia members, that was a good day for me.
***Photographer:*** a-and Caliber?... l-like in guns?
***Sniper:*** mine was 50.Cal, and y-yeah... i kill people for living, the camera is to take photos for recon.
***Photographer:*** oh... *oh...* that makes so much sense...
"feeling he fucked up big time, like compromising a mission due to a shot that missed the target by a millimeter, he simply looks ahead and takes another sip of his drink... but after a while, she speaks up..."
***Photographer:*** hey, i'm Hannah Kingston, what's your name?
***Sniper:*** John McTavish, they call me Soap.
***Photographer:*** Soap?
***Sniper:*** long story, wanna leave this place and talk in a calmer area?
***Photographer:*** i'd love to, shall we leave then?
| 2017-08-31T09:25:49 | 2017-08-31T06:35:04 | 2,248 | 497 |
[WP] "Your honor, the evidence is clear and undeniable. While my client may have been a 'mad genius' who sought to 'dominate the city' with his 'army of evil', I present that he did actually not break any laws or statutes in his actions. The defense rests."
|
The jurors had spent hours deliberating the facts and figures of both the defense and prosecution but had finally come to some kind of agreement when they made their final decision. The foreman glanced at the smug-looking defense attorney as the jury filed back into the courtroom, his client looking very relaxed and confident. The prosecution, on the other hand, armed with a bevy of the cities best lawyers, looked disheveled and tired (they had spent two hours driving to the courthouse in morning rush hour from just ten miles away and were already tense upon arrival).
After a few moments of silence judge looked down the bridge of his nose through thick bifocal spectacles at the jury box.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?"
"We have, your honor."
"And what is the verdict?"
She paused. The whole room waited on the edge of their seats--the gallery, full of homers and locals, knew that the jury would be on *their* side. The defense didn't have a single supporter in the crowd.
"Alight. The defendant will rise for the verdict."
The accused, Oregon head coach Mario Cristobal stood to his feet looking very smart in his black suit, which shirt, and green and gold striped tie.
"We the jury find the defendant *not guilty* of murder in the first degr----"
The courtroom erupted with shouts of anger and outrage at her--their--decision. The prosecution, USC coach Clay Helton and his cronies, held their heads in their hands, distraught.
"Order, ORDER!" the judge shouted, banging his gavel. A few more law enforcement officers filed into the room from the exits as a deterrent. It took a few minutes, and two dissenters escorted from the premises, but the room quieted.
"Not guilty in murder of the first degree. Upon reviewing the evidence, though the USC football team is indeed dead after a 56-24 home defeat and very close to securing a consecutive losing season, we have determined that there was in fact no lose of human life. Furthermore, looking at the larger body of evidence, Oregon has been the superior program over the last decade and has been on an upward trend ever since Chip Kelly's hiring, barring one hiccup. A couple of national championship appearances and a few Rose bowls more than USC has won in that time proves the stability and success of the program. Lastly, the jury did not find that Mr. Cristobal's last name, as presented by the prosecution, to be connected to any kind of witchcraft or dark arts. Therefore we have discussed and come to the conclusion of the defendant's innocence."
/u/cambodiandrywall stood to hug his client and shake his client, a free and innocent man.
"Thank you for the stellar defense," the head coach said, beaming. "I couldn't have done it without you."
"Hey, you did all the hard work, I didn't score 8 consecutive touchdowns on my own though. I won't lie, though, we did have a little bit of inside help."
---
The foreman exited the courtroom, gathered her things and headed for the parking lot. As she passed a trash bin she unzipped her cardigan to reveal a baby blue UCLA polo and tossed the sweater away. Then, as she neared her car she tugged at her neck and pulled her face off to reveal the smirking visage of Chip Kelly. He tossed the mask in his back seat and drove west into the sunset, already preparing his game plan for the last game of the season.
|
"Stopping an alien invasion shouldn't get you jailed!" Joel turned towards the judge. "Your honor, the evidence is clear and undeniable. While my client may have been a 'mad genius' who sought to 'dominate the city' with his 'army of evil', I present that he did actually not break any laws or statutes in his actions. The defense rests."
The judged nodded. Her face was beyond skeptical. Joel gave the best opening statement he could muster. Most of the crowd behind him had already made up their minds before the proceedings even started. Joel could feel them glaring into the back of his skull, but they weren't the ones that mattered. The jurors were the target. Unfortunately, they didn't look convinced.
Larry remained stoic. He just vacantly stared at the floor, resigned to his fate. To think that, after all this time, he would just give himself up for a fair trial. Even as his best (and probably only) friend, Joel couldn't believe Larry saved the day in last month's attacks. It costed him an army of mutants he'd been cultivating for half a decade. The government then raided his secret hideout, seizing all of his research notes and prototypes. Joel always warned him that he would eventually get caught. That didn't stop it from being so surprising.
The prosecution called their first witness. A tall, muscular man built like a house of bricks stood up in the audience. Everyone whispered and took pictures as he walked towards the stand. Seeing Ultraman in a well-tailored suit was an unusual sight. He still wore his mask, though.
The lead prosecutor, a chubby man in his fifties, waited for Ultraman to be sworn in, smiled at the jurors, and said:
"Good morning, I know this is might feel redundant for everyone present, but would you mind stating who you are and what you do?"
Ultraman nodded. "I am a registered superhero that goes by the alias of Ultraman. My mission is to protect civilians from extraordinary threats."
"And you're very good at it." The prosecutor chuckled, pacing towards the jury bench. "Have you ever encountered the defendant before?"
"Yes, I've been fighting his inventions and following his trail for more than a decade."
"Objection!" said Joel. "That's speculation. Those incidents were never linked back to my client."
"Oh come on!" moaned Ultraman.
The judge slammed her gavel. "Sustained."
The prosecutor fixed his tie, sighing. "Very well, Mister Ultraman, what were you doing during the events of the invasion?"
"I fought the enemy ships in the sky, sir. Just one of them was capable of wiping out an entire city. Too many succeeded. I did my best to repel them as much as I could."
The prosecutor shook his head with a pained expression. "When did you return to Xeistoria?"
"As soon as I knew the defendant had taken over the city."
"Objection!" said Joel. "My client didn't take over the city."
The prosecutor raised his hands, annoyed. "Your honor, the defendant literally claimed he was 'in charge of the city now'. We have it on tape."
"Overruled" said the judge.
The prosecutor smiled, turning towards Ultraman. "What did you find once you arrived?"
Ultraman hardened his expression. "Most of the civilians were staying in the stadium, which was being protected by these..." He scowled at Larry. "...by these monstrous aberrations."
Larry chuckled.
"Why didn't you stop him at that moment?" said the prosecutor.
"We were still in the middle of the attack. He held the citizens hostage so we couldn't afford to start another battle."
"Objection!" shouted Joel. "Your honor, my client wasn't holding anyone hostage; he was protecting the citizens! The witness is clearly presenting his opinion as fact."
The judge leaned forward, deep in thought. Everyone in the room stared in anticipation. She then pursed her lips and said:
"Sustained."
The crowd complained with loud murmurs. The judge brought order to the courtroom and urged the prosecutor to continue. After a few more inquiries, it was finally Joel's turn to question Ultraman. This was the most intimidating moment of his career. The hero didn't look pleased with the current state of events. Him and Larry had a long, personal rivalry that couldn't be ignored. Joel smiled at the jurors, looked at Ultraman, and said:
"Sir, I'd like to thank you for all you've done throughout your life. You're a hero to many around the world and I'm sure that, above all else, justice is your ultimate goal. Would you agree?"
"Always."
"You would never let your personal biases interfere with this goal, right?"
"Not if I can prevent it."
"Yes, of course, nobody's perfect. That said, if you were to realize that your feelings were getting in the way of justice, would you be capable of removing yourself from that situation?"
Ultraman frowned. "Of course."
"Has this ever been the case?"
"Yes."
"What's the most recent instance of this?"
"During the invasion."
"Can you elaborate?"
Ultraman glanced away. "The mutants he commanded... They were all distorted clones of my deceased sidekick."
The audience gasped. Some jurors covered their mouths in shock. Joel saw Larry suppressing a smirk. Hopefully, nobody noticed that. He definitely did it to mess with Ultraman. Not illegal, though.
"How did you know they were cloned from your sidekick?"
"I can easily see the resemblance in many of the creatures. This isn't the first time he's done this."
"Is it? Remember you're under oath."
"He... he forced me to kill a perfect clone of my friend many years ago. This isn't public knowledge, but it's recorded in the archives of the National Hero Agency. All done by the book."
"I see... That must've been tough, having your companion die twice on you. Did you just let the defendant get away with it?"
"Objection!" said the prosecutor. "Badgering the witness."
"I'm merely re-stating his words, your honor."
"Overruled. Answer the question."
"Well no, I..." Ultraman paused. "I'd like to plead the fifth."
"Fine." Joel glanced around the room. Everyone seemed perplexed by Ultraman's decision. They were beginning to doubt Larry's guilt. "So you accuse my client of cloning for emotional blackmail, but you won't tell the entire story?"
"I can't."
"Really? You can't say that you murdered a clone of my client?"
"Objection!" shouted the prosecutor. "That's clearly a loaded question!"
"Sustained. The jury is to ignore what the defense just said."
Joel rolled his eyes. "Okay, let's try another way. Were you aware back then that my client had a clone of himself?"
"Yes."
"How did you know this?"
"The defendant told me..."
"Interesting. Why?"
"Because he was hunting down his clone and needed my help. That led to the encounter with my sidekick. Afterwards, he tricked me and fled the scene before I could catch him."
"I'll ask you again, then. If you knew his clone had done that to your sidekick, why are you blaming my client?"
"Because he's still responsible for the existence of both clones *and* the mutants."
"The mutants that hold a vague resemblance to your sidekick... and saved the city. Nothing you've said is illegal."
"It's wrong!" Ultraman stood up. "He's making a mockery of the dead!"
"Bullshit," shouted Larry, "you're the one that got Megaboy killed!"
In the blink of an eye, Ultraman appeared in front of Larry and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the ground. Larry just grinned. Ultraman held him tight in silence. The crowd grew audibly crazy, but the judge quickly got them to calm down. Ultraman snapped out of his anger, set Larry on the floor, and stormed out of the courtroom. The jurors glanced at each other with uncertainty. This was the momentum Joel was seeking. The trial was paused for a brief recess while while everything got organized again.
Joel sat down to gather his thoughts. He knew that Larry wasn't a bad guy. His mind just wasn't normal which always made him feel like an outcast. Fighting society was a logical decision for him. They clearly didn't have his best interest in mind. With all that said, though, Joel still felt hesitant about the outcome of the trial. His friend was capable of horrifying things, even if it never came from a place of malice. Joel needed to hide that as much as possible. By the time the recess ended, he knew this following part would define the entire trial. Larry was testifying next.
------------
*Continued in a comment below*
| 2019-11-07T10:22:57 | 2019-11-07T10:03:53 | 234 | 31 |
[WP] "Wait, so there's no gold?" "Of COURSE there's no gold. I'm a huge freaking dragon; why would I need to buy anything? I live in a cave, for fuck's sake. WHY do you humans always think I have gold?"
|
"Uh..." Daniel looked down at his feet and kicked some dust up from the floor of the cave. "The stories... the prophecies... they all mention the dragon with hoards of gold..."
"Oh yeah," the dragon interjected, "and we burn villages and pillage kingdoms, is that right? Only care about ourselves? Kill people for fun?"
Daniel stood awkwardly for a moment, considering whether or not to sheath the heavy sword in his hand. "I've sort of come along way, you know. There was a horde of goblins I had to slay..."
"You slayed a horde of goblins?!"
"Well... yes..."
"You mean you killed them?" The dragon looked horrified. "And you have the audacity to call *me* the monster!"
Daniel's face flushed red. The dragon's yellow eyes stared, but Daniel couldn't meet them.
"Surely you've had to kill as well..." Daniel mumbled, "circle of life..."
Silence from the beast. Daniel forced himself to look up from the floor of the cave and saw the dragon's judgmental gaze.
"I am a vegetarian," the dragon said coldly. Then, "I think you should go." He pointed one sharp claw back towards the entrance of the cave.
Daniel took one last look at the beast, sheathed his sword, and slunk out towards the entrance of the cave. His entire body burned hot with shame. The quest to slay the dragon—a goal to which he dedicated years of his life—was nothing but a farce. His entire mission was predicated on untrue and outdated stereotypes. How could he have been so stupid? He would walk back to the village and tell the locals the truth. There was no gold, and there was no beast. Just a kind hearted creature trying to live his life like everyone else.
&#x200B;
The dragon watched Daniel leave and felt his body relax. The dragon rolled a large boulder out of the way to reveal a lever. He pulled it with one of his clawed hands and a slab of rock slid away to reveal a secret room in the back of the cave. The dragon climbed into the room and layed back on the enormous pile of gold and skeletons of villagers he'd killed over the years.
*Idiot*, thought the dragon, as he dozed off to sleep.
&#x200B;
EDIT: Fixed some typos (thanks peacemaker2007). Also thank you for the silver kind Redditor!
|
\*Edit 1!\* This Blew up a bit overnight! And in case you're wondering, this is, like, one of only a few posts that I've actually written for scale of why I'm hyped up about it! I'll see what I can do as far as writing out more on this story since enough people seemed interested! Wish me luck folks!
\*Edit 2: Google Boogaloo\* After many suggestions to continue this, I decided to move this to a Google Doc! Leaving up the main idea here, but I'll keep working on it on google if you're interested in not only viewing but commenting on it! Thanks for the praise!
Le Link: [Here!](https://docs.google.com/document/d/14HzgqmVsC5IZSVni02X_NfMai3XYpGV5l7dyHYUAnTI/edit?usp=sharing)
(Sorry in advance, this was a beast to write out! I got caught up with the idea from the prompt, and I hope ya like it! Sorry for the fluffy characters, but \*Shrug\* -Is a furry, has bias to write furry stories-)
Alister was not having a good Year. It started in the winter, a raiding band of adventurers coming to take prisoners and make slaves of his tribe of anthropomorphic, canine men. He, among many others, were bound, sold, and in his case, used to further fuel that conquest by the human nations at large looking for easily exploitable resources.
This last Month, though, had brought that to a new level: His "Recruiters" had been tasked by the Lord of some castle he'd yet to learn the name of to defeat a dragon, and in kind, plunder all the gold it hoarded. Alister had been... "Nudged" into going forward and seeing whether or not the dragon was awake. Watching a beast that would rival the size of one of his tribe's long houses flame roast a still living cow with fire breath lead to him fainting on the spot. And this, in turn, lead to him waking up, seeing all his "Allies" having been dealt with, their shredded armor the only remains outside of the beast before him not unlike the shell of what humans call "Shrimp" post food prep.
The laughably tiny dagger he'd been given lay well out of range both of his reach and mental capacity, eye to eye with the fire drake before him. "Well, feeling brave yet?" Came the gravel voice of the drake, who was picking his teeth with the leader of the adventurer's sword. Alister was still at a loss for words, the only other sound he could register beyond the "toothpick" that the dragon was using being his heart beat. "Listen." The dragon continued, "If you really are about to get the urge to avenge your fallen comrades, at least have the curtesy not to soil yourself. I prefer that particular taste stay inside my meals rather than out."
At hearing this, any hope that was within Alister went out, and with it a gust of breath from him in a weary sigh. "Oh what's the point. Get it over with. At least give me the mercy of a quick end." With that, he closed his eyes, and braced for the worst.
If Alister had expected an immediate lunge of snapping teeth, he was sadly let down. After a good minute or two of silence, the canine opened his eyes, looking up at a now... Concerned face of a dragon? "Really? No vow of honor? No declaration of vengeance? Not even just the will to live on?" The drake made a motion, setting down the sword he'd been using to clean his teeth within range of Alister. "Even this swords owner, in the face of all my splendor, had the will to say, "I'm not leaving here without your gold you overgrown lizard." Stupid really, but still noteworthy."
Alister perked his head up, if just a little. "Wait, really? All I could hear about when I was dragged up this infernal mountain was about how rich they'd be once they plundered your gold reserves!" The dragon let loose a rumbling laugh, akin to a mountain landslide given the acoustics of the cave. "If you're let down, you should have heard your leader then." The dragon adopted the tone of the human who'd lead them here. "Wait, there's no gold?!" - "Of course there's no gold! I'm a huge freaking dragon; why would I need to buy anything? Or how could I even carry it back up here in the first place!? Beyond that I live in a cave, for fucks sake! Why do you humans ALWAYS think I have gold?"
Alister and the dragon shared a short chuckle at that, Alister's far more short than the drake. "Sounds like the justification they used to raid my tribe and village." He sighed and frowned, looking out of the cave, the castle this "Knight" had belonged to somewhere beyond the haze and distant mountain's they'd past a week ago attempting to track this dragon on foot. A tap at his shoulder brought him back to reality. "Say," The dragon said, having used a claw to tap him on the shoulder, "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of simply chatting with someone in quite a while. What is your name, beast kin?" "Alister of Nowik, or whatever the humans call it now. And you, Fire drake?"
The dragon bowed his head, a house bending down before a dog. "Valcanor, King of these lands... Or so it would seem." Alister allowed himself a chuckle, forgetting for a moment who he was talking to as he replied, "King of what? I see no subjects that you rule, or make bend their knee to you?" A growl from Valcanor sent him crawling backwards, hitting a wall of the cave in a moment, before the growl turned to a chuckle. "No, you have a point. It has been some time since I had a subject to lord over... Let alone..." At his, the dragon's face seemed to get even more jagged, scrunched up in thought. The sword had now come to rest in the pile of armor he'd taken from the adventuring group, only bits and pieces of it salvageable. But perhaps... "Say Alister. This party held you as a slave, did they not?" There was only a moments hesitation before the canine nodded.
"No weapons, armor, likely scraps of food... But now they're gone. And you're free... Or so you think." Valcanor continued, putting voice to his thoughts and schemes. "I doubt returning to their settlement would be good, likely at best sold right back into servitude. Worst case ran through on spot for "Abandoning thy duties to Man." But..." He paused, eye to eye once more with the canine, eying him not as a lesser but equal being. "But what if you became my champion. A pact boon with a dragon, to raise justice for your kind and those who'd wronged you."
Truthfully, these thoughts had been turning in Alister's mind as well, but the prospect of what the dragon was offering was not where it had ended up. But as he looked up at the dragon, eye to eye with him, he noticed that his reflection in those eyes held something he wasn't used to seeing. "What's it going to be," Came the rumbling voice of Valcanor, talon outstretched to shake Alister's hand. There was no hesitation for what followed. Perhaps Alister's bad year was finally about to change.
| 2020-12-28T18:55:35 | 2020-12-28T18:26:36 | 504 | 117 |
[WP] "Wait, so there's no gold?" "Of COURSE there's no gold. I'm a huge freaking dragon; why would I need to buy anything? I live in a cave, for fuck's sake. WHY do you humans always think I have gold?"
|
The knight thought for a second, at a loss for words. He had never stopped to consider it.
"Because the legends have said it, since before time began," he replied, trying to remain brave. "You kill the dragon, you get the gold, you wed the princess."
"Oh god, you think I have some virgin princess lying around here too? What's thicker, your armor or your skull?" the dragon said, his voice dripping in sarcasm.
"You mean you don't have a princess either?" the knight queried, now truly confused.
"Of course not! For what, leftovers? No; no princess, no gold, and no time for your incessant pestering. Begone with you."
"But then why would the tales say so?" the knight asked.
"You really don't know, do you?" the dragon asked, almost disappointed. "You humans are really a sorry lot."
"But why?" the knight asked, persisting.
"Because you're selfish at your core, that's why. You won't kill a dragon just because it's terrorizing the lands, just because it's feasting on your peoples' livestock. No, you need a reward, a dragon's weight in gold and some helpless woman's hand in marriage to boot. You won't kill a dragon just because it's the right thing to do," the dragon spat.
"If you do manage to kill me," the dragon continued, "all you will get is a knife in the neck to keep the story believed, as I am but one dragon. Perhaps some false tale of courage, no doubt where you kill me in your dying throes. But you will not have to worry about that - as your flimsy sword could not pierce my heart, let alone my scales. Now either die here or leave with your life; it does not matter to me."
The knight stood in silent contemplation. After quite some time, he sheathed his sword, then turned back towards the entrance.
"I'm sorry to have wasted your time," the knight said, almost to himself.
"And I yours," the dragon replied. "And I suggest you keep this all to yourself, lest you still want that knife to find its way inside of you."
The dragon watched the knight go. Despite the fact that he had come to kill him, he still felt he had perhaps been a bit too harsh on the knight.
Perhaps it was finally time to speak to the king himself. It would be a fiery conversation, no doubt.
|
\*Edit 1!\* This Blew up a bit overnight! And in case you're wondering, this is, like, one of only a few posts that I've actually written for scale of why I'm hyped up about it! I'll see what I can do as far as writing out more on this story since enough people seemed interested! Wish me luck folks!
\*Edit 2: Google Boogaloo\* After many suggestions to continue this, I decided to move this to a Google Doc! Leaving up the main idea here, but I'll keep working on it on google if you're interested in not only viewing but commenting on it! Thanks for the praise!
Le Link: [Here!](https://docs.google.com/document/d/14HzgqmVsC5IZSVni02X_NfMai3XYpGV5l7dyHYUAnTI/edit?usp=sharing)
(Sorry in advance, this was a beast to write out! I got caught up with the idea from the prompt, and I hope ya like it! Sorry for the fluffy characters, but \*Shrug\* -Is a furry, has bias to write furry stories-)
Alister was not having a good Year. It started in the winter, a raiding band of adventurers coming to take prisoners and make slaves of his tribe of anthropomorphic, canine men. He, among many others, were bound, sold, and in his case, used to further fuel that conquest by the human nations at large looking for easily exploitable resources.
This last Month, though, had brought that to a new level: His "Recruiters" had been tasked by the Lord of some castle he'd yet to learn the name of to defeat a dragon, and in kind, plunder all the gold it hoarded. Alister had been... "Nudged" into going forward and seeing whether or not the dragon was awake. Watching a beast that would rival the size of one of his tribe's long houses flame roast a still living cow with fire breath lead to him fainting on the spot. And this, in turn, lead to him waking up, seeing all his "Allies" having been dealt with, their shredded armor the only remains outside of the beast before him not unlike the shell of what humans call "Shrimp" post food prep.
The laughably tiny dagger he'd been given lay well out of range both of his reach and mental capacity, eye to eye with the fire drake before him. "Well, feeling brave yet?" Came the gravel voice of the drake, who was picking his teeth with the leader of the adventurer's sword. Alister was still at a loss for words, the only other sound he could register beyond the "toothpick" that the dragon was using being his heart beat. "Listen." The dragon continued, "If you really are about to get the urge to avenge your fallen comrades, at least have the curtesy not to soil yourself. I prefer that particular taste stay inside my meals rather than out."
At hearing this, any hope that was within Alister went out, and with it a gust of breath from him in a weary sigh. "Oh what's the point. Get it over with. At least give me the mercy of a quick end." With that, he closed his eyes, and braced for the worst.
If Alister had expected an immediate lunge of snapping teeth, he was sadly let down. After a good minute or two of silence, the canine opened his eyes, looking up at a now... Concerned face of a dragon? "Really? No vow of honor? No declaration of vengeance? Not even just the will to live on?" The drake made a motion, setting down the sword he'd been using to clean his teeth within range of Alister. "Even this swords owner, in the face of all my splendor, had the will to say, "I'm not leaving here without your gold you overgrown lizard." Stupid really, but still noteworthy."
Alister perked his head up, if just a little. "Wait, really? All I could hear about when I was dragged up this infernal mountain was about how rich they'd be once they plundered your gold reserves!" The dragon let loose a rumbling laugh, akin to a mountain landslide given the acoustics of the cave. "If you're let down, you should have heard your leader then." The dragon adopted the tone of the human who'd lead them here. "Wait, there's no gold?!" - "Of course there's no gold! I'm a huge freaking dragon; why would I need to buy anything? Or how could I even carry it back up here in the first place!? Beyond that I live in a cave, for fucks sake! Why do you humans ALWAYS think I have gold?"
Alister and the dragon shared a short chuckle at that, Alister's far more short than the drake. "Sounds like the justification they used to raid my tribe and village." He sighed and frowned, looking out of the cave, the castle this "Knight" had belonged to somewhere beyond the haze and distant mountain's they'd past a week ago attempting to track this dragon on foot. A tap at his shoulder brought him back to reality. "Say," The dragon said, having used a claw to tap him on the shoulder, "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of simply chatting with someone in quite a while. What is your name, beast kin?" "Alister of Nowik, or whatever the humans call it now. And you, Fire drake?"
The dragon bowed his head, a house bending down before a dog. "Valcanor, King of these lands... Or so it would seem." Alister allowed himself a chuckle, forgetting for a moment who he was talking to as he replied, "King of what? I see no subjects that you rule, or make bend their knee to you?" A growl from Valcanor sent him crawling backwards, hitting a wall of the cave in a moment, before the growl turned to a chuckle. "No, you have a point. It has been some time since I had a subject to lord over... Let alone..." At his, the dragon's face seemed to get even more jagged, scrunched up in thought. The sword had now come to rest in the pile of armor he'd taken from the adventuring group, only bits and pieces of it salvageable. But perhaps... "Say Alister. This party held you as a slave, did they not?" There was only a moments hesitation before the canine nodded.
"No weapons, armor, likely scraps of food... But now they're gone. And you're free... Or so you think." Valcanor continued, putting voice to his thoughts and schemes. "I doubt returning to their settlement would be good, likely at best sold right back into servitude. Worst case ran through on spot for "Abandoning thy duties to Man." But..." He paused, eye to eye once more with the canine, eying him not as a lesser but equal being. "But what if you became my champion. A pact boon with a dragon, to raise justice for your kind and those who'd wronged you."
Truthfully, these thoughts had been turning in Alister's mind as well, but the prospect of what the dragon was offering was not where it had ended up. But as he looked up at the dragon, eye to eye with him, he noticed that his reflection in those eyes held something he wasn't used to seeing. "What's it going to be," Came the rumbling voice of Valcanor, talon outstretched to shake Alister's hand. There was no hesitation for what followed. Perhaps Alister's bad year was finally about to change.
| 2020-12-28T18:59:29 | 2020-12-28T18:26:36 | 309 | 117 |
[WP] After being pulled through a portal into a world built on magic, you’ve become one of the most renowned adventurers. Being able to navigate any labyrinth, and solve nearly any puzzle. Helps when you’ve got a high school level understanding of modern maths and science.
|
**How to destroy a peaceful fantasy kingdom with a high schooler's knowledge of math and science:**
1. Stagger through the weird looking portal until you're disgorged directly into a thrown room. Say something dumb about staying off mushrooms. Promise the King that you can be of use, if only he doesn't remove your head.
2. Think. Attempt to harness electricity. Waste two weeks trying and then wish you'd studied harder at school. Give up and try to find some magnets hoping that will impress the king. It won't.
3. Build a bridge. Arched bridges are easiest and can be made with no cement. Even you can pack rocks together. This way, the peoples of the kingdom will no longer have to pay the boat man to ferry them across to the second kingdom or the trolls beneath the existing bridges demanding steep tolls.
4. The King, impressed, will appoint you minister of improvements. He will soon demand another improvement. Think. Remember your science lessons. What is gunpowder made of? Definitely sulphur, you think, but the other ingredients might take some trial and error. There will be causalities during the testing, but that's okay because they won't be you.
5. Give up on gunpowder and show them how a crossbow works. Kill all fantastical creatures that might prove a future threat to the king: dragons, goblins, unicorns, etc.
6. Declare war on the other kingdoms in case they ever develop crossbows themselves and become a threat.
7. Successful in total takeover, use rudimentary math knowledge to divide up the taken kingdoms into territories controlled by your own lords and ladies and knights.
8. Leave for a few years, returning to real life, and wondering if this was all a dream.
9. When, one day while shopping in Ikea, you walk through another portal and find a world in chaos. Your research on gunpowder had been completed by others. The king was poisoned years ago. Big yikes. But cool heads always prevail so smile, turn around and tell yourself you did your best. Consider taking a history class to complement your existing skills.
|
"You get your hands off my wife," said the skinny carriage
nobleman to the dashing scoundrel, wearing a black eye mask and clothing.
"I don't think you're in charge here, noble," said the rogue, pressing his sharp blade up against his current hostage.
"My love, don't anger him," She pleaded to her husband.
"Look, I'm not going to take this from this guy." The skinny man said, flailing his hands around in stress.
"Do not get any closer," the scoundrel said, "I have already killed the carriage driver. And I don't have a problem killing you both."
It was then the noblemen saw the blood dripping from the front of the carriage seat..
"What do you want," he said annoyed.
"Give me the key to your chest and valuables, and you will both walk away unharmed."
"And if I refuse"
The scoundrel licked the side of his red headed wife, like he was tasting a dish.
"Don't you dare touch her," the noble screamed again.
"I'll do more than that, after killing you" The rogue said, "Key first."
The nobleman pouted, but untucked his collar and pulled out his golden key. He snapped it from his neck.
"Hand it to me," he said, "don't throw it behind me. Or else..." pressing the knife back into her neck as his hostage screamed in pain.
The nobleman handed the key to the rogue. He grabbed it with glee, and pushed the red headed woman away from him. "Now go! Before I change my mind, " the rogue threaten.
The nobleman comforted his wife, hugging her, before his angered returned.
"You won't get away with this," the noble said.
"It's not worth it, my love," the wife said.
"No, I'm tired of the robbing and pillaging on this road." The noble step up as the man opened and stared at all the gold in the chest.
"You sir have angered a powerful wizard," he said with a bold face lie.
His wife ran up behind him.
"My love, what are you doing?" she asked.
"I got this. I have a few tricks up my sleeve."
"No no, I know that look, don't risk our lives."
But he was already walking away from his wife and step closer to their would be murder.
"Nobleman," said the scoundrel heading from the rear of the carriage, "I suggest you listen to your woman, and run. I've already had my full of blood today. I don't need to add you to my list."
"Nah, Nah," the nobleman said shaking his finger at him, "this ends here right now."
The nobleman shifted his legs, dancing an awkward move. "I speak to the Gods of the World. Hear my words. Klaatu Verata Nikto." The nobleman slapped his hands together and pointed to the skies, "Send me a hero that can vanquish this evil."
"Ok, this is just getting weird, even for me," said the scoundrel. He pulled his knife, heading towards the chanting nobleman., but the wind picked up, swirling around him. The trees on the sides of the path swinging back and forth with a clear storm.
""KLAATU, VERATA, NIKTO!!!!"
"Stop this, NOW," The masked rogue said, rising his knife to strike.
However, that was the last thing he was able to say, before he turned to the noise of a car horn. In his last moments, a 1995 Jeep Cherokee sped right towards, hitting him head on.
The nobleman and his wife screamed in shock as the black masked villain was impacted with the bumper of the jeep and slammed to the side of the road.
The vehicle skidded on the dirt road and stop blocking both sides of the path.
The engine turned off and the stun couple stared in silence.
"What is that my love? What did you summon?"
"I don't know. I've never seen that before."
They both came towards it slowly. It was gleaming white, and in their view shot two powerful beams of light into the trees of the dark forests.
"OH MY GOD," They both jumped away from the voice coming from the strange thing.
The side door open and a couple of beer bottles dropped out. A young woman of mid 20's, dressed in a black leather jacket and blue jeans, stumbled out.
"AH man, I hit someone. Ah shit, that's not good." She went over to the body in front of her Jeep.
She stumbled more as she clearly was not sober, "Ah no, I don't need to go back to jail again."
The nobleman and his wife stared in confusion at the site.
"Is she a witch?" The wife whispered,
"I don't know? Honestly I was kind of bullshiting there."
His wife hit him hard on the shoulder, as he winched in pain.
"Well, I think you summoned a real witch! The words had real power"
"Those words came from a play I went to last week. It's made up. It wasn't even a good play."
"You went to play without me?"
"No, I mean I went with Stephen. You know Stephen? He was in the village for the day, last week. We were both bored, and I thought seeing a play would be nice."
"Why are you always doing things without me?"
"Well honey, I don't like being around you all the time."
"How dare you, you coward!"
The drunken driver turned to the noise of the two bricking and saw them standing by the carriage. She rushed towards them.
"Ah man. You got, you saw right," she slurred at them.
"Hey, look, look," The confused driver said, "Look, please don't call the cops. I'm already on parole here. He was standing in the middle of the street, at night." She pointed at the body on the side, "Don't call the cops."
"Cops?" Asked the nobleman.
"Look, I'm begging you, please don't call anyone."
"Call who? " the nobleman asked again. Then his eyes widen, "The Gods! Did I summon the Gods. Did they bring you here?"
"Man, I'm really fucked. I need to get out of here," She stumbled her way back to her Jeep.
"Wait, you saved me and my wife's life. What's your name?"
She scrambled into the driver's seat and slammed the door.
"At least tell us where you are from?"
The Jeep's engine roared alive and the vehicle drove away again, Disappearing far into the twilight night down the road. The nobleman witness the red lights on the back fading into the darkness.
"My Love, look," his wife got his attention.
On the ground was a small white rectangle shape.
"She dropped it out of her robes," she said.
The nobleman picked it up carefully and examined it.. He saw a realist portrait of the young woman.
"Ah!," He said excitedly ,"I have heard of this. When you know the name and place of a witch, you have control of them. They have to do what you asked."
"What is the name of that witch?"
The nobleman pulled his specs out and placed them on.
"Tina, Lacy, Fox. 211 Alder ST? Las Vegas, NV."
| 2021-01-18T03:49:19 | 2021-01-18T02:53:11 | 140 | 96 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
"DEUS VULT!"
The battlecry of the newly reborn Papal State rang on the lips of devout Catholics the world over. The faithful had come together once again to rid the Holy Land of the infidel scourge. Pope Francis stood at the head of his army, a not-so-ceremonial sword flashing in his hand as he held it up on the streets of the Holy City.
(In all seriousness, how has nobody invoked the Crusades yet?)
|
People use to think Bob was a traitor, but thanks to YouTube and my reporting we now know the truth.
Bob spoke good English and other languages and had been a woodworker in Logan, Ohio for many years. The thing is, Bob isn't American, he's Estonian, so he says, but nobody knows or can prove enough about him to deport him. I met him about 10 years ago when doing a feature on his shop for the paper and we bonded over our love of NCIS the TV show.
The thing that really struck me about Bob is that Bob doesn't exist on paper prior to 2000. Bob could have been American if not for all his half connections to terrorism, although none of it could be proven. That's what kept him from citizenship. I reported on that two. He was third cousins to some guy who did some bad thing some 4,000 miles away or his mother's step-sister's uncle was a terrorist. That sort of stuff.
Bob and I talked frequently, small town and all it's hard not to. People talk and try to be friendly in person, even if they talk about you behind your back.
When Bob learned about Islamic State he studied them beyond what seemed normal. Bob learned their customs, their region, their values, and even their movements. People started to distance themselves from him, although his nature never changed besides the fact that he began to pray more often and he had books on guns and middle eastern history written in Arabic in his shop.
It was widely speculated that the FBI, the CIA, NSA and who knows who else from the alphabet soup of government agencies was tracking, recording and following Bob.
One day bob was gone. Just vanished. All his stuff, his life, wiped out as if he'd never owned that shop. Nobody knew what happened to him until it was reported on the news. Bob had "defected" to the Islamic state and was among their troops. The town was a whole pit of gossip and that's all anyone talked about. They talked about Bob and how he was a murderer and a traitor. The national news media picked up the story of my missing person story, twisted it, reported non-stop for weeks about this American defector who was right under everyone's nose.
After a few months people started to and eventually forgot about Bob. I didn't. I wondered what he was up to and why he had made the change. I knew that Bob wasn't a terrorist. He was just a white guy from Estonia in his mid 60s with grey hair and a friendly smile.
Just when everyone had forgotten about him Bob sent me a message asking me to pay him a visit in Egypt. He even flew me out. I didn't feel unsafe. Islamic state had become increasingly less active in the last few months. Bob said not to worry about the alphabet soup that would inevitably follow me. Bob said they needed to hear it all.
Bob picked me up at the airport in a car that was really expensive. I'm no car person but it had to be hundreds of thousands if not more. We talked normally, as we had before he vanished, for many years. We drove for a few hours and stopped outside this shack. It looked similar to where he'd been staying in Logan if not a little bit more run down.
We step inside and there is one man tied to a chair. I can't see his face, there's a bag over it. Bob walks over and removes the bag.
Bob introduces me to Abdul and informs me that Abdul is the last Islamic State member alive. Bob said Abdul was a courier and servant to the leadership and had been with the organization many years. It was through Abdul that he tracked down all the members of the organization and "took care of the problem."
I was skeptical at first but I did as I was instructed. Bob asked me there for an interview and I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity. I set up my video camera and asked the questions.
I got Abdul to say his name, where he was from and why he was here. He said he was here to die, an answer I was not expecting. Abdul told me he was there to explain and then to die.
We talked for 15 minutes about everyone who was dead. Leaders, soliders, scholars, both men and women and most of the children. Everyone who aided in violence and killing and took up arms was gone, died at their own hand,...except Abdul. He said he had to tell the truth, the whole story. The stories went on for an hour. I even had to change my battery to finish the interview. Abdul shared stories of people begging for forgiveness before taking their own lives.
I then asked my final two questions the two I was most curious about. How did it happen and why was Abdul so sure he was about to die.
Abdul, at Bob's urging, said they felt so much remorse for all the atrocities they had done that most of them just went out in the desert and died of sadness. It was the purple dinosaur that had shown them the way with his song and they needed to repent for their sins. It was then that Abdul thanked me for my time and he put his head down and said he was ready. Bob then unshackled Abdul who walked over to the table took out a knife and stabbed himself in the heart.
After a minute, it was all over.
I then turned my attention back to Bob and asked him...how he'd done it how were they all gone? Bob said it with a seriousness and peace I'd not heard before.
It was Barney, Bob said. I made them watch Barney for weeks.
Sitting there, shocked, I asked one final question.
"So does this make Barney a terrorist?"
I'm still waiting on Bob's answer.
| 2016-01-29T10:03:10 | 2016-01-29T07:07:48 | 82 | 16 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
They swept across the dunes, conquering all foes before them. Charging forward to the roar of cannon and rifle, no stronghold or fort could stem the tide of red and gold that spew forth from the edge of the horizon. Like the sea, this force could not, would not be restrained by weather, terrain or people in the pursuit of black and gold. Even after there was nothing left, the body still raged, searching, pulsating. Waiting to consume all.
Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.
|
People use to think Bob was a traitor, but thanks to YouTube and my reporting we now know the truth.
Bob spoke good English and other languages and had been a woodworker in Logan, Ohio for many years. The thing is, Bob isn't American, he's Estonian, so he says, but nobody knows or can prove enough about him to deport him. I met him about 10 years ago when doing a feature on his shop for the paper and we bonded over our love of NCIS the TV show.
The thing that really struck me about Bob is that Bob doesn't exist on paper prior to 2000. Bob could have been American if not for all his half connections to terrorism, although none of it could be proven. That's what kept him from citizenship. I reported on that two. He was third cousins to some guy who did some bad thing some 4,000 miles away or his mother's step-sister's uncle was a terrorist. That sort of stuff.
Bob and I talked frequently, small town and all it's hard not to. People talk and try to be friendly in person, even if they talk about you behind your back.
When Bob learned about Islamic State he studied them beyond what seemed normal. Bob learned their customs, their region, their values, and even their movements. People started to distance themselves from him, although his nature never changed besides the fact that he began to pray more often and he had books on guns and middle eastern history written in Arabic in his shop.
It was widely speculated that the FBI, the CIA, NSA and who knows who else from the alphabet soup of government agencies was tracking, recording and following Bob.
One day bob was gone. Just vanished. All his stuff, his life, wiped out as if he'd never owned that shop. Nobody knew what happened to him until it was reported on the news. Bob had "defected" to the Islamic state and was among their troops. The town was a whole pit of gossip and that's all anyone talked about. They talked about Bob and how he was a murderer and a traitor. The national news media picked up the story of my missing person story, twisted it, reported non-stop for weeks about this American defector who was right under everyone's nose.
After a few months people started to and eventually forgot about Bob. I didn't. I wondered what he was up to and why he had made the change. I knew that Bob wasn't a terrorist. He was just a white guy from Estonia in his mid 60s with grey hair and a friendly smile.
Just when everyone had forgotten about him Bob sent me a message asking me to pay him a visit in Egypt. He even flew me out. I didn't feel unsafe. Islamic state had become increasingly less active in the last few months. Bob said not to worry about the alphabet soup that would inevitably follow me. Bob said they needed to hear it all.
Bob picked me up at the airport in a car that was really expensive. I'm no car person but it had to be hundreds of thousands if not more. We talked normally, as we had before he vanished, for many years. We drove for a few hours and stopped outside this shack. It looked similar to where he'd been staying in Logan if not a little bit more run down.
We step inside and there is one man tied to a chair. I can't see his face, there's a bag over it. Bob walks over and removes the bag.
Bob introduces me to Abdul and informs me that Abdul is the last Islamic State member alive. Bob said Abdul was a courier and servant to the leadership and had been with the organization many years. It was through Abdul that he tracked down all the members of the organization and "took care of the problem."
I was skeptical at first but I did as I was instructed. Bob asked me there for an interview and I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity. I set up my video camera and asked the questions.
I got Abdul to say his name, where he was from and why he was here. He said he was here to die, an answer I was not expecting. Abdul told me he was there to explain and then to die.
We talked for 15 minutes about everyone who was dead. Leaders, soliders, scholars, both men and women and most of the children. Everyone who aided in violence and killing and took up arms was gone, died at their own hand,...except Abdul. He said he had to tell the truth, the whole story. The stories went on for an hour. I even had to change my battery to finish the interview. Abdul shared stories of people begging for forgiveness before taking their own lives.
I then asked my final two questions the two I was most curious about. How did it happen and why was Abdul so sure he was about to die.
Abdul, at Bob's urging, said they felt so much remorse for all the atrocities they had done that most of them just went out in the desert and died of sadness. It was the purple dinosaur that had shown them the way with his song and they needed to repent for their sins. It was then that Abdul thanked me for my time and he put his head down and said he was ready. Bob then unshackled Abdul who walked over to the table took out a knife and stabbed himself in the heart.
After a minute, it was all over.
I then turned my attention back to Bob and asked him...how he'd done it how were they all gone? Bob said it with a seriousness and peace I'd not heard before.
It was Barney, Bob said. I made them watch Barney for weeks.
Sitting there, shocked, I asked one final question.
"So does this make Barney a terrorist?"
I'm still waiting on Bob's answer.
| 2016-01-29T07:22:10 | 2016-01-29T07:07:48 | 43 | 16 |
[WP] While singing gibberish in the shower, you accidentally summon a demon, who then professes an eternity of loyalty for saving it from the doldrums of hell.
or maybe it is pissed you interrupted it while he was watching his favorite show.
|
The music blares from the speaker sitting on top of the toilet cistern and I hum the tune while lathering shampoo into my hair.
"Duh duh swim duh gether anymore" my singing gets louder as I remember the words, "THE TIDE WILL RUSH WITH WAVES OF FEAR, SELLING SOULS, THE DEVIL IS NEAR!"
"**I am here master.**" a deep, rumbling voice announces from the other side of the shower curtain. I stop singing suddenly and only open one eye because the other is covered in soap suds. I tentatively pull back the curtain and peak out at the owner of the voice.
He stands 9 feet tall, his skin is dark red with a web of black lines spiraling all over his body. Horns twist their way out from the sides of his head making him look like a human/ram hybrid.
I throttle the scream that tries to punch its way out of my voice box and settle for a quiet whimper.
"**Do not be afraid master, I will serve you until my death in gratitude for releasing me from the clutches of Lucifer.**"
"S..S..Serve me?" I finally manage to stutter.
"**Yes, master.**"
"What can you do?" I ask tentatively.
"**Anything you desire master.**" He replies.
The implications of this run through my head faster than I can process them. What I can only assume to be a demon from the underworld, is here, in my bathroom, to serve me. All the things I could accomplish with him at my back. But I should keep it simple I think to myself, this is only day one after all.
"I...I'd like you to take me to school." I grow bolder towards the end of the statement, trying to sound more authoritative.
"**Of course master.**"
He promptly reaches forwards, slides his hands under my armpits and lifts me out of the shower. Holding me out in front of him at arms-length he begins to run out of the bathroom. I'm too shocked to cry out as we hurtle out of the house, soap suds flying off me, one eye still closed, my testicles swinging in the wind.
|
"Grmsbluknger...mng... Guhhhhhnmfd." The top of my head presses against the shower wall, cool water pouring across my back. It's 3 pm and I've only recently gotten out of bed. My eyelids continue to droop and I fade in and out, despite the 11 hours of sleep I've had. The weather is ferociously hot, and humid enough to smother. Much as I'd like to remain under the nozzle, I take a swig of beer, turn off the taps and amble out into the hallway. Some would call me a "functioning alcoholic." Personally, 'functioning' seems like quite the overstatement. I set my beer down atop the bookshelf in the hallway and step across the smooth vinyl flooring of my kitchen. Reaching into the freezer, I peel a bag of frozen peas off of top of some months' old leftovers, and lop it over my head. My beer, now empty, flies by me and bounces into the recycling bin, so I stoop and pry another can from the box in my fridge.
...Wait a minute.
Glancing at the recycling bin, I shake off my alcohol-laden grogginess. I hadn't finished that beer. Quickly I turn my head, eyebrows wild as the peas slide onto the floor. A tall, slender woman in tight black jeans and a black denim vest leans against the island. Her skin is as red as the shell of a cooked lobster, but I know it's not *that* hot out. Her stance is relaxed, thin black material dimpling slightly at her hips. A thin wisp of a tail traces a figure-eight idly on the smooth floor.
The bizarreness of the situation is not lost on me. There is a red woman in my home. I am wet, naked and unshaven, and partly drunk. This is one of the many low points of my life, but the first time there's been a witness; I'm a bit rusty at feeling ashamed. Yet strangely, I feel no such pressure. There's now way I'm already *that* drunk... right?
"Hi." Her voice is smooth and amiable, and seems to emit from behind me rather than from her. "Got another? We should talk." I nod, slowly, and toss her the beer I'm holding. I am agape, but fetch one for myself. "Let me get this out of the way: I'm keeping you from freaking out." She cracks the beer, brings the can to her lips, and inhales the can faster than a freshman. Briefly, my heart bounces into my throat-- who the fuck is this person and why is she in my house, drinking my beer while I stand here staring like a buffoon-- but as she raises a hand, my fears dissolve. "That's what I'm talking about, man. Chill out, seriously."
I step towards my recliner and sit down. My eyes are glazed. Though I see through them, I feel as though I am watching somebody else operate my person. She sits down across from me, arms strewn across the back of the couch, and sizes me up. "Alright bud. Let's take this easy, m'kay?" Slowly, I nod. She snaps her fingers.
Immediately, I scramble off the couch and dive down the hallway. I feel sick to my stomach. This person has entered my home and seized control of my mind. I can't let her do that again. Stumbling over my bed, I clumsily tug on some shorts and pry the .45 from under the bedside table. Peeling off the tape, bounding back into the living room, I take aim at-- at nothing. My hand drops to my side and her slender fingers slip down my forearm, prying the pistol gently from my grip. There's nothing I can do. "I said take it easy! Just fucking relax, will you?" She ruffles my hair playfully, like an older sibling to a small child, and my heart vibrates in my chest. Once more, she sits down, spinning the pistol on her finger, and gestures to the couch. Obediently, my body marches to the seat. She rolls her shoulders, and adjusts her chest; ironically deepening my sense of dread.
"M'kay, so-- we really need to clear some things up. Firstly, I don't enjoy controlling you. It really has a way of making you feel, you know... icky. Secondly, I'm not here to cause trouble or nothin', so your grievances are, uh, misplaced. Thirdly, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you won't be getting rid of me."
When at last control returns to my body, there is a long silence. Where to begin? "Who are you? What are you? Why are you here? What do you mean I can't get rid of you?"
"Well," she begins, "My name is -------, and I'm a demon. A succubus, actually. You summoned me while you were in the shower, and as thanks for freeing me from the many planes of torment, I'm pledging my eternal allegiance to you. Y'know, whether you like it or not." The red demon taps her finger on her lips, smiling slightly.
"A succubus!? Suppose I don't want to be... haunted. Suppose I'd rather you leave me alone," I grumble, crossing my arms, "Because of the connotations. My life is shitty enough as is."
She shakes her head. "Well, too bad. Look, man, I'm not trying to make this hard on you. Seriously, dealing with mortal woes is a way cushier gig than managing part of Hell. This is like, a dream job for a succubus, so I'm not gonna give this up."
I frown, "And I'm not interested in having my soul sucked out of my dick. Don't get me wrong, you're really cute, but--"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold the fuck up," she interrupts, fuming, literally; smoke pours from her nostrils as she speaks. "Where did that come from!? You think just because I'm a demon that I'll hop in bed with any..."
Somehow, I correct her: "A succubus!" Her jaw hangs open, and she slowly sits down. "Jeez, man. A drunk, sure, but I didn't take you for a racist, too. "
We both sit in silence for a moment. "I thought that's what succubi did."
Her eyebrows rise, "Where'd you get that idea?"
"No, no, I didn't mean-- it's just, that's sorta how succubi are represented... in fiction."
"Ugh. Some of us are pretty sexually liberal I guess... and if you get stuck in the middle ages, it can get kinda dry. There've been rumours about missteps in the past, so I suppose you may have just confirmed them. In any case, the guy writing this has some misgivings about fan-service, so if not getting laid is a problem, you might want to talk to him instead." She gestures upward, but there's nothing on the ceiling.
"What the fuck are you on about?"
"The guy writing this short story, as far as I can tell, wants to use this opportunity to *subvert* your expectations, not play into them."
| 2016-07-13T14:32:49 | 2016-07-13T12:09:36 | 36 | 24 |
[WP] Thousands of years after modern humanity wiped itself out in a nuclear catastrophe, fantasy creatures along with humans reduced to medieval tech rule the earth. However space stations carrying the remnants of the modern world including cryogenically frozen humans have begun to fall to earth.
Idea came from watching shannara chronicles and wondering what would happen if they encountered modern humans
|
It was faint at first. I crept nearer and the noise got louder and louder. Soon I was upon a strange cocoon of sorts. It's the only way I can describe it. I touched a glowing red button and the cocoon opened, revealing its contents. It was a human. A beautiful man, wrapped in a cloth blanket. He opened his eyes and they were a piercing blue.
'Where am I?' he spoke.
'New Woods. South of the Ever Tree.' I said, but he looked confused. 'Where did you come from?' I asked.
'Colony Theta.' He got up and stood in front of me. Tall, masculine, impressively built. ' Has the fallout stopped? Am I on earth? What year is it?' he grasped my shoulders as he interrogated me. He smelled clean, cold.
'I don't know. It's year 1 of the king of Eden.' I said, but he was looking at my clothes.
'It can't be Earth.' he said, shaking his head.
I motioned him to follow. It was time to take him back to the Calatha - she'd know what to do with him. We trudged through the forest for a time, until we emerged into a clearing. He seemed content with silence so I didn't push him to talk, aware of his eyes on my back.
He stopped suddenly. I followed his gaze and saw what he was looking at - a grazing cravmat. 'They won't hurt you. They eat grass and leaves' I told him.
'This is definitely not earth,' he said with certainty. 'this creature is like nothing I've ever seen. As fat as a seal, with teeth like a cow, and feet like a platypus'. I had no idea what he was talking about.
We continued walking, him gawking at the cravmats and antrees. What kind of person hadn't seen these before? They were some of the most common animals in the area.
When we reached the settlement, I headed straight for Calatha's. She was preparing a tincture for a wounded hunter, when we walked in.
Before I could introduce our stranger, he crossed the threshold of Calatha's home, and picked up one of the relics lining the wall. It had been there for as long as I could remember - a small looking charm. He moved onto the next one, a metal container with a strange two-humped animal smoking something etched into the front. He picked up one more relic, small and rectangular. He turned it over in his hands, and when we pushed a pushed a button a flame came out, bright and yellow.
'Shit.' He whispered.
|
Keaton tossed the cloth pouch in her hand, her mind swimming with the possibilities of what lay inside. It was all she could do to restrain herself from running to the Village Elders and informing them of her grand discovery. This was her moment, she wouldn't let some random passerby ruin this for her. She decided to take her time, and let the tall grass, still glistening with the morning due, brush her gently as she made her way home.
With the sun beaming down on her back, she looked towards the village with a smug grin. She would not be toiling in the fields today. She would not be toiling in the fields ever again. She threw the pouch in the air even higher - daring even the gods to pluck her little treasure from her. There were no gods. At least that was her belief.
"Oi!," shouted a voice. Keaton tripped as she caught the pouch, nearly letting it fall to the ground. She undid the drawstring hastily, checking to see if the object inside was damaged. It wasn't.
With a mixture of anger and panic, Keaton turned to her left to find Avery and his entourage jeering at her. Avery, an Ursa cub equal in height to Keaton, even if he has half her age, dwarfed those around him. Keaton hated the confidence this must have given him. One of the others, a Satyr of thirteen years, patted Avery on the back, seemingly congratulating him.
"What are you doing here, Avery?" The panic had dissipated from Keaton the moment she began to spoke. "I thought your family was supposed to be out hunting?" Avery and his gang sniggered at the question, passing knowing glances at each other.
"They are," responded Avery with just enough superiority that Keaton couldn't help but feel he was hoping she asked him that question, "And so am I!" Avery stuck out his chest and rested his paws on his hips. Keaton didn't even try to conceal her frustration as she rolled her eyes.
"You're hunting humes now?" Keaton knew the question was meaningless. He was interested in her or anything resembling her. Her suspicions were confirmed when Avery's toadlike friend let loose an unnerving sound she could only assume was a laugh.
"And you're stealing from dead people, I see?" Avery gestured towards the pouch. "My mum and da say you humes shouldn't even be let out in the fields. Says you done enough damage."
"Sounds like your mum and da been reading funny books," Keaton retaliated, mocking Avery's tone. "For your information, Ursa, I didn't dig this up. The gods gave it to me."
Avery and his crew didn't even hold back the laughter. Some buckled over, abandoning their desire to appear fearsome and threatening.
"You think I'm a liar?!" added Keaton.
Avery stifled back his laughter, "You're a hume. That's all I need to know. And if even what you say is true, I think Scape hear will just hold on to whatever it is you found. For your own sake." Avery shot a look towards Scape who approached Keaton without hesitation.
This was not a fight she could win. Outnumbered three to one, Keaton was already at a natural disadvantage to the strength of Avery and his friends. She might be able to fight off Wart, Avery's toadlike friend who Keaton had the wonderful pleasure of calling him her neighbor since childhood. She knew she could handle him, but not without taking a kick to the head by Scape or being knocked senseless by Avery. She broke into a run, heading towards the village.
Not being a bad runner herself, Keaton had the advantage of a head start. The little bit of fear that was sitting hard in her stomach and creeping upwards didn't hurt either. When she nearly slipped on a particularly wet patch of grass, she turned to see that Scape was in the lead, followed closely by Avery. She received some small satisfaction that Wart was struggling to keep up at all. Keaton held the pouch high above her head, her arm reared back.
"Stay back!" she shouted. Her three pursuers stopped. That was easy.
"Enough of this," yelled Avery from behind Scape. "Just get the damn thing so we can be done with this."
Scape walked slowly towards Keaton, who still raised the pouch in the air. The air was tense. The only sound that could be heard other than Keaton's heavy breathing was the grass being pressed by Scape's hooves. Scape was roughly four feet from Keaton when they all jerked their heads towards the sky. A scream unlike anything they had heard pierced their ears.
Keaton stared into the sun, struggling to see what was causing the noise. A shadow passed over her gaze, only for an instant, before Keaton felt the ground shake and the earth being pulled out from under her. A moment passed before she could regain her footing. Something was off. Wart was screaming in the distance and Avery was shouting something incoherent. Keaton's heart sank as felt a warm substance on her face. Something wet. She touched it with her hand, hoping it was just the morning dew. When she saw nothing but blood, Keaton looked ahead of her, where Scape should have been standing, to find something she had never seen before.
Sitting before her, embedded into the earth as if it had been there since the village's founding, was a massive object. Keaton thought it was made out of something like metal, similar to what she had seen soldiers wear. But something about it looked different, stronger, stronger than even the village walls. It survived a fall from who knew where, after all.
"What the hell did you do?!" Avery's anger was raw, terrifying. He fell to all fours and charged towards Keaton.
She looked frantically towards metal box, "but I didn't do anything I-"
Avery was several inches away from the metal box when a jet of steam screeched out of it. Avery jumped out of the way and turned to face it, forgetting about his previous target. The steam was so strong that it made the surrounding area feel as if it was covered in a thick fog.
Slowly, Keaton approached Avery, curious about what was going to happen. When Avery noticed Keaton, he looked at her, startled, but quickly returned his gaze to this new thing. As the steam reduced, a previously unseen lid hinged open. They approached it, slowly, eager to discover what was inside. Avery reared up slightly, to get a better view, before quickly falling backwards. Keaton was surprised to see that Avery was truly scared and looked to him with pity. Avery returned her look with the same anger he had shown her just a few moments ago before snarling at her, and running back towards the village.
She didn't know why her mind went where it did. But as Keaton peered over the metal box to see what had spurred Avery, she guessed what was inside.
It was a woman, older than her but not as old her her parents. Her hair was red, very much like some of those in the village. She looked to be asleep, but Keaton figured she had long since died. Looking more closely, Keaton noticed a slim bracelet around the woman's left wrist which lay at her side. Keaton lifted the woman's arm, and examined the thin, white bracelet. To her shock, Keaton realized she the letters, though she didn't necessarily recognize the words.
"Samara," Keaton mouthed to herself as she turned the woman's wrist over and attempted one of the words on it.
Keaton was unable to scream when the woman's hand tightened around her throat. She clutched and clawed at the surprisingly strong hand, trying to pry it open. Keaton looked at the woman's face and saw her eyes were open.
| 2018-03-10T09:11:05 | 2018-03-10T08:25:01 | 16 | 11 |
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