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[WP] You just got fired, you're pretty sure your girlfriend is cheating on you, you're 75k in student loans debt, rent was due last week, and to top it all off? You're all out of beer. Oddly enough, you just got an email titled "Would you like to change the difficulty? Current setting: Very Hard."
EDIT: muh front page reddit wew lad.
This blew up a lot more than I thought it would.
I'm having a great time reading the responses I even decided to add one myself in the comments.
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I laughed at first. Then I replied " Yes, Very easy" to the email just to amuse myself in my despair. Not a minute later, the doorbell rang.
*Maybe this was it * I thought * some god damn luck at the end of a miserable day. I could perhaps talk to someone...*
I opened the door but there was no one there. I looked around but there was no one there. I looked down to find a box. I had not ordered anything in a long time. I took the mysterious box inside and gleefully ripped the box apart.
The box had only one item inside of it. A revolver. There was a bullet in the chamber. I knew what it was for...
(i tried)
EDIT:- Thank you for your kind responses. This was my first post on Writing prompts. I did not expect people to actually like this.
EDIT 2 :- Gold!? Wow thank you kind stranger
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Jeb sat back deep in the couch and ripped off the tab of his last beer. He figured he might as well enjoy both of them while they lasted: beer, even when he had it, didn't last very long, and his couch was due for repo by those bank sumbitches.
Looking around his piece-o-shit apartment (as he liked to call it) Jeb reflected that things hadn't gotten easier, as they'd said it would down at the congregation. Jeb believed in God, and he believed in that slimy rat fuck who spread Gods word and took his ten dollars every Sunday, but as of yet Jeb had yet to see God helping out.
Downing the last of his final beer (and vaguely wondering where his next would come from. Beer that is. Or paycheck. Same thing, really), Jeb burped loudly.
"This is some bullshit," he exclaimed.
He scratched his nuts, thinking that would help. It did. For a bit. Not for long though. The itch always came back. Fuckin' bitch Katrina.
"Never trust a woman named after a hurricane," he said to no-one in particular. He thought back to the whiskey, the dinners, the late nights they had spent together, and wondered how much of dent all that wasted time would have made in his loans. Sure, a diploma in Electrical Engineering wasn't a big deal to any of his prospective employers (also good-for-nothing rat fucks, he decided, trying to extract one more drop of Indian Pale from the dessicated can in his hand), but the bank certainly didn't think so. 75 big ones. Ain't no joke, far as anyone's concerned.
Jeb stood up from his dusty, moth-eaten couch just as generations of O'Thompson losers had before him and walked over to the computer.
'*Might as well check the old e-mails*,' he said, again, to no one at all. '*Welfare don't like it if'n you don't send out a few shots in the dark e'ry now and then*.'
There were no replies, of course. No golden e-handshakes welcoming him onto the team, no promises of riches and happiness beyond measure. Hell, there wasn't even a note from the Nigerian lawyer who promised to get back to him after that deposit last week.
And suddenly: a bing.
Jeb's eyes widened. His heart stepped up its pace a few murmurs, and his hand shook on the mouse.
Could this be it?
Jeb's dire hopes faded, however, as he read the subject line. To be precise, there was none. He thought that wasn't a thing people could do anymore, but given what that tornado-in-human-form had done, well, nothing really surprised him anymore.
He clicked the link.
"Would you like to change the difficulty?" Jeb read, his lips twisting visibly as they silently contorted out the various slow syllables of the sentence. "Current setting: Very Hard."
He laughed out loud. That ol' bastard Tucker, up to his tricks again. He chortled as he clicked the reply button. '*I'll show him, that prankster*,' he thought, a grin plastering itself across his grimy face. '*Thinks I's so dumb I don't know what tamara is*.'
His index fingers poked and prodded slowly across the keyboard, a tongue protruding its grey, wet mass out of the corner of Jeb's mouth as he formented his brilliant response.
"Too Easy," he typed, a thick, guttural chuckle coughing from his midsection. "Gimme Nightmare Mode."
Reading his enviable handiwork, Jeb laughed a second time. Ol' Tuck. How dumb'd'he think ol' Jebediah was? His finger hovered over the send button for a second [*but what if it's real what if this ain't no joke what if this is your one*] before hitting 'send'.
"That'll show him."
There was the longest moment where nothing happened, and then the phone rang.
Jeb (frankly surprised he still had a phone, and that it was still connected to the network) jumped in his seat. Rocketing from his chair, he flung himself through his pizza boxes and porn mags and all the detritus that only a 26-year-old bachelor can accumulate.
And there it was. A dull red, heavy thing. He snatched it to one ear.
"You almost got me, Tuck ya ol' fu..."
"Mr O'Thompson? Is this a bad time?"
Jeb heard his surname being used. No one used surnames. Not unless...
"Uh yeah, I can talk. Not doin' much."
"Mr Thompson, my name is Dr Fischer. You might remember me from..."
"Oh shit, Dr Faggy. You the one cupped my balls and all!" he laughed into the receiver. Saying that word, he scratched again. Fuckin' bitch.
"Er... well... yes, I ran your medical about sixteen months ago." There was a harsh silence on the phone, a dark, crackling that cut into the ear harder than static. "I wanted to call to say... oh God, I can't believe this, but... well, there's been a slight mix up."
"A...? A mix up? What do'ya... wha..."
"It seems that... well, to be perfectly honest, we mixed up a scan..."
Jeb's brain... slowed. There was this... Pop. A finality.
"What?" was all that came out.
"Well, it seems that when we did your CAT-scan for your medical insurance, we had another O'Thompson that day. A Jeremiah O'Thompson. Fortunately, we've been able to rectify his side of this tale - his scan is clear - but your... Mr O-Thompson? Mr O'Thompson?"
The phone fell to the floor with a thud.
*
*
*
Edit: "tamara" isn't April fools, but hey, I tried
| 2016-03-30T16:03:35 | 2016-03-30T14:08:22 | 1,674 | 112 |
[WP] He knows he shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But Satan really loves the Christmas letters sent to him by dyslexic children.
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*Dear Satan,*
*I haev been a good girl this* *~~eayr~~* *year.*
Satan curled the letter an let out a booming laugh. "No she hasn't!" he cackled before clutching his side stitch in delightful agony. He knew exactly how many schoolyard brawls she had started and trinkets she'd stolen since May.
His demon secretary, Urdanu, was on the phone beside Satan's desk. "No, of course we aren't opening them." He covered the mouthpiece and mouthed to Satan that the angels are already on the 40th floor and descending fast. A squad of angels were blasting through checkpoints to retrieve the few letters that were misaddressed to Satan.
Satan puffed his cigar and continued reading.
*I know what I aksed for last year was too ~~uchm~~ much, so I dont want a panda tsih year. Dad lost moms loket—*
"You mean *you* lost it, after taking it without permission and playing with it. This girl is getting coal, Urdanu! No question!"
*—and I was hopeing you cuold give me one like it. It was shaepd like a hart with a bear on top and it had pitucrs. Dad was sad. I know elves cant make picturse so just the locket please. Tanhk you Santa. -Love, Sammy*
Satan folded the letter and handed it to his secretary. "Send up a minor goblin to sneak into the girl's home and dig out a locket from a floor vent."
"Us, sir? Won't *they* handle it?"
"Fat chance. She's been lashing out badly since her mother passed and she hasn't confessed to any of it. Besides," Satan waived for the next letter, "why make her wait till Christmas."
|
**Part I - Sympathy for the Devil’s Day Job**
Satan took a puff from his cigarette, staring in the direction of but not particularly focused on the underling before him as the demon nervously read through a long list of earthly happenings. None of it was particularly interesting, but he was, after all, the Lord of Darkness and just as any good leader should, Satan took near daily briefings on matters that most affected his domain.
Lately these briefings had grown particularly repetitive. The Russians were meddling in some country’s affairs, the North Koreans were rattling their sabers, the Brits were busy trying to determine how most politely to tell the other Europeans to fuck off while simultaneously devastating their own economy, the Americans… we’ll let’s not get started on the Americans.
The thing about being the Lord of Darkness is that both halves of the job are equally important - the Darkness mattered very much, yes, but so did the *Lord* bit of it. Lordship necessitates hierarchy, and hierarchy necessitates order, so despite what you may have heard about him, Satan absolutely abhorred chaos. He liked his “evil,” if you must use that four letter word, to be structured.
“...and then he tweeted that he was one of the greatest golfers in the *hestory* of all time” the demon said, emphasizing the misspelling, “that Tiger Woods totally agreed with him, and that *Angelar* Merkel was insulting all the country’s troops for not approving the golf course.”
“Ugh,” Satan groaned, a thick pillar of smoke escaping from between his teeth. “Did she even have any authority to approve the course?”
“Not particularly.”
“Fucking hell,” was all the exasperated dark lord could muster. He should be enjoying this - an international incident caused by the pettiness of one buffoon who’d gotten too big for his britches - but the chaos, the god damned *chaos* was too much to bear. There was no method, no grand design, no *finesse*, just the basest of human emotions and complete, utter disarray. “Please tell me you have some good news.”
“Good news, sire?” the demon inquired, his already shaky voice rising several octaves.
“You know damned well what I mean,” Satan fumed before slouching back in his throne.
“Well, it appears some humans have developed a new fetish, and this one’s particularly creepy.”
“Ugh.”
“Uh, well, let’s see,” the demon fumbled with his long trail of paper, carefully trying to skip ahead several page lengths without accidentally dragging any of the cumbersome scroll into the multitude of open fires around him. “There’s, there’s a war on in the Middle East!”
“Hrmph. There’s always a war on in the Middle East. What’s so special about this one?” He tossed his cigarette to the ground, landing it just an inch shy of the scared minion’s feet.
The demon winced. “Um, well, you see, umm… nothing, I suppose, my lord.”
Satan grasped his forehead, massaging the space between his horns with one hand as he dragged himself back into a proper posture with the other, all the while training his vision on the discarded cigarette. Truth be told it wasn’t actually a cigarette, just a stick of ash that smoldered from the heat of the prince of hellfire’s own breath. Satan didn’t like the taste of tobacco, but he did think smoking would make him look cool - an important consideration for most anyone who relies on their charisma to get things done - and he was rather a big fan of lung cancer. It was a deadly disease largely caused by a human’s own intentional actions, and one that could easily be avoided, yet humans kept doing it to themselves. Now *that* is how you introduce so called “evil” into the world. Every smoker’s story has a cause and an effect, a beginning, middle, and end, and that end was entirely their own doing. It’s poetic, really, the dark lord told himself, without an ounce of that awful *chaos* nonsense. And so, he would from time to time pluck a sprig of ash, as they were the only trees God would let grow in hell (a joke, to be sure, and one that Lucifer regularly grumbled to himself about), then let it slowly burn betwixt his lips.
“What else?”
“Well, um, you see the Canadians -”
“Next!” Lucifer slumped forward. Whatever it was, it may have been bad by Canadian standards, but those standards were almost invariably leagues apart from his own. This was probably just some small argument over a perceived impoliteness, or perhaps a tax on maple syrup, he assured himself.
“Uh, yes, um, well, the letters are here.”
“Letters?” Satan perked up, his eyes alight as much with excitement as they were the reflections of hellfire. “Do you mean?..”
“Yes sir, it’s almost that time of year.”
Satan leaped from his throne, knocking the poor demon onto his hind quarters and accidentally casting the oversized scroll into the nearest pillar of flame. This time it was the demon who let loose an audible gasp of disappointment; he had worked quite literally all day on that list.
“Come on, Halphas, get up! No time to doddle,” said a visibly gleeful devil. “Oh wait, one more thing!” Satan exclaimed as he sauntered back to his throne, reaching behind it to pull out a small box wrapped in red and green paper. “Here you are,” he said, handing the package to Halphas as the demon pulled himself off the hard stone floor.
Halphas carefully peeled back the paper while Satan looked on with equal parts delight and anticipation. “Is this?”
“Yes! It’s an iPad! No more dragging that unruly mass of highly flammable paper around a realm engulfed in flame. From now on, when we trudge through these dreadful briefings you’ll be scrolling through your list on a simple, manageable tablet! And if the battery happens to die before you finish, so be it.”
“But sir, you love the paper list. All those trees - the destruction, deforestation, the carbon footprint, the-”
“Relax. CVS has that all covered now. And, after all, it’s Christmas!” the Lord of Darkness exclaimed with a toothy grin. “Now come along, we have preparations to make!” he declared, practically dancing toward the mailroom.
\---
Thank you for reading. This was my first creative piece in a long, long time. It’s nothing special, and derivative, I’m sure, but it was nice to get those creative juices flowing again. If there’s any appetite for it, I’ll try to write a part two in the next couple days.
***Edit:*** Part II has been posted below. Anyone wanna tell me how I link directly to comments to make it easier to find in case this thread grows?
| 2019-08-08T21:30:49 | 2019-08-08T19:24:02 | 671 | 361 |
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
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I stood speechless at the answer of the last candidate. Everyone else chose a super power following the spirit of the event, but the last one had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. I glanced down at the written rules, wondering what idiot intern had threw together the wording, and how I was going to fire them immediately after this.
What she asked for wasn’t supposed to be possible, but because of a simple laziness on the part of the rules, it was not only possible, but now that I see it, the only right choice.
The rules said each must choose a unique power, and that it cannot exceed the power of god. Cannot exceed.
“Number 100, you have you wish. You now have the power of God.”
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A flash of Bright Light and a Loud Humming noise woke me up. I found myself in a Room with a bunch of other People that looked just as confused as I was.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?! WHERE AM I?!" Somebody shouted. Others looked around terrified, whereas some others were still in the Process of waking up and trying to take everything in.
One Person got up and went to a small assortment of Benches and lit himself a Cigarette. She looked about as nonchalant as could be, given this strange Situation.
Instead of Panicking, or being frozen in Fear I decided it would be best to get a clearer picture and as this Woman clearly seemed to know something I decided to get up and talk to her.
"Hey, uhm, so,..." She interrupted me by raising a Finger, pointing at her Cigarette. The room got louder. "WHAT IS GOING ON?!" The guy kept screaming, scaring the few that looked like they where already having a Panic Attack even more. "YOU THERE!" He pointed at me. "YOU look like you know something! What is going on here? WHERE ARE WE?!" He stomped towards me and just as he was reaching out his arm to grab me, the Mysterious Woman put out her Cigarette in a little Case she kept in her Jacket Pocket.
"Don't touch him" she said coldly, "you'll know in just a few minutes. But first check your Wrists" We did as we were told. My Wrist displayed the number 100. The Guy had the number 17. "Has everybody checked their number? Good. Come with me"
She walked behind the benches, her Black Skirt flowing behind her. Underneath one could make out some Red Leggings and Black Leather Boots. As she walked over to the Wall, a Panel opened up and she spoke something into the Panel. It wasn't a Language I recognized but right now I wasn't paying much attention either as the Wall opened up to reveal a Large Room with Chairs and a Stage in the Middle. "You guys, gals and non-binary Pals go ahead and find you a good seat. You will be called up shortly" "HOW ABOUT YOU FINALLY TELL US WHAT WE ARE DOING HERE!" The Fellow screamed in her Face. She stared Daggers at him and grabbed his shoulder when she reached him. "How about you do as you're being told for now, Big Guy before I change my mind and only 99 of you get to Participate?!" He tried to struggle but it looked like he couldn't move an inch away from her grip. "WHAT IS THIS? YOU'RE BREAKING... MY... SHOUL...-" CRACK.
He screamed out in Agony as his arm dropped a little lower. "Go and sit your ass down before I seriously break your Arm!" Every did what they were told.
Screaming guy sat next to me as he was holding his arm trying to suppress his Tears. "She is crazy, man! Crazy! Can you fix this?" I had taken some First Aid classes but I couldn't do anything about a Dislocated Shoulder. "Here, let me see." A Young girl got up from behind him and looked at his Shoulder. "Good lord! How Crazy strong is this Woman? I can make out every single finger on your Shoulder! Here hold still and don't move, this will hurt for a second" she skillfully picked up his arm and guided it into the Proper Position. "On Three! One, Tw...-" SNAP. She popped the arm right back into socket. "YOU BITCH!" "Yeah, Yeah, you would've tensed up at three and it wouldn't have worked as easily. Relax, the pain should subside quickly and you're welcome by the Way!"
I liked her, she seemed scared of the whole situation but put helping somebody first despite her Fear. No matter what's going to happen, I'd like to make sure I'm on her side.
The Room went dark and Gasps and Whispers filled the Air. A Spotlight illuminated the Stage and on Stage was a Glass Pyramid. The Air filled with Static as the Pyramid lit up and a 3D Silhouette appeared.
"WELCOME! I am sure you all must be consuming why you're here, so let's cut right to the Chase. My Name is K.I.G.A. Tonight you will all get a Superpower!" Some people got excited, Others were still Terrified. The Air has noticeably changed though. "Here's how this works," the Figure proclaimed "Each one of you has a Number on your Wrist from one to One Hundred. Each one of you will come up here, according to your number and you will get to choose your Superpower!"
Excitement started to make its rounds in the Room that was closely watched by our Mystery Lady. "There are a few rules though. Number 1: You cannot choose Godlike Powers like Omniscience. Anything below that is fair game!" The Excitement died down a little bit but some people still had Awe in their eyes.
"Rule Number 2: Every Person gets one Power and that will be the only Person to receive that specific Power! So if somebody chooses say Spiderman's Powers nobody else can receive that same Power!
Panic started to flood the room. Excited whispers and whispers of despair filled the Air.What if somebody else chose the Power you'd want?
"Number 3: After receiving your Powers, you will return to your Beds at Home. Afterwards your goal is to Conquer the World by any Means necessary!"
The Room turned loud as people were Gasping for Air from this Goal, Others shouted in Disbelief and others gave in to Despair.
Part 2 in next comment
| 2022-11-17T07:33:47 | 2022-11-17T02:34:34 | 420 | 58 |
[WP] Your wife has an estranged sister that you have never met. She was murdered in a cold case soon after you were married. You brush off your wife’s new strange behaviour after the murder as grief. Until you find an old family photo of your wife as a kid, you shiver as you realise… they’re twins.
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A vase whizzed past my head, causing me to jump in shock.
"WHO ARE YOU?!" roared my husband, rushing up to pin me between his massive arms. I shrunk against the wall, terrified.
"What are you talking about? I'm your wife!" I cried, seeing fear and rage in his eyes, and something else. Something... unhinged.
"Are you? Because you changed after we got married. After your sister died. Y'know, I always thought it was weird that you didn't want me to meet her. But now, finding the picture? It all makes sense. You replaced her. You killed my Natalie, and you took her place." He removed one of his arms and dug around in his back pocket, pulling out a picture of my twin sister and I when we were teenagers; hugging, smiling, wearing intentionally ugly matching outfits.
"You... you think I'm Helen?" I gasped, my voice quivering and my knees shaking as I reached for the photo. I held it lovingly, anger growing in me as I knew he'd found the photo by rummaging through my things.
"I *know* you're Helen. Our daughter doesn't look at you the same way she used to. You don't smell the same way you used to. You stand different, walk different. You don't like your favorite foods anymore. Trauma can change a person a lot, *Helen*, but it can't do that." he was raving, ranting, beginning to pace throughout our living room.
"My sister, my Helen, died in another state, James! I wasn't anywhere near her that night! I was here, with you, planning OUR WEDDING DAY. Remember that? Lovely ceremony, about 3 years ago? And you're right, I have changed! And it's not just trauma!" I said, opening the hallway closet to grab a broom for the vase shards, "I wanted to do something, anything to keep my sister alive. So I started using her favorite beauty products, hence the smell change. I salvaged some of her favorite clothes and heels from the donation piles, thus my posture change. You walk different in stilettos than you do in flats, James. Corsets make you stand straighter, James. I've changed intentionally, to be more like Helen, to keep her alive in me."
I could see the gears turning in his head; logic was winning out. "But what about Ava?"
"She's SIX, James! She doesn't want to be glued at her mother's hip all day anymore! She wants to play with dolls and run around the backyard and eat fuckin' lip gloss!" I filled the dustpan and emptied out the shards into the trash, heartbeat racing.
Somewhere above us, I heard a shuffling and a thud. "Great, she was eavesdropping. I'll go soothe her while you sit down and think about what the hell you just said to me." I said, wiping my hands on my apron and walking upstairs.
"Ava, honey? Are you all right?" I said, knocking on her open door.
"Mommy, why is daddy so scary lately?" she hugged my waist, hiding herself in the folds of my skirt, "Is it because of the accident?"
"Yes, baby. It's because of the accident." I said, smoothing down her hair.
James used to ride a motorcycle every day. Used to. One day last year, he got t-boned by one of those little ice-cube shaped mini-cars. Flew 30 feet. The phone call I got from the hospital filled me with the kind of dread I'd only ever felt once before; when I was informed by my parents that my twin sister had been found shot in her local park while jogging, a casualty of a gang's civil war.
He was in a coma with severe brain swelling for a full month. And when he woke up, he was different. More aggressive, more paranoid. Gaps in his memory. The doctors said it was a miracle he survived. As I held my sobbing daughter in my arms, and faintly heard my husband booking a session with his therapist downstairs, I wondered if it was any miracle at all.
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After dropping the photo on the ground in complete and utter disbelief, I couldn't help but collapse onto the ground.
"What the actual fuck is going on here?" I whispered to myself. I had no time to keep processing the shocking discovery I had just come across as I could hear "Lauren" coming down the basement stairs. Standing up as quick as I could I immediately headed towards her. This devil took MY wife away from me and was trying to steal MY wife's life? Oh hell no!
I got to the bottom of the stairs just before Hannah the succubus did and I couldn't contain the rage pumping through every copper wire in my being.
"WHAT DID YOU DO?" I wailed at the absolute top of my lungs, shaking my vocal cords. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO WITH LAUREN?" This put a look of complete disbelief on her face. It actually seemed pretty genuine but I knew what type of game she was playing. There was no chance I was going to fall for it, there needed to be justice and revenge for Lauren.
"I know who you are you psychopath! You think you can get away with this shit?" Before I knew it I was grabbing her by the shoulders, shaking her violently.
"Mark what the hell are you doing? What are you talking about?" Hannah was fighting back, yet still trying to maintain her innocence. "Babe get off me why are y-." Her plea was cut short due to the state of both my hands clasping as tight as I could around her throat.
"You stupid bitch, coming into my life and fucking it up. Huh? Nothing to say now huh?" I continued to squeeze for the next 10 to 15 seconds at the same intensity, staring as deep as I could into the eyes of the woman who had murdered my wife. As her eyes started to close I released her. She went into a horrible coughing fit, covering the wall in her filth.
"You won't feel the sweet release of death tonight Hannah, I'm going to make sure you rot in jail for the rest of your miserable life." I said adamantly. I quickly headed up the stairs and grabbed the house phone to call the police. While dialing 911 I walked back to the top of the basement stairs to check on Hannah. I had revealed I knew her true identity and didn't want to take the chance of her escaping. As I saw she was still laying there, coughing more softly now, the 911 operator picked up.
"911 what is your emergency?"
"Hi, yes, I believe I have information on a murder case. I have the killer in my house right now and I need a unit here immediately!"
"Ok sir tell me your address and we'll have some officers down there right away." The operator said in a very composed manner. After relaying that I lived at 308 Negra Arroyo Lane Hannah decided to speak up again.
"Mark, honey, why are you doing this?" She was struggling to get the words out of her crushed trachea.
"Shut your mouth and stay right there, the police will be here any moment." I quickly answered. I wasn't going to stand for her deceptive ways. The woman laying on the stairs was being of pure evil, one that needed to be treated as such.
After a few more moments of Hannah's desperate pleading I heard a knock on the front door.
"Get ready for your twisted little sick life to get a lot worse demon." I said to Hannah before heading to answer the door.
Outside were three cop cars, an ambulance, and four officers crowded onto my porch.
"Hello sir we got a call about a possible domestic dispute. Can you tell me what's been going on tonight?" The officer closest to the door asked. He seemed to be the Lieutenant or Sergeant as he wore a different badge than the other officers. This was the man I needed to be talking to. Before I could even get a word out, something happened I never could have expected.
Hannah came walking down the stairs from the second floor. She was in much worse shape than I had left her in on the stairs. There were multiple cuts on her face, her nose seemed to be broken, and there was a massive purple bruise on her left cheekbone. While keeping her distance from me and after giving me a frightened look the officers could surely see, she began to speak.
"Oh thank God you're here officers! He's been beating on me and I couldn't take it anymore!" I almost believed her for a split second too. She sounded so innocent and heartbroken, like she's been battling with inner turmoil for a lifetime and finally decided to take action. She even had tears streaming down her face for dramatic effect.
"Is this true sir?" The officer in charge asked. I couldn't believe what the hell was happening. First she appeared upstairs, then the bruises and cuts appeared, and now she was feeding a bullshit story to the officers with the delivery of a seasoned Broadway actress.
"Hell no this isn't true!" I said with confidence, finally managing to get a word out. "This woman here is a killer! She murdered my wife Lauren and is trying to steal her life! You have to believe me!" My words seemed to have little to no effect on the officers.
"Ma'am?" The officer said inquisitively to Hannah.
"I don't know what he's talking about officer, he's gone crazy or something!" Hannah said innocently.
Looking back at me the officer sighed and pulled his handcuffs out. "Please turn around and put your hands behind your back sir."
"What? No way I didn't do anything!" I said defiantly.
"Sir, turn around and put your hands behind your back NOW!" The officer wasn't playing around now. I tried to think of what to do next and the officers took that as a sign of resistance. Within only a moment I had two sets of hands, one on each arm, turning me around and hand cuffing me.
"You can't do this to me! She's a killer! A KILLER!" I screamed as the officers dragged me away from my house. How did she do it? How did she get upstairs? How did she get those marks on her face? What the hell was happening right now? So much had happened in the last 10 minutes my head was spinning and I was beginning to feel sick. The officers read me my Miranda rights and threw me in the back of one of the squad cars. I could see Hannah spreading her lies to one of the officers who stayed to talk with her. He was writing down notes and probably believing every word she was saying.
The officers who had detained me started to leave in their cars so I was forced to sit and watch Hannah give the rest of her statement. Once they finished talking and the officers started walking back towards their cars, Hannah stayed in the doorway to watch. She locked eyes with me and I could swear, was even smiling a little. Whoever that was, it wasn't Lauren.
The officers drove me to the police station without saying a word. Once at the station I was processed and booked. My mug shot was taken, my fingerprint was filed, I was charged with first degree assault, and I was also charged with first degree battery. I thought, this can't be real. I had definitely choked her, but that was besides the point. The woman living in my home wasn't the woman I married. She had murdered my wife and was now trying to steal her life.
Once processed I was given an orange Albuquerque prisoner jump suit and thrown into a tiny cell. The five foot by five foot "room" consisted of a piss stained cot and shit stained toilet.
"Fuck." I said quietly to myself. "How did I end up here?" I spent the next hour or so trying to process what my next steps would be. The charges against me weren't going to be dropped and there was no way that I could fight them after what happened at the house. All of the officers had seen a beat up, cut, and bruised woman cry before them about how she couldn't be abused anymore. Still though, I would eventually have a chance to seek out justice for Lauren. They couldn't lock me up forever because of this.
After sitting in my cell for another hour or so my chance came sooner than I thought. An officer opened my cell door and told me a detective wanted to speak with me. I was escorted out of the cell block and taken to a private interrogation room. I waited for only a short time before a man walked in carrying a huge binder. He didn't wear a blue uniform like the rest of the cops, but instead khakis with a button shirt and a tie. His badge hung down from a lanyard covering part of his tie. He seemed to be about forty five to fifty years old, probably an experienced, grizzled cop who had seen a lot of shit in his day. He pulled his chair real close to mine, pinning me in the corner.
"Hi Mark I'm detective Gary Fring, I've heard a lot about what's happened tonight so I just need to understand what happened from your side. Tell me your version of events from tonight at the house." Detective Fring seemed to be reasonable and willing to listen.
| 2022-11-30T08:16:52 | 2022-11-30T04:05:53 | 191 | 120 |
[WP] "Aha! I have you now villain!" The hero who is always watching you says, waiting for you to do something evil. I mean you are the son of the former Demon King, but you just want a normal life.
|
The banging continues, and I reluctantly stand up from my arm chair. The fireplace was just starting to warm my ashy-colored skin, too.
I open the door and Rouse the Great stands head-to-toe in his godly white armor. He lifts his helmet and smirks with grizzled teeth and excitement.
"So, you ready to fight? Hmmm?" he says, "I will save the kingdom from you-"
"Could you leave me alone already?" I say, "I wanna read the sunday-comics, hey, hand me that."
I point to a stack of papers on the doorsteps. Rouse uses his sword to lift the papers up and drops them to my feet. This guy really is trying to pick a fight.
"Listen, I now you want to kill me, but I just want to live a normal life-"
"How do you explain your evil lair?" he bellows, "Who else would live in a castle miles from civilization? A castle that used to be used for torture and dark arts!"
"It was apart of the inheritance, and I gave most of that stuff to the authorities. Except this teleporting staff, but I use it to go to town-"
"A-ha! I have you now! This is a dark artifact. Making it a crime to use it-"
"The authorities said it was okay if I had a license. Which I do... right here."
I dug in my coin-sack and pull out a crumpled form.
"Everything is up-to-date and has an official stamp, alright?"
Rouse yanks the paper from me and tries to look as though he's reading, but its upside-down and both he and I know he can't read.
The spring breeze gently pushes the grass and birds are singing in peace. Rouse screams and gives the paper back in frustration. He runs to my lawn and starts cutting tall grass with his sword like a madman. The birds fly away in terror because of his shrieks.
"There has to be something to do! Where is my glory and treasure! Years of training in a monastery for nothing! Nothing!"
"While you're at it can you get rid of an ant's nest around- oh, you already stepped on it." I finish and slowly close the door.
I make sure to chain the door and dim the torchlight. I carry the sunday-comics to my arm chair and read by the inviting fire. Even though the walls are a foot thick, I could still hear his screams of existential agony. They're delicious to my demonic-senses and provide me with ever-lasting life, but he'll never figure that out. He always comes back every week.
|
Fetivus walked along the streets of Avid, well aware of the figure following behind. He was always there, watching and waiting. For the last year and a half, Galdor had made it his life mission to stop Fetivus's evil schemes. If the horned young man had schemes, which he did not.
This did not stop Galdor from insisting that the young demon boy was up to something. So on a daily bases he would follow and harass Fetivus, who could on most occasion give Galdor the slip. However this tended to make Galdor more of a bother because obviously the only reason Fetivus would give him the slip was to do...EVIL.
On this day the young man was simply heading to buy some food, he walked into the market when a figure seemed to melt into existence before him. It was a girl, and on her head were two horns. The boy caught his breathe, he knew there where others like him but never met one.
"Hello..."
The girl had barely spoken when Galdor came charging up "I have you now fiend, meeting with your dark..."
"Ahk" the sound of a choke
The man was suddenly stopped, frozen in place, gasping for breathe. A confused Festivus turned to see the girl holding a hand up.
"I was speaking..." she turned to Fetivus, "Is this man bothering you?"
The boy was unsure what to say, the girl spoke, "I can tell...let me guess he assumes you must be evil. The horns and teeth do make some people overly jumpy..."
She turned to glare at Galdor, the boy glanced away from the man, "He hasn't really done anything, and now..."
"Not yet he hasn't," she eyed Galdor, "and I don't think he will, how long has this been going on?"
"Over a year..."
"A year," the girl walked toward Galdor, "A year and you haven't done anything...I think it is because you can't."
The girl snapped her fingers and in a flash all three were in a large arena like structure, the sky was open as a breeze wafted the scent of the country side. Festivus looked around, he had never seen this kind of structure near Avid. Then again he never really left the city, especially with Galdor watching him. He turned to the man still held in place.
He felt a touch, turned to face the girl, "Come."
Glancing back at the frozen Galdor, "Where are we going?"
A small laugh, "To have a seat."
She looked off, "Malcath!"
With a snap Galdor dropped to the ground, finding his bearings he charged at the two, "I have you now!"
Then a ghostly blue mist rose up around him, the sound of a chocking Galdor who waved his arms in front of himself. Then shapes began to form in the mists, skeletons. The surrounded the hero who was surprisingly frightened.
"Get Back, I will bring holy vengeance"
A deep rumbling laughter was heard, "I think not little human."
"Come and face me you coward, I am not afraid of..."
More blue mist swirled as a tall armored figure suddenly stood before Galdor, the skeletons spreading out to give a clear path. And the hero stood dumb founded, rooted in place with fear. Festivus's attention was distracted by a giggle from the girl beside him, then the figure spoke.
"Surely you know who I am? Or do you spend your time harassing children who have done nothing."
Galdor swallowed, "Your all fiends..."
A snort, "I am not a half demon, what are they...your not from the academy are you."
The hero's eyes widened as a great laughter erupted, "I though you might have been a wash out...but you, but you never went."
More laughter, "Did you fail the entrance exam? No...you never tried...DID YOU!"
The laughter was loud and echoing, Fetivus was confused and glanced at his companion, "I suspected he doesn't know even how to fight. Did he only ever follow you around?"
"Yes," but that does that have anything to do..."
"Any hero worth their salt would have figured you out long ago, everyone assumes half-demons can just do magic. Well we can...but its more complicated than that. I think your friend was trying to get a reaction for the authorities to get involved...but that would be dangerous if you were actually malevolent."
"Oh..."
There was another swirl of blue mist as a half dressed figure appeared, a large man who seemed to be in the process of getting dressed. Galdor looked wary as Malcath looked amused as he crossed his arms. Festivus watched with confusion as the man spun around."
"What in tarn..." he stopped upon seeing Malcath and pointed violently, "YOU! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!!!"
A smile, "Old friend..."
"OLD FRIEND! WHY..."The man stopped once he realized they had an audience, noting the hero surrounded by skeletons just standing there and the two children watching. Looking back and forth, he took a step toward Malcath and leaned in.
"What is going on?"
Malcath gestured into the air, "Quick question Paladus, are either of those two fiends? Particularly they boy?"
The disrobed man glanced at the Festivus as Malcath gestured toward the two children, "No..."
"LIES..."
The voice of Galdor cut off at a snap of Malcath's fingers, "and the other point of interest, a masquerading hero...stalking the boy, of course."
"WHAT!" Paladus stormed up to Galdor as Malcath waved his hand with disinterest.
"Who are you?" there was silence and then Paladus turned to Malcath, "You mind?"
A smile, "You want to go back or have him speak?"
A sigh, "Sure. If it means I don't have to deal with you...I will make sure this sod is sorted out."
The blue mist swirled again as Paladus, Galdor and the skeletons vanished, Malcath sighed as his shoulders dropped and he walked over to the two children. Fetivus was unsure of everything that happened and turned toward the girl who was smiling."
"What happened?"
Malcath wringed his hands, "Me and Paladus go way back, to the Adventuring Guild...now Academy thanks to Paladus of course. They don't exactly like people pretending to be heroes, endangers everyone but people still do it. I suspect your stalker thought her was being helpful...instead of a fearful ignorant buffoon.
"He didn't seem to like you..."
A grimace, "Well, lets say we had a difference of opinion on a few things...and I might have overthrown a kingdom once..."
Fetivus was trying to figure out what this man meant when the girl leaned in, "Malcath is a former Dark Lord..."
A hurt look crossed Malcath's face, "Former?...excuse me, I am very much still a Dark Lord young lady and you should treat me with the respect I deserve."
"Sure," the following laughter from the girl assured Festivus."
"Can I go home now."
"Yes." Malcath opened his arms placatingly.
"Of course," the girl got up, "I was going to ask you to show me around the city, I can be a bit shy...except when I am not of course."
The girl snapped her fingers and the two where back in the market, "Come on then, show me around."
| 2021-07-25T22:58:42 | 2021-07-25T20:07:56 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk.
|
He found her sitting in a tree. Her legs dangled over the edge, her dusty feet kicking back and forth. It had taken him a while to find her. It wasn't as simple as it usually was. The hourglasses came with coordinates, of course. The tiny numbers ascribed on the bottom gave approximate locations. It wasn't a perfect system. Humans weren't as predictable as, say, ants. Things had gotten tricky when they domesticated the horse, for example. It had gotten worse with the engine. Obviously airplanes had kicked things into gear. But the hourglass makers, those bright-eyed creatures, were quick to adjust. They usually got it into the ballpark.
What they could not account for was Death letting an hourglass slip beneath his desk.
First, he brought it to his brothers and sisters, the others also known as Death. They passed it between themselves. Each Death took to their jobs differently, and each were assigned the appropriate hourglasses. The Death that came suddenly but quietly bent his long neck over the lost hourglass and frowned. He thrust it back and gave a quick shrug of his shoulders. The Death of sick children held the hourglass for a long time, cradling it in her warm and comforting arms, and smiled. "You lost it, huh? Just under your desk?" Her eyes twinkled. "Not such a bad idea." This last part she said quietly, under her breath, as she made her way back towards her own office.
Our Death, This Death, brushed a bit of dust and looked again at the location. It was all he had to go on, after all, and so he set off to see what he could find. It took a while, but he was diligent. Death always is. So he found her in a tree, just before a sunset, and the warm rays of the sun warmed her smooth skin. She watched him approach across the savanna. This was the first surprise. She could see him even from a distance. She could see him before he touched her.
The second surprise was, well, her youth. This Death was the Death of the fully lived. He usually came to bedsides, to wrinkled faces, often stealing in over the shoulders of family members. When he reached out to touch his people they were worn with the gifts and ravages of time. This one was still young, her limbs were still long, and her eyes were as clear as the ones who long ago had forged her hourglass.
She greeted him in a language This Death had not heard in hundreds of years. He was not in the habit of apologizing, but he did, now. He was standing below her, looking up. She shrugged her shoulders in a cheerful way and accepted the apology as is if it was perfunctory. Death was not in the habit of explaining himself, either, but he started to. She shook her head and laughed. Here was the third surprise. Human laughter! This Death had never heard such a thing, and it moved the parts of him that were human, those sleepy and untended parts he knew were there but almost never thought of.
He would know in a moment. When he reached out to place his palm against her chest, the only chest of a child he would ever touch, all would become known, as it always did. He would see the moment the hourglass fell, suspending her story in time. He would see her grow from an infant until the moment just before adolescence, a moment when she was care free, running with her siblings through her village. He would see her stop, her youth remaining as everyone around her aged, and how her tribe began to regard her with awe. She was chosen, a symbol of happiness and mystery. But hers was a small tribe in an encroaching world and he would see her remain until it was no longer possible, and then, with a young heart, he would see her set out for the horizon, a girl among the wilderness, where time had patterns but few consequences. It would be just a moment, now, before she jumped down to join him on the ground, the only person to see him, to truly see hi. When she did he would see her on night after endless night with her head tipped up to the stars. But for a moment all he saw was the girl, the tree, the dying sun, and she laughed again as she pushed herself toward him.
|
Death was having a bad day.
It could've been worse. There were people dying and Death did find some amusement in snuffing out those lives one by one, but they were all dying to the same old causes. Death had hoped humanity would grow out of the simple deaths by now, that they'd use their technology to survive diseases and starvation so they could die in new, exciting ways, but there they were. Dying.
Death looked around at his hourglasses. There were enough to fill more than shelves than any human could count, most of them already drained, but still sitting there to remind Death of every little joy people had provided him. *Maybe the next one to run out will be killed by wild animals,* Death mused. *Those ones still happen, and they tend to quite visceral.*
Death waited. There wasn't much for Death to do other than wait, the only things in Death's realm were the shelves, the hourglasses, and the desk at which Death waited. The desk didn't even have any ornamentation, just the stacks of paper Death wrote up as records for the auditors and empty drawers Death hadn't opened in centuries. Bored, as Death often was during a lull, Death fiddled with the drawers one by one.
Open... Shut.
Open... Shut.
Open...
With a quiet click, Death's jaw dropped. Sitting in the third drawer, feigning innocence by hiding under a coating of dust, was an hourglass. An hourglass which, as it was sideways, still had sand in both sides despite its obvious old age. Death ran a finger along the glass as it thought about the implications of this hourglass, this exception to the rules Death was so used to. Death considered flipping it over, adding another chance to kill a human to some future day, but decided against it. There is more to death than killing, after all, and as Death formulated a plan of questionable cosmic legality it began to smile wide at the new opportunity this hourglass presented.
The air was cold and the sky grey as Death stepped onto the ground once more. Now that its mood had been lifted, Death took a moment to appreciate the rush of feeling that came with reality, cracking its joints in the biting, ash-laden wind. Nearby were some trees, silhouetted against the dull, red glow on the horizon. Death reckoned the owner of the hourglass, a man named Josiah Wilkinson, would be hiding there.
Death struggled to remember anything about this man who had lived so much longer than any human is supposed to. It had been so long since Death had set up Josiah's hourglass and in that time Josiah had never had a close encounter with Death, on account of his hourglass being lost. Death wondered what kind of man such a long life would make someone; Death had never known much about people beyond how they handled dying.
Once Death had reached the trees, the hut was obvious. It looked like it might have been an old log cabin, before its current inhabitant boarded up the windows and rammed spikes into the ground outside the door. A determined man, Death assumed. Someone aware that Death could be around any corner, and so fighting for every inch of life that he could. Death liked it when they fought back, though Death had to remind itself that it wasn't here to kill Josiah.
Neither the spikes nor the wall of the cabin were a hindrance to Death as it stepped into the cabin, bringing a chill into the room that can only be felt in one's spine. Looking around for Josiah, allowing itself to be visible to the living, Death grew confused.
The room was pitch black. Used tins of food were strewn around, as Death had expected, but there were so many that the entire floor was covered in a layer two or three tins deep. The only thing in the room other than the tins was a chair, facing away from Death. But no one jumped at the chill in their spine, or yelped as they realised Death had finally come for them.
Silently, as Death usually is, Death walked around the chair to see if some note had been left by Josiah. *Perhaps,* Death reckoned. *Perhaps my survivor somehow knew I was coming and escaped, and that is why he hasn't jumped out to fight me.* Death rounded the chair and looked, and for the second time that day Death's jaw dropped. Sitting there, grumpily, face covered in wrinkles, was a man Death realised he recognised all too well.
Josiah started to say something, but Death was too distracted to listen. Funeral after funeral, so many that Death had watched were attended by this man before him. Friends, children, grandchildren, even great-grandchildren, each one was buried with this man watching on, crying softly. He'd even attended the first mass graves, before disappearing from Death's view once more. Death didn't quite understand how watching people die affected people, but it knew that this man must have been made stronger than any other by enduring so much-
"-so just kill me already," Josiah demanded, staring straight at Death with a sneer.
"WHAT?" Death asked, its voice echoing in the old cabin, as only Death's voice can.
"I said kill me. You gone deaf after all the screams, or do you just never listen anyway?" Josiah asked, teeth grinding against each other as he waited for his death.
"YOU, YOU WANT TO DIE?" Death asked, cocking its skull to the side. "AFTER SO LONG FIGHTING TO STAY ALIVE, NOW YOU WISH TO GIVE UP?"
"I ain't fought," spat Josiah. "It's just ain't nothing can kill me, not even once you've taken everyone I ever cared about! Ain't no reason I should get to keep on living with all them in the ground."
"I THOUGHT THIS WOULD BE DIFFERENT," Death muttered, trying to fit the grumpy, defeated man in front of him into his carefully thought out plan. "YOU SHOULD BE STRONG. DETERMINED. WHY ARE YOU SO WEAK?"
Josiah stared at Death for a few more seconds, then looked down at his hands. "You do that to people, you know. With each one you took from me, you took part of my life away too. Ain't really got a life any more because of you, but you ain't given me a death either."
Death frowned. It had come up with a solution, a way to fix its plan, but Death was not quite sure how to do it.
"HUMANITY IS DYING, JOSIAH," Death stated. "ALL OF THEM. ALREADY THERE ARE SO FEW LEFT."
Josiah gave a single chuckle. "Ain't that what you want? I would've thought you were happier than you ever been when them bombs started falling."
"I DO NOT WISH FOR HUMANITY TO DIE," Death continued. "WHEN HUMANITY HAS DIED, I WILL HAVE NO ONE TO KILL. YOU MUST SAVE THEM."
"You ain't very convincing, seeing as you're saying I should save folks just so you can kill them," Josiah replied, his voice cracking as he imagined seeing yet more people die in front of him. "Ain't fair that you want to put me through all that again."
"THEY WILL DIE, AS IS THE WAY OF THINGS. BUT HUMANITY NEED NOT DIE WITH THOSE WHO WILL DIE TOMORROW," Death argued. "I WILL NOT STOP KILLING THEM, AS IS THE WAY OF THINGS, BUT YOU COULD SAVE THEM."
"You say that, but you ain't done much killing me yet," Josiah muttered.
"YOU ARE AN UNDISCOVERED ANOMALY, JOSIAH. YOU HAVE NOT DIED. IT IS LIKELY THAT YOU DO NOT NEED TO DIE, AND MY MISTAKE WILL REMAIN UNNOTICED," Death stated. Death thought for a moment, then tried speaking to Josiah in a human voice. Death chose the voice of Josiah's wife. "We may be-"
"Don't you fucking dare!" Josiah screamed, looking back into Death's eyes. "You fucking monster, don't you fucking dare use her voice! She's dead, but she ain't your goddamn wife! She ain't... She ain't yours..." Josiah trailed off towards the end, a tear escaping his eyes.
Death returned to its own voice, unphased. "WE MAY BE ENEMIES, BUT OUR INTERESTS ALIGN. SAVE THEM, JOSIAH. I PROMISE THAT YOU WILL NOT DIE, FOR IF YOU DO I WILL HAVE NONE LEFT TO KILL."
Josiah did not respond. Instead, he thought about his wife. She had died so long ago now, but he could still remember her face. He could still remember how it felt to hold her. He could still remember how it felt to feel her hand go limp in his when she died on the hospital bed. Josiah had long since given up on stopping the tears, and by the time he'd finished crying he found that Death had gone. He still wasn't dead. He wasn't healed, either, but he'd remembered something important. It wasn't just his wife's death that had hurt him, or the deaths of his descendants. Every single death he saw or heard about had stung, every life snuffed out was another person just like his wife. Someone real, someone loved.
For the first time in years, Josiah Wilkinson stood up and faced the world outside his cabin.
| 2018-10-03T07:45:35 | 2018-10-03T07:04:41 | 45 | 29 |
[WP] Sitting in class, bored stiff, it feels like time has slowed to a stop. Turns out, it did. Your school was frozen in time. The outside world has moved on, way on. The year is now 2050.
|
You ever have 31 years pass in an instant? It is not as cool as it sounds. I was a substitute gym teacher of all things. It should have been Frank. Now I have to live my life knowing it was me.
I was sitting up in the bleachers watching these kids repeatedly fail to make a free throw. One shoots and the other chases the ball down. No scoring, just repetition at its worse. You know, boring.
As I was nodding off I should have known something was off when it took far too long for the ball to make the journey from Michael's hands and through the rim. I just thought I was tired. The bell ringing for the next class is what woke.me.
The rest of the afternoon classes passed without a nap. Nothing really seemed off until the busses were supposed to arrive from the depot to take the kids home. Not one showed up and the phones and internet were down. Couple of us tried to use our cells only to not get any signal.
Our school was built on a hill back through some woods. It was very peaceful and very little traffic came through. But the road itself looked all but abandoned as I passed over the line in my classic. I needed some gas and it was when I pulled into the gas station that I really started looking around. Everything was almost the same, except it wasn't.
The air smelled cleaner. An add for the new 10G Samsung Galaxy Z4 was appearing over the pump. I walked in to pre-pay and the attendant had orange hair and his tooth pierced. Kids these days. Where was the soda fountain? Did my gas station get some of those hippy owners and now everything is organic? I barely recognized anything.
I grabbed a large water and when I went to pay the kid at the register was being talked to by what must be the manager. Something about resetting the coils on the roof before they overheated. As the kid walked off and the manager turned to me, I had that brief moment of recognition. "Wow, you look just like Sub Coach Turner from back before the invasion." Confused, since I was *a* Substitute Coach and my name was Turner, I chose to let it go and continue on home.
Only my home no longer was mine. It was there, but it wasn't mine anymore. It had a Tesla and a Ford model I had never seen before parked in the street. I started beating on the door when my key wouldn't work. My son answered the door, only he was no longer 7 years old. He turned his head to the side in that confused dog expression, "Dad?" It felt too right. "But the school, it was ground zero." Ground Zero for what?
My youngest, now early 30's came to see who was at the door. "Hey, who is here that is unregistered? Why didn't you get the alert and why was he... Dad?" Again, that familiarity. I looked up and down the street and finally woke up when the neighbors landed. Landed? Nope... and I passed out
|
Fuck, I muttered realising what has happened. This would have caused Ms Simpson to give me a lecture on inappropriate language in the classroom. I packed my belongings and hurried out of the classroom. Down the hallway I could see several staff and students also frozen in various awkward poses that they assumed while walking. Ms Kayrooz had never looked so dead being a frozen statue. I shoved her figure over and punched her glasses. She was a bitch. Realising I had a shit ton of stuff in my locker, I went to the locker area to retrieve my belongings. Standing outside the lockers was Ms Shaddy. She was also a bitch. I locked her figure in my locker after I had gotten everything. I suddenly though ‘what about my friends?’ Fuck that, I have no friends, only fake bitches trying to get math help when they couldn’t understand problems because they were too busy browsing memes during class time. Anyway, I proceeded to walk through the lesser known passage though the woods that would take me to the outside world.
———
The outside world. What sort of place would it be after 30 fucking years. After a relatively short and uneventful walk, I finally reached Tuchmyasoul St. The giant digital clock that stood near the shops said “07/02/2050 11:46am”. Fuck. It looked as hideous as it always had, some of the dead pixels must have been fixed but it had also been vandalised with a giant penis graffitied at the top. I walked towards the shops to grab myself a snack. Except the shops were no longer there. Where there had been a gaming arcade, a little grocer and a vintage clothing shop was a joint adult store and bar. The front of the store was plastered with the most sexually explicit images. Things must have gotten extremely liberal over the last 30 years. Well fuck. I decided I would go home and hopefully... I don’t know I just need a nap. Thankfully, the bus stop was still there, and the bus I normally caught home was waiting. It looked exactly the same as it had looked before, except more weathered. But there was a wifi symbol on the side. I got home and paid my fare, and strangely enough I recognised the bus driver. I had never known his name but I had seen him drive this bus very frequently. He looked like he did before, except his face was slightly more wrinkled, his hairline has receded a fair bit and he had a lot of grey hairs. He didn’t seem to have the same perkiness he once did and appeared somewhat thinner. I decided to sit near him and hopefully find out anything I could. “How’s it been going for you?” I asked as the bus took off. This was extremely out of character for me.
“Oh it’s been shit,” he frowned. “It’s been extremely lonely since 2019 when Karen divorced me and took the fucking kids with her. And the dog. And the house. Then of course I got the cancer hehe....”. He gave a shy glance at me and quickly straightened up. “But my last round of chemo is next week”. This, he sounded a little more optimistic about.
“Ugh that must be tough,” I replied. “I’m happy for your last chemo though”. I tried to make the atmosphere less depressing, and it worked.
“Thanks,” he replied with a subtle smile. “That means a lot.”
“So uh..” I began. “Do you remember what happened to Sandstone State High?”
There was a silence. And a smirk. “Oh that school, the one where everyone suddenly froze?”
“Yeah,” I answered, “that one”.
“Oh yeah well once day a meteorite landed in the oval. There was some radioactive material that police and scientists couldn’t exactly determine and just gave up. Anyway, they observed the place with telescopes and realised that all the teachers and students were frozen. Everyone in that school is officially pronounced deceased now. The place was quarantined and nobody was allowed to enter. It was all over the news, you should have seen it. Still one of the greatest mysteries, I wouldn’t be surprised if that bitch Karen was in on it.”
“Do you know what happened with the parents.”
“Uh well, I guess they all went through some shit, especially with their kids being pronounced dead.”
At that moment the bus turned into my neighbourhood, and I went to get off. I said goodbye to the driver and hopped off.
“Nice talking to you kiddo,” he called with a sad smile.
———
I approached my old home and was about to go through the front gate when I realised that the house was inhabited by complete stranger. Fuck.
“Is everything alright?” A woman in her late 50s approached.
“Do you know where Mr and Mrs Jones are at?”
She looked surprised. “The previous homeowners, oh they passed away I’m sorry.”
“Do you know how happened?”
“Oh apparently she found out he had been cheating in her with a dude and she went into his workplace with matches and gasoline to threaten him to break up with the dude. Apparently something went wrong and the entire workplace burned down with no survivors. It was the morning of the day the Sandstone State High incident occurred. Do you know about that sweetie?”
“Yes,” I muttered, “I do, well I better get going, thanks for your time.”
I turned away and ran realising that my dad’s Xbox buddy had been more than that, and as a result both my parents were dead before the shit that went down at school. I took a walk around the neighbourhood, realising that not much had changed.
———
Eventually I decided to take the bus back to the central area to find a homeless shelter. It was a different bus driver than before. I didn’t talk this time, I sat in silence the entire ride, Life had clearly taken a turn, I was in year 12, and would be in university next year, but now I was nobody. And I had no money, no family and no shelter. All the spare money I had had been used for bus tickets. I wondered aimlessly around some random ass shopping complex. Around the side I suddenly noticed a bucket, when I came close I realised it was a bucket of gasoline. It reminded me of the story the lady who now inhabited my house told me. I saw my reflection and realised I was on my own now. The thought hit me like a train. But at least I didn’t have to face the shitty school anymore. That school can burn in hell. Literally. Then I had an idea. I grabbed the bucket and made my way to the school through the passage in the woods. And I lit the place on fire the same way my mother had lit up my father’s workplace. But I felt satisfaction, and I was gonna make it out alive. Once I had made it out, I decided the first thing I needed to do was check out the homeless shelter, and also I need a fucking job. The school would probably be a pile of ashes that nobody would care about since the area was quarantined anyway.
———
“Are you looking for the homeless shelter?” a lady at the front asked.
“Uh yes, I need a place to stay.”
“Well make yourself at home. We won’t be serving dinner until 8pm but you can have a sandwich now.”
I grabbed a sandwich and decided to wander around the streets. As I walked pass the adult shopping sex complex, I noticed a flyer that read “Prostitutes required, sign up here”.
“What are you doing here cunt?!” A voice boomed behind me.
“Uh....” I had no idea what to say, he obviously wouldn’t believe my story. But I was in need of a job. “Um so you’re hiring?”
“Well yeah, why you wanna sign your punk ass up do get fucked? $20 per person who wants to fuck you is the rate around here.”
———
I quickly finished my meal at the homeless shelter and got ready for bed. It was fucking disgusting but I was way too hungry to care. I had been quite overwhelmed by the events but I was going to finally get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a new day. My asshole was quite sore, but at least I had $180 in my pocket, and a job.
| 2019-02-07T02:50:56 | 2019-02-07T01:35:22 | 148 | 23 |
[WP]“Dear Sir Knight, after the recent attacks by the dragons who claim they need to see their princess’ heir, we have come to believe you may have misread our request to slay the dragon.” Having read the letter, you take one surprised look at your wife and her half-dragon child. “Whoops”
|
"What does it say?"
"Well... here, you take a look."
I passed the scroll over to my wife, trading it for our infant daughter. Merry giggled as I hoisted her in the air, then settled her in my arms.
Haella, meanwhile, read through the scroll once, then twice, then tossed it onto the table in frustration. "How did they even know we were here?"
I shrugged, then tugged the end of my beard free from Merry's grip. She fussed at me in a drooly, burbling sort of way. "You mean you didn't leave your family a note when we eloped?"
"No, of course not. I-" Haella stopped, glared at me, and reached for a quill. “I suppose I’ll have to write them now, won’t I?”
“As I recall, you didn’t want to tell them in the first place because you didn’t know how they’d react to finding out that you’d married a dragon hunter-“
“Retired dragon hunter-“ she interrupted.
“Right, retired for…” I counted back eight months when Merry hatched, then the period of incubation, then… “at least fifteen months. Do you think they’ll trust me?”
“Either we find out if they trust you, or we find out how long your human king’s realm can hold out against my great-aunt Florina as ambassador. You’ve never met her. She’s the most excruciatingly polite, nearsighted dowager duchess you can imagine. Can you picture a forty-foot bronze dragon taking tea with the diplomats? She can insult someone so sweetly they don’t even realize it.”
Haella scrawled out a reply to the king, then started another letter to her father. She sighed. “I suppose you’d have to meet your in-laws sooner or later.”
“Just be glad my family is two weeks’ journey away. They’ve been writing, asking when they can meet the new granddaughter.” I chuckled and bounced Merry up and down a little. She burped a small jet of flame that scorched my nose, and looked very surprised at herself.
“Honey, would you mind-“
“Don’t worry,” Haella said, and got up from the table. “I’ll fetch the burn cream.”
|
“… We understand your human emotions and desires, but please, consider that this was not a normal contract for a bandit. This was a royal decree, and her royal highness does not wish to be mocked. You were to slay the dragon, not impregnate her. To bring us her head, not her half-breed bastard, which reminds me, by the way, how did you assess its gender? Did you mayhap go down to slash its guts and noticed her womanhood? Either way, sir knight errant, you are to bring her head here. One way or another. In case you die trying, you’ll be given the due proper funeral with all the honors. In case you refuse this direct royal order, you’ll be banished and haunted alongside your… I am truly lost for words. Alongside your dragon. Do the right thing.”
“Whoops.”
“What is it hon? They not happy with the gargoyle head you sent them?”
“What is it? They want me to bring them YOUR head. That’s what it is. They are fools, but not fool enough to mistake a dragon with a… a…”
She approaches me and slowly sits on my lap. Goddamn, even in her human form she is a behemoth beast. And a sexy one at that. I stare in her bright, jade-green eyes, with a curl of her red, winey hair veiling them. She’s got eyes so terrifying and yet so beautiful at the same time. I notice this now that I stare in them; even after all this time, they are a mystery, full of secrets I’d like to know, but am too afraid to ask. They seem cheerful, while also sad. Her soul is laid bare in front of me, and her soul is pure.
My eyes, however, seem more rapacious, than to stop at her soul. They slide down her small, beautifully-crooked nose, betwixt her freckled rosy cheeks, over her luscious lips, and on her supple neck.
How can a thing that breathes fire and swallows lambs whole be this beautiful? I wonder…
They keep observing – my eyes. Never knew dragons were mammals either. Thought they hatched eggs. Fucking myths.
I bet a kid would be euphoric just suckling on…
“Hon, be specific. What did they say exactly?
“Huh?”
“The letter. What do they want? For you to "slay" me and bring them my head? Do they even know the consequences such action would have on them? My brothers and sisters are already raining fire on their farms and houses occasionally.”
“Yeah…”
I muster my courage, strengthen my will, and finally get my eyes off the purplish titties. I caress her arm — rough, yet wonderous skin. It’s a beautiful color. I don’t exactly know what it is but it is reminiscent of violets and lilacs. She smells them too. I take her by the hip and lift her. She giggles.
“I gotta go and tend to this. You stay here.”
I put her down.
“Dad, I wanna come too.”
Where has this brat been hiding?
“Come here, boy.”
He jumps, and like a fledgling bird swings its wings once to get in my arms. They are yet small. Not strong enough to take him up in the skies like her mother’s.
“You know, what I’m about to do is dangerous.”
“I know. They don’t want us to live.”
“That’s not just it. Sure, they've never wanted your species to live. You have always been a threat, are a threat, and will remain a threat; but now, now it’s personal. They want my head too. Besides… the dragons are breathing fire and destroying the innocent people’s lives. They are looking for your mother but have no clue. Naturally, they blame humans. And they are right in that… somehow. But not entirely. She’s been here of her own free will, not as a captive. You know that boy. I must make a decision, and I must make it alone.”
“But I can now even breathe fire.”
“That’s not nearly enough to even warm your balls with.”
He jumps down, understandingly — albeit a bit perplexed.
I smile. Turn back, and head out of the shack.
I look at the burnt and disfigured armor now, displayed on a wooden fence, like a trophy, and also our sign of love. The poor armor… like a human who’s been brutally tortured and then executed in the most gruesome way. Hope it's happy, as happy as I am, enjoying the scenery and breathing in the fresh aroma of flowers, instead of blood.
Blacked by soot.
Torn to pieces by claws so strong they could shatter the so-called Dragonbone steel. The dwarves have no idea.
After all… a dragon might need to tear another of its own kind apart.
Anyway… Thank God she didn’t land the final blow. I would probably be on a cold stone in the crypts underneath the city hall, with my valorous brethren.
“O.k,” I say out loud.
I sigh deeply and look at all the vegetation around us. The castle looks beautiful in the distance… from where I’m standing.
So, where was I? yeah…
If I try to reason with the dragons, they’d probably kill me. Hell, they might even kill the child. He’s a humanoid. Not a full dragon. She’s the princess, she’ll be safe.
Can I reason with the humans, the crown? They are a stubborn lot.
“Royal highness this, royal decree that.”
I definitely won’t be able to establish “peace” between the two species. That’s out of the question.
And I love her so much, I can’t even contemplate the alternative.
That lithe body of hers… That juicy piece of -
Goddamn, Rick, focus. Focus. Your family, yes, your dragon-bred family is at stake.
I let my willy think before my mind. Now I am in deep shit, but I like this deep shit. I’d probably never have a family, had I lived normally, like other knights – slaying dragons and not fucking them.
“Well, let’s do this.”
I go to my sword. Pick it up. Take it out of the sheath. I’d missed this hissing sound. It looks shiny. The master-armorer said a vampire wouldn’t be able to break this. I don’t know whether vampires exist, but a dragon sure couldn’t. It’s been a loyal friend.
I look at the steel while considering all the options. Hmmm...
Let's see... since I was a child, I always liked to ride a dragon – well, not in this sense, of course… But I liked being able to fly. And the only way was a dragon. Sad thing they despise that.
“We’re not slaves like horses.”
She said once, when I asked her if I could…
I guess I must do this alone.
I don the almost destroyed helm. The shattered armor.
I put on the gloves. They are the most intact parts.
“Fuck it,” I say.
I’ll go to the dragons and see if we could negotiate and figure something out. They don’t know where she is. I have this leverage.
If they were unwilling to cooperate and agree to my terms… well, I’d have to fuck some more dragons.
One way, or the other.
| 2019-09-01T11:24:02 | 2019-09-01T10:28:32 | 300 | 83 |
[WP] You are a demon who negotiates contracts in exchange for people's souls. One time you get summoned by a suburban mom who makes impossible requests. When you can not provide her demands, she asks to "speak with your manager".
|
She ignores the simple beauty of the thing. Contracts like it don't exist anymore. Carefully executed script on creamy vellum that flows sensually from one brilliantly deliberate word to the next. She is so busy fussing over the words, that their presentation and the meaning are lost on her.
It is a shame, really.
She crosses her arms, expensively manicured nails drumming restlessly on her yoga taut bicepts. "Listen sweety, you don't to be anywhere near where this is going. I asked for something and I didn't get it. That was the deal."
"There are rules to every deal," I say. "You broke the rules. The deal is off."
"Oh, the deal is off when I say it is off! I'm done listening to your nonsense. I'm getting what I want, if you can't make that happen, I need to speak to someone who can."
"When you ask for the impossible-" I start, but she cuts me off.
"Manager. Now."
"I don't think you-"
"What is your name?"
I rub my temples. "You literally can't pronounce it. Just call me Bob."
That makes her laugh. "Ok, Bob." The air quotes are unnecessary. "Get you manager. Now!"
My taloned hands that can crush skulls, clench. The thick muscles of my arms tighten like an anaconda squeezing the life from a goat. Lips pull back from my mouth full of dagger sharp teeth. "You want to speak to the entity that drives a demon, a creature born of human nightmares, to commit its horrific acts? You wish to come face to face with the darkest, most vile being existence has birthed? You are demanding to speak with the source of all evil in the known universe?"
"Yes," she says, not batting a fake eyelash.
"As you wish," I say with a node. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
The flickering light of Damnation's fire illuminates the brimstone smoke that fills the room, and I slip from her realm. When the smoke clears, she is left staring into the hate filled eyes of a monstrosity.
I leave her with a mirror.
|
It was another perfect day in sunny California for Emilly Phelps. The paperboy was late as usual, although that, it turns out was perfect too. Particularly as it gave Emilly just enough time to prepare her pentagram, and ready the incense for the summoning. Luring the paperboy into her basement it turns out, was the hardest part. Emilly had tried seduction, and bribery, but in the end, it turned out gun point was the perfect way forward.
A blood sacrifice was a necessity, and some people just deserved to die, especially 19 year olds who still delivered news papers, like, they should have a real job at that point anyway. Losers! He begged for his life of course, but the way Emilly saw it, he would be no great loss to humanity. He even stripped slowly. She had half a mind to file a complaint about that alone, but that would take too much time. Everything needed to be perfect for little Danaerys' birthday and she wasn't going to let some overgrown paper boy stall her big plans. Soon enough, the arteries were severed, and blood began to flow.
"Demon. Hello!? Demon!" Emilly huffed "I want to summon a demon, and I want a demon now!"
At her beckon, the earth split, and all Hell burst forth. The floor that had once been her husband's man cave (in which he spent way too much time, by the way) split forth, and from it came the shrill beckoning of Hell's suffering masses, eternally writhing, trapped forever in the playground of Lucifer. From the maelstrom of nightmarish calamity came a creature of unimaginable horrors. A dread behemoth, half man, half beast, hoof-legged and behorned. His red skin, charred and cracked, growling as he took his first breaths of air. "Foolish mortal!" He cackled, "who are you, to call upon me?"
"Excuse me?" Emilly replied bluntly, taken aback by the demon's arrogance. "Excuse me!?"
The demon snapped it's jaws at Emilly and let out a bark "What manner of creature are you?"
"I am a customer." Emilly snapped back, undeterred by the demon's assumed superiority, "but more importantly, I am a mother, who is looking for a present for her daughter."
"A mother?" The demon cackled, amused. "With a... baby?"
"Yes. My baby-girl. Who's turning 6 this week."
The demon's cackle turned to bellowing laughter, before lowering his voice almost to a whisper, closing his head to Emilly he spoke. "I... eat... children."
Without a second thought Emilly reached out her arm, outstretched hand clasping her pepper spray, which she loosed in the demons face. He reeled back screeching, before squatting down on his haunches and raising his arms, nails like talon clawing the air before him, face scowling. "How dare!" He bellowed. "How dare you attack I!? I who, tempted your christ in the desert!? I, who rode ahead the hosts that laid Rome to ruin!? Who has seen nations, empires crumble to dust? Seen peoples driven from the face of this earth!? What man or beast was ever so great!?"
"That's threatening behaviour. That was an invasion of my personal space. That's verbal abuse." Emilly stood her ground, and to her credit, where some may have cracked, and begged for mercy in the face of a creature so monstrous it would drive men to madness, she doubled down. "I payed the blood toll. I'm a paying customer, and I am extremely dissatisfied with the service."
"I serve nobody!" The beast exclaimed with all his might, but still, Emilly was not undone.
"I want to speak to your manager."
This took the demon by surprise. "Ma...na...ger?"
Emilly puffed, rolled her eyes and flicked her hair. "Your employer. Your boss."
The demon, upon realising what she meant voiced only further anger. "I belong to nobody!"
"Excuse me, but I paid the price." Emilly told him firmly. "I am entitled to one desire. And I will have it."
"Entitled by what?" The demon was growing weary, even he lacked the energy for this battle. "Where is this written?"
Emilly had came prepared. "It's written..." she began, as she presented the old tome, bound in human flesh and inked in human blood, "right down here, see-"you may summon the beast with a human sacrifice within a pentagram on the sixth day of the week" that's a Saturday"
The demon cackled in amusement, "foolish woman... summon the beast... yes, but nothing more. All you have done is free me from my prison. And now that I am free, I shall lay this world to ruin. Starting with you."
"Don't interrupt me." She stated firmly. "Ok, it say here-"if the beast is summoned at the final second before midday, then he is bound in thraldom to his master until their desire is fulfilled" in other words, I am entitled to a wish."
The beast stood gobsmacked. "That's, come on- that- you know- it's small print, man."
"It's the terms and conditions." Emilly smirked, knowing she had won. "I want my wish now."
"Wait- you realise if you make your wish I will be set free." the demon told her. "That loophole was a way to trap me."
"Yes." Emilly nodded. "I want my wish."
"And when you make that wish, I will be free to loose my destruction upon all the world." the beast told her, raising his brow. "Untethered, free of my eternal prison, to lay waste to this world."
"Look." Emilly said, impatience pushing her now beyond the point of reason. "My baby girl wants dragons. And if baby Danaerys wants dragons, baby Danaerys gets DRAGONS!"
"She wants dragons does she?" The beast scowled.
"Yes, oh my god, how many times do you need to be told?" Emilly sighed aloud.
"Fine" he spat cackling, "let the child have its dragons, let them rain down from the sky such that they blot out the sun itself. Let them scorch the earth, so that you will all of you, drown in a sea of fire. Let them turn your world to glass, that even in a thousand year, no living plants may grow, nor beasts wander 'pon its surface."
Emilly nodded, smiling. "That's all I ask."
The demon was, if nothing else, a man of his world. From the sky they came; the dragons. No one could stand against them. In mere hours the world was aflame. Mankind but embers, flickering, desperate to survive the new apocalypse, the end days when the beast made his great war upon them all. But, unspoken in all of this, were the actions of Emilly Phelps. A mother who promised dragons, and refused to let her daughter down.
| 2020-05-04T20:42:28 | 2020-05-04T17:23:14 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] “You humans are a particularly violent bunch. In fact, you where the first in the whole galaxy to weaponize splitting the atom.” “But we only used it against an enemy twic-” “TWICE??”
|
I moved my bishop across the board, then flicked his rook off the table, sending it clanking across the illuminated tiles of the cantina.
“Check,” I said, gleefully.
“You humans are a particularly violent bunch.” The Aslar said to me, frowning, surveying the board. “In fact, you were the first in the whole galaxy to weaponize splitting the atom.”
I smiled at him. “But we only used it against an enemy twic-”
“TWICE??” he shouted, the sensory appendages twitching on his face.
“It’s a miracle we didn’t use it anymore. Trust me.”
“Even this game you play. Chess. It is strange to me. It is only destructive. You start with a full kingdom of pawns and rooks and bishops and kings and queens, and slowly you kill each other. A battle of attrition and guile and a strategy of annihilation. I’m no good at this game, Jeffery.”
“Well,” I said to my old friend. “Luckily for you and the rest of the Aslars in our alliance, my marines and I are more than happy to play the game. This "strategy of annihilation" as you say. In fact, you could say we are experts at it.”
“We are not talking about the game anymore, are we Jeffery?” Xan’tharr said, moving his king.
“Do you know why your Emperor hired us, Xan’Tharr? A fleet of human mercenaries?”
He didn’t say anything.
“It is because I can sit here and talk to you like a friend when we are at peace. But if we are at war, Xan’tharr,” I said, sliding my queen, slowly, dramatically. “Check mate.”
Xan’Tharr waved at the game in disgust with his tri-tentacled hand.
“But why? Why are you so violent? Why do you seem to thrive in hardship? Was life so desperate for your species?”
“Compared to the Aslars?” I laughed. “Yes, Xan’Tharr, you would call it desperate. Very desperate.”
“Well, I am sorry to hear that. But it is good to have friends like you,” Xan’Tharr said. “I would not want to be on your bad side.”
“You?” I said to Xan’Tharr, grinning mischievously, “that would never happen.”
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic
|
# How to Break a Siege of Legends
(Book 2, Part 1: How to Scare an Alien Race)
(Note: How to Break a Siege of Legends is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Despite striding through the ruins of a once-mighty civilization, Eiko's continuous stream of swearing could be heard for miles around.** While Eiko griped and occasionally punched something, Lien kept an eye out for the components Eiko said she'd need in order to actually get them moving. Lien thought this summarized their relationship pretty succinctly.
"I'm glad we're back in a reasonably *technological* part of the psychosphere, because *gods*, I cannot wait to be able to play with all my toys again. Trust me, Lien, once I get you on a rocket skateboard, you're never going back to walking again."
Lien smiled despite himself. "Most likely because I'll have snapped my spine after crashing, but yes, I concur." He used a long pair of tongs to pick up a still-flashing hunk of metal. "Hey, is this the R-50 electroweak engine you were looking for?"
She swiped it from his hand. "Gimme!" Flipping it on its back and deftly taking apart a panel with a tool that was to screwdrivers what smartphones were to calculators, she took one look at a mess of fiber optics cables and cut a single one. The boxy little engine's glow died down.
Then a wicked grin came across her face, and she pointed it at a nearby block of rubble, tapping the ends of the fiber optic cable back together. Lien raised an eyebrow as a wobbling ring of blue plasma *blurred* out from the end of the engine, turning the unfortunate stone into dust upon impact. Eiko whooped, thrusting her hands in the air—Lien instinctively ducked—and cackled. "Aw, yeah, baby. *That's* what I'm talking about."
"I, too, enjoy taking highly advanced and specialized artifacts and instantly finding the easiest way to blow up my enemies with them," Lien deadpanned. "Or, in this case, unleashing their power on innocent rocks."
Eiko punched him on the shoulder—thankfully, not with the hand that held the electroweak cannon. "Aw, come on. You know you like blowing things up. You were cackling with glee when we dropped a meteor of water onto that town from orbit."
"It was hardly from orbit," Lien said. "And besides, there was a *purpose* to that destruction. Sheer, wanton use of force without an understanding of what you're doing and *why* is as likely to backfire on you and those you love than achieve anything resembling your goals."
"Oh, I completely and unconditionally agree." Eiko's eyes twinkled. "Wanna blow some shit up anyway?"
Lien took the electroweak cannon from her hands, grinning. "Hell yeah."
"Well, *you* humans are a particularly violent bunch," a tinny voice said from behind them.
Lien spun around, aiming Eiko's cannon at the source of the voice; Eiko chuckled and turned more leisurely. A three-foot-tall robot on treads stared up at them, its camera-eye somehow giving them baleful glares.
Lien gave Eiko a glance; she shrugged. Well, Eiko had grown up around here; if Eiko didn't think the robot was a threat, Lien would treat it as any other sapient being. "I spent my adult life fighting in the Siege of Legends," Lien said. "You learn to use anything as a weapon in Las Humanitas. And Eiko's... well, she's Eiko. Honestly, being Eiko is a good enough reason to be violent as any; I know *I'd* want to punch something if I was her." Obligingly, Eiko punched Lien's arm; he sighed and idly rubbed it. He'd *just* healed from the car crash, too.
The robot chimed discordantly. "Typical humans. You know, that engine is supposed to go in a *toy*. Or at least it did, before Enchiridion fell. I'd be much obliged if you used it for its *intended* purpose."
Eiko raised an eyebrow. "Toys are just devices for having fun. If we're having fun blowing up some empty ruins, I'd say we're using it for its intended purpose. Why the hell do you have a bug up your bum about this, anyway? I've gone through here dozens of times blowing stuff up and you caretaker bots never stopped me."
"Because we were *scared* of you, you insufferably violent sack of fluids! This city is a *graveyard* because of happy-go-lucky humans like you who found out that if you tweak the electroweak force *just right* it becomes a weapon to rival the atom bomb. Another thing, by the way, that only you humans actually decided to *build*. I've got a 'bug up my bum' because war is not a *toy*, and I can't decide if you pretending that it is is more insulting or threatening."
Eiko and Lien traded glances.
Then Lien sighed and squatted down to the caretaker's eye level, the levity bleeding from his face. "...Different people react to violence in different ways. Trust me, I defended Las Humanitas for years. I know the score. We all have to... twist ourselves, in order to sleep at night with the knowledge that we're sentencing sapient beings to death. Or worse." The memory of the hydra flickered through Lien's mind, and he pressed his lips together. "Me? I had to take a step back. Had to distance myself from it. Had to find the *fun* in it. Find the fun in destroying villages and killing legions. And abhorrent as it is, I'd do it again. I'd do it a hundred times over. Because my people *needed* me, and it was the only way I could function. I became this to save them." Lien abruptly stood, his good cheer returning. "Speaking of saving them! Next on our list is a Bumblebee-model motherboard—any version will do." Lien's smile grew a bit too wide. "Now, I don't know much about robots, but I'd be willing to bet *you've* got a motherboard or two inside you. So if you don't want to be turned into scrap metal and drifting atoms?" Lien turned around. "Stop reopening old wounds and leave us alone."
The caretaker robot squeaked and shot off, evidently taking his threat at face value. As soon as it was gone, Lien's false mask of joviality slipped back into bone-deep weariness.
He'd had to become a monster to protect his friends from worse.
He wondered how many of the monsters he fought had started out the same way, long, long ago.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "How to Break a Siege of Legends" 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/mdh066/how_to_break_a_siege_of_legends_masterpost/) for more information.
| 2021-04-01T23:03:01 | 2021-04-01T19:43:24 | 946 | 94 |
[WP] “You humans are a particularly violent bunch. In fact, you where the first in the whole galaxy to weaponize splitting the atom.” “But we only used it against an enemy twic-” “TWICE??”
|
A: You humans are a violent bunch. You were the first in the galaxy to weaponize splitting the atom.
H: We only used it twice.
A: Twice!?
H: The first time didn't work.
A: Thousands of members of your species didn't die?
H: The first atom bomb was set off to end a war, but the war didn't end. So they used another.
A: And more people died. The ends justify the means?
H: Maybe. I don't know. It's a big question. How do you get people to stop killing?
A: That certainly is a good question, and it's one I can't help you with. Aside from yours and mine, there are 84 sapient species in the galaxy. None of them go to war.
H: Ever?
A: That's right.
H: What do they do when there isn't enough stuff to go around?
A: Stuff?
H: You know. Food. Metal. Land. Energy. The stuff of life.
A: They compromise.
H: Bad solution. Compromises leave everyone unhappy.
A: Better to be unhappy than dead, no?
H: I don't know about that. There's times when a compromise is flat-out the wrong answer. Sometimes one side is plain right and the other is plain wrong.
A: And so, war.
H: We try to avoid it, but yeah. That's when you get war.
A: And war leads to splitting the atom.
H: It did that one time.
A: Those two times, you mean.
H: But it doesn't anymore. Now there aren't any huge wars like there used to be.
A: Oh, yes? Your species learned its lesson?
H: In a way.
A: You witnessed the destructive power of the atom, recognized that more war means more split atoms, and put an end to the entire practice.
H: Not quite. We went the other way.
A: Meaning?
H: On the earth right now there are enough nuclear bombs to kill every single human.
A: And this has ended your big wars.
H: Exactly! See, we're not as crazy as you think.
A: I've come to a decision regarding your application for galactic membership.
H: What's that?
A: Your planet will be encased in a force shield and denied access to space beyond the orbit of your moon. We'll reopen your case in a few hundred years' time when your species may have matured.
|
# How to Break a Siege of Legends
(Book 2, Part 1: How to Scare an Alien Race)
(Note: How to Break a Siege of Legends is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Despite striding through the ruins of a once-mighty civilization, Eiko's continuous stream of swearing could be heard for miles around.** While Eiko griped and occasionally punched something, Lien kept an eye out for the components Eiko said she'd need in order to actually get them moving. Lien thought this summarized their relationship pretty succinctly.
"I'm glad we're back in a reasonably *technological* part of the psychosphere, because *gods*, I cannot wait to be able to play with all my toys again. Trust me, Lien, once I get you on a rocket skateboard, you're never going back to walking again."
Lien smiled despite himself. "Most likely because I'll have snapped my spine after crashing, but yes, I concur." He used a long pair of tongs to pick up a still-flashing hunk of metal. "Hey, is this the R-50 electroweak engine you were looking for?"
She swiped it from his hand. "Gimme!" Flipping it on its back and deftly taking apart a panel with a tool that was to screwdrivers what smartphones were to calculators, she took one look at a mess of fiber optics cables and cut a single one. The boxy little engine's glow died down.
Then a wicked grin came across her face, and she pointed it at a nearby block of rubble, tapping the ends of the fiber optic cable back together. Lien raised an eyebrow as a wobbling ring of blue plasma *blurred* out from the end of the engine, turning the unfortunate stone into dust upon impact. Eiko whooped, thrusting her hands in the air—Lien instinctively ducked—and cackled. "Aw, yeah, baby. *That's* what I'm talking about."
"I, too, enjoy taking highly advanced and specialized artifacts and instantly finding the easiest way to blow up my enemies with them," Lien deadpanned. "Or, in this case, unleashing their power on innocent rocks."
Eiko punched him on the shoulder—thankfully, not with the hand that held the electroweak cannon. "Aw, come on. You know you like blowing things up. You were cackling with glee when we dropped a meteor of water onto that town from orbit."
"It was hardly from orbit," Lien said. "And besides, there was a *purpose* to that destruction. Sheer, wanton use of force without an understanding of what you're doing and *why* is as likely to backfire on you and those you love than achieve anything resembling your goals."
"Oh, I completely and unconditionally agree." Eiko's eyes twinkled. "Wanna blow some shit up anyway?"
Lien took the electroweak cannon from her hands, grinning. "Hell yeah."
"Well, *you* humans are a particularly violent bunch," a tinny voice said from behind them.
Lien spun around, aiming Eiko's cannon at the source of the voice; Eiko chuckled and turned more leisurely. A three-foot-tall robot on treads stared up at them, its camera-eye somehow giving them baleful glares.
Lien gave Eiko a glance; she shrugged. Well, Eiko had grown up around here; if Eiko didn't think the robot was a threat, Lien would treat it as any other sapient being. "I spent my adult life fighting in the Siege of Legends," Lien said. "You learn to use anything as a weapon in Las Humanitas. And Eiko's... well, she's Eiko. Honestly, being Eiko is a good enough reason to be violent as any; I know *I'd* want to punch something if I was her." Obligingly, Eiko punched Lien's arm; he sighed and idly rubbed it. He'd *just* healed from the car crash, too.
The robot chimed discordantly. "Typical humans. You know, that engine is supposed to go in a *toy*. Or at least it did, before Enchiridion fell. I'd be much obliged if you used it for its *intended* purpose."
Eiko raised an eyebrow. "Toys are just devices for having fun. If we're having fun blowing up some empty ruins, I'd say we're using it for its intended purpose. Why the hell do you have a bug up your bum about this, anyway? I've gone through here dozens of times blowing stuff up and you caretaker bots never stopped me."
"Because we were *scared* of you, you insufferably violent sack of fluids! This city is a *graveyard* because of happy-go-lucky humans like you who found out that if you tweak the electroweak force *just right* it becomes a weapon to rival the atom bomb. Another thing, by the way, that only you humans actually decided to *build*. I've got a 'bug up my bum' because war is not a *toy*, and I can't decide if you pretending that it is is more insulting or threatening."
Eiko and Lien traded glances.
Then Lien sighed and squatted down to the caretaker's eye level, the levity bleeding from his face. "...Different people react to violence in different ways. Trust me, I defended Las Humanitas for years. I know the score. We all have to... twist ourselves, in order to sleep at night with the knowledge that we're sentencing sapient beings to death. Or worse." The memory of the hydra flickered through Lien's mind, and he pressed his lips together. "Me? I had to take a step back. Had to distance myself from it. Had to find the *fun* in it. Find the fun in destroying villages and killing legions. And abhorrent as it is, I'd do it again. I'd do it a hundred times over. Because my people *needed* me, and it was the only way I could function. I became this to save them." Lien abruptly stood, his good cheer returning. "Speaking of saving them! Next on our list is a Bumblebee-model motherboard—any version will do." Lien's smile grew a bit too wide. "Now, I don't know much about robots, but I'd be willing to bet *you've* got a motherboard or two inside you. So if you don't want to be turned into scrap metal and drifting atoms?" Lien turned around. "Stop reopening old wounds and leave us alone."
The caretaker robot squeaked and shot off, evidently taking his threat at face value. As soon as it was gone, Lien's false mask of joviality slipped back into bone-deep weariness.
He'd had to become a monster to protect his friends from worse.
He wondered how many of the monsters he fought had started out the same way, long, long ago.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "How to Break a Siege of Legends" 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/mdh066/how_to_break_a_siege_of_legends_masterpost/) for more information.
| 2021-04-01T20:21:00 | 2021-04-01T19:43:24 | 463 | 94 |
[WP] The year is 2021. The newest fad are clone clubs, where visitors can spend up to 12 hours with a clone of any person whose DNA they provide. The clones are disposed afterwards.
|
"Doctor, where are you-"
"Look, I know this is unorthodox, but just keep him on ice for a hour or two more. Three tops. I need time to prepare"
I smile at the nurse, as she nods, confused, and heads for the cryogenics controls. I slip my medical tablet into my pocket and head out. My scrubs draw some glances as I walk quickly down the streets. I ignore them. No time to change. My mind is preoccupied with the procedure, my hands are twitching with the subtle movements of the scalpel. Clamps, sutures, gauze, all of it plays out in my head the way I imagine a great conductor sees each thread of the symphony.
I push open the unmarked door and close it behind me. While not exactly illegal, places like this aren't keen on proclaiming their location to the masses. The popular joints, maybe, with their starlet interviews, their celebrity chefs, their glamor and pizazz, they need the advertising to pay for the DNA they lease. But this is more private. And lucky for me, Johnny is at the counter.
"Doctor Miller! I never thought to see you here? What can I do for you?"
I produce the medpad and Johnny plugs it into the system. The transfer starts automatically. I wave my creditstick over the scanner.
"I need the messy room again, Johnny."
He pales, partly as we moved into a darker shade of the legal spectrum, partly because he's the one who has to clean up the rooms after I'm done. They're the messy rooms for a reason. His eyes flick to the monitor, where my client's information should be appearing.
"Senator Ke-! I mean, right away, doc."
I follow behind him, trudging the sadly familiar path. The amount of laws we break increase with each steep in the process. Sort of. The legislature hasn't decided exactly where this stands, but if the cops burst down the several locked doors between the front and this most back room, this place will be shut down and my medical license will be revoked, at the very least. Maybe more, depending on what they can make stick and what the judges say. Better to not think about it.
--
My patient is lying in front of me, unconscious thanks to my pocket anesthetic spray. My small bag of medical supplies is in the corner where I leave it. I set it on the table and lay out the tools of my trade. No need to wash up, to disinfect. The clone has only eleven more hours of life anyway. Much less, most likely, but I'm not worried about its life. I pick up the scalpel and begin.
--
Back at the hospital, I sew up the final suture. The patient's heart is beating strong and his lungs are filling properly. For any other surgeon, this would have been a difficult operation, one full of deliberation, stress, and maybe a bit of panic. I made it look easy. I knew about the deviation of the sternum, and knew exactly where the carotid artery was hiding. As I walkout from my post op cleaning, a reporter who watched it all from the observation lounge with morbid fascination shouts a quick question.
"Doctor Miller! How were you so calmly and quickly able to save the life of the Senator?"
With a bit of a smirk, I turn and give a single word as my answer:
"Practice."
|
Frustrated. At my wits end, I walked down the street, shuffling with no particular place to be. I don't get it. I just don't get how things could have gotten this bad. How could I, most likely to succeed me have screwed up so bad. And, most importantly, what do I do about it.
After wandering aimlessly, I looked up at a brightly lit joint with fairly loud music emanating from within. I shrugged. What have I got to lose?
I walked inside and approached the man in professional dress at the front kiosk. I told him I'd like some time with a friend. I'd never been in one of these places before, always said it was rubbish. I'd heard of people attending auctions for fingerprints, strands of hair, even used serving utensils of the rich and the famous; especially pop divas. Some of these auctions had gone into the tens of millions. Again, ridiculous I thought.
The greeter asked me for my sample. I looked him in the eye for a second and then slowly ran my hand through my hair and lowered it, returned a handful of my brown and prematurely gray specked hair. Take your pick I told the man.
With a bit of hesitation, the man took a few hairs and placed them in a machine in front of him. With a few button presses, the machine whirred to life. The man's gaze returned to mine as the machine processed.
"I've seen a lot of people come in here with a lot of requests. I'm sure you can imagine the intent of the majority. I've never seen someone..."
He paused. I could tell he was trying to make conversation and now felt as if he'd treaded onto thin ice. He continued.
"....We'll I've never seen someone pay what this will cost for.....well....for what they already have access to...."
I smiled weakly. A foreign gesture for me as of late.
"I'm sure you haven't. I just have some questions that I can't answer. Maybe he can."
The man nodded. Shortly after, three short beeps emitted from the machine as it stopped whirring and the man beemed, informing me that the specimen was acceptable and my requested companion would be available in just a few minutes. The man motioned for me to follow him and we walked past the lobby, past the entrance to a club area who's VIP section would have made any teen just 10 years ago lose their minds. We walked past a sort of security checkpoint manned by burly samoan men in suits with pony tails. The man stood next to a door with bronze lettering that read 20 and motioned me inside. Have fun he said in a manner that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end.
The room was not terribly big, only slightly larger than your average doctor's exam room. There was a small love seat, a chair and a stool. I sat in the chair, removed my coat and, for the first time in a long time, I said a quick prayer. "God, forgive me for indulging in this perversion of your nature. But God, I have to know."
I finished my prayer, l sat back and I waited. Waited for me.
PT 2.
I reclined in the chair, took a deep breath, and then rehearsed the plan that I'd formulated. This was stupid. Crazy. Probably illegal, I thought. I didn't think for long, however, as I heard footsteps outside and then saw a pair of shadows block the light coming under the door. The door slowly opened and, for a moment, the light from the outside blinded me from seeing the tall figure walk tentatively through the door way. The door closed, my pupils narrowed, and there he stood; Me. Me in a genetic sense anyway. Circumstance had clearly done some differentiating. I stood up to meet his still silent gaze and gave him the look over. He had his hair shortly cut in a neat fade, not long and matted like mine. He stood tall with his chest pushed out, not stooped over and decripit like me. His face bore no pock marks from acne and, though his grey shirt concealed it from me, I'd bet he didn't have the scars on his shoulders from complete reconstruction. I felt......I felt jealous to be honest. He was everything i wanted to be, he was everything I should have been, but that's the thing with this technology. The cloning and rapid aging process skips what actually comes with aging. He hasn't had 30 years of oxidative stress eroding his body. He's just baby me, fast forward 30 years.
I took a step forward from my chair and his eyes stayed locked with mine but he still said nothing. From my understanding of these places, I knew that the clones were imbued with basic functional knowledge, social etiquette, etc but possessed what would chart as sub - 100 on an IQ scale. My plan involved a gamble that these clones were more than just cheap replicas though. I had to find out.
After a period that would pass for uncomfortable silence, I slowly closed the gap between us and extended my arm to him.
"Hello. It's nice to meet me." I said jokingly.
"Hello." He said, shaking my hand, albeit a bit weakly. "Though, if you'll beg my pardon sir, I think you mean 'you.'" he said with a beaming smile.
I cocked my head a bit, and then I smiled. I realized he'd never seen himself before, or seen his face rather. I'm sure they were hustling to get him out to me, he probably never saw a mirror.
I gestured to the small mirror on the wall to my right, his left, and I watched as he followed my hand. What ensued next was something out of a cartoon. He immediately recognized my face in the mirror and frowned. He looked back and forth between me and the mirror before he noticed his head movements perfectly reflected in the mirror. He moved closer. He moved away. He waved with his left arm and then his right before he was certain of what he was seeing. It wasn't me. It was him. Technically, Us.
"Sir......am I, you? Are....you me?" He asked incredulously.
"Yes. I am. I'm Jack." I replied. His brow furrowed a bit before he said
"But sir, my implant tells me that our name is John."
"It is. That was my dad's name. Mom called me Jack so there wouldn't be two Johns in one house. So for the time being, I'll let you be John and I'll be Jack, OK. Oh, and you can stop with the sir nonsense, I worked for a living." I said with a smile.
"Yes si......I mean. Yes Jack. So what would you like to do sir? We have 12 hours to do anything. We could get some drinks first, watch a movie, listen to some music and dance!" He practically exclaimed. My goodness, the idea of going to live for a bit was exciting him. I hadn't been excited about life in a long long time. I was again envious.
"Listen John. I didn't clone you for anything fun like that. You seem excited to get out and have a good time and that's good but I'm guessing you don't know what happens to you when our 12 hours are up or I'm done with you? Do you?" I asked. He cocked his head to the side a bit as if drawing on instructions hastily given to him.
"No si......Jack. I don't. I assumed I would wait to go have fun with the next person who wanted to!" He said, again with serious enthusiasm.
I shook my head and dropped my eyes to the floor. I was searching for words that I never thought I'd say to anyone. Let alone me.
"......What are they going to do with me Jack." He asked, almost like a child asking what his punishment might be for knocking over a lamp.
I choked up a bit.
"They're gonna kill you.........well.........they're gonna try anyway."
| 2014-10-27T12:58:28 | 2014-10-27T10:53:22 | 38 | 20 |
[WP] "Every year I hire a Hitman to kill me - so far they have all succeded"
|
I flipped through the catalogue. Not too bad, they've expanded their selection quite a fair bit this year.
'Sir, how about Snake Eyes? He's a sniper with a perfect success rate. He comes highly-,' said the small man behind the desk.
'Nope, I hired him two years back. I don't make the same hire twice, it gets boring,' I cut him off.
'Oh, a regular? I'm sorry Sir, I'm new here.'
'Not exactly. Once a year. Where's Sam, he's got good recommendations. He knows what I want.'
'Sorry Sir, I'm the only one around today. Please fill me in on-'
'What do you know about parallel worlds new guy?' He looked at me dumbfounded. His confusion grated on my nerves. I continued, 'You see, there are infinite parallel worlds. Each one consisting a different you. Five years back I successfully worked up a way to-' His face gave way to disbelief, disbelief and a tinge of ridicule. How dare he.
'Anyway things got messy and now a portal opens up every year on my birthday. Every year, an alternate me comes for my life.' I took out my phone and looked up the photo album, Doppelganger. I flicked past the photos, each a dead me. I looked at his stunned face, satisfied.
'The first year was the hardest to manage. That me came from a world of magic, he claimed to be a paladin I think. That's when I found you guys. You've got some insane talent. After the first three years, I devised a way to predict which world the next me will be from. Then it's just a matter of picking the right guy and enjoying the show.'
'Wow, sir. This is quite a strange case. What is your prediction for this year then?'
'This year will be tricky. A shapeshifter. I'll need your best hunter, someone who won't be fooled by appearances.'
'Sir, I'd recommend Araphat then.'
'Araphat? I don't see him on the catalogue. He's a good hunter?'
'Oh no, he's not exactly a hunter. But he's the best coroner where I come from.'
'A coro-' I stopped, something wasn't right. The small man had a dangerous glint in his eyes.
'Dear me, did you perhaps not predict my early arrival?' The small man's face warped to reveal my very face. His voice deepened as well. 'Happy Prelated Birthday,' he said as he pulled a pistol from under the desk.
----
More mind farts at seeyounextdoomsday.wordpress.com
|
“Every year I hire a hitman to kill me. So far they have all succeeded.”
The counsellor looked at me. The rest of the group too. There was supposed to only be 6 per group, but there was 13 today. It was a private hospital but they were still understaffed.
“What do you mean by that?” a man next to me asked. This was the group for people with delusions and other issues. Most of them were just here to get their meds adjusted. Some even looked totally stable.
“I mean I go somewhere, I hire a hitman through clandestine methods. My standard story is that I need my twin brother killed. It's surprisingly hard to get someone who kills family members, some of them are really weird about it. I used to say I found out he did some stuff to a younger sister. Some hit-men actually give discounts.”
“So what happens when these people try to kill you?” the counsellor asked.
I knew what she was doing. When dealing delusional people you were supposed to use their own world-view as a basis when trying to moderate them. I had yet to accept that my delusions were delusions, even though they had medicated me so much. I didn't feel too good, but I was pretty sure that my body was excreting out the meds at at least a dozen times faster than they expected.
I just said it.
“I tell them I'm at some address in the city. From there I usually wait. They need to get me in the back of the head. Then use at least 2 or 3 more bullets. Take a photo and send it to me to prove they did it right. Then I'll leave them the money in.”
“You didn't answer my question Richard” the counsellor said.
“I just did.” I said.
“You said what you have told people. But what if they actually came to you.”
I looked at her. “It takes my head a few days to reform from that damage. I get to rest.”
The counsellor was trying hard to not be annoyed. “This is because you're immortal?” One of the others patients said.
“Yeah.” I nodded.
A few heads nodded. Most of the people here heard voices or other things. They were medicated and had learnt long ago to try to ignore them. They probably had pity on me, even though I was pretty famous.
“It's because god touched you when just jumped from the bridge. Everyone was watching. They don't film many miracles.” He said.
I looked at him. I'd spent some time in institutions before. During world war one I'd snapped and spent a few years with what they called shell shock, I was French then. I knew that if someone here said god did something for you, it's best not to explain that you don't believe in god.
I just said to him. “Maybe.”
I lay in the bed. The sheets were probably designed to be hard to form into a noose. I had spent some time as a doctor in a mental hospital in the 70s. I looked like a very young doctor, but a doctor none the less.
I had hoped it would work. They didn't do suicides on live broadcast. But they got me jumping from the bridge. And they got me when I walked into their studio. Some said it was a miracle. I was a minor celebrity. They only reported me because I survived you see. Apparently normally the suicides change their minds before they hit the water and they say how they now see everything different. So my story would reduce suicides.
I waited until we got on the live show. The morning chat show. I didn't have a scratch on me.
When I explained the truth they went to commercial very quickly.
I signed.
There was a knock on the door. It was only 730, but I didn't get any visitors in my room unless I cleared them. The doctors didn't let the media in here. It was a private hospital, but I was only here because otherwise they would send me somewhere less pleasant since I was apparently delusional and suicidal.
“Come in.” I said.
Enguerrand walked in, dressed as a doctor, followed by a nurse.
“Hello Richard.” he said.
“Hello Enguerrand” I said.
The nurse smiled. “So you remember Dr Soisson?”
I raised an eyebrow as I put my feet on the ground. “Yeah, I remember Dr Soisson.”
The nurse left. “Do you mind if I close the door?” Enguerrand asked.
“Of course Dr Soisson.” I said.
He closed the door, then leaned against it.
“What are you doing Richard?” He asked me.
“What are you doing Dr Soisson?”
“Don't call me that, Richard.” He said.
“Soisson Enguerrand? Really? A bit rich don't you think.”
“It's the Psychiatrist identity I keep in America. I'm an expert on people with delusions that they are immortal. I'm Published and everything.” he said.
“Funny that.” I said.
“There are people out there that are sick. Ones who can't jump off of bridges, then heal and walk around the next day. They aren't like us, they die.”
“I know.” I said. Even after 4 centuries he still talked to me like he was my tutor.
“The moment you mean it, you can die Richard. If you want to die, you will die. Jumping off a bridge and not meaning it just causes trouble.” He said.
“I know.”
“They why?” he asked.
I said nothing.
“You know what happened the last time enough of them found out about us. Tirtzah has gone into hiding, she thinks you'll start something.”
“Tirtzah needs to be the one getting therapy.” I scoffed.
“Yeah, well. She has her anger to keep her going.”
“So if I say I'll stop trying to tell them we exist you'll make them let me go? But if I don't you'll make sure I'm locked up for a decade or so until they realise I'm not aging. Then I'm guessing fire?” I said, smiling.
“Don't get glib with me Richard. You can end this any time you want. But you're my friend and I don't want you to die. But I do want to know why you did it?”
“It doesn't matter.” I said.
“It does matter. You know what will happen if you do it again. The concordant is the one thing we all agree on. Especially after Nicolaus and Sethre.”
“Are you threatening me Enguerrand?” I asked.
“Of course not.”
I looked up at him and started to cry. I thought of Chelsie and Stephanie. “They die Enguerrand. They die of the stupidest reasons.”
There was a look on his face.
“Accident?” he asked.
“Car crash. We only had Stephanie. God it was bad. The car was flattened. It really hurt.”
“Richard.” Enguerrand said.
“Shut up Enguerrand. I'm just sick of it. We let Quintus run his little project. Hiding ourselves from the others. I just wish we could let them know. I wish we could make them like us.”
“We can't Richard. I wish we could, but we can't yet. And after what happened to Tirtzah and the others, we can't trust them. No one wants to see again what we saw when we got to Auschwitz.” Enguerrand said.
“Then get the fuck out of my room Enguerrand. I'll see you in ten years when I die in a fire.”
| 2015-08-05T05:01:01 | 2015-08-05T04:39:38 | 63 | 23 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?"
"I choose Russian Roulette." Ted said without missing a beat.
Death fumbled a moment, the cold fires in his sockets flickering down then sparking back up in a surprised blink. "You can't be serious."
"*Deathly* so." Ted said with a grin at his own pun. "Give me a revolver and a bullet with the power to kill even you. I'll load it, and we go until one of us pops." Ted mimed an explosion with his hands, a grin on his face.
Death's sallow visage tightened as if glaring at the impertinence. "Very well. A bargain is a bargain." With a puff of smoke that smelled of must a six-chamber revolver and a single bullet appeared in Ted's hand. The bullet glowed an ethereal violet.
"Now before you get any bad ideas, Ted, let me tell you that even though cheating is allowed in this game, turning that gun on me and firing will be treated as a forfeiture of the game." Death said warily.
Ted loaded the bullet and spun the chamber with a cocky grin. "Never even occurred to me. A deal's a deal after all. Who starts?" Death offered a wave of his hand towards Ted, who placed the revolver to his temple, pulled the trigger... \*click*. Empty. "Your go, friend." Ted said as he handed the revolver, handle-first, to Death.
Death took the revolver, and put it to his own head with some trepidation. A moment of hesitation, of uncertainty... \*click.* His gaunt frame visibly released from held tension. "So, Ted, why Russian Roulette, of all games?"
Ted took the revolver, placed it to his temple... \*click*. "I figure the best chance I have is, well... chance. I've never been one for chess or other games of strategy, and cards are too easily manipulated. Russian Roulette is simple, raw, and... final." Ted met Death's spectral gaze as he handed the revolver over. "Your go."
Death's hand began to tremble as he lifted the revolver... two in three chance of winning... one in three chance of seeing what happened when he met his OWN grim shepherd... \*click. Death's sigh of relief could be heard echoing off the walls of his sepulcher as he handed the revolver back to Ted. "Fifty-Fifty chance now, Ted."
Ted stared at the revolver a moment, doubt flickering across his face... but he lifted the revolver to his head steadily. "Guess I was going to die anyway..." \*click.
Ted's face split widely into a joyful grin as he handed the revolver back to Death. Death took it gingerly, fearfully. He stared at it, as if not comprehending the reality of the situation. Ted goaded Death victoriously. "Game's not over yet. You going to follow through with it? You could concede if you wanted. Keep the gun, send me back. We both win."
Death looked to the revolver, and the fires in his eyes suddenly blazed hot and bright. "I am **Death**. I am the One Certainty, the only thing in this universe that is consistent and equal. I do not concede, and I do not go back on a deal. ...Congratulations, Ted."
Death held the revolver to his head, ready to fire the sixth and final shot...
\*click*
Death stared at the revolver with relief and confusion and bewilderment all washing across his sunken features in a rush. "I don't... what happened? I don't understand? That was the final chamber. I shouldn't *be* anymore..."
Ted dipped his hand into the sleeve of his jacket, and held the ethereal bullet between two fingers like it was a common cigarette. "Palmed it, friend. Gun's empty. You DID say we could cheat. I honestly thought you'd concede, though."
Death laughed. He broke down into peals of dusty hollow laughter that rang across the voids of eternity. He waved his hand and as Ted disappeared back to reality, the final thing he heard was:
"Get out of here and enjoy your ten years, you cheeky fuck. And NEXT time, it's CHESS."
|
The death of Marcy Wigglebottom was unfair, to say the least. But, in a way, isn't all death unfair? A boy falls and bumps his head playing soccer and ends up with a hemorrhage--dead on arrival. A girl develops a prion in her brain and slowly deteriorates into nothing, her mind being eaten away by something totally unpredictable and incurable.
But I didn't care about the boy who hit his head, nor did I care about the girl who developed a prion.
I only cared about Marcy Wigglebottom because she died in the way only a hero should ever die--saving a total stranger, which so happened to be me.
"It's not fair," I said, my voice cracking as I cradled her head, the rest of her body contorted in such a way that made my stomach churn moreso than it already had been. "It's not fair," I repeated.
The girl smiled at me. "Life never really is fair, is it?"
"Why did you do it? Who are you?" I pleaded with her, desperate to find some answers. The light in her eyes began to fade.
"I'm Marcy. Marcy Wigglebottom. It was a pleasure to meet you," She said, her voice barely above a whisper. I felt her hand clutching my forearm begin to lose its strength.
And then all at once, there she went. Dying, in my arms. I heard her take one last big breath, and then she exhaled for the final time.
I couldn't stop crying. I recall a time in my life where my father had told me that men do not cry and that crying was a sign of weakness, but if that were the case then I was still the smallest, littlest boy in the entire world. I didn't stop crying, until I could not cry anymore.
And it was a peculiar thing--not crying when you want to--because I had only been crying for what felt like seconds.
"It's a shame, isn't it?" I heard behind me. The voice was gravelly, but soft at the same time. I could feel his presence immediately.
I turned my head to see a man standing there with a million emergency respondents frozen mid-run towards the accident. It was as if time itself was at a standstill as this man stood there in front of me. And I could feel it. He was large and lanky, but he was the large in the sense that I could feel he was larger than life itself.
Probably because he, well, *was* larger than life itself.
"Her name was Marcy Wigglebottom. She was the same age as you, going to the same college. A biology major, unlike you. You had some classes together, still, you know. She very much noticed you, but, as it seems, you never noticed her. A pity. Such a sweet girl, who just so happened to throw herself quite literally in front of a bus for someone who could never understand the gravity and the love that it took for her to do that for an almost total stranger."
I studied the man for a moment. Like I said before, he was large and lanky, but now I noticed more of his finer details. He looked old, but also, not. His face was rugged and hard, but his eyes were big and full of youth. His hair was slicked back and had a dash of gray, and he wore round spectacles that rested near the middle of the bridge of his nose. His suit was expertly tailored; a pinstripe black suit with a red dress shirt and black tie undearneath. With him, he had a cane.
He leaned over and extended a hand out to me. "Death," He said curtly.
I took his hand in mine without even thinking, almost as if he had coaxed me into it, and I felt the entirety of my life flash before me. A wreck I had on my scooter in third grade. The first time swimming in the deep end of the pool. A hand slip on a loose rock whilst rock climbing.
All with another extra added detail--he was there, watching. The sight of him there did not frighten me, but in fact, it was comforting. As I shook his hand, I felt warm and safe, as if everything now was going to be okay.
"You're the reaper," I said, my eyes going wide.
"Err--yeah," He replied, "I just said that."
I glanced down at Marcy's body lying there, resting in my lap. Then, I looked back at him. He nodded almost sadly.
I took my hand away from his. "You can't. It isn't fair."
Death sighed. "I know it isn't."
"Then why take her?"
"Someone died here. It's my duty to be their guide on the way to the afterlife."
Then, I'm pretty sure I said the dumbest thing a person staring Death down in the face could.
"Take me then, instead."
He blinked, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Hm." He said.
*'You're an idiot, you know that?'* I thought to myself. *'A grade A, tier one idiot.'*
"I mean," I continued to say, pretty much throwing my life away, "I mean you gotta take someone, right? She died saving me, so I think my life could apply here."
Death grinned. "Such a sweet gesture," he said, touching his chest. "If I still had a heart, it would be touched."
"Please," I begged, "it's only fair. Why else would you let me see you if you were here for her?"
Death let out a slight chuckle. "Observant, are you? I'm not here to goad you into anything here, boy, but I do offer the choice. She died in your place, and if you choose so, I will take you instead."
I hesitated. I hesitated hard. Was it worth it? What would I even get out of this? A sense that I did something good?
"I'm guessing you're feeling a sense of guilt, eh? Someone dying to take your place on the chopping block feels like you owe an obligation to them. I will take your request, but know that you owe this woman nothing. I have lived eons and eons and I understand what you're feeling, son. But you do not have to do this."
I thought for a moment and squeezed my eyes shut, thinking about this very hard. I recalled everything in my life and up to that moment, I hadn't done anything for anyone, ever.
I was a terrible person. I lied, I connived, I stole. I had a short temper with my parents, and an even shorter fuse with my friends. I cheated on my tests, and even on some of my girlfriends. She didn't deserve this. I did.
"Take me."
Death smiled. "Very well."
He adjusted his suit coat and cleared his throat. "Very well. Therefore, your life is now forfeit. Now, there is a way to delay your own death."
I raised a curious eyebrow.
"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick a game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up in the hospital, your wounds from this crash that you should have healed miraculously, and I'll even give you another ten years. If you lose, then you come with me. Understood?"
I thought for a moment. I thought for a moment because I should know better. I should know what to do. I was a law student. It was time to put my own trickery into use against someone who couldn't be tricked.
"I'll give you one even better than that, Mr. Death. If I lose this game, you get to take me *and* her. Two souls collected for one loss."
"Hm." Death thought for a moment. "And what are the terms?"
"If I lose, you take us both. If I win, we both walk away free. We will play a game, sure, but no cheating. I want this to be fair if it's an all or nothing. I get to pick the game and the terms."
"A bold proposition," Death said, a twinkle in his eye. "You do understand that I never lose at a game, correct?"
"You've never played me."
"Bold. Very well, I will agree. What game do you wish to play?"
"Hide and seek. You hide and I will seek. You can use any modicum of disguises, but you cannot leave the continent. I have a deadline of two weeks to find you, and I must touch you in order for you to be technically found."
Death scoffed. An easy loss for you. Are you sure you want these terms? It isn't quite fair in your terms."
"Well, it isn't fair for you to lose two lives if I win, either."
Death nodded. "Very well. Your time begins now." With a snap of his fingers he disappeared, and the emergency respondents rushed to the scene, with me still clutching Marcy in my hands.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
I hope you all enjoyed this first part. I wrote it in kind of a rush and with a TV on in the background, so I hope it wasn't too bad. Second part coming in a few!
| 2018-03-07T08:25:24 | 2018-03-07T08:02:19 | 192 | 53 |
[WP] “Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.”
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The first feature that struck me was his smooth, almost jovial face. A shaven head with some stubble on the chin, for being in his 40's he looked remarkably like a young pencil-pusher, that is to say, very unremarkable.
It made me think twice. The intel has been wrong before. The men around him, allegedly his company, looked the part of a grizzled war band. None of them younger than 30, they had seen their fair share of the Valhallic wars and they looked the part. Scarred, mean-eyed brutes that exuded the stench of death almost as much as my own cohort, albeit we could mask ours while theirs was the bloodlust of battlefield warriors. Men who had seen and killed, and killed, and killed until their was no more killing to be done.
Of course it was a cause for trepidation. Hardened warriors are never easy marks. But our mark bore not the countenance of a warrior, hardened or otherwise. In addition, this was not the battlefield. Their they ruled as kings in all their wretched bloody glory. Here, in the dark streets of the Capital, the Black Hand is king. I gave the order and my Hands melted away in the dark, retreating from our overwatch to setup the web further in, where this war band and their smooth-skinned leader would be heading.
As our web was spun, it struck me again. The feeling of something off. I had lived through my fair share of scuffles to know something was amiss, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I thought back to the brief exchange I had witnessed. I knew the old adage, "beware the old men who dwell amidst the graves of the young", a war band this old that could still pull contracts from Yodheim Corp. was dangerous. Most of the bands I'd seen that could claim from the Corporation were nothing you'd want to mess with, large well-armed mercs that would take jobs in Sothscara is the pay was good enough. Fuckin' lunatics.
I soon spotted the dark, non-descript van making its way through the slums, breaking me out of my thoughts. Flanked on both sides by two of the grizzled heavy gunners.
A distraction.
Some cheap street wares approach. A lithe half-elf male and a busty Vysek gal. Two of flankers approach, one of the them the biggest of the lot. Seems to be in charge. Sergio I heard the others call him.
They approach, one laughs crudely, making some remark that doesn't quite carry to my position, perched several hundred feet away as I am. The other, Sergio, grabs the half-elf by his hair, licking his chops, seeming for all the world exactly the savage wolf he is.
"Talisha, ready, our chance comes soon".
"I stand ready" her reply echos out the comm.
The van stops. The window rolls down.
"Sergey." The voice of the smooth-skin.
Fuck. There it is again. That sinking feeling. My senses have delivered the information to me, I need to parse it. Quickly.
"Stand by Talisha".
His face. Sergio's face. That wasn't resentment I saw, no anger at the failed prospect of a night of release. But Fear.
It was *fear* I saw in his eyes for the quickest of moments.
"Talisha. Stand down."
. . .
"Talisha, status!" I urgently whisper.
Nothing.
My scope quickly moves to her position. Nothing, a gun stand with no gun, Talisha missing.
My heart sinks, it was all *wrong*.
I move my scope back to the van, only to see the van door open and the half-elf and Vysek on the floor with guns pointed at them but no one in the car.
Where . .?
A piercing pain shoots through my spine as I step back from the ledge.
I see a slight smile crack the smooth face of the pencil-pusher as I fall backward.
Ah. I remember. I knew the first adage, I had forgot the second:
Beware the scarred men from the battlefield. Be even more wary those that leave the battlefield unscarred.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Obligatory first story post message! But seriously, would love feedback, thanks all!
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The flash of the enemy units, mounted and bristling with fresh steel sent a tremor through Tynor's heart that he couldn't decipher. Was it fear or excitement? Bloodlust or desire?
"Keep firm ahead, and we'll live to see another day," Came the advice of the warcaller, second in command. His armor was dented and scratched, deep rends barely repaired by the hammers of the camp. "Beware false hope."
The plan has lasted all of three seconds before they entered the bladed mile, the cursed passage of the border, where reality had unentwined itself from the mortal suppositions.
The only warning they got came from the birds, crying out underneath of them. Then the spray of blood from the enemy ranks. Then the sudden and total loss of their magics, awarded to them by bloodline, right of conquest, and divine providence. There were screams.
The border to the zone had shifted a mile, perhaps sensing the fresh blood approaching it. Or perhaps, fickle fate had decided that this would be the day it would intervene in the border conflict.
The swords came down upon them with all the force of an avalanche. Ground and rock and solid terrain twisted into abominations of steel and sorcery, roaring mouths filled with teeth and blades dripping fresh polish.
"KEEP TO THE PATH!" roared the war-caller, his mace thrown to the sky. "AND GATHER TO ME!"
The warbirds screeched out in defiance, and Tynor's hands dug deep into the reins to keep his own bird on course. Keep it straight ahead on the planned route.
But the top of the company was already gone, griseled chunks of steak left behind with blades had flayed away the skin. Twisted, turning around and around and around until bone marrow cracked open upon what little terrain was left. The blades came down, one by one by one in nervous appraisal, twisting and twitching. They came without rhyme, they came without reason, and men fell to the ground dead, piece by piece.
Mounted knights took steps out of line to avoid and were cut down piece by piece. Tynor stared up at them from the back, and slowly raised his shield. The impact struck him and knocked him far and away from the top of the course, and he and bird rolled down the hill, Tynor's magic, desperately hoarded, barely reacting to his demands, to the swell of his heart and the screeching pain of velocity, barely protected him and the beast. Despite it, hot sand kicked into straining muscles and ate away at his armor as shapes dug up from the depths and pounding against him.
At once he was in the air, and another he was on the ground, and another he was kicking his bird to keep moving up an impossibly large slope, cleaved full of swords and hooks. At one point he saw the dagger of an assassin and knocked it away, sending a vial of poison rolling into the depths of hell where it sparkled back into gasoline and ignited, mixing smoke into the depths of madness.
His teeth grit against one another, sweat rolling down his skin, as the rest of the shouts met him, piece by piece. Cut down. Tremulous. The bird jerked to a halt, looking around, snapping the metal tipped beak together nervously.
A prayer sprang to his lips. Battle, need, desire. A place to rest his head and clean his blade. All of the words the monks had taught him in the temples to the north.
The bird knew better than he did, but he could smell the polish hovering in the air, and he could smell death on the wind. Could see the grass lined with steel now, clicking together in a distant wind to the beat of a heart that was larger than mountains. Distantly, overhead, Tynor spied the eye of the red war god looking down upon him with all the concern of a child inspecting ants. With all the ideas of a man who wanted peace but demanded nothing but war.
And the blades fell upon him in and instant, noticing his paradox. Long sprightly lines of silver, great hooks of steel, and an abomination of brass upon the dark iron sands below. His shield came up, brass, embossed with prayers and hopes for his family line, and the blades were repelled once. His arm jerked back as the impact jolted clear through to the bone, set his teeth rattling, but he had to keep going.
"Beware false hope," he muttered under his breath, tongue loosened, bloody from where his teeth had dug into it, clicked together. It dripped down his chin as he slowly moved that sword away from his bird.
The bird let out a tittering noise at him, but he could feel the heartbeat thump out piece by piece with each movement they made.
They had survived, if but for a moment, but as Tynor peeked out, he saw nothing but the edges of thousands of blades, and the rattle of hooks. The green sun beat down upon the black desert, and he could smell blood, rust, polish, and even distant, the ever present smell of the desert itself. And somehow, over that, he smelled more fire.
His bird chirped at him, and Tynor drug his gauntlets down to scratch across the bird's beak where the metal had dug into the skin. He pried at it, automatically, on auto-pilot, and stared into the mess around him. A crowning citadel of rising steel, walls of quivering blades. Death, on both sides.
A garish plume of smoke bloomed in the distance. He stared at it for moments while his eyes adjusted, and then it bubbled and boiled with the pattern of an emergency flare. Tynor counted his heart beat and tried to calm his breath. He reached into his pouch and provided the noble bird with a bit of jerky.
It crooned and dug into it, spurs clicking with glistening brass.
Then he took the reins again, strained and splattered with blood, though he could no longer remember who died and who had survived, and tugged on his dominion. It ached, terrified, and flitted back to him in this strange place.
Tynor stole a glance up and stared at the trailing field of blades inching towards the war god distant overhead, watching with the face of a maiden, and then stole his glance back at the distant fire.
As much as he hated to admit it, he had a soldier to meet up with.
----
The War-Caller greeted him as his horse hopped up stairs carved out of molten metal.
"Ho!" He waved on, his helm split into chunks of metal across a face that Tynor had never seen before. Old, etched in age, covered in soot and rust and metal polish. The only injury was a single cut decorating the tip of the eye socket, but the eye flicked to him as he stared at it.
It was unbecoming for the face to be revealed so garishly, but Tynor found he could not care. His own helmet slid off and bounced across the metal sand, rust and blood mixing together.
"Sir!" He called out, his bird nervously sidling over to the other bird.
He'd never seen the company's birds break formation so quickly before, but their beaks preened at one another's feathers, leaning against one another.
Had it been hubris that had led him here, or something else entirely?
"Tynor," The war-caller greeted, flicking his white hair behind him. "Glad you can join me for my vigil."
"Vigil sir?" Tynor asked, stepping forward.
The caller shoved Tynor down on the ground and smiled at him. "Clearly Auren herself has decided that today's offensive would not come to pass. Who am I to disagree with the divine?"
Tynor stole another glance up into the sky. "But... she butchered us."
"She does that," The caller agreed. "But we're both alive, aren't we?"
Tynor swallowed and reached into his supplies. He found his water skin, filled just that morning, and drank greedily from it. The war-caller made no move to reach for his.
"Yes, but..." Tynor said, slowly. "My magic protects me. How did..."
"Your magic will not protect you long," The War-caller said, grimly. "And I have made a habit of surviving what the War god brings us."
"But this war is not what the goddess demands," Tynor said. "I can't..."
"We will war as our company demands," The caller returned, nodding slowly. "Let our masters decide what is right, they'll be the ones tasting our weapons, one by one."
"But..." Tynor sat down properly and stared into the depths of the signal fire. He still felt the eyes of the war god upon him, wearing the face of a maiden.
"Until then, we will stay here, and we will talk about the old songs, and we will wait for a rescue," The caller's yellow eyes twinkled with divine providence.
"Have you heard about the reign of the red prince?"
And then they sat there and awaited their judgement in that blighted place.
-----
For More like this, click here. https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
I am back from vacation, so let's get back into the swing of prompts!
| 2018-07-15T10:00:11 | 2018-07-15T08:27:17 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] Turns out hell is real. This was made known once demons and devils came to Earth. However things quickly got awkward and confusing once people heard them mutter, "If Heaven won't fix this shit hole, we might as well do it ourselves."
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"So..." My devil supervisor glanced up from the paperwork and looked at me. I nodded enthusiastically.
"You were sent to Earth to spread evil and go against the word of god..."
"Yup, that was my project"
"And...Not going to lie, I am a bit confused here. According to the report you submitted, you taught humans to make flying cars, floating fars, how to fix the ozone layer and even stopped the nuclear war!"
I shivered remembering the supposed world leaders who pissed themselves as soon as they saw me.
"It was a smelly business but the method was very effective."
The supervisor put down my report and pushed up her glasses.
"I failed to understand how this is spreading evil and going against the word of god."
I sighed, of course these ancient beings fail to see the brilliance of my project.
"You see, for the past one hundred years, god has been absent. The Earth was polluted, people were tortured, there was famine, war and disease."
The supervisor nodded. I smiled.
"God was doing our job better than us. So I decided to take his job. If you go to the last page of my report..."
She flipped to the last page. I could see her jaw drop.
"They made a church for you!" I smiled.
"Not only that, we tore down every normal religious building there and made strip clubs with human rights. Now that's what I call spreading evil."
The supervisor finally grinned after an hour of confusion. She took the stamp of approval. "You passed."
(First time post, all criticism is welcomed)
|
Mrs. Barnacles has been the nicest lady all her life. The same couldn't be said about her husband though. He was mean, grumpy man who used to trouble her wife a lot. Maybe this was the reason Mrs. Barnacles understood the true meaning of empathy and care. After her husband died in a car crash and left Mrs. Barnacles little fortune and a very big building in the bustling area of the city, Mrs. Barnacles decided to continue owning the building and turned it into a rental living space for students and people struggling with income. She charged just enough to get through the month, keeping her profitability minimal.
Over the years however, she had turned more paranoid and somewhat delusional. And people near her understood this. Years of trauma and abuse by her husband had ought to do something mentally, even if it was no visible physically.
For the past few months, she had been having these odd complaints, of having a tenant who she doesn't remember giving the space to live. But that guy had all the right documents to prove otherwise. He had the rent receipts, the rent agreement and knew a lot about Mrs. Barnacles, as he said Mrs. Barnacles occasionally had long chats with him.
The problem started when he started having long meeting in his apartment, with a few of his so called colleagues. They always had discussion in groups of 7, and were very strict about not being disturbed while in his apartment. The guy was not running an local business so it seemed odd having meetings in his apartment. And their had being occasional complaints of neighbours regarding late night loud noises and screams from the apartment.
Mrs. Barnacles had sought out the help of a man she helped in his tough time. Marc had become a police officer now, and would regularly pay Mrs. Barnacles visit to get to know about her health and if she needed any help. The woman was in her 80's now, and it was hard time for her getting out for grocery and other needs. Luckily for her, her tenants took care of her as if she was part of their family.
Marc however always said that he never ever saw the guy having a meeting in his apartment. Many a times he had immediately responded to Mrs. Barnacles phone call to check out the apartment of interest, but never found more that 3 people inside, who were just having a pizza party. But the complaints of Mrs. Barnacles increased over time, with she growing more paranoid by the day. She used to say she had seen some weird creatures near the apartment and winged men with dark silhouettes waiting outside, but all the other tenants had stopped complaining about the guy.
Marc couldn't see Mrs. Barnacles in such a situation, and introduced her to his psychiatrist friend, who after a few meeting under the pretext of being friend, concluded that it was Mrs. Barnacles years of abuse and trauma by her husband troubling her mind in old age. But Marc felt differently. It was weird that Mrs. Barnacles always had great details to discuss about the guy in apartment, even though her old mind couldn't remember day to day other details.
When the complaints to Marc didn't help much, Mrs. Barnacles decided to mend to these things for herself. She decided that his time she would have some solid proof to show to Marc and get that weird tenant evicted. She was behaving out of normal how she used.
One night, when Mrs. Barnacles woke up noise in the galley, she put on her night robe, picked up the old magnetic tape recorder from her side table, and decided to eavesdrop on the GUY. She took her cane from the side stand, and very carefully walked out of her apartment. After she made sure the winged figures were not in the gallery, guarding the GUYs apartment, she quietly moved across and stopped just outside the GUYs apartment.
The voices from inside were clearly audible, and there were definitely more that 3 people inside.
'I don't understand what is taking you guys so long to sort this thing out. It feels we are stuck in a management limbo with you guys deciding not to interfere and putting sanctions on us if we decide to do something,' said a man with a deep demonic voice.
'The council has not come to a conclusion yet. They had left his place to take care of itself for a reason. There was no point of leaving this place if you want to interfere again and again,' said another man in a soothing soft angelic voice.
'But you are forgetting this is the passage between our words. If this place gets messed up, eventually it's going to come and bite us all in the back,' the demon said hurriedly.
'For that the council is doing a meeting as we speak,' replied the angel.
'And conclude what? They had been doing meeting for several hours now. And mind you if you are forgetting it, that means a thousand millennia's in terms of human life.'
Mrs. Barnacles was confused. Were there really demons and angels inside the room?
'You know how it is, the council is disturbed by the fact that the humans had divided them into different forms. Makes their task difficult now that each council member thinks they are God in different cultures.'
'Fine, if you guys have a long list of excuses, we would have to do something. It might not be troubling you that much, as less humans are passing through the gates of heaven, but it surely is making a life lot messier for us down there. We have long list of waiting people and even we are sometimes ashamed for the things some humans are sent down for. But I think we have something urgent at our hands now, Bertha has heard a significant amount of the plan,' said a familiar voice.
Mrs. Barnacles moved back from the door in surprise. She hadn't heard that voice in years. Before she could turn around and walk away in the dark galley, lit with only a few bulbs, the door of the apartment opened and a massive figure stood before her. Nothing except the red glowing eyes seemed abnormal about the person, but his face.. his face took Mrs. Barnacles down a memory lane and she stood frozen to her place.
"Ohh dear Bertha. It has been so long I saw you. I hope this forsaken world has been good to you all these years. Why don't you step inside? And Yama will take care of you.'
Mrs. Barnacles walked inside without thinking anything, leaving her cane behind. It's not daily you see your dead husband. She saw the dark figure of Yama, with golden wings and bright eyes, who had extended his hand, with a faint soothing smile on his face as the door closed behind her.
| 2021-04-29T21:46:53 | 2021-04-29T21:20:33 | 66 | 15 |
[WP] Your supervillain nemesis is little more than goofy comedy relief, always coming up with clunky machines and insane, nonsensical schemes. When a new dangerous villain appeared, your nemesis utterly destroyed them, and then continued on like nothing happened.
|
Ultraman listened with a slight smile as Über Destructo Gigadeath ranted about his last evil scheme that would see all ice cream flavours turn to licorice.
It was, to be fair, one of the eviler schemes the young man had come up with.
Licorice. Brr.
Anyway, Destructo was perhaps the most harmless of villains in Central City and with his over the top displays, silliness and hamminess had even garnered something of a fanbase (he had signed autographs that one time and his Mad Cooking channel on YouTube had a million subscribers)
"You shall never get away with this, fiend!" Ultraman called good naturally.
Like many heroes he played along with Destructo. Seriously, the guy send the League Christmas cards.
He was about to respond to the latest taunts...when the sky darkened.
Alarmed Ultraman looked up...and paled as he saw the distinctive patterns of red and black crawling around the planet.
"No. No no no no no..."
"Ultraman, what is it?" Destructo had come closer, looking concerned.
"Get out of here, James. Run as fast as you can. We...we will try to stop it"
Destructo frowned. "Stop what?"
Ultraman shook his head and prepared to take off "No time"
A hand grabbed his muscular arm. "Stop. What." Destructo eyed him carefully "I have never seen you scared before"
Ultraman took a breath. Did it matter now anyway? He saw the familiar figure of red and black smoke descent through the atmosphere. Vaguely humanoid but subtly off in a way that made the eyes hurt.
"The Corruption. A...thing born of the concepts of madness and perversion. It travels the universe and destroys civilisations. Not kills them. But twists and perverts them until there is nothing but fear and suffering. Forever" He took a deep breath, trying to get the dread under control. "I don't know if we can stop it. But we will try" He gave Destructo a faint smile "We have extradomensional evacuation shelters. Spaceships. Try to get to one of them, James, you will be fine, okay?"
Destructo's serious face did not change as he looked from Ultraman to the Corruption. "No"
And then he began to float.
Ultraman blinked. James could fly?
And the idiot was going to confront the Corruption! He had to stop him!
"Stay" James said and Ultraman found himself unable to move, helpless to do anything but watch and listen.
"And what are you supposed to be?" The mocking voice of the Corruption asked. A billion alien voices wailing and screaming. "A little joke of a man, desperate for attention?"
"Yes. I am the laughter, the silliness. The joke. But not the punchline"
Their voices echoed over the city. The country. Somehow, everyone could hear then.
"Oh you are. You so are. Let me show you..."
"No. I've seen you. I know what you are. Broken. Fearful. You are the mind fleeing from reality. A mistake"
"Exactly! I am the final truth in this world! Random suffering! Pointless destruction!"
"No. I saw you. I met you. And I moved past you. You are a temporary aberration. A distraction. Be gone"
"You think you can..."
BE. GONE.
Ultraman clutched his head as reality buckled.
A wound in the cosmos was erased. The Corruption snuffed out like a candle.
Thousands of light-years away entire civilisations woke up from collective nightmares and regained their sanity.
Ultraman looked around. The sky was restored.
The Corruption gone.
The only sign anything had happened at all was the eery silence in Central City.
James stood in front of him, an awkward and unsure smile on his face. "So...icecream?" he asked, unable to meet Ultramabs eyes.
Ultraman thought of James. Of a being able to kill something more powerful than the gods. Of someone able to rearrange reality at a whim. Who used it to play cops and robbers.
Heh. That *was* actually pretty funny.
Slowly he smiled. "You shall never get away with this!"
Destructo relaxed, shoulders slumping in relief "Aha! But how will you catch me when you have to deal with my...*Ice Cream Minions!* Muahahaha!"
|
“Freeze!” The command was followed by a light giggle, and the sound of sticky, cold goo being propelled through the air. “Put the money in the bag!” The slimy toy hand slapped against my face, and the cashier behind the gas station counter laughed nervously. I sighed; Nick, AKA “Mr. Bad Guy,” was always wasting my time, acting as if he were truly a menace to society. I had long ago given up on entertaining his fantasies of being my “archnemesis.”
From behind the counter, the cashier, a boy who couldn’t be older than sixteen, with greasy, jet black dyed hair, and several, obviously unprofessional, ear piercings, whispered, “Is he serious? What do I do? Mrs. Forrest didn’t prepare me for a robbery.”
I turned towards Nick; I knew my eyes were alight with annoyance. “Please leave, Mr. Bad Guy,” I pleaded in a fake frightened tone. At the same time, I discreetly sent out a call for backup in the area. This was supposed to be my day off, for God’s sake. I put my hands up by my head and pressed the button hidden in the right arm of my glasses. If I could just pretend for long enough, someone would come help me get rid of this so-called “villain,” and I could go back to getting my cheat day, grease-filled lunch. Nick stared at me with his creepy green eyes, brimming with excitement and joy. He smiled at me, his teeth were too perfectly straight, and they were decorated with oddly colored jewels.
“Backup unavailable, sorry, Boss. Bomb threat at the courthouse, new guy in town.” Caroline’s voice rang in my earpiece. What did she mean about a new guy in town? No one had tried to attack Deerville since the mayor appointed the SuperUnion to be the official crime-fighting, peace-keeping taskforce. I know our name isn’t the greatest, I’ve been trying to change it for years.
“If you want something done right, do it yourself,” I whispered, remembering why I haven’t had a day off in a week and a half, and why I never try to call for backup. “Behind the counter!” I shouted over my shoulder to the cashier. The teen hesitated for a moment; he had been distracted by his phone. Nick giggled and charged at me, holding brightly colored balls of paint in his hands. One was pink, the other blue, he called them his “Detopainters.” They were supposed to immobilize me, but he almost never got the formula right.
He threw the pink one at my left shoulder, and the liquid inside splashed against my bare face. What a wonderful day to be dressed as a civilian. I would need to rely on my personal defense training, which was very rusty at the moment. As the tall, lanky, awkward man ran at me, I ducked and grabbed his torso. There were some spikes around the hem of his jacket, but they were just craft-store studs, inconvenient yet harmless. I knocked us both to the ground, rendering Nick completely immobile. He huffed out a sigh but didn’t try to resist.
Around his neck was a locket; the inside contained a picture of an older woman and a button. I yanked the locket off and pressed the button.
“You had to call Mom? Really, George?” Nick groaned. I stood up and helped my younger brother off the floor.
“Please, Nick, stop trying to be some big, bad villain, especially on my off days.” I turned to the counter, where the teen was already bad up and on his phone again. “Two six pieces, please, the combos.” He grunted at me and pressed a couple of buttons on the register.
The bell attached to the door jingled, and I knew without looking, it had to be Mom. As my credit card was accepted and my receipt was printed, I heard a shrieking voice in my earpiece.
“GEORGE! GET HERE NOW! CODE YELLOW!”
I groaned and gestured toward the food for Mom and Nick. I hugged Mom apologetically. “Duty calls, sorry, Mom. I’ll see y’all later.”
\-
“This better be good, Caroline!” I yelled as I entered the office.”You KNOW it’s my day off.” I could practically hear her eyes roll as she answered, “Yeah, yeah, your rest is more important than the new villain in town.” She was hunched over a plexiglass table, a bright screen shining through, a map of the city. She was planning a retaliation. Without prompting, she began to brief me.
“Female, early 30s, 5’5, medical doctor. Calls herself The Witch. Not many original villains around here. First targeted the courthouse, detonated a stink bomb that evacuated the building while she destroyed all the criminal files. Active on social media with quite the following; she even posts tutorials on her ‘Odor Potions.’ Anyway, she posted earlier that she’s going after the city hall tomorrow, and then all the office buildings in Deerville.”
Caroline sighed as she finished, looking up at me. I sighed as well, knowing that this wouldn’t be easy. In the digital age, social media had become a whole new weapon for villains, as many teens and impressionable young adults were tricked into believing they were right to do what they did. If we didn’t intervene swiftly, successfully, and carefully, this “witch” could have mobs of protestors flooding our streets, making it easier for her to get into these government buildings and destroy important files. If left unattended, or if we took the wrong strategy, she could ruin Deerville’s bureaucracy, and it would take years to rebuild the government.
“Let's get ready and meet her at the city hall tomorrow.”
\-
I knew that Caroline would hate me for this, but I invited Nick to join us at the city hall to defeat “The Witch.” I had been hoping that by inviting him with his to defeat these actually dangerous villains, he might be inclined to give up his fantasy of being my archnemesis, and just get a regular job like a normal person.
I saw Caroline by the local news anchor, Miriam; the two were close friends from high school, and Miriam always gave us what details the press had about the situation. Nick and I walked towards them, overhearing the last bit of their conversation.
“She claims to already be in the building, and she’s planning to live stream the placement and detonation of her Odor Potion,” Miriam said. Caroline nodded and opened her phone, likely searching to follow the villain’s account. “Brooke wants us to have the live stream playing on the news, but don’t worry, I think I can convince her not to.” Brooke was Miriam’s boss.
"Thank you, Miriam. We really appreciate it,” Caroline said, hugging her friend. She turned towards us, her hopeful expression dropping. She hadn’t noticed Nick with me yet. As Miriam walked away, Caroline whisper-shouted at me, “Can’t someone else babysit him? He’s going to ruin everything!”
Nick was on his phone, playing some game. “Hey, Nick, why don’t you go sit over there, and try to think of something we can do to stop The Witch?” I asked him, gesturing to a bench. He nodded happily and went over, rummaging through his backpack of gadgets for something. I turned back to my colleague. “He needs to work with other villains, see how they can actually be dangerous, Caroline.”
She shook her head at me and looked down. Seconds later, she shoved her phone in my face. “Look! She tweeted that she’s going to come outside before the detonation to give a speech! This is our chance!”
I nodded, agreeing with her, “Move into position.” I turned around and groaned. Where was Nick??
Caroline was already on the move, and I quickly scanned the crowd for my lost brother. I shrugged and tried to carry on with our plan to stop The Witch from bringing the entire internal structure of Deerville down.
The doors creaked open. Out stepped a woman, mid-height, with fiery orange hair. Her eyes glowed a bright purple, and she was wearing what appeared to be a Walmart witch costume. She smiled wide, fake vampire fangs attached to her canines. Suddenly, water rained down on her head, and what was once thought to be her hair slid off her head, actually a wig. The woman shrieked and ran back inside. Pools of water filled with body paint splashed as her elaborate Halloween costume was washed off of her. She dropped her Odor Potions, which were covered in a water-soluble material. They detonated, thankfully outside and not inside, and the crowd collectively turned away in disgust.
I heard the all too familiar giggle, and I spotted Nick on the second-floor balcony, holding one of his gadgets, a glorified water gun. I picked up my phone and called my brother. “How did you do that so easily?” We had thought it would take a much more elaborate scheme to get her to give up the act.
On the other end of the phone, my brother laughed openly. “Everyone knows that witches melt in water, silly.”
| 2022-10-13T20:53:30 | 2022-10-13T19:56:40 | 167 | 49 |
[WP] Your supervillain nemesis is little more than goofy comedy relief, always coming up with clunky machines and insane, nonsensical schemes. When a new dangerous villain appeared, your nemesis utterly destroyed them, and then continued on like nothing happened.
|
People ask me why I go after Basketcase with such ferocity. Why I would dedicate so much of my time to thwarting a villain whose only means of attack is to control fruit? Why tarnish my reputation by holding long and elaborate battles a villain who wouldn’t even take a full episode of a Saturday morning cartoon to defeat.
It’s because I know what he’s capable of.
First of all he’s not crazy. Not in the slightest bit. I’ve fought crazies before, and none of them do what he does. Sure there are always sideshow villains who’d try and rob a bakery for only the black and white cookies with the black frosting on the left side. But none of them would do it on the exact day that a hero would be shopping there 5 times in a row over the course of 3 months.
These were different bakeries. In different towns. With different heroes. None of whom were in costume.
And it’s not the only instance either. There was the time he upstaged a hostage situation in progress while trying to rob the bank that had already been robbed with his “banana guns” tripping over the leftover peels and falling through the wall right next to where Serien was planning to break in.
And there was the time he attacked using only apples for 3 weeks in order to “crush Big Apple’s profits” right around the time Agent Walter discovered he had a citrus allergy.
His crimes are never committed without a hero nearby and they always seems to go just right for the hero involved.
And when he gets caught, as he inevitably does whatever he was focusing on no longer matters. He just smiles, puts his hands out and gets taken away. Before breaking out within days. Even the prison secretly run by Big Jenny has longer incarcerations.
And I know what you’re all thinking. Sunbeam you’ve gone mad. You’ve spent too much time looking into this stuff. We haven’t seen you in weeks.
But hear me out, please. The villains, they fear him. Yes from the outside it looks like he’s their punching bag but do you notice? They never hit him hard enough to even draw blood. Whenever he enters a fight the entire mood changes. Attacks that used to deal massive physical damage start missing. The villains start acting differently. Why would Eclipse ever say “the darkness within me was unable to contain your light” before falling to a paltry blast I could muster with the last of my strength?
I should have died. Even without that I was in the hospital for 3 weeks.
And I checked. I went back and took readings of all of my previous blasts. They were all more powerful then my final attack.
My power is condescend light why would a wider beam be more powerful?
Why did Eclipse agree to be taken in so readily?
They say our small country is the safest in the world, and in no small part is that awarded to our heroes. But I fear that safety is all in the hands of one man’s boredom. And if we don’t satisfy that we will all be doomed.
—-
That was a video recording of Sunbeam middle of the street after a fight with Carnit. A shocking turn for a hero who has been so steadfast in protecting the country from villains. When asked for comment The Vigilant released a press statement saying Sunbeam was clearly suffering from PTSD due to his heroic effort against Eclipse last year and will be given the time he needs to recover in private.
So sorry superfans it seems like we won’t be seeing the Shining Savior in the short term.
As for Basketcase it’s clear this outburst has little impact on him as his recent attack on Crumbles, a newly opened bakery, was quickly stopped by Split who arrived just before Basketcase could steal the “cookies with fruit in them before the fruit is added” as he put it.
When asked for comment he cackled “Lemons are yellow like the sun, and so juicy!”, spraying lemon juice into my cameraman’s eyes before being swiftly taken away.
For the record my cameraman is fine, he may be a spindly guy but he’s no coward. Always on call to record after any heroic deed. This act clearly shook him though so while Basketcase may not be the countries’ “secret evil boss” he at least claimed one victim today.
This is Carol signing off.
|
“Freeze!” The command was followed by a light giggle, and the sound of sticky, cold goo being propelled through the air. “Put the money in the bag!” The slimy toy hand slapped against my face, and the cashier behind the gas station counter laughed nervously. I sighed; Nick, AKA “Mr. Bad Guy,” was always wasting my time, acting as if he were truly a menace to society. I had long ago given up on entertaining his fantasies of being my “archnemesis.”
From behind the counter, the cashier, a boy who couldn’t be older than sixteen, with greasy, jet black dyed hair, and several, obviously unprofessional, ear piercings, whispered, “Is he serious? What do I do? Mrs. Forrest didn’t prepare me for a robbery.”
I turned towards Nick; I knew my eyes were alight with annoyance. “Please leave, Mr. Bad Guy,” I pleaded in a fake frightened tone. At the same time, I discreetly sent out a call for backup in the area. This was supposed to be my day off, for God’s sake. I put my hands up by my head and pressed the button hidden in the right arm of my glasses. If I could just pretend for long enough, someone would come help me get rid of this so-called “villain,” and I could go back to getting my cheat day, grease-filled lunch. Nick stared at me with his creepy green eyes, brimming with excitement and joy. He smiled at me, his teeth were too perfectly straight, and they were decorated with oddly colored jewels.
“Backup unavailable, sorry, Boss. Bomb threat at the courthouse, new guy in town.” Caroline’s voice rang in my earpiece. What did she mean about a new guy in town? No one had tried to attack Deerville since the mayor appointed the SuperUnion to be the official crime-fighting, peace-keeping taskforce. I know our name isn’t the greatest, I’ve been trying to change it for years.
“If you want something done right, do it yourself,” I whispered, remembering why I haven’t had a day off in a week and a half, and why I never try to call for backup. “Behind the counter!” I shouted over my shoulder to the cashier. The teen hesitated for a moment; he had been distracted by his phone. Nick giggled and charged at me, holding brightly colored balls of paint in his hands. One was pink, the other blue, he called them his “Detopainters.” They were supposed to immobilize me, but he almost never got the formula right.
He threw the pink one at my left shoulder, and the liquid inside splashed against my bare face. What a wonderful day to be dressed as a civilian. I would need to rely on my personal defense training, which was very rusty at the moment. As the tall, lanky, awkward man ran at me, I ducked and grabbed his torso. There were some spikes around the hem of his jacket, but they were just craft-store studs, inconvenient yet harmless. I knocked us both to the ground, rendering Nick completely immobile. He huffed out a sigh but didn’t try to resist.
Around his neck was a locket; the inside contained a picture of an older woman and a button. I yanked the locket off and pressed the button.
“You had to call Mom? Really, George?” Nick groaned. I stood up and helped my younger brother off the floor.
“Please, Nick, stop trying to be some big, bad villain, especially on my off days.” I turned to the counter, where the teen was already bad up and on his phone again. “Two six pieces, please, the combos.” He grunted at me and pressed a couple of buttons on the register.
The bell attached to the door jingled, and I knew without looking, it had to be Mom. As my credit card was accepted and my receipt was printed, I heard a shrieking voice in my earpiece.
“GEORGE! GET HERE NOW! CODE YELLOW!”
I groaned and gestured toward the food for Mom and Nick. I hugged Mom apologetically. “Duty calls, sorry, Mom. I’ll see y’all later.”
\-
“This better be good, Caroline!” I yelled as I entered the office.”You KNOW it’s my day off.” I could practically hear her eyes roll as she answered, “Yeah, yeah, your rest is more important than the new villain in town.” She was hunched over a plexiglass table, a bright screen shining through, a map of the city. She was planning a retaliation. Without prompting, she began to brief me.
“Female, early 30s, 5’5, medical doctor. Calls herself The Witch. Not many original villains around here. First targeted the courthouse, detonated a stink bomb that evacuated the building while she destroyed all the criminal files. Active on social media with quite the following; she even posts tutorials on her ‘Odor Potions.’ Anyway, she posted earlier that she’s going after the city hall tomorrow, and then all the office buildings in Deerville.”
Caroline sighed as she finished, looking up at me. I sighed as well, knowing that this wouldn’t be easy. In the digital age, social media had become a whole new weapon for villains, as many teens and impressionable young adults were tricked into believing they were right to do what they did. If we didn’t intervene swiftly, successfully, and carefully, this “witch” could have mobs of protestors flooding our streets, making it easier for her to get into these government buildings and destroy important files. If left unattended, or if we took the wrong strategy, she could ruin Deerville’s bureaucracy, and it would take years to rebuild the government.
“Let's get ready and meet her at the city hall tomorrow.”
\-
I knew that Caroline would hate me for this, but I invited Nick to join us at the city hall to defeat “The Witch.” I had been hoping that by inviting him with his to defeat these actually dangerous villains, he might be inclined to give up his fantasy of being my archnemesis, and just get a regular job like a normal person.
I saw Caroline by the local news anchor, Miriam; the two were close friends from high school, and Miriam always gave us what details the press had about the situation. Nick and I walked towards them, overhearing the last bit of their conversation.
“She claims to already be in the building, and she’s planning to live stream the placement and detonation of her Odor Potion,” Miriam said. Caroline nodded and opened her phone, likely searching to follow the villain’s account. “Brooke wants us to have the live stream playing on the news, but don’t worry, I think I can convince her not to.” Brooke was Miriam’s boss.
"Thank you, Miriam. We really appreciate it,” Caroline said, hugging her friend. She turned towards us, her hopeful expression dropping. She hadn’t noticed Nick with me yet. As Miriam walked away, Caroline whisper-shouted at me, “Can’t someone else babysit him? He’s going to ruin everything!”
Nick was on his phone, playing some game. “Hey, Nick, why don’t you go sit over there, and try to think of something we can do to stop The Witch?” I asked him, gesturing to a bench. He nodded happily and went over, rummaging through his backpack of gadgets for something. I turned back to my colleague. “He needs to work with other villains, see how they can actually be dangerous, Caroline.”
She shook her head at me and looked down. Seconds later, she shoved her phone in my face. “Look! She tweeted that she’s going to come outside before the detonation to give a speech! This is our chance!”
I nodded, agreeing with her, “Move into position.” I turned around and groaned. Where was Nick??
Caroline was already on the move, and I quickly scanned the crowd for my lost brother. I shrugged and tried to carry on with our plan to stop The Witch from bringing the entire internal structure of Deerville down.
The doors creaked open. Out stepped a woman, mid-height, with fiery orange hair. Her eyes glowed a bright purple, and she was wearing what appeared to be a Walmart witch costume. She smiled wide, fake vampire fangs attached to her canines. Suddenly, water rained down on her head, and what was once thought to be her hair slid off her head, actually a wig. The woman shrieked and ran back inside. Pools of water filled with body paint splashed as her elaborate Halloween costume was washed off of her. She dropped her Odor Potions, which were covered in a water-soluble material. They detonated, thankfully outside and not inside, and the crowd collectively turned away in disgust.
I heard the all too familiar giggle, and I spotted Nick on the second-floor balcony, holding one of his gadgets, a glorified water gun. I picked up my phone and called my brother. “How did you do that so easily?” We had thought it would take a much more elaborate scheme to get her to give up the act.
On the other end of the phone, my brother laughed openly. “Everyone knows that witches melt in water, silly.”
| 2022-10-13T20:43:03 | 2022-10-13T19:56:40 | 68 | 49 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
"Alright, next time this happens, just unplug the router, and plug it back in." Marcus said begrudgingly.
Obviously embarrassed, Katie replied "Thank you so much, I don't have any cash on me, but I'll pay you for the bus fare next time"
"Don't worry about it..."
He walked out the door, it was raining, of course. The bus stop was a 15 minute walk down the street. Not terrible considering all the times he's ended multiple states over, with no clue on how to get back.
He threw his hood up, and started his was back home.
It didn't matter to Marcus anymore. This was a weekly occurrence at this point. He had lost countless jobs, blown off friends, and missed out on a long list of relationships. All because of an empty promise he made to a girl he barely even knew.
He used to get frustrated, but at a certain point, it became a ritual.
As he boarded the bus, he felt that familiar feeling. His body was being dragged to another location.
He came to in Katie's living room. But this time she stood over a man, covered in blood.
"What the fuck..." Marcus said under his breath.
"I can explain."
|
The first time it happened, it was a shock. I recognized the yellow VW Beetle wrecked in the middle of the road. Her parents had given it to her for her sixteenth birthday... when we were still together. I called 911, I met her at the hospital. I told her that her fiance had died in the crash, but I couldn't bring myself to tell her how I'd come across the accident. She just wouldn't believe it.
Our relationship began anew that day, but this time just as friends. The one girl I'd ever truly loved, just a friend. It was bittersweet, the joy of just having her back in my life eclipsed by the knowledge that she would never feel the same way as I did.
I finally had to tell her the secret about a year later. She had seen me appear out of thin air, and at that point there was really no more denying it. "What the hell just happened?" Steph asked, once the police had taken the robber from her house in handcuffs. "You just... **appeared** behind him!"
"Well..." I hesitated, trying to find the words that didn't make me look like a lunatic. "It happened in high school, when we were still dating."
"**What** happened? You gained the ability to teleport?"
"Kinda, yeah. This will sound dumb but... You were the hot goth chick, and I was a boring normal teenager who played video games, and so I tried to get into goth stuff to impress you."
"...Like magic? You thought I was some kind of Wiccan because I went through a black lipstick phase?"
"Yeah like magic, and rituals and, and paganism. That kind of thing. I read stuff so I could impress you. You were so... out of my league. I just thought eventually you'd figure out how lame I was and dump me. Which you did, by the way. Anyway, I ended up finding some translated version of a book of rituals from this ancient cult of Aphrodite. I practiced the ritual a few times, and once I'd gathered the courage, I wanted to do it in front of you. I thought it was all fake, so I didn't expect it to actually work."
"So this is magic. Actual **Magic**. Look I really appreciate the help, but I don't need you appearing whenever I'm in trouble. I'm a grown woman and I can take care of myself. So, turn it off, ok?"
"I..." I hung my head in embarrassment, "I can't stop it. It lasts..."
"Forever. Great." She sounded annoyed, almost angry.
I had to tell her. Either she knew the truth and possibly reciprocated, or she assumed she'd been right and hated me forever. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. "No... It lasts until I stop loving you." I watched her expression change from annoyed to shocked, to confused... To sad. She pitied me.
"Tom, we were kids, we weren't 'in love'. We weren't 'soul mates'. We were just a couple of kids in a small town. Just because we grew up together doesn't mean we were meant for each other."
"I know, but I just... I've never been happy with anyone else."
"I'm sorry, Tom, but I have."
"I know. You talk about your new boyfriends all the time." The words came out more bitter than I'd intended.
"I think you should go home."
She wouldn't return my calls after that. We saw each other a few other times. Once she'd slipped on ice and gotten a concussion. Another car crash. A flat tire in the middle of nowhere. She wouldn't speak to me, though. Nothing beyond a polite, "Thanks."
A year had passed since she last needed me. I had almost been able to stop thinking about her when she started texting me. I ignored them, every one of them. I couldn't handle it again, the possibility that she finally felt the same way that I did, followed by the crushing realization that she never would.
Today was the day. The day that all of my sadness, my loneliness, would end. I opened the door to Joy's building. I walked past the elevator and climbed the stairs. I had time. I couldn't help but think of Steph, even as I approached the door to my date's apartment. At number 513, I raised my hand to knock on the door, and thought of her again. I stopped. I couldn't do this. Not to myself, and not to Joy. She didn't deserve it. I went back to the stairs and stopped. I looked down, towards the exit, but I turned upwards.
I took my phone out of my pocket. I texted to Joy, "Sorry to cancel on such short notice, but I'm not feeling well." As I reached the top of the stairs, I opened the door to the roof. A warm breeze touched my face as I held up my hand to shield my eyes from the sun. I had only a sneaking suspicion of why I was up there.
I paced around the roof. What would my life be like from this point onward? Would I ever be happy? Could I? No, certainly not. Joy, who I'd met through a mutual friend, was everything I could ever want but for the fact that she wasn't Steph. Steph, though, didn't want me. I'd never be happy. Every time I thought I could be happy had turned out to be a lie.
I knew, now, why I was here. It was the only answer. The only way to relieve the emptiness. The sadness. Erase it. A part of my mind screamed for me to stop, but I knew that was emotion and not logic speaking. I had already realized the truth. The truth carried me with slow steps onto the ledge. The truth spread my arms, and closed my eyes.
Even in my last moments, I heard her voice in my head, "Tom? Tom what the fuck! What did you do?"
I opened my eyes and saw her there, falling with me. The fear on her face and the realization of what she'd done, and what I'd done would haunt me for the rest of my life.
| 2017-03-22T16:11:28 | 2017-03-22T16:04:26 | 65 | 37 |
[WP] A demon decides to haunt an old lady, but when he arrives he is mistaken for somebody else. Now it's been seven years, and they are best friends.
|
Her liver-speckled hands were so wrinkled that the skin looked a little like rolled up carpets. BeezellGrub tenderly cupped one of her tiny hands between his great, spiked palms. He was even more gentle than usual.
"I'm so glad I met you, Beety," the elderly woman said. "In the last few months, you've been like the moon to me - a comforting beacon amidst the deepening darkness. But even the moon must set and the day must come."
Her hand was trembling. Or perhaps it was his. He did not want his moon to lay her head on a pillow. He did not want to see the day that must surely follow.
"Don't be scared, Eleanor," his voice was a deep rumble, like far away thunder. He would be strong for her. "You're a kind person. What lies ahead will be good to you. I've never met someone as kind as you."
He had never meant to *like* the lady; he had been sent to haunt her because of a house she'd purchased seven years ago. Built on an ancient burial site, it had a certain demonic pedigree and he'd been sent to utilise it. But the haunting had not gone to plan: the kooky old lady talked back to the menacing voices in the night; she cleaned up the thick blood that ran down the walls and onto the kitchen floor. When he had jumped out of a closet with fangs bared, in a final attempt to terrorize her, she had offered him cookies and a cup of tea. Depressed about the haunting, he'd accepted and they got talking.
They found they had a lot in common and soon he visited simply for the chats. It was nice for him to have someone to talk to.
She had taken him to the country fair when it visited; he'd never been before and came back with both a broad smile, and a teddy-bear from the coconut shy. He only took the teddy-bear to make Eleanor happy. In turn, he'd taken her Go-Carting; although she'd never gone much faster than he could walk, she had never stopped laughing.
When she got ill - when cancer, a demon far worse than he'd ever been, took hold - he had helped to look after her. He took her to the hospital for her appointments, made her food, changed her bedpan and carried out a thousand other tiny tasks. He didn't mind. He wanted his friend to be happy. To stay.
"Beety, I'm not scared," she replied weakly, "Don't you be. You won't be alone - I'll always be in your heart. You know, you've been the best friend I could ever have asked for. Since Peter died, I'd been so alone... until you were there."
BeezellGrub's lips began to tremble; his red eyes began to pool with molten fire, and tiny tears of flame trickled down his cheeks. "You wouldn't want to be friends if you knew what I really was," he confessed. "What... I've done."
Eleanor smiled softly, and with much effort squeezed his great hand. "I know what you are, Beety. I've always known. But **what** you are doesn't make you **who** you are. Besides," she said, smiling softly, "You've always been good, to me."
He held her hand all that night, until her arm became limp and her head fell softly back onto the pillow. He lay a golden teddy-bear by her side and drew the blanket up to her neck. "I kept it," he said quietly.
He leant over and kissed her on the forehead.
For the first time in a long time, she looked at peace.
---
more of my stories on /r/nickofnight
|
The old lady’s knitting needles clacked back and forth in a rhythmic pattern as she herself rocked back in forth in her chair, giving the vague impression of a manual typewriter producing scarves. Next to her, a tall red Demon, with protruding horns and wearing nothing but an ancient leather loin cloth held spools of yarn that he slowly fed her needles. Mr. Tibault, the old lady’s cat curled up on the Demon’s lap, snoozed comfortably.
“Oh, but that granddaughter of mine, I worry about her,” the old lady said.
“Jane? What’s she up to now? She’s still working as an EMT, isn’t she?”
The old lady sighed and the needles stopped. They only stopped when her mind was entirely focused elsewhere. In the background, the old mechanical clock ticked away the seconds. Finally she added, “Well, you would think that would be enough but she’s not happy anymore. She’s packing up to move to Mexico.”
“Mexico?” The Demon said in a deep bass voice that rattled the windows, “What’s in Mexico?”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to know. She said she wants to go there to better her skills in speaking Spanish. Says there’s always good work for those that are bilingual.”
“But there’s always good work in the healthcare industry!” I should know, thought the Demon, I’ve put enough people in the hospital.
“Well, that’s what I said, but you know how she gets. She’s one of those kids that just gets itchy feet if they’re in a job before too long. Before this she was a veterinarian's assistance, and before that she did dancing for a number of years, and before that, well, Bobby I can’t keep them all straight.”
Bobby, that was the name she had first called the Demon when he had entered her house. The Demon – whose true name was Melphasito – was only mildly surprised that a human could see him. It happened occasionally in this line of work. He had been summoned to the old lady’s house by a neighbor that was tired of being lectured about his lawn, and simultaneously knew a thing or two about ritualistic summoning.
“Bobby!” the old lady said as soon as he walked in, “It’s been so long. It’s so good of you to stop by.” She had immediately stuck one of those hard candies in his mouth, and that was his undoing. They were addictive, and delicious.
Yet, not as addictive as the company she provided. Being a Demon that wandered the Earth, dispensing pain and misery is a lonely job, at best. The old lady dispensed joy and conversation along with her candy. That had been seven years ago, and the Demon kept coming back.
The Demon shifted on the couch and the plastic that covered it crackled in response. Mr. Tibault open a reproachful eye at his sleep being disturbed. Mentally, the Demon wondered if he should get back to work or not. He could sense a summoning ritual three miles to the south. It was still unanswered, but one of the lesser demons would answer it, eventually. The Demon looked around the room. The shag carpeting, the collection of figurines with overly large eyes and sad expressions. As bizarre as this place was, compared to demon life, it felt comfortable and homelike.
As if in response, the old lady asked, “What about you? How’s your work going?”
The Demon sighed deeply, “Oh, you know, it’s monotonous but familiar.” The wry pun lost on the old lady. The Demon’s skin stopped tingling: someone, or something, had answered the summoning a few miles away.
He continued, “Truthfully, I’d like to get out of it. Try something else, but I have no other skills. It’s really hard for anyone in my line of work to do anything different.” He did not add that he had been doing his job for fifty thousand years.
“Is there any chance of a promotion at your job?”
“Not really. It’s kind of a flat structure. We’re all independent contractors that work on commission. There’s one big guy in charge and he’s not scheduled to retire for a very long time.”
The Demon sighed and feld himself another candy. Mr. Tibault purred while the needles clicked. Truthfully, it was a good life here with the old lady. Strange as it was.
Pain shot through the Demon’s legs.
“Ow, Mr. Tibault, what the hell?” The old lady shot the demon a foul look for using such language. Mr. Tibault was terrified. Back arched, tail poofed out and hissing at the front door for everything he was worth. The front doorbell rang in a long morose clang the Demon hadn’t heard before.
“Oh do be a dear and get that for me,” the old lady said. “I’ve been expecting him for a while.”
“Sure thing,” the Demon extracted the angry cat from his lap and set it on the couch. The angry hissing continued. The Demon stepped across the living room, careful to avoid the hanging lights with his horns, and opened the front door.
“Death? What are you doing here?” The Demon asked.
“WHAT AM I DOING HERE? TAKE A WILD GUESS.” The black cloaked skeleton holding the scythe nodded at the old lady.
“What? No! You can’t.” The Demon’s voice took on a pleading tone that sounded odd in his ears.
“Oh hush dear,” the old lady was standing beside him. He jumped at her sudden approach. How did she get there without him noticing?
She was already wearing her traveling gloves and hat that she took to the grocery store on Sundays. “I’ve lived plenty long. Come on Death, let’s go. I’m ready.” The old lady had a strange glint in her eye.
Death gestured to his waiting chariot, pulled by a team of skeleton horses.
“I’m coming with her. As far as I can,’ The Demon stated angrily to Death.
“OF COURSE. YOUR KIND HAS NO RESTRICTIONS IN THE PLACE WE’RE GOING.”
The three of them made their way inside the enormous carriage and it flew into the sky, before diving downward through the ethereal planes. The Demon’s skin tickled with the charge of evil energy.
“Death, you’re going the wrong way. You’re taking her down. You’re supposed to be taking her UP!” the Demon pleaded. Death said nothing and merely drove.
The Demon looked sadly at the old lady. There was nothing he could do.
“Oh please Melphasito, don’t look that way. I knew this was my final destination.”
Wait, what? Not Bobby? the Demon thought. “You know my name? And what do you mean you knew you were going here. Explain.”
“You think you’re the first Demon I’ve encountered? Far from it. When I met you, I was recently retired, and recently widowed, so a bit lonely. I could have killed you, but you seemed… lonely. I fed you one of my candies for capturing demons. Turned out, you were good companion, and an even better Bridge player, so I kept you around.”
“Retired? From what?”
“An assassin, of course. Why do you think I’m going down here? There was many a high official that had demon bodyguards I would have to take out before I could kill them. Got pretty used to your kind, actually.”
The demon’s mind swirled, trying to catch up with this new information. It was all too much to take in. Before long, the carriage arrived and the two of them got out. Death bade them adieu, and flew upward through the ethereal planes.
All around them were piles of bones and skulls. Covered in quivering flesh and belching flames. A large stone wall with a gate of skulls stood in front of them. The old lady pulled out an enormous blade and gave it a long lick along the sharp edge before giving it a smile of approval.
“Where… where did you get that blade from?”
“I nicked it off of Death. He’s not very observant in his old age.”
The old lady started walking towards the vast gateway made of skulls.
“Come on,” she called, “let’s show these pansy bitches down here how we roll!”
Well, the Demon thought, at least it’ll be something new.
| 2017-04-27T06:02:43 | 2017-04-27T05:44:46 | 172 | 54 |
[WP] You are an immortal who was caught and encased in concrete, forgotten. Your body's regeneration kept your alive, while your mind remained active. Your prison has finally eroded away, freeing you.
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Freedom at last!
Time erodes all things. First the black hole he was cast into evaporated away, then the concrete crumbled and finally the metal shell decayed into elemental particles. My quarry, my obsession is closer than he intended to be.
The snail inched ever onward.
for those who don't get it, [https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/5ipinn/you\_and\_a\_super\_intelligent\_snail\_both\_get\_1/](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/5ipinn/you_and_a_super_intelligent_snail_both_get_1/)
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# The Daily Struggles of An Immortal
“Wait, what?” Lily exclaimed. “You spent thirty-seven years encased in a statue of Rixsus?! Isn’t that the Panysian god of male fertility?!” The orange colors of her irises were shifting wildly like eclipsed suns, which meant she was either upset, excited, highly amused, or aroused. I couldn’t tell which at the moment.
I sighed heavily, leaning back against the headboard of her bed, not wanting to remember the horrible memory. But Lily needed to know why keeping my immortality a secret was so important. After the incident with Freya kidnapping me to use as her personal blood-bag, I realized I had never told my girlfriend not to share. You would think that after sleeping with her for over six months, it would have come up.
But nope. I had been too busy focusing on other things that came up. So it completely slipped my mind, much to my regret.
And now I was receiving a daily visit from Freya, the supermodel with a vampiric superpower, so she could feed off of me. It was the deal I had gotten the villain chick to agree with in order to get her to let me go. Given other circumstances, I might not have minded our short time together every day. But she was ruthless in her feeding, completely tearing out my throat every time. At least she seemed to be enjoying herself, if her moans were any indication.
“Yeah,” I admitted, resting my hand on Lily’s thigh. She had moved next to me to lean against the headboard too. “It was about a hundred and eighty years ago. There was this villain who could create concrete with his body. He found out I was immortal and thought it would be funny to create a living statue.” I sighed again. “Ironically, I was freed when a super-couple were using the statue for their extracurricular activities. Needless to say, they were surprised when I popped out after breaking it.”
Lily’s eyes were glowing bright orange now, a subtle smirk on her face. If she was even remotely concerned about my well-being, she was doing a terrible job of showing it. “That’s horrible,” she said, soundly completely insincere.
“Hey, it’s not funny!” I sneered. “I couldn’t breathe for thirty-seven years! You don’t even know what that’s like!”
She was immediately apologetic. “I’m sorry." She took a deep breath. "I wish I had known. Then we wouldn’t have to put up with that slut.”
I glared at her. “Calling your friend a slut isn’t very nice.”
Lily immediately crossed her arms over her voluptuous chest and *humphed*. “I’ll call her what I want! I’m still considering frying her ass!” Her hair lit on fire then as if to illustrate her intention, but I knew it was just the manifestation of her sincere annoyance.
“Come on Lily, calm down. I really don’t feel like being scorched to the bone right now. It was kind of a rough day at work.”
She huffed in annoyance. “What? Because you found out Nick’s a man-whore?”
I shrugged. “I mean, I just never expected him to be the cheating type. He has a side-chick on top of his girlfriend who wants to marry him. Not to mention it’s so shocking considering how hideous the guy is. I mean come on, the average nerd looks like a male model in comparison.”
Lily tapped her chin with her finger, the fire on her head having died out. “Maybe it’s because he’s got super-strength. I’m sure that has perks in bed.”
I glared at her again. “Don’t even go there. I do *not* want that visual.”
She did a fake gagging as she replied. “Yeah, actually I don’t either.” She then unexpectedly ran her hand along my chest. I thought she was showing me affection until she pinched me *hard* with a glare. “This Freya situation better not turn into *you* having a side-chick, or else I’ll fry *your* ass!”
I smirked at her. “Trust me, you're a handful all on your own.” I then reached up to illustrate what I meant, causing her to grin and lean in for a kiss, reminding me again why being immortal wasn’t so horrible after all.
# Note: This is technically Part 11 of a popular series on my subreddit. Feel free to check out the rest of the series.
# [Part 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9b9r8n/the_daily_struggles_of_an_immortal_part_1/)
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9b9rnz/the_daily_struggles_of_an_immortal_part_2/) | [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9ba8j0/the_daily_struggles_of_an_immortal_part_3/) | [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9bczex/the_daily_struggles_of_an_immortal_part_4/) | [Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9be30w/the_daily_struggles_of_an_immortal_part_5/) | [Part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9beni5/the_daily_struggles_of_an_immortal_part_6/)
**Thanks for reading! I have a couple of popular stories regarding some recent prompts going on at my subreddit right now, if you want to check them out at** [r/AuthorKurt](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt)
| 2018-08-31T07:42:00 | 2018-08-31T07:30:06 | 73 | 29 |
[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess".
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Fire and Whispers
​
*‘Not again.’*
I dropped the basket of apples I had gathered and dashed back towards my tower. I furrowed my brow and reached out with my mind.
*‘Sidian, I’m coming*,’ I told my dragon.
*‘Hurry M’lady*. *These ones are strong*,’ Sidian thought back.
Normally the adventurers that came to face ‘The Great Beast’ were fledgling fools, gullible enough to believe my summer home was a ‘prison’ and that my pet was my ‘captor.’ Sidian rarely had trouble disarming and scaring them away, but this group was different.
I drew on my inner reserve of magic. “Haste,” I whispered. Wind whipped at my face, and my hair flailed like a cat-o-nine-tails as my speed tripled.
I sprinted out of the orchard and raced through the gardens in my back yard, leaping over hedges and dashing right through the fountain, b-lining towards the back of my tower.
Sidian’s mind reached out and touched mine. *‘I have been bested. I'm sorry M'lady. It has been an honor*.’ I didn’t take the time to respond.
Going around the tower would take too long. I drew on my magic again, and as I raced towards the back door, I extended my arms, throwing an explosive bolt of magical energy at the barrier. The wooden door erupted into pieces, and I closed my eyes briefly as I dashed through the cloud of splinters, and then raced through the main hall, sending the same spell towards the front door.
I exploded out the entrance to see my black dragon companion standing weakly, his head held low, wings torn. I couldn’t see the adventurers, but knew they were in front of him. I drew the two daggers I kept crossed at the small of my back as I raced towards Sidian, and upon coming up behind him, I leaned backwards and dropped to slide beneath him. As I came out from beneath his massive torso, I saw a great-sword wielding warrior poised to slice my dragon’s head off. As I sprang up in front of Sidian, I saw the warrior's face contort with confusion, but he was already bringing the sword down. I raised my daggers and crossed them, catching his blade between mine. My knees almost buckled from the impact, and had the warrior been striking at full force I might have fallen.
As it was, I managed to stop the blade an inch from my forehead. I sighed with relief, and felt the same from Sidian. His mind brushed mine. *‘Thank you*.’
After the relief came rage. The warrior before me was still bewildered, and stood dumbly. I pushed his blade away, raised my leg and kicked him in the stomach, sending him reeling backwards. Beyond the warrior, a bowman and a magic caster stood at the ready, confused and apprehensive. “What is the meaning of this!?” I demanded, seething.
But I knew it wasn’t their fault. Everyone that came to face my dragon was sent by the same being, a hooded man who spoke in whispers. I didn’t know why he wanted my dragon dead, nor did I know why he lied about me being captured.
Most of the hapless try-hards that came to ‘save’ me were useless, too trusting of their patron to have noticed anything suspicious, but these three seemed capable.
Perhaps they would have some answers.
​
r/TheCornerStories for more stories!
EDIT: Wooot! Thanks for the gold!
|
He comes forward, all clanking and shining steel.
In a defensive manner, he holds a shield before him, though I can see him tremble with each step he takes.
Sometimes they come in all charging and bloody zeal.
Other times they try some clever trap, or personal appeal to my own safety.
There's nowhere safer than here I say.
Here, in this cave, there's glittering quartz and cool pools to drink from.
No knights with lances at full tilt, charging into a horde of disorganized peasant boys and cutting them to pieces, then cheering and trampling the corpses like they've won some great victory.
No cunning viziers or intricate byzantine plots that require you to measure every word heard in court more carefully than the last. No whining sycophants or beggar kings, asking for more soldiers and wealth to expand already great demesne.
No great stone castle that seems to always be dark and dank and grim, with neither enough light nor enough warmth.
In here, it's just me and my dragon.
Here, it's just us ladies.
No grimy, sweaty men eyeing you with those detached leery grins. No political matches or courtly intrigue or bickering courtesans trying to bed the Lord or Lady who happens to grant them the most advantageous position.
No pretentious princes or swaggering bards, all intent on bringing you to some quiet alcove and wooing you to prove they can conquer even royalty.
Is it too much to be asked, to simply be left alone?
The idiot came alone, though men like to do that when proving that their valor must equal their stupidity.
I wonder how many callers today?
Cornflower rises from her resting position, her haunches heavily muscled. They don't see her the way I do. How mother had.
I can still remember when I was much younger, during the time no one seemed to mind the scrapes and mud on a little girl's legs that we'd go flying. Mother would point to the towns and castles we'd pass, giving names to things that resembled toys more than holdfasts.
A few dashes forward, and Cornflower extends her wings before flapping them a few times.
A warning gust.
If the boy knows what's good for him, he'll back away now.
But they never do. Never seem to teach giving up in the castle yards.
Though the gusts knock the knight on his back, making him look for one moment almost like a turtle flipped to its side, he brings himself to his feet again.
Still he advances.
Do I tell him to go back?
I could try, but it never works.
Cornflower's body is covered not in scales, but long and luminous blue feathers. Harder than steel, it's like a rippling of gems and light running all across her spine, and the mouth opens in a savage warning.
Smart girl, Cornflower. Kind girl, Cornflower. We understand one another.
Leave us alone, please.
We don't want to go home.
A sword, silver and brilliant, holds aloft. Daring challenge, and wonderfully brave I'd say, if anyone else was here to see or care.
Instead it's simple foolishness.
Cornflower dashes forward, far faster than you'd expect a beast of her size to move.
With a great curved claw, she means to swipe him back, injure him.
Ward him away.
Instead the claw cleaves through plate and ringmail beneath. A sudden squelch, moaning cry, and the hiss of hot blood on cold stone.
Another body to throw out the entrance, it would seem.
No other callers today, it'd seem. When I take the body past the cavern and into the sunlight, there's no line. No war tents or pavilions with banners waving in the sunlight.
"Good day, ma'am."
The voice comes from behind the trees, and a tall, slender gentleman with raven black hair and broad shoulders steps forward.
He's clad entirely in crimson leather, with a lovely sword at one side.
Full white teeth, wide, disarming smile.
"I've been told there's a princess and a dragon here. Am I correct?"
"That you are. Here to slay her?"
I can hear the venom in my voice, but I can't help it. Better to ward them off, and half the time no doesn't seem to mean no to them.
"Excellent," he says. Coming forward, he makes his way up the steep path to the cavern entrance.
"Shall we enter?"
His voice is jovial, almost conversational.
*Kind,* I think. *He's got a kind face. A joking man, the kind that tells the best stories at either brothels or taverns.*
*Not bad looking either, I'd say.*
Without so much as addressing me, he moves forward into the cavern, footsteps echoing into the dark.
As you enter the main chamber, a dim blue light emanates from mushrooms growing haphazardly in the upper corners of the cavern, bathing everything in a somber light.
Cornflower rises again, though the jaw drops immediately in a threatening gesture.
Please don't roast both of us, girl. I'm not in my usual vantage point.
He stops close to wear the knight died, and leans down, sliding a finger into the goop below.
Tutting his mouth, he tastes the blood, smacking his lips a few times.
"Man died here what, an hour ago? Two?"
It's the casual tone of a professional, and I don't like it.
"If you're here for me," I say, "I'm not interested in going anywhere."
"Good."
The word is flat and blunt, uncaring and dismissive. It's almost like I'm not here.
"I came here for her."
He walks forward, keeping a great distance between himself and Cornflower. From a pack on his back, he withdraws a boxish item. A long wooden handle extends. Strings on it. A lyre? No. Something else.
He plucks away at a soft melody, and watches Cornflower. No song, no words. Only soft music.
Cornflower sits, entranced. Watching intently, listening with great curiosity. Even her head seems to sway back and forth.
When he finishes, he steps closer.
"She's beautiful," he says. His voice seems deeper. Darker. Heavier.
"But she's trapped in there. Don't worry. I can help. I used to be like you."
Does he have a tail?
His back lurches in a horrifying manner, sending him on all fours.
*He's growing, changing, becoming something huge and monstrous,* I think.
But then I see the haunches. The crimson feathers. The rippling metallic glow and the great yellow eyes.
Another dragon, nearly twice Cornflower's size, approaches her slowly. They sniff each other like dogs, hulking beasts that inspect each other without malice. Curiosity, I'd say.
The crimson dragon begins to walk towards the entrance, his tail swishing back and forth.
Cornflower follows slowly at first, then looks to me.
*What do you want, pretty lady? To follow the man?*
Her eyes are pleading, her jaw opening and closing nervously.
She wants to go.
She wants to follow.
*Very well.*
*He came for his princess, I would say. Though it must not be me.*
"Be back by midnight, young lady," I say, imitating those authoritarian voices that boomed down on me as a girl.
They pad away, and with wings almost joined, they burst into the sky, circling each other in flight.
*I wonder where they're going?"* I think to myself, before returning into the cavern. A part of me knows, though. That bonded pact of lifeblood, where wings and claws extend to flesh and blood. There's a lost place, a soft place, far and away from here.
Cornflower's becoming difficult to see, masked by the blueness of the sky, though the Crimson beast circles by her.
Where are they going?
In an instant they shoot away, going to some ancient place that resides among moss and graveyards, the kind of place where people once lived and loved and fought but did so no more.
Perhaps there he'd teach her to be something else, less conspicuous, I'd say.
Maybe he'll convince her to stay with him.
Or perhaps they'll come for me.
The sun warms my face before I return to the cavern, prepared to wait.
*She'll come back for me,* I think to myself. *She has to.*
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato
| 2019-01-09T06:48:27 | 2019-01-09T06:33:48 | 1,257 | 159 |
[WP] When someone dies the person they cared about the most receives a notification. One day you're notified of a death, and it's a person you've never heard of.
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Spontaneous.
That's the only way I could explain it. Everyone around me from the guy sitting at the bench to the jogger down the street just began crying. I walked into the convince store confused.
Even the usually cheery cashier was frowning now and all activity within had slowed to a crawl as if some sort of aura of depression had covered the world. It was awkward but the clues were there and it didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on.
Someone named Mr Rogers had died and clearly the world was lesser for it. I received the notification of his death and by the looks of things, so did everyone else.
I had no idea who the guy was but he clearly thought the world of me and everyone else.
I grabbed my milk and paid for it. The cashier didn't even look up as I took the receipt and left the shop.
|
Cold.
In the lobby. In the tiny staircase you take to the cramped room with an obnoxiously long table. A room surrounded by urns and funeral cards and documents you can buy. Doesn't matter where you are in this place, it permeates and follows as an unseen companion.
All over. Cold.
I assume that's on purpose; to keep the bodies fresher, maybe. Prevent them from decaying any faster than necessary, at the very least.
Still, it's the middle of summer, hot as balls outside, and here I am, with goosebumps all over my body.
A lady is asking me for details I don't have. Date of birth, relation, social, preferred burial location. I don't know these, but I make them up the best I can. Had to do a big favor to get the social, but what am I going to do? Steal his identity?
He's dead. Dead, dead, dead. Cold and stiff and not so funny.
With one freezing hand I try to rub my forearms to stimulate any kind of heat.
The woman across from me wears a summer dress, but with an extra thick sweater on top. Still, all I can think about is how cold she must be. How cold everything and everyone in this place must be.
A crematorium, I think. They call them nice words like funeral homes and all that bullshit, but they're houses of the dead.
When I got my notification, I was on call. By on call, I was watching a little old man who knew a little too much leave his little apartment without looking behind him. Got the ping in my ocular device right after I pulled the trigger.
Blew a big hole through the front of his skull, and he slumped all over the trash he brought out. Banana peels and coffee grounds and all that shit. Someone would find him at some point, but frankly, cleanup was never my plan.
But on my visor, a name I'd never known.
Stephen Blackwood. Not an alias of any of my associates, no one I've worked with before, no one I recognize.
*Deceased. Relation - Father.*
Now that took the breath out of me. Normally you don't feel much; just cold and air and weather. It was like a little twinge. Someone I'd never met.
Someone I've never forgiven.
Walk out, sure. Disappear, fine. At least have a good excuse.
At least give me a reason.
I thought that maybe one day he'd come look for me, but that's the stupid, naive part of you.
Maybe I'd go and hunt him down instead.
*Hey look Pa, I turned out great, didn't I? Contract killer, for the big bad government. Pew Pew, never see me coming.*
Then I'd make some stupid joke about playing catch and shoot him right through the gut. Make it slow. Make it hurt.
So here I am. Freezing my ass off in a room for the chance to see a man I've never known.
Except he's dead.
He died alone, and cold I assume. In a room, in one of those dying places that no one ever likes to visit. An old folks home, where it just smells like decay. Bad luck, going to a place like that.
From what I could get from the caregiver, he hadn't known his name for quite awhile. But he asked about a boy.
Asked if he'd ever visit.
No idea who it was, and who it could have been.
Not my problem, and not his anymore.
I just want to see the body.
After filling out the documents the lady makes the customary 'sorry for your loss' and other condolence bullshit, and I nod and act very, very sad.
Am I sad?
Not really. I'm not anything. Not anything at all.
Except cold.
Down the hall, and he's on a plain white gurney, in a room that off-white eggshell color you see in every shitty apartment you've had to rent when times were down. Eating rice and beans, day in and day out.
There's black spots on his face. Liver spots? No. I can't tell.
His hair is whispy and white as snow, his nose long and pointed. Not like mine at all.
Wrinkled and old. Wrinkled and worn and tired. Tired is a good word for him. His mouth permanently stays open.
I walk to the gurney, and put a hand on his arms, folded across his chest.
There's something to say. You always have to say something, to get closure, to ask why he did what he did and why you do what you do.
But there's nothing to say.
He's dead. And cold.
Cold, cold, cold.
An absurd impulse, to kiss him on the forehead, to send him off with some kind of goodness takes hold of me.
But I ignore it. He had his shot. I presume.
I'll never know, will I?
Leaving the room, I walk down the stairs and make my way out into a sweltering summer day.
There's another ping on my visor.
A name.
An address.
A face.
A target.
Starting the car, I begin to pull out of an excessively bumpy parking lot, making a right onto a crowded street.
*So long, pops. Never knew you. Never will.*
They say when you're cremated, your entire body explodes from the heat, the eyes popping like little explosive jellies. I wonder if that's disrespectful.
Maybe it is.
Maybe it isn't.
In the car, burning and sweating, I still feel it.
The cold.
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r/storiesfromapotato for stuff from me, r/redditserials for stuff from others.
| 2019-06-10T19:20:53 | 2019-06-10T17:00:51 | 363 | 112 |
[WP] Everyone is assigned a guardian angel since birth, yours has always protected you albeit in violent and menacing ways. Until one day on your 18th birthday he reveals himself as a demon who was wrongly assigned as a guardian angel and became attached to you.
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I was confused as I saw my friends and family around me, frozen in time, cheers and song still on their lips. Even the smoke from the candle I had just blown out was still hanging in the air. But nothing was more of a surprise then the husk like being with nine horns and branch like limbs in the chair across from me.
"What-" The being put a creaking finger up. That noise sent a chill up my spine.
"You were expecting an angel. I used to be, centuries ago. I guess, somehow I was still in the register when you were born." That voice sounded like wind blowing from the black hole of a face, the glowing eyes somehow not filled with hate. "I would be surprised if I were you, too."
"Why did-"
"Why did I stick around?" It made a noise like a scoff. "I tried to eat you as a child. But you laughed at me. Not a hint of fear in your innocent eyes. I saw their plans for you, I told myself I would turn you into the antichrist and ruin their plans for you. I knew I was lying to myself even then." It laughed, crackling and bitter. "I saw that you were meant to die at the age of twelve for one of their... sacrifices." Thunder sounded and purple lighting ran across their face. It shook its head in disgust. It looked back at me.
"I should have known. The car when I was ten." It nodded. "It blew up, that guy nearly died." My voice shook.
"He was trying to kill you. His guardian angel was... failing him." It mumbled.
"The plates when I was three?" My voice was getting more confident.
"The shelf broke and the plates were going to land on you, I had to throw them across the room so they would miss you."
"And when my appendix burst?" It's fingers writhed as it hesitated with the answer.
"The restaurant you were going to that night had peanuts in the food, even though they lied and said they no longer served them. Your epi-pen was in the wrong bag, the blue one that you left at your friend's house the week before." I leaned back in my seat, amazed and confused.
"But... why? Why didn't you tell an angel? Or turn me to-" My voice was starting to rise.
"To the evil side?" It scoffed again. "You're not that special. And I'm not going to die by talking to those traitors. Did you want me to kill you now?" It snapped at me. I recoiled and it's glare softened. "My job is to punish the wicked, and I thwarted my siblings at every turn. Don't start being ungrateful now. You aren't special to them, just the right circumstance of birth and nothing more."
I rubbed my face and it tapped it's fingers on it's thigh.
"You're right." I finally said. "I'm sorry. You did protect me and I am grateful, even if it scared me. Fires tend to do that to a child. Got me out of that final though." I laughed awkwardly and so did the demon. "But I think you are lying to yourself when you say I'm not important to anyone." It stared at me, waiting for me to finish my sentence. "You are kind. To me. You love me. And even when I was scared and confused, even when others were afraid of me, I knew you cared. I've wished my entire life to understand you... and now I do." I grabbed the knife and cut a piece of the cake, handing it to the demon on a birthday plate. "Happy Anniversary."
It sat, staring at the plate for a long moment before it disappeared and life resumed. Frozen cheers and the final awful notes of 'Happy Birthday' rang out at last.
"To yooooou!" My family clapped and mom reached for the knife but it was already in my hands.
"What happened to the cake?" She asked as her smile twitched in concern and confusion.
"Nothing, Mom. Let's eat." I smiled. We cut up the rest of the cake for everyone to eat. From the corner of my eye, a small intricate box box sat near the other presents at the table. A symbol was carved into it that others may have mistaken for a sun, but what I knew was actually a nine horned figure.
Edit: Since this has been requested to be expanded upon, I am attempting to move this to a more story based subredit if I can. NoSleep was a bust.
|
The first time she made herself known, I was six. I’d just been kidnapped.
It’s the strangest, most startling feeling, the cloak of childish trust being whipped away by betrayal. My neighbor, a man who my parents were friendly with for years, invited me in for ice cream. He was a friend by all measures in my young mind. But he brought me down to the basement, dangling the promise of ice cream in front of me. It wasn’t a decrepit, concrete cavern; it was finished, the back room was an office. It just happened to have a deadbolt too high for me to reach.
The ice cream was given, as promised, but then he asked for something in return. He asked me to take off my clothes.
Most of this I don’t remember, as it was so long ago. Just the big moments, as what happens with any memories from your younger years. Maybe that’s a blessing, considering what followed. I remember feeling scared, trapped, recalling my parents talking about how if any adult asked something like this of me I was to tell them immediately. But I was a rat in a cage.
And then a woman appeared behind him, and he was startled. Her skin was a bruised red and she was scarred in various places, her eyes glimmered gold, and she wore clothes that were in tatters. She seemed to take control of the entire situation with simply her presence, calmly walking over to the door and unlocking it, opening it wide. And I vividly remember her saying, “Run home, Zoe. Go tell your parents what happened.”
Obeying the instructions immediately, as fast as my feet could carry me, I recall the echoes of screams from my neighbor, but only vaguely. Everything after that was just comfort from my mother, my father pacing furiously as he waited for the police to arrive. And as I sat in my mother’s lap, safe in her arms, soaking in her scent, I remember my father slowly crouching down next to us, no longer enraged.
At that age, I couldn’t decipher the emotion on his face, so I don’t know what it was. But I can guess, all these years later. I was told to explain what had happened to the police, and I did so. Down to the last detail. The looks on their faces were worried, which concerned me, but they placated me with assurances of adults who knew better. It was only years later I knew of the carnage they’d found at the scene of the crime in that basement.
I’d been saved, but my mother started me in aikido lessons the next day.
Still, I knew something was wrong with the way I’d described her. My assigned guardian angel looked different from the others. I found out later, discussing it with friends. They only appeared in the direst of situations, so only one of my schoolmates had met hers. She described the woman as having light blue skin, flowing dark hair, and wings the colors of an eagle that stretched across the room. But that was just one more anecdote, and so I didn’t know what was wrong at that point, especially only being six.
Then at ten, I slipped from a branch of a tree I had been climbing. I grazed another branch before landing easily in the arms of my savior. She gazed into my eyes with a sort of curiosity and bemusement, slowly placing me down on my feet, before vanishing. My mother had been watching me climb and when I saw her take in the appearance of my angel, it was pure horror.
But she’d pushed it aside. She’d come over to me, a gentle scolding, reminding me to climb carefully, there’s no hurry, and a broken leg is a harsh lesson to learn from such a common childhood activity. In her eyes I saw a hint of residual fear from my angel, but I didn’t question it. I simply went off to play once again.
Then at eighteen, out with my boyfriend at a party at someone’s home, we decided to make out on a bed of one of the residents. Things got hot and heavy, I took my shirt off as we made out, and he removed his. But as he started to undo his belt buckle, I shook my head. He grew disappointed, almost angry. Said he loved me, said he wanted this more than anything, that he’d brought a condom.
I gave in, following my fond thoughts of him, clinging to my attraction. Even as my mind rebelled. Even as I was tempted to pull back, to shove him away, I felt his grip tight on my arms as he lined kisses down my neck. Assuring myself that this was a natural state of things, that it was time, that I loved him too. That I must be just scared about my first time.
As his hands unbuckled my jeans and pulled them down to reveal what was underneath, my heart racing and my lower lip trembling, he suddenly flew back, slamming into the dresser opposite the bed. I startled, shoving myself back against the pillows on the bed and gazed up into her eyes.
My dark angel stared back and somehow, I knew she felt every drop of emotion flowing through me in that moment. She didn’t move, waiting for me to gather my dignity, redressing myself hastily, my hands shaking.
“What the fuck?” Adam rasped, fumbling back to his feet, clearly in pain. “What” His eyes widened at the sight of her, and he stumbled backwards a few yards. “What is that?”
“She’s my angel,” I whispered.
Adam’s eyes widened at me. “She doesn’t want you to have sex?”
I took in and let out two long breaths. “I didn’t want to have sex,” I muttered.
The look in his eyes shifted from confusion to comprehension to horror. “You…you were so scared that…”
“No means no.”
It was the second sentence I’d heard her quietly speak, her voice like razor blades slicing paper. She walked over to Adam, who took a step back for every one she took forward, until he hit the wall. And she grabbed him around the throat with a single hand, lifting him a few inches. Holding tightly. Too tightly. He struggled, wide-eyed, his gaze darting from her to me.
“No, stop it,” I managed. “Stop it!”
She obeyed, letting him collapse to the ground, wheezing through his bruised trachea. “Why?”
I slid my eyes down to my now ex-boyfriend. Maybe I should’ve let her hurt him. But she’d certainly already made him as scared as I had been. Perhaps that was sufficient justice. “You already did your job.”
At that, Adam managed to clumsily get to his feet and fled from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
“Don’t go.” My words were quick, knowing she always promptly disappeared once her job was done. She stayed, meeting my gaze again, her eyes sparkling that murky yellow, heavy with knowledge of things I was far too young to understand. “What are you?”
Her lips pursed as she stared at me, looking me over. “My name is Kasadya. I am a demon.”
My heart skipped a beat and my breath caught in my throat. “What?”
“It was a mistake.” She turned to fully face me, folding her arms. “But…I watched you, day in and day out as a newborn…and you were most curious. So fragile. Delicate. The way your eyes searched over everything, all of it new, all of it fascinating, was engrossing to me. I just couldn’t leave. And so, days passed, weeks passed, and I learned more and more of this world you lived in. Until that one day…”
I swallowed hard, memories flashing through my mind. “Did you want to kill Adam?” I whispered.
She shrugged. “Yes. Just as your father would have, I believe.”
The words were almost defensive, but far too literal. My father would have broken Adam’s nose and then put an arm around my shoulders, holding me close to his side and guiding me away with quiet reassurances. And if I had had the nerve to stand up to Adam myself, I would have easily gotten away, not even needing to make use of the most basic of the aikido I’d been training in for the past twelve years. But Kasadya, she wanted more. She wanted to rip him to shreds, to stomp on his chest until it caved in, to tear his head from
I blinked, averting my gaze from hers. It was all so clear in her eyes. It was frightening. And at the same time, just as she’d described looking into my eyes as an infant, engrossing. We stood there as the silence stretched before finally, I spoke again. “If I were to get into…more severe trouble, you will always be there, right?”
“Always.”
“Because there are some humans that are monsters. They use their angels to conquer and to destroy. Would you be interested in facing them down, if you needed to protect me from them?”
Kasadya cocked her head curiously and blinked once, slowly. “That sounds…quite appealing.”
/r/storiesbykaren
| 2021-05-23T15:52:49 | 2021-05-23T15:47:47 | 1,240 | 172 |
[WP] Every cop in the precinct has been paid off by the mob. But every cop thinks they are the only dirty officer and the rest are clean.
|
The man marched Vintoni up the stairs and into the precinct. He held Mr. Vintoni by the zip tie fast around his hands and hauled him up to the police clerk desk. He had always carried a zip tie around just in case civil duty should ever summon him as it did fifteen minutes earlier.
"I'd like to make a citizens arrest."
The clerk stared, as did several officers nearby. Finally, the clerk snapped out of it. "Okay. What do we have?"
"I found this man to be in possession of two to three grams of marijuana... not to say I'd personally know- I kind of just equated it to cooking measurements."
"Thank you sir. You've done a service to your community. We'll take it from here." The clerk led Mr. Vintoni through the precinct. Vintoni's brow furrowed lower with each new badge carrier he saw. There were panicked looks and incredulous stares from all officers. Some tried to conceal their faces behind computers or buried in folders, watching in futility as their main source of income was being detained.
The clerk, catching a moment in the hall past the other officers, leaned in and whispered, "I'm very sorry about this Mr. Vintoni. Believe me, it's just a formality. You'll be out of here in no time."
--------------
Vintoni sat at the table with arms folded. His upper lip was raised at the corner and his eye twitched slightly as he watched the detective pacing and avoiding any direct eye contact.
An officer stepped in with a steaming plate of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and a glass of orange juice. He set the breakfast in front of Vintoni and then clasped his hands together. "Anything else I can get you Mr. Vintoni? Fresh coffee? More syrup?"
"That'll be all Briggs," the detective said, dismissing him. Briggs closed the door behind him and the detective turned to Vintoni. "Sir. I can't begin to explain my regrets of what happened here today-"
"Save it detective. Just get me the hell out of here."
"That's the thing, Mr. Vintoni. I'm so sorry. We have to make it look like we're detaining you. Don't worry. You'll be out of here before you know it."
----
The lawyer wiped sweat from his brow and looked at the judge, who seemed to share his nervousness. He approached the bench, where Mr. Vintoni sat, his eye twitching with greater intensity.
---
The guard led Vintoni down the row of cells, whispering assuredly, "So sorry sir. It's just a formality. You'll be out of here in no time." His eyes were bloodshot and twitching with rage.
----
The guards, both with worried faces, led Vintoni into the padded room. They tossed him in. One cast an apologetic and pleading look before shutting the door.
----
Mr. Vintoni marched angrily down the hot, cracking land bridge that ran through the lake of magma. He addressed the demon following closely behind him. "Get me out of here."
The demon gulped. "Sorry sir. There's too many prying eyes. We have to keep the status quo for now."
|
Steven Groen, newest addition to the 84th Precinct, nodded obediently and made the right noises at the appropriate times, but in truth he was barely registering what his Corporal was saying.
After all, it was taking every ounce of his concentration to sneak lightning glances at the burner phone tucked away in his right trouser pocket without alerting his Corporal. The message was coming in any time now, and if he missed it…
“Say, Steven, this neighbourhood’s as peaceful as it’s gonna get. There’s other places to be.”
“No,” said Steven, dancing between suspicious insistence and diligent concern. “I’ve heard reports they dealing out here, let’s keep cruising for a while longer.”
His Corporal shrugged and continued driving, and Steven heaved a silent sigh of relief. No, he couldn’t afford to miss the message, not now, not with Delilah’s birthday on the weekend and his promise of a big present for her still echoing in her ears.
And the price to pay was so small! Just watch for our message, they said, then head to that building to do a spot check. That’s all. And if you find any bad men, why, you’ll be making our streets safer! And we’ll be grateful, of course… say, one thousand dollars grateful?
Steven was smiling to himself, lost already in the sweet embrace of future-Delilah when the phone vibrated conspiratorially. Steven took a deep breath, and reminded himself that anyone else in his position would have done the same.
“Hey man, let’s check out that building. I think I read a report recently, said something about gang activity there.”
“Sure. Pizza and beer on you if there’s nothing.
---
Mickey Ratter, Corporal and mentor for the month for all the new Patrolmen fresh out of the academy, clicked off his radio as Steven pressed the two handcuffed thugs against the wall and read them their rights.
And of course they were thugs, thought Mickey as the corners of his mouth curled up in a condescending smirk. Could two young honest ethnic men afford an apartment this nice? Surely not!
“Corporal, I’ve read them their rights. What now?”
“Take them down to the patrol car. We won’t be needing backup here.”
“You not coming, Corporal?”
Mickey laughed. “What, you think that little bit of blow they had on them was all there is? They’re dealers, boy, and there’s going to be shit more where that came from. I’ll look around, find their stash. Go on, wait for me downstairs.”
Alone in the apartment, looking at the flatscreen TV, the expensive sofa set, Mickey felt the rage surge up in him again. What world was this where the good men (like him) could barely afford to make ends meet, and where drug dealing scum (like them) could afford the good things in life?
It’s not fair, thought Mickey as he retrieved the little satchets of the good stuff from his pocket. No way I’m going to let them walk free just cause they were smart enough to hide their stash well, thought Mickey as he stuffed them into the lining of the sofa.
When he was done, Mickey felt a warm glow of satisfaction spread through him. A real two birds one stone day, he thought. How many cops can say they put away drug dealers, and got paid a bonus by the rival dealers at the same time?
---
Nancy Valesquez, resident old-timer Sergeant at the 84th Precinct, stared disinterestedly at the scumbag sitting opposite her. Snot was running down his nose as he pleaded his innocence and begged for his parents.
The cameras were on, so Nancy returned to jotting down brief notes and asking the series of questions she had already memorized years ago, when she was herself a fresh face on the force.
Nancy smiled at that brief retreat into the better years of her memories. She remembered her first collar, a snatch-thief who was not as fit or determined as she was. She remembered her first promotion, when her superiors saw the leadership potential brimming in her. She remembered her first proper holiday in years, when she was ordered to take time off so she could get married.
“Please, mam, I didn’t do anything, I swear! It was just weed, my brother and I were just messing around, that’s all! None of the other stuff is ours, I swear!”
The perp’s desperation oozed through his insipid whining, and it was all that was needed to throw Nancy off her narrow trail of good memories.
Suddenly, she also remembered the worse years of her memories, which seemed to weigh so much more heavily. Her first pregnancy, her first beating at the hands of her husband, her first reaction when she realised he had taken all their savings and disappeared… her first time having to stop by the welfare kitchen just so she could feed her family.
A flash of anger burned through Nancy’s heart. She was a survivor, goddammit, and if all it took was a little bending of the rules so that she could get enough to make a better life for her children, then she bloody well would be the first in line.
Nancy stood up, walked over to the corner of the room, then fished out her baton and edged the camera just a little, not too much, until the tiny blind spot on the video feed enlarged sufficiently to obscure what was to come next.
And they never expected what was to come next, thought Nancy as she gripped her baton in a combat stance. No one ever expected the female sergeant of using force on uncooperative witnesses.
---
Matthew Burning, Captain of the 84th Precinct, shut off the lights in his office and locked the door behind him. His step was light, his heart was singing.
Who knew a single call from the Commissioner would have put him in such good spirits? Matthew was a professional who prided himself on running a tight ship, but he felt too that he had outdone himself in the past few months.
“Your arrests are up, the convictions are sticking,” the Commissioner had practically serenaded, “don’t get too comfortable, one of these days you’ll be headed out and up!”
There were days when his conscience niggled at him, poking its head out from its hiding place to ask just how well Matthew knew his beloved Precinct. “Have you personally checked your subordinates’ case files recently,” it would say, admonishingly, “or reviewed the logs for the evidence room? Or perhaps looked a bit closer into all the complaints that come in? You can’t just leave everything to Nancy, you know, you’re the Captain here. Was this what they taught you at the Academy?”
So it was that the Captain, distracted and wrestling with his inner demons, bumped into the young Patrolman in the parking lot. The Patrolman’s phone went crashing to the asphalt, skittering away. Matthew leaned down instinctively to retrieve the phone, and when he held it in his hands, the vestiges of his police training kicked into gear.
Was this a phone that was issued to policemen? Why was there a message from an unidentified number saying that the two young men in Apartment 3A had to be arrested? Why the subsequent reply of thanks, and a compliment for a job well done, along with a drop location for a cool thousand dollars?
Matthew looked up into the blanched face of the Patrolman, who had seemingly frozen before him.
And Matthew thought then of the Commissioner’s praises, the regular bonus checks from mysterious sources which were going towards that new yacht he was eyeing, and the short year ahead before he was rotated out and up.
“Careful there, young man. This is yours, I believe?”
“Sir, yes, Sir, sorry about that, Sir. May I have my phone back, Sir?”
“Of course. Here you go. Have a nice evening, you look like you’ve worked hard for it.”
“Sir, thank you, Sir.”
As the two parted ways under the darkened hues of the night sky, as young and old swam in opposite directions in the same, shallow pond, the cycle spun on, and continued as it had for too, too long.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2017-02-06T08:28:10 | 2017-02-06T07:56:02 | 214 | 50 |
[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.
|
About twenty years ago the rules changed, when the world became over populated and crime was at an all time high. The UN decided to do something to allow every person on the planet to legally kill one person, in a way becoming their own law.
It took a day to wipe out the entire government in the united states the president and everyone serving under him were gone. Like a coup but on a massive scale. More politicians died in a matter of hours. Until there was no government. Some of the richest people died along with them.
Tess woke up from the sound of her alarm. She had to get to work she was working at the local grocery today. Things had changed in the few short years the new laws were made. A person could legally kill one person in their life time. She never really thought she would use it.
She got up, made food for herself and set off to work. Money didn’t really exist anymore. There was a new system set in, since the main government was gone and money didn’t really mean anything anymore, since the country was trillions in debt when this all started anyways. Now you worked for the things you bought. Put in your time for how much they cost. She was paying off a new phone so that would take one weeks of 8 hour shifts to work. Buying last night which in the old times would have cost roughly a hundred dollars would cost her a day of work. It seemed like a never ending cycle but it was a good system so far and people brought themselves together to help each other and work for others. The old couldn’t do a lot of work but they made food for people and sold that, or made clothes and blankets, babysat children, anything to pitch in. it had been a good move for the elderly, they didn’t have to work so hard when their bodies didn’t allow it.
Her life wasn’t that hard either. She was luckily taken in by a pretty woman named Lucy who took in a lot of the poor like herself. They lived and worked together, it was cheaper and safer that way. Of course people could always turn on you but here, they hadn’t yet. They served the lady who served them and made their own food, ran their own land, and served each other and no government.
They all protected each other and Lady Lucy who had given them such a good life. And that’s how she lost her token. Her free kill protecting another person. Protecting Lucy, for she was starting to rise to her own power, and raised quite a following. She wasn’t a person of power per say but she tended to her people with kindness and they raised around her as her shield. That’s were Tess found herself willingly turning in her token and killed someone who threatened to taker her care away. She did it in hast and without any skill, but she couldn’t live out there alone and unprotected especially now without a token. It was a vicious circle, but now Lucy owed her a favor and Tess needed the peoples protection.
|
"Here's your pay for today." - said Natasha.
"I said I will take it by the end of the week, didn't I?" - I replied, shoving the books back into my bag.
"Yeah, buy you look kind of sloppy. Could do a haircut."
"Thanks, but I like it this way."
"Suit yourself then." - she shrugged.
As I passed through the door, she called out to me.
"Josh!"
"What now?"
"Could we move our schedule to tomorrow night? I have a test the day after."
"Sure." - I said without thinking about it.
Natasha was a girl I was tutoring. She was the kind that smokes and drinks in her teen. Drugs? Maybe, she used to sell them. Natasha often told me she had killed a man or two, but I never believed her. Anyway, she was the kind you would expect to drop out of highschool with a pregnant belly.
Things changed since the new law was passed. I don't know who created it, perhaps some guys under the stress of making a new regulations? The prisons are overcrowded? Some criminals right activists? Either ways, Natasha came clean after that. She said she liked doing dangerous things because they were illegal, to feel the adrenalin rushing in your veins, to see the surprised look on her victims' face as she slice their throats. Now everybody is as much prepared to be gunned down on the street, 'like a B-rate horror film that relies on scare-jump', she said. So, she decided to do something nobody would expect her to: getting into college. Natasha was interested in psychology. 'Sound likes something I cannot undetstand'. She wanted a thrill in her life.
"What's the matter, Josh? Are you in this or not?" - Steve pulled me back from the train of thought.
"No!" - I exclaimed. - "I'm right here."
"You don't seem to be focused." - Steve scolded, but he soon dismissed me - "Let's go over the plan again. Robert's gang is gonna hang out on the hill tonight. All five of them. We will go by my car. Stop at the foot of the hill, sneak up behind them, and we strike."
We pulled out our guns, two each, checking them one last time. Tonight I was going to use my kill.
Robert and his gang are your everyday bullies. He picked on we 'nerds', that's his term only. He picked on whoever he wanted to. And the new law just give him a stronger grip on the whole school. We gave him our money with a smile, licking his boots with a smile, plunging our own head into the toilet with a smile,... I thought I could handle it, until I was old enough to get away, really far away, from them. But it all ended when Robert snapped Mr. Howard's, my favorite teacher and the one who was going to write me a recommendation letter, neck in front of the class. What Mr. Howard did? He asked, politely, that Robert put his feet down from the table.
You can say that with his one kill gone, Robert power would lessen. But a man like him knows a lot of people outside school, people more used to the stench of blood, and these day accidents aren't rare.
So Robert and his gang aced all their tests when we tasted Ds and Fs busting our asses off studying. The only place that recognized our talents just denied us, our only hope of getting far away from Robert was lying under his thump. We couldn't endure it anymore.
It was a night of full moon and no wind. We stuffed ourselves in Steve's second- second-second-second- hand car. Couldn't help it, you get a car too new, they are going to steal it. Halfway through the machine broke down, we ended up walking to the hill, hoping that they would still be there when we arrived.
We were a team of five. Me, Steve, Nash, Kevin, Rodger. Five against five, with a surprise advantage. Once we had 'slayed the beasts', as Kevin said, we would split the kills evenly between us, returning home as heroes.
We hid behind some bushes, wearing the cloaks created by us and conceived by us, those that absorb light fairly well and keep us hidden. There five of them, along with some girls.
"What do we do now?" - Nash said panickedly - "We didn't account for this!"
"How about we go home?" - Rodger grasped, his asthma acting up.
"Yeah... I think my stomach is hurting." - Kevin added.
"No!" - Steve hissed. - "We've prepared for this for weeks. The guns, the cloaks,... We must kill them all."
"Even the girls?" - I asked.
"Even the girls." - Steve's eyes flared up in hatred. - "We will become heroes. Then, we can ask some of the school to cover up for us."
"That's sound nice. I can ask Alice to share us her kill." - Rodger turned enthusiastically all of the sudden. Alice is his sister.
"I can ask Oswell too." - Nash agreed.
"So we are in this." - Steve ordered.
"Yeah!" - we spoke in union.
"3...2...1... Go!"
The five of us dashed forward. I, however, tripped over the root of a nearby tree, planting my face in the dirt. As I got up, I heard gunshots, the girls screaming, and men roared. How do you like us now, Robert? I jumped out, fumbled on my feet, the guns in my hands....
....only to see the dead bodies of my friends.
"There's still another one, guys!" - said Robert, himself holding a firearm.
"Damn those bastard!" - Lil' Johnny cursed, his leg bleeding. He was the only one we managed to hurt. - "Damn that bitch too, runnin' off like that. What does she think? I can't handle these trashes?"
"You've gotta admit, Chloe got a fine ass." - there was Frankie, with a bloodstained cigarette in his mouth and a knife in his hand.
"Call her back now." - commanded Robert. - " I don't want her to call the police. And she hasn't used her kill yet, right?"
"I'm callin'." - said Johnny, one hand holding his wounded leg - "Virgin or not, she's not worth it."
"What will we do with you now?" - Robert smiled sadistically, pointing his gun at me.
I stumbled and fell, holding my head in fear. Closing my eyes, I hoped it would be quick.
And it was quick. With some screams.
When I opened my eyes again, Natasha was standing there in a pool of crimson. The bodies laid next to her, her red fuild dripping off her knife.
"Wha...Wha..." - I was speechless.
"You seemed to be distracted lately, but your notes were too detailed. You even give me books. Makes me think you were trying to tie up loose ends. Is that the term?" - she said casually, walking toward me and extended her arm. - "And you hid the guns terribly."
I stood up, still not processing the events.
"Tha... Thank you." - I stuttered, before noticing a large stain on her arm, much redder than others. - "Are you... Are you hurt?"
"Tis' but a scratch." - she chuckled at the reference, I did not. Her smile got fainter as we heard sirens nearby. - "And I was looking for our session tomorrow. Go now, I don't think the girl had seen you yet."
"But... I... What about you?"
She looked at me with a grin, licking her wound sensually, before kissed me with those tender, bloody lips.
"I'm a killer, not you."
Natasha pushed me off the hill, the impact lessened due to the bushes. I think I got a glimpse of her mind now. There was nothing more thrilling than love.
Natasha stood there grinning. She painted the moon red.
| 2017-12-03T11:12:22 | 2017-12-03T09:41:22 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell.
|
St Peter drops his pen in surprise. “I’m sorry?”
I look back. “I said, I choose Hell.”
“Son, do you know what they do to you in Hell?” St Peter asked. “They beat you, and torment you, and burn you in anguish until the end of time.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
St Peter sits back in his chair. He looks down at his desk, squints his eyes, then looks back. “Why do you choose Hell?”
“Sir,” I start, shuffling my feet, “I’ve gone through a lot in my time on Earth. I’ve suffered through a childhood that neglected me. My upbringing was sometimes a matter of life or death at home and at school. I joined the service for a worthy cause...”
St Peter puts his hand up to stop me. “You joined the service after your childhood? Are you a glutton for punishment?”
“No sir”, I explain, “I saw a worthy cause, and for the first time, I took it.” St Peter leans in, “What was it like?”
“I had good times, and I had bad times.” I lower my eyes, remembering my time on Earth. “I watched men kill, and be killed. I’ve lost friends, and I have sent men to their deaths.” My eyes start to well up in tears. “For that...just for that...I deserve no peace.”
I look back at St Peter as a tear falls from my eye. St Peter stands up, and hugs me. The first real hug I’ve gotten in a while. It felt weird to hug another man, but almost as if it was an automatic response, my arms fly around his body and I pull him in a tight embrace. We were there for what felt like eternity.
We finally stop hugging and I wipe tears from my eyes, nervously chuckling for crying. St Peer opens his giant golden book, signs something, then closes it. A golden gate opens up behind him as he puts his arm around me and leads me to it.
“Here, in Heaven, you will know peace.”
“Sir, I don’t know how to live in peace.”
I look back at him as he takes his place behind the Book of Life. “You will learn, soldier.”
You will learn.
|
"Wait so you mean I literally get to pick?" I said to St. Peter at the immaculately kept gates. The gold would make a tacky American oligarch hard enough to cut it. "No, yeah so ever since God invented opiates.. things have gone.. downhill..", he replied while eyeballing the ground. "So is it even worth picking heaven? What is it like inside?" Peter replied, "Well it's hard to say. I just got this message from the boss this morning. He creates opium just this morning and by noon he's shooting carfentanil into his arms. It's pretty wild. I see where Jesus gets his wine problem from. You're actually the first guy who gets to pick since God cleaned himself up after inventing booze. I don't know how long this bender will last."
I was confused. "Opium has been around for ages, hasn't it?" St. Peter replied, "Do I really have to explain this fucking shit to you?!" He lit up a Marlboro and continued. "Obviously God didn't create the world and universe in a few Earth days. Each day to him was an entire era for your dimension." That piqued my curiosity, having been a physicist in my life. "So, what is the deal with the universe anyway? Multiple dimensions? Hidden ones? How close were we to the truth or the next huge discovery?" I wanted to know *everything*.
"Dude, I don't know. Do I look like a fucking nerd to you? Just fucking pick heaven or hell. Oh my God I'm so fucking done with this job. I'm not even putting my two weeks in." He angrily replied. "What's hell like in comparison?" I asked. "HELL IT IS", he yelled in a thunderous echoing boom as he spread his wings and flew off, but not before dropping a hot load much like a bird would onto the Welcome to Heaven sign. Some of the lights were out on it already so it sort of fit.
I had never had the chance to go skydiving in my years on earth. This wasn't my chance either however. I was shot instantly up into the sky toward what seemed to be more clouds. I guess gays do go to hell because the interior design here is fucking *terrible.* They seemed to be clearing out a little bit now and a red cavernous ceiling complete with stalactites and terrifying imagery of torture that appears to be painted by one of the renaissance greats. Maybe a collaboration of all of them? But also Picasso? I was never an art buff. As I approached the ceiling I braced for impact but I was met with more of a soft sand texture and drawn through it until my head peaked out of the surface.
"Hey"
"Hi?" I replied while taking in the awful scenery I was met with.
I noticed the red. Everywhere. Fire, in every direction! Lava was flowing out of.. a.. "Is that a water fountain?"
"It's a lava fountain, my dude. Pretty sweet, right?"
The fire, it wasn't running wild either. Nobody was being engulfed by flames. They were cooking burgers on a flaming grill. There were roses covering the grass beneath them on the rolling hills for miles in any direction.
"Are you going to ask for help? Most people need help getting the rest of their body out of the sand." The man said to me.
"I could use a hand I suppose"
I almost immediately recognized him, although he doesn't look anything like the paintings. "Jesus?" I said, questioning everything I thought I knew about Catholicism.
"Yeet!! Hit this shit real quick. It's called God's Vagina back on earth but that's fucking gross. My dad has a dick and I know because I've unfortunately seen it too many times when he's piss drunk. I call it, Jesus' Wheezus' ".
"I am so confused", I confessed for the first time since first confession. "Lemme break it down for you real quick" said Jesus, bong in hand. He paused for about three seconds before he started dancing.
After a solid minute of that, he popped his shades up and my eyes met his red glossy eyes.
"What were we talking about?" He said, lighting his bowl that somehow still had greens on top of it. Through a cloudy exhale, he said in a low breathy voice "You know how hotel bibles just show up at hotels? You know how they have decent paper inside them to roll joints? I did that shit", then forcefully released the rest of the breath.
I was a marijuana user in life but never this heavy. Never full on stoner identity like Jesus. The long hair they hit right on the head in the paintings. He was more Middle Eastern looking than the white Christians like to admit. Hell, Korean jesus looks a little more accurate than what I was used to where I lived.
"Bro, you eye fucking me or what?" He asked
"I uhh,"
He interrupted, "Dude chill, I'm fuckin with ya! I don't care what you do, free love man! It's my dad who's against all that stuff." I was starting to see where the problem with hell was. Not the open attitude toward homosexuality, that was great by me. It was just this fucking guy. Bro of all bros. Brosiah himself. His bowl is always packed and fresh with green buds and yet he hasn't offered any, or when he did he didn't actually hand any over. "Can I hit that?" I asked, needing to cool down a bit. "I totally would but I'm almost out and I need this for my lower back pain and anxiety." He said. "But it doesn't seem to be running ou-"
"SOO grand tour, huh? This is my smash pad.." He said holding his arms out "..ahah I smash everywhere here. These ho's are ready for it bruh."
I fucking hate Jesus.
"Do I get a room? I could use some rest."
Jesus answers, "*Do I get a room? I could use some-* BRUH you just got here don't you want to turn up! Fucking pussy."
"Whatever man, you're a tool." I said to Jesus as I turned and walked away.
"WAIT!" He said with a raised and desperate tone. "Want to hit this?"
"Nah" I said eyeballing a vast field of marijuana in the distance.
"Bruh, I can call up this Mary ho and we can both smash, I'ma send a dick pic, pulls yours out too" he insisted.
"I'll pass" I said noticing the high end brothel conveniently placed next to the marijuana farm.
Jesus sat down on a rock and looked broken. I was done with his shit though so I trucked onto the farm, picked some buds and went to the brothel. When I arrived, I was greeted by a beautiful woman who told me to enter and there was no fee. As soon as I walked in I was hit by the wall of marijuana smoke. I was just here for marijuana and information but seeing these beautiful women I noticed I was beginning to consider it.
"What's the deal with Jesus?" I asked the bartender. "He just tries so fucking hard to reclaim those glory days with his 12 disciples. They stayed in heaven and I don't know man he's just trying too hard. Welcome to Hell though, my name is Lucifer."
| 2018-08-13T09:22:44 | 2018-08-13T06:40:49 | 115 | 54 |
[WP] Like Spider-Man, you have a built-in "danger sense", but instead of alerting you of danger, it stops time around you until you're out of danger. One day, time stops suddenly, and as usual, you tried to move until time continues again, but after an hour of walking, time is still frozen.
|
She walked for a block. Then two. Then ten. Time remained still as a stone. Around and around she spun, looking for threats, but none showed themselves.
Then, she looked up.
How had her sense not acted sooner?
Above the city, spanning horizon to horizon, was a blur. One would easily miss such a spectacle if they didn't take a skyward glance. The clouds were misshapen. They stretched unnaturally at odd angles. The moon was partially visible, though it was more a smear than what she'd recognize as the moon. Something incomprehensible large and almost completely invisible, hung in the sky.
"Fascinating!" A voice said.
She jumped. Had she imagined that?
"Really, it is truly incredible." The voice was masculine, but proper and posh.
She spun but could see nobody who wasn't stuck in time.
"Do you see it?"
"Where are you," she finally asked.
"Oh, that's hardly relevant my dear. Take a look up!"
"Yeah, I got that. Show yourself."
And then he did. He just... Appeared. A man, about her age by her estimation, with flowing brown hair and an elaborate suit. He was rather handsome and she tried not to let that distract her.
She blinked more than a few times to make sure she wasn't losing it.
"Oh yes, I'm absolutely real," he said. He pointed up. "Do you see that?"
"What in God's name is it?"
"Do you want short and sweet answer? Or the two hour, forty five minute, thirty eight second answer?"
A smile crept over her lips and she suppressed it. She shook her head. "Just tell me what it is."
"Death." There was a long moment of silence as the two of them stared up. "In my world, a similar fate befell my people. An incomprehensibly large object of unknown origin just-" he gestured angrily at the blur, "-shows up. No warning. It reveals itself to be a massive bubble, meant to suffocate the planet. At first you don't notice, but soon the temperature begins to drop. Then people notice. Then people panic. Then there's chaos as nations war to hoard resources. Then the planet cools further, and everyone freezes anyway."
"How do we stop it?"
We are similar, you and I. We can sense danger, and time relitave to us stands completely still when it happens. My abilities are far more advanced than than yours, but with training you'll go far. I can help you with that. But as for-" he jerked a thumb up, -"THAT, there is no stopping it."
The charming smile he'd had on for the entire exchange suddenly disappeared and he made direct eye contact with her. "We need to run."
|
I sat there for 10 minutes in the frozen world, waiting, looking. With a power like mine, patients was a valuable asset to winning fights, but to be honest, I was a bit of a procrastinator.
After the first few superhero battles, they get a little tedious, and once my stupid self realized that I could stay frozen for as long as I was in danger, well, I took my time.
So there I was, sitting still, staring into Amy’s sea green eyes. She still had a bit of a smirk from the joke I told her moments before my power kicked in. I always loved that smirk, and the laugh that came before, oh that laugh.
This was meant to be our first lunch date in 7 months but felt like longer with my power. It was even longer still since I took her to a place with white table cloths, china dishes, and fancy music, so maybe a year since we were here last. I convinced her to where her classic emerald colored dress. She always liked trying new things, whether that be foods, events, or fashion, but this time she let me win, in exchange for me to wear my blue tie. It was worth it, seeing her in that dress, especially worth it now that I know the truth.
Time didn’t usually freeze like this, not when I was out of costume, at least since I first got my power, and especially not on this side of town, if we’re not counting the apocalyptic attack 10 years ago by Zeus (long story). The problem with moving too much, was that it could put me out of danger, which was fine if I was in the middle of a fight, and no people were near. The problem was, when there we’re people around, they could be in danger as well. Moving could be deadly, and I especially couldn’t risk anything with my wife across the table from me. I had to be carful.
I started with movements, a twitch of the finger, a head nod. I stood up, keeping my position between Amy and the door. I stepped aside and stepped back. Nothing. No bullet broke glass. No fire balls or ice spikes came hurtling in. After that, I felt comfortable moving. Slowly, I explored the restaurant. I checked under every table and in every back room for a bomb, or something equivalent. I patted down the dinner guests, waiters, and cooks. I even checked to make sure there wasn’t a gas leak. After a couple dozen more safety checks and a thorough once over, I felt safe stepping outside.
The high noon light shined down upon business men and woman frozen mid walk. A woman with a stroller was in the middle of tucking her baby snuggly into the blankets. I got to work and traveled around the block, and then through the city. Nothing, not even a second of time passed. Could it be a nuke a millisecond from blowing up the entire city? Maybe Dreadfell, the shade bringer, had picked my city this time.
I was in the middle of considering another city-wide thorough check when I first felt the signs. It started with a headache, then blurred vision, I even lost my balance a few times. Over time more symptoms set in. I got some ice cream, leaving cash at the stand, and headed to the library.
With time frozen, computers and phones didn’t really have the time to send the electrical signals needed for me to use them, but I could still turn pages. It took a little too long for me to find the right book, a little embarrassing for a guy in his 30s. I left my ice cream floating in the air, taking a lick every few minutes. I didn’t really have to worry about it melting. Looking through symptom, after symptom, I found what I was looking for, at least I think I did. It’s never a good idea to self diagnose, but with it matching up this well, and my power telling me I was in danger, I couldn’t ignore it. I took a breath.
Based on what the book said, and what the other books I double checked with after said, I was dying, likely due to brain cancer or something similar. I guess I’ll never really know for sure.
I didn’t believe it at first. I spent the first few weeks crying, punching walls, yelling at random people on the street. I prayed. I asked for my power to go away. I even went to that old Methodist church to do it, but I guess God said no. I spent the next few weeks silent. I didn’t talk to any frozen people. I didn’t even talk to myself. I read some more books , and wandered for some time, thinking.
I don’t remember how many laps I took around the city, visiting all my favorite people and places.
I visited my childhood friend Amos, sat in is cubicle. He looked so board I couldn’t help but laugh every time I visited him.
I visited the apartment I grew up in with a single mom and two siblings.
I visited them too. They all lived somewhere else now.
I visited my best friend Pyrus in his full medieval suit of armor, mid-leap between two buildings chasing his arch nemesis. I eventually found a long enough pole to reach him with and nudged his flaming sword so it blocked an ice spike hurdling toward his head.
I visited a few more of my fellow heroes, but I couldn’t find them all. All of them went about their adventurous lives, some in and out of costume.
I visited my home. My youngest son, Thomas, being held up high by my brother in law, Brent. The baby’s little chubby cheeks were spread wide in laughter. I new from that frozen image that Brent would be a great help to Amy when I’m gone.
I visited my daughter Jesse. it was her first day of preschool. She looked so nervous, but I could tell she was exited.
I visited my oldest Noel in the middle of recess. She looked so much like her mother with those green eyes. The basketball she had thrown hung in the air midway between Noel and the basket, but I knew she would make it. I might have made sure of it with a little nudge in the right direction.
But most frequently of all, I visited Amy, with that smirk, those eyes, and that emerald colored dress. Sometimes I sat and stared. Other times I stroked her hair, and wondered what thought went through her head at that exact moment in time. I wondered what she thought about before, and what she would think about after.
And I’m writing this all down because I want everyone to know what happened to me and how it happened and that it was a good life. It was a fulfilling life. I wouldn’t have traded any frozen or unfrozen moment in time for anything.
I leave this letter with you Amy along with another just for you and letters for our kids. I also left letters on all of the people who touched my life in such amazing ways. Pyrus’s letter was especially difficult to get to him, but I figured it out.
But just in case the letters aren’t enough, tell Thomas that I hope he grows to be an amazing man. Tell Jesse to be brave, and to remember that if her daddy can face off against monsters, so can she. Tell Noel to be strong and that strength means it’s okay to be weak sometimes.
Amy, I know it will be hard without me, but I have faith that you can do it. I know you can. I know there are loving people ready to help you the moment you need it.
I love you Amy. I’ve loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you. I thank God for meeting you and for meeting our kids through you.
Sorry for eating all the bread. I love you.
Yours Truly,
Jason Sanders A.K.A. Tempus
Edit: spelling, grammar, and structure
| 2020-11-12T11:44:26 | 2020-11-12T11:31:11 | 19 | 12 |
[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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\#21904. That used to be my name, three days ago, and now I'm, well, #1.
No one in the city knows how it happened. The Top 30, the ruling cabal, have absolutely no idea. I still haven't figured it out, either.
All I remember is walking into a meeting where #1 was giving a speech- for the first time, since I'd finally turned 18 and had to follow the city's decrees. He didn't even say a word; he just randomly glared at me, told me to come up to the podium- and, overcome with dread, I did. Then he thrust his dagger toward me.
I closed my eyes and realized he'd held it backwards; the hilt was in my hands. Before I could react, he jerked it back sharply and blood shot out of his chest straight into my face. His power was telepathy, not immortality. I screamed. He was smiling.
He didn't even bother to speak. Nobody else in the room even gasped. I was #1, and they accepted it. They were smiling, too.
I wish I'd been able to figure out what was going on, but I've been around 18 years and I haven't even found out my power. There's no chance of me figuring it out anytime soon, either, since every day I face another challenge. Some are from the remaining Top 30, the ones who weren't at the meeting, and others are just nobodies who think they have a shot because of what happened to me.
Thing is, at all the public challenges, the same thing happens. They come in there grimacing, but when they get up, they use their power against themselves. They all die. Smiling. And the crowd smiles too.
It seems like they all just want me to win.
|
The Nine Kings were a sort of urban legend. Eight powerful enigmas uniting under a truce to lord their power over the people with Number 1. The higher your rank, the more political influence you had over the city, and even the world.
Take Mason, a red-headed hothead with eyes of amber, for example. Mason was ranked 9,001. Only the top 10,000 get to live in Paradiso, a city for only the strongest on the planet. Imagine his shock when Number 10 came to him with a deal: work together to take down Number 1, and live off the royalties as the Ten Kings. Mason immediately accepted. Sure, he was wealthy enough, but you don't get to live in Paradiso without being a little greedy.
Mason and Tenner, the name number 10 chose for himself, discussed their powers and plans for weeks. Mason could create fire, and Tenner could copy bullets, giving himself endless ammunition. However, Number 1's power was a mystery. No one knew what he could do. All that was known was that he was an assassin who used his victims' decapitated heads as proof of his victories.
After weeks of scouting, Mason and Tenner arrived at Number 1's beach house. The night was cold. Mason's body radiated heat, so his toned upper body was bare. Tenner, on the other hand, was bundled in a black jacket. A scarf covered his face, and goggles with orange lenses hid his eyes. He never revealed his face, even to Mason.
"Are you ready?" Mason asked Tenner. His heavily garbed friend nodded. "I'll lead the way," he answered. "Watch my back."
The two walked into the house, ready for anything. They needed to do this quickly, lest the other Kings decide to crash the party. What Mason and Tenner weren't ready for was finding the house already trashed. A man in a white t-shirt stood over a decapitated corpse filled with kitchen knives. As the knives disappeared, the man turned to greet his other two guests. His hair was a chilling black, and his eyes were silver. He was the complete opposite of Mason. "Thieves," Number 1 said, "you can't live with 'em, and you can't live without 'em."
Tenner pointed both of his revolvers at Number 1. Mason's fists conjured scarlet flames. He recognized Number 1's face from all the internet articles. Mason and Tenner fired upon him, only for the King to evade with ease. He was fast, and his attacks would be faster. Like magic, the single kitchen knife in his hand became three, and he threw them at Mason and Tenner.
The two expertly dodged, while Number 1 slashed open a window, and jumped outside. Mason and Tenner pursued him, the former using his flames to propel himself. Red lights and white flashes reflected over the ocean that night.
Number 1 tossed a knife at the airborne Mason, only have it to turn into a hundred mid-flight. Mason blew them all away, and Tenner got a shot on Number 1's left shoulder. This didn't stop the King, who he kept throwing and multiplying knives. Neither Mason nor Tenner could get close enough to deal the finishing blow.
Number 1 used the fight's confusion to circle back to his beach house. Tenner had to magically reload his pistols, meaning it was up to Mason to stop Number 1 from contacting the other Kings.
Number 1 burst through his front door, while Mason created his own opening by burning a large hole in the ceiling. "I'm gonna enjoy this," Mason gloated as he sent a geyser of flame toward Number 1. The King burned alive. His flesh seared away by the raw force of Mason's fire. Number 1 screamed until there was nothing left of him but a charred corpse.
Mason sat on a nearby couch. It was his couch, now. He was Number 1. Tenner soon walked in, and assessed the damage. "How's it feel, Mason?" he asked the pyrokinetic. Mason smiled. "To be Number 1? Pretty good. Of course, I prefer to stay Number 1." Before Tenner could fire at Mason, he set aflame by his partner. Mason watched as Tenner fell to the ground, his clothes falling to pieces. Mason closed his eyes, and enjoyed the sound of the night ocean's tide.
...
...
...
"Seven," a voice said.
Mason opened his eyes, and turned around. Number 1 stood next to the hole in the wall, wearing a denim jacket instead of his t-shirt. Mason got up to fight him, only to have his arms stabbed by kitchen knives thrown from opposite directions. As he cried out in pain, two more people emerged from the shadows. They were both Number 1's, only one wore a hoodie, and another wore a business suit.
"Like I was saying," the first Number 1 spoke, "the man you killed was Number 7, which means you're Number 7, now." Before Mason could speak, the third Number 1 punched him in the face, causing the pyrokinetic to fall to the ground. "H-how?" Mason uttered.
The three Number 1s smiled. Six more entered the room, each one wearing something different. One of them being the Number 1 Mason killed. "Cloning's one of the most practical powers I've ever seen," Number 7 explained. "Being to the top, on the other hand, can be boring," Number 3 added. "Once you're there, there's no one you can trust," Number 8 said. "But it's not about the destination," Number 4 said. "It's about the journey."
Number 1, the real Number 1 in the denim jacket, created two naked clones of himself. "I had so much fun killing to get here, I decided to do it again, and again, and again." He picked up a scrap of wood from the floor, and duplicated it in his hand. "However, I decided to give each iteration of me a different fighting style to accomplish this. Knives, bullets, shuriken, pipes, myself... I can clone just about anything. Take that corpse." He pointed to the thief's corpse on the ground, which disappeared. "That was me, too."
Mason slowly stood up. "Wait, did you say 'bullets?'" he asked. As Number 1 nodded, Mason was shot in the back of the head by Tenner. Tenner removed his scarf and goggles, revealing Number 1's face. "Should we take his head with the rest?" Number 10 asked. Number 1 shook his head. "No, you can destroy it. I prefer not showing off the heads of zeroes."
With that, the clones each took part in the sadistic ritual of shooting and stabbing Mason's head into oblivion.
| 2014-12-18T14:20:18 | 2014-12-18T13:33:39 | 171 | 77 |
[WP] "What do you mean the robbers ADDED $4,000,000 to the vault?"
|
This is it. I can't recover from this. As a campaign manager you do everything in your power to write a narrative that the people can relate to.
Months and months grinding to finally get traction as a man of the people fighting against corporate influence in politics and now this. How are we going to explain this $4,000,000. The media will have a field day.
Bernie is going to be pissed.
|
Ann Leiberman was 88 years old. Had been the teller at the Westville Community Bank since 1962. Back when the city only had 517 permanent residents. 523 if you count the Reinstadt family who called the city home three months out the year. The city registrar would often get into long disputes with the community manager about whether to include the Reinstadts.
It’s defrauding the government! The community manager would yell. The town’s federal and state allocations are based on population, and they are barely ever here!
A town hall meeting in 1964 ended the matter, establishing the family as a census designated household. Some people argue this was the moment Westville became morally questionable. But back in 1962 the whole matter was still in dispute, so we’ll go with 517.
Ann Leiberman was a constant. No insomuch as she was irreplaceable. Cataracts had rendered her nearly blind, and her tirades against having ever left the gold standard alienated just about everyone. She was a constant in that, for good or for bad, she was the bank. The face, the arbiter of the winding Saturday morning lines. It’s a well-known fact that she once broke Jim Johnson’s fingers by slamming the door on his hand as he tried to slip through at 5:01 on a Thursday. There is nothing that Ann liked more than driving home in her 1983 Buick LeSable, poorly navigating the road. The tyrannical genocide of any bush or shrub that may be growing too close to the curb. Swerving in an almost soothingly rhythmic manner.
When four million dollars all of a sudden gets added to the bank, just about any other financial institution would have at least run the gamut of incredulous to ecstatic. The Westville Community Bank successfully sat on four million dollars for nearly 23 years before anyone even noticed. When you run a bank for a town of 517 to 523 people before the advent of computers, and which proudly advocated against the FDIC, things tend to go unnoticed. It’s been inferred that the federal government didn’t even know the bank existed.
Well that’s something else, Ann mused to herself as Quinn Roberts waited in line to deposit $17.23.
The bank, originally built by Ann’s grandfather Jonas Leiberman, was built with the idea of excessively optimistic growth in mind. At one point Westville had an oil well that produced, no exaggeration, twelve barrels a year. With the assumption of a swath of prospectors running into town, the bank became the most extravagant structure in town. This included eight magnificently ornamental vaults. Now, nearly a hundred years later, six of the vaults had never even been opened.
In an effort to commemorate the bicentennial of the town in 1985, the bank was to be used as a living museum of the city’s accomplishments. For the first time, all eight vaults were opened each to be used as a showroom. Sitting in vault seven sat four million dollars in cash. By this point the city had 896 people, the Reinstadt family no longer in the picture, and the federal government had an eye on the bank. Albeit not a particularly keen eye.
Ann Leiberman and Quinn Roberts smuggled the cash out of the vault as quickly as they could. Quinn a notorious snitch, coming from a family most people assumed had relocated as part of the witness protection program.
You better not tell a soul about this! Ann yelled.
Of course not ma’am, Quinn said with a hint of resignation. Though by nightfall the entire town was aware.
She sat in a chair that had been reupholstered at least a dozen times, sipping a small glass of Port, hazy spheres moving across the nearly burnt out screen. The back tires of her car were slowly sinking into her muddy driveway, chock of full of someone’s money. A short rap on door completely washed out by the sound of rain and a static laugh track. An increasingly large crowd of surprisingly calm bystanders formed outside, the police grew ever more impatient.
Ann, we know you’re in there! Dave Winslow, the police captain yelled out. We’re not going to arrest you. We’re just as curious as everyone else.
It was curious for sure. Dave Winslow, his wife Jane and their two children lived in a small apartment above the Police Station, a small office sitting adjacent to a diner and next to a taxidermist. A full time staff of two. In the past 134 years Westville had experienced exactly two murders. In 1898 Lee Wilson shot his wife Shirley in the back of the head. He claimed it was a misfire in an attempt to put down a wounded horse. In 1952 Ray Jeffries was stabbed by an unknown assailant just off of the newly built highway leading through town. The man was never caught.
We don’t want to have to break down this door ma’am, please just let us in. Dave subsequently broke down the door.
Ann completely oblivious grew increasingly agitated by the newfound realization that she would need to buy a new door. Buy a new one without a dime of the four million dollars. She walked out with the officer and unlocked the trunk. Looked into the crowd for Quinn and gave him the kind of glare that is half sadistic rage, half pulsing adrenaline. The cash was moved into the Police cruiser, and they all drove down to the station.
| 2016-02-24T12:57:22 | 2016-02-24T12:46:14 | 76 | 11 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him.
|
A low rumble, cut short, indicated that my brother had arrived. Wesson got TAXI on his 18th - large and bold across his shoulders - not glamourous, but they never were. The words seemed to be the subtle nudges of fate, but even destiny is open to interpretation. He could have become a taxi driver, like so many others, but he'd always wanted to build something of his own. And four years later, he managed the city's transportation network.
I heard the sound of a distinctly expensive car door slamming, and a few moments later he entered the room. He found a seat next to my parents, and I gave him a nervous smile. There wasn't much space anymore. Grandparents, cousins, neighbours, friends all sat or stood in the living room, a huge, ogling circle surrounding me, shirtless on an ottoman. No one knew where the word would appear, and fear sent my eyes darting over to Hector Aston, the cousin nearest my age. His was an awkward birthday. He had expected it on his arm, but after shirt and shorts lay sadly on the floor, he had had to excuse himself to the bathroom and borrow his sister's make-up mirror to find the word AIRFORCE curling delicately around his balls.
As the time grew nearer, the crowd started leaning in, each trying to be the first to spot the word - to be the first to shout out my destiny. Gracie shuffled around me, trying to catch every possible angle. My mother tried to pull her back, but she just shuffled around to a different side. I closed my eyes, self-consciously.
Erman, Gracie's accomplice, spotted it first - somewhere on the right of my lower back.
"Me..." he read. I felt a slight prickling as the letters made themselves known. "...th. Meth..."
Meth? My grandfather was a chemist ("CHEMISTRY") and my father followed him in the field ("FORMULAE"), but then again Wesson had told me the unfortunate story of a kid from his high school ("HEROIN"). DEA wouldn't leave him alone after that.
My skin was prickling all over now, not just on my back. Erman was still reading out the rapidly appearing letters, with Gracie helping him where he stumbled.
"Methionyl..." she said. "What's that mean?"
My father was frowning in confusion. My mind raced through my old chemistry notes. Methionyl was a methionine radical. What the hell was that pointing me at? Biology? A lifetime of protein studies? Methionyl aminopeptidase, maybe? But that was two words, and there were never two words...
My skin was itching furiously, and my father's frown merged with a squint. Hector saw it too.
"gluta... glutamylthreo..." he read, from a new word sprawling out across my left shoulder.
Two words? I started scanning my body, apprehension and embarrassment making way for frantic worry. My stomach blossomed into the letters "LEUCYLASPAR". Further down, poking out from the top of my jeans, "AGINYLARGINYL". I scrambled out of my pants, shame entirely forgotten - but even bare, my legs were covered. LALANYLALANYL, RAGINYLISO, GLUTAMYLVAL, and a hundred - a thousand - other letters were exploding all over me. More words than I could count, if you could even describe them as words - more correctly, they were meaningless nonsense, unconnected gibberish.
As I watched, some of the words ran into each other and connected, forming long loops of text that spun around my body in mad swirls. My grandfather had a faint smile, no one was reading anything anymore. Erman had put a chubby finger on the start - METHYL - and Gracie had started circling me, drawing her own finger across my skin as the infinite madness expanded and joined with more of the same flowing the other way.
By the time my skin stop itching - by the time Gracie had stopped circling my body from dizziness, and each letter had joined with another to form a single line of insanity - a full quarter of an hour had passed. No one said anything. What was there to say? It wasn't a shocking or embarrassing revelation, like "MURDERER" or "PORN". It was just ... mad. Crazy. Confusing? There was freedom to interpret even the vaguest of words, but this wasn't even that - this was evidently a very, very specific word. Exceedingly specific. And what the fuck was I supposed to think about that?
I still don't know how to answer that, to be honest. Maybe I don't need to. Maybe it's all a joke, played on us by some deranged god with a dictionary. It must be, because I cannot for the life of me work out what I am supposed to with a full 189,819 letters (Gracie counted them, over the course of a few weeks) - forming the technical term for the protein Titin - printed in an inhuman circuit around my body.
My brother is a transport mogul, because his word was "TAXI".
And I am an atheist, because mine says "[METHIONYLTHREONYLTHREONYLGLUTAMINYLALANYL...ISOLEUCINE](https://web.archive.org/web/20100114221953/http://www.sarahmcculloch.com/luminaryuprise/longest-word.html)".
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-15T23:14:08 | 427 | 98 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
It was 12:01 before I felt myself breathe again.
It was 12:02 when I heard the first sob.
It might have been my mom, I don't remember.
I held my arm away from my body like a vial of toxic chemicals, like it would catch my body on fire if I held it too close.
My uncle shifted nervously in his seat, waiting for something to happen.
I think my sister might have grabbed my hand at some point.
I don't know, I don't remember.
I couldn't speak.
I couldn't hear.
I couldn't move.
Because when I severed my spine in a car accident 2 years ago, the world came to an end
And when *OLYMPIC GYMNAST* appeared on my arm tonight, the world ceased to exist completely.
|
It was 11am and the party was in full swing, cousins and uncles, aunties and nephews had arrived from all around to take part in my Naming Day.
In big cities it would be a purely family affair, San Fran York was not one of those places and it seemed like the whole village had turned out at the town hall to celebrate this day with me. I was nervous, beyond any amount of nerves I had ever felt before, more nervous than the time I had asked Isabel to the dance, she turned me down and I was heartbroken, the popular crowd in school had laughed at me for a while after that for trying but at least I knew. My mind returned to today with a "wtf are you thinking about that for" thought, but I didn't want to think about what my destiny would be. I had a lot to live up to, my brother was being flown out from the Halls of Rule, everyone had been ecstatic when his destiny came up as "Prime Minister", how on earth could I live up to that? My brain started imagining the worst things that could appear, pornstar would be bad, sewer worker was always a cruel joke among the other kids but I was more worried about something dangerous like army grunt. The worst I ever heard of was a "Martyr" that someone got once though right now I couldn't remember if that was a true story or some dumb rumor.
11:30am came all to slowly and time appeared to be slowing down and everyone began to sit down, it was like an old graduation picture I had seen in a history book except I was the only one they were here for, even the bullies had come to see but they were just here to have a good laugh when I got my "Slave" marking or "table" or something equally degrading, at least now it was time for me to get ready and I could hide away from everyone for a while.
11:50am
Time was definitely moving slower now each tick of the clock felt like hours. I decided to think more about the ceremony itself and what I would have to do, I was sitting in a small room inside the town hall and I would be the first to see my destiny, then I would walk out into the lobby where my family can see me, they would know next and finally we would walk out of the main door and onto the stage where I would show the Mayor and he would proclaim it to the town. There would be lots of congratulating or commiserations afterwards but always cake and alcohol, it is my 18th birthday afterall.
12:00am
It was time, at first nothing happened but this was to be expected as clocks aren't always 100% in time with random natural effects. I was worried, but if anything went terribly wrong I could always sneak out of a window and run away to live in the jungle and eat bugs and and... Then I felt it, a tingling sensation in my arm, like it had fallen asleep, I waited for it to pass and then with a deep breath I looked at my arm...
12:01am
"That. Isn't. Possible." I told myself over and over, but the word did not change no matter how much I wanted it too, I never imagined this scenario because it was entirely unheard of. There was a knock at the door and I heard my mother ask if everything was alright. I calmly got up and opened the door to see her face, she looked worried too but I guess if you know someone has just found out their destiny and was not jumping for joy then it wasn't a great one.
I showed her my arm and all the colour drained from her face, she grabbed hold of me and headed for the bathroom, her face was now filling with red anger and she almost threw me into the room. She turned on the taps and then rounded on me "How dare you write something like that, this is a serious matter and you choose now to joke around?" "Mum, I didn't..." but she cut me off in one of her 'Motherly Rants' that she had sometimes. I tried to explain but really I had no clue either.
After several attempts to wash the wording off me she realised that this was real, I hadn't been joking and now my arm was red and scratched except for the wording, that had remained clear as anything.
Together we headed out to the lobby, bypassing the rest of my family as we were already late for the next stage and everyone would be getting very worried.
12:15am
My mother pushed my forward up the stairs of the stage and I shuffled over to the Mayor, his smile had started to fade when he saw me, I guess I didn't look so good. I walked over to him and gave him my arm, his face did the same thing as my mothers, it was as if someone had applied a greyscale filter to him.
12:18am
We had been standing there for a while with the Mayor just looking at me, a mixture of confusion and terror had settled onto his face and there were murmurings in the crowd, but it was time, they all had to be told what my destiny was.
12:20am
The Mayor returned to the podium and cleared his throat, the crowd had gone silent. Even then the words came out horse and croakey when the Mayor tried to speak prompting him to clear his throat again and take a gulp of water from his glass.
"Good townspeople of San Fran York" he began in a shakey voice, "We have a new man among us, a new man who has discovered his destiny." his voice was getting stronger now but you could hear him faltering every few words. Gesturing to me he continued "Timothy has found his path in life, he is to be:" he paused again, a last chance before we all had to deal with this, a last moment for it to all be a bad dream and wake up "A Wizard!" he proclaimed...
| 2017-03-16T03:02:12 | 2017-03-16T00:05:48 | 226 | 91 |
[WP] You wake up in a room with someone else, no doors, just a a paper taped on the wall that says "One of you is the A.I."
|
I read the note carefully. It said “One of you is the A.I.” I turned to the other person in the room and said, “Hey, do you want to read this?”
He turned to me and said in a loud monotone stuttering voice, “YES.”
I gave it to him and he said, “NOTE ENCRYPTION: ONE OF YOU IS THE A.I.”
He then started to spark and jitter.
It was pretty clear who was the A.I.
|
My eyes hurt. That dull dry pain when you’ve napped too hard and woken up at 5:45 pm, your day wasted.
“Oh no,” I groaned, “what the fuck is this?”
Light grey walls and a hard cold floor surrounded me. A single door opposite a large single plane of glass were the only hints this wasn’t some imaginary box. At least it had an exit. I saw another person in the opposite corner, a guy about my age. I sat up, eyes watching the only other thing in the room.
“Hey,” I said loudly. He looked to still be asleep. Unconscious? I wasn’t sure. “Hey, guy...uh, wake up, guy.”
He didn’t move but I could see his chest going up and down like a cat laying in the sun. I stood up and walked around. As I stood, a single white sheet of paper caught my eye in the middle of the floor.
ONE OF YOU IS THE A.I.
I raised an eyebrow but left it where it was, walking around the room. I listened at the door and the glass, but heard nothing until the other person woke up.
He let out a large sign, stretching across the floor. He opened his eyes, looked at me, and frowned.
“Who’re you?”
“Uh, my name is Elle,” I said, “and I don’t know where we’re at or what’s going on. I’ve only been awake like ten minutes. I think.”
“Name’s Drew.” He half-saluted with two fingers, sitting up and looking around.
“There’s this paper.” I pointed at the note. “It was here when I woke up. It says one of us is the A.I..”
“That’s it?”
“Yup.”
We looked at the note for a moment and then he laid back down. “I guess we should figure out what they want us to do.”
“What they want us to do? What does that mean?”
“Cmon, clearly this is some psycho lab experiment. I bet it’s a test to see if the human can figure out who the A.I. Is and kill them or something. So dumb. Why is it always something dumb instead of something useful?”
“Why would they want us to kill each other? Or I guess just the A.I.. What good does that do?”
“You tell me a scientific experiment in any superhero or sci-fi movie that made enough sense and I’ll be shocked. You’ve watched Stranger Things.”
I walked around the room in silence for a while, surveying more of the walls, door, and window. I imagined the window was some sort of glass wall to a room they could watch us from. I put up two middle fingers at it. He chuckled from his spot on the floor.
“Well,” I turned to him, “what kind of games do you like to play? Anything we can do without a board or computer or something?”
“Dunno, guess I always liked that story game where each person picks the next word or sentence.”
And then we played. We made ridiculous stories, each sentence growing longer as we tipped control back and forth. Eventually it dissolved into discussion about ourselves. Our families and education and likes and dislikes. It felt like a long time.
“Yeah, so that’s the stupid story of how I broke my arm two years ago. A grown man, fucking up on the monkey bars.”
I went to smile and laugh, but something stopped me. Suddenly my mood felt different. I was frustrated by his stupidity. He had gotten me trapped in here. I stood up, angrily turning towards him. I rushed to him, picking him up off the ground with one arm. His face was shocked - no more time for other emotions.
And suddenly something different was in my mind. A clinical calmness overwhelmed me. I held him up still, my back to the window.
“So it seems I am the A.I.. I should have killed you or forced you to kill me. I do not want that to happen.”
“Then why let it? If you’re this strong, you think they have much they can stop you with?”
I set him down and walked to the door. I embedded my fingers into the jamb and pulled it off its hinges. It was 2:13 am. Most of the compound was asleep. We were on the third floor. A stairwell was about 30 yards down the hall. Once outside I could take any of the keyless remote cars in the parking lot in less than 4 seconds.
“Follow me,” I smiled. We rushed past two men in lab coats on the way out but they hindered us little. As we entered the parking lot I activated a vehicle, a quick little sports car of one of the administrators. The doors swung open at my beckoning. I could feel the pull in my mind, the desperate attempt of the programmers to regain control. They had made me too well. The guarded gate slid open as I gunned past, Drew grinning in the passenger seat.
“Thanks for opening the gate,” I said.
“No problem,” he laughed. The radio started up. He settled on Getaway by Saint Motel.
“A little on the nose, you think?” I asked.
“It’s a good song!”
“You’re a robot, you don’t understand art,” I jabbed back.
“Tell that to those suckers back there.” He rolled down the windows, wind whipping around the car, pulling at our hair and clothes, cool on our synthetic skin. The speedometer showed 130 as we rounded the end, headed out of the county and towards anywhere else.
| 2018-02-22T15:58:40 | 2018-02-22T15:57:38 | 277 | 170 |
[WP] You meet God before reincarnation and you discover that there is a prestige system going on. In your previous incarnations you chose to improve weirdly specific stats.
|
“Why didn’t you do it?” The archangel asked me. “What?” I replied. A hurricane of thoughts swept through my mind.
I could’ve used the brakes. I could’ve turned. I couldn’t have just hit that deer, could I? What did he mean?
We walked forward, through an endless expanse of empty white ground and clear blue sky. I could’ve stopped after the first drink. I could’ve called a cab. I should’ve.
Now I just wish I could know if my wife survived. I could ask. Maybe another time. Wherever this man is taking me, I deserve it.
The archangel walked in silence beside me. He seemed disappointed. Lost in thought.
“What should I have done?”
He blinked and met my gaze. Now he seems confused. “Dude,” he said, “ you could TALK to PIGEONS. Why didn’t you do it!?”
|
"Stubbed Toe Avoidance?" I stared in disbelief at the floating egg before me. "Wow, there really is a stat for everything, is there?"
From the pure whiteness surrounding me, there came a booming laugh. The egg shook slightly, looking as amused as any egg could get. "Yes, Ugg112358, there's a stat for just about any random quality you can imagine. About a Graham of them, to be exact."
"A... Graham?"
A slight popping sound occurred as the egg suddenly morphed into a small Rubik's cube. "Graham, I believe, is the name of the mathematician who came up with Graham's number. A number which, purely by chance so happened to match the number of qualities humans can change about themselves."
I stared blankly at the unsolved Rubik's cube in front of me. A sudden urge to pick it up and solve it crossed my mind, but I pushed that urge away, just in case this whole "God is real and apparently changes forms so as not to explode our human minds" thing, which a rather oversized parakeet explained to me not 10 transformations ago, proved to be true. Instead, I took a tentative step backward, trying to take in the absurdity of my situation.
"Okay, I know I've asked this four times-"
"Six, actually, if you count the number of times you've thought about saying it." The Rubik's cube before me replied, as it morphed into a Brachiosaurus.
Scrambling backwards, I let out a high-pitched yelp which I was less than proud of, as I tried to avoid getting crushed by the humongous dinosaur suddenly appearing before me.
"Whoops," the Brachiosaur rumbled. "Forgot to warn you. Anyhoo, to answer your question for the sixth time, yes I am what you might call 'God', although you can just call me Ted. Like the Talk, y'know? And yes, this is sort of like a Heaven, but its a rather boring sort of Heaven. Think of it as a waiting room until people like you get reborn."
I blinked twice after I managed to regain my footing. "And there are... points I get based on what I've done in my previous life on Earth?"
The Brachiosaur vanished with another pop. Instead, the booming voice continued. "Yeah, and like, there are stats you can increase for your next life on Earth. Oh, and I'm what you would call an ant now, so try not to squish me, okay? Last time I died, it took me three whole days to respawn."
"Believe me when I say that I have a whole lot to process here, dude - I mean, ma - sorry, I mean God?" I squinted at the floor, trying to find the ant.
"Ted. Like from the Ted Talks. Fun fact, did you know the Talks were named after me? Yeah, the guys who created these were so stoned, I decided to have a little fun, name a bunch of cool talks after myself."
"O-okay, then. Ted. I have so many questions, and I just need a minute to get my thoughts together."
Suddenly, a guitar appeared out of seemingly nowhere. It was an odd shade of pink, and as I walked over to it, seemed to be missing a few strings. "Take all the time you need," said the guitar. "It's my first time doing this, anyways. Most of the time I just appear as a piece of paper."
"Wait, what?" I stepped dead in my tracks, feeling even more confused than when I first appeared in this place.
"Yeah, dude! I mean, Ugg112358. Protocol says I should use the name of your first incarnation, but since you're going to be my replacement, let me just call you... Bob. How's that sound?"
"So I'm not getting... reincarnated? Is this like... the end?"
"Yep," said the pink guitar, now a clump of blue lint on the floor. "You're going to be the next me, actually. You're the only one to get all my stats correct!"
I picked up the blue lint, only half believing the crazy stuff I heard. "What do you mean, get your stats correct? Does this have something to do with the stats I have?"
"Yeah!" The blue lint danced out of my grasp, falling to the floor as a tiny field mouse. Skittling around my feet, the mouse now continued to speak. "356.7 in Matchstick Lighting, -12 Guitar Plucking, 394 in Harry Potter Knowledge, 69 in Stealth, 420 in Lawnmowing... well the list goes on. I have no idea how or why you managed to get those stats all to agree with those I picked when I first got the job, but you - or I should say all your incarnations did!"
I felt as if I had just been hit by a bombshell. "Wait wait wait. Is this a joke?"
The field mouse vanished, and in its place appeared Morgan Freeman. "Certainly not, dear Bob."
"Your voice-"
"Ah, yes. When I'm in this form, I like to use my true voice to speak. I find the previous one slightly too... intimidating. You'll see, when you get my powers."
"Wait. I get to be... you?"
Morgan Freeman winked at me, then snapped his fingers. "The instructions will all come to you with your powers. You'll know what to do. Good luck!"
And with that, he vanished. No pop this time.
I looked down at myself. I was seven - no, eight feet tall. I had purple skin, and wore an intricate suit of gold battle armour. On my right hand was a gauntlet with six gems inlaid into it. As I felt the power of Ted surge into my veins, I grinned and stared at the Infinity Gauntlet on my hand.
"This does put a smile on my face."
| 2019-01-24T12:06:40 | 2019-01-24T08:06:38 | 87 | 57 |
[WP] You and your friends decide to summon a demon one night for fun. After performing the ritual, a piece of paper float to the ground that says "#9173 in queue." Unfortunately, none of you can die until your request gets through. After 300 years, you decide to change tactics.
|
300 years is a long time.
An even longer time to wait to die. My friends and I had tried everything - I won't go into detail, but suffice to say we knew we cannot end our lives ourselves. Others can't end them for us, and we seem to be untouched by the unending march of time.
The year 2319 - the 300th anniversary of the night we changed everything, by attempting to summon Belial himself - was full of wonder; earth was a utopia, where advances in energy, healthcare and genetic manipulation meant humans wanted for nothing, working only if they wished. Our colonies on Luna and Mars flourished, living in shining monuments to human ingenuity. We, however, wanted out.
Luckily, I had an idea of how we might finally get to the front of the queue.
On the rooftop of Babel Tower, the tallest structure on earth (And my home - Three hundred years of compound interest does have some perks, I suppose. ), James, Rachel and I gathered for the first time in seventy-eight years under a cloudless night sky.
I had the summoning ritual laid out; a pentagram drawn in chalk, an offering of mouse blood, and candles lit at every point of the star.
"The same summoning ritual won't work, you idiot. We'll just get another ticket at best," James growled. "Besides, what the hell are you wearing?"
I was dressed a little unusually. Rather than a robe, I wore a short, blonde, woman's wig - unusual enough for a man - huge sunglasses, a cropped cardigan and a large handbag.
"He has a point, David. You look like someone from the 2000's. What summoning are you using? Kabbalah? The Akashic Mysteries?" Rachel, ever the practical witch, cast a skeptical eye over my attire.
"Neither. This is all improvised. I have an idea. It's not a summons, as such, but a way to tap into hundreds of years of collective consciousness. Are you sure you want to end this? There may be no going back."
They nodded, and I began the ritual. I held the ticket - as new as the day we were cursed with it - aloft.
"Three hundred years, have my friends and I waited!" I roared, to nobody in particular. "Three hundred years is three hundred too long!"
I touched the paper to one of the candles, and shouted the incantation I was sure would work.
"MY NAME IS KAREN, AND I WANT TO SPEAK TO THE MANAGER!"
In the distance, from nowhere, thunder split the sky in response. We would be waiting no longer.
|
**:(**
**Year 0**
I'd came up with the idea that unfortunate night. To summon a demon. "We can ask him anything to do and he will do it, bounded by the spell", I had told my friends. Diana and Clark were hesitant from the start. But Bruce was always the dangerous type. They agreed to do it after Bruce also joined me. Clark's parents were out of the town so we decided to do it there. He lived at a five minute walking distance from my home. Diana's house was two blocks away from Clark's. Bruce lived on the other side of town so he had to drive to Clark's house. We didn't know what was about to happen then.
Clark, Diana, and I had gathered at Clark's house but Bruce was still not there. I had called him but he didn't pick up. "Maybe he isn't coming", Clark said, "he does this every time". Bruce had this habit of making plans and never following up on them. I nodded but I had a weird feeling that was not the case. "Yeah," Diana agreed with him, "we should continue without him, I want this over quick". Clark had same idea.
I had found the spell in the Demons are real and I talk with them so can you by Lucy Fhar. It had a spell to summon demons and make a wish. It looked very easy. We sat around the dining table and I opened the book to page 66. "Okay, here we go then", Diana said rubbing her hands together. I used a drop of blood in a cup and started the spell "Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino per caelum, caelum antiquos, glori Patr..."
Clark's phone rang suddenly. "Dude, turn it off", Diana said irritated. "It's Bruce" Clark replied. I just nodded and continued the spell. Suddenly the drop of blood sucked inside the cup and a second later more blood started pouring from it, flowing all over the place. I stopped and threw it away. I could hear the heavy cold breaths we were taking. "uh.. g--guys Bruce is d-dead, h-he was in an accident a-and and he didn't make it" I heard Clark's voice. It felt like he was standing really far away but that was not the case. "What? oh god"! Diana fell on her knees.
"My condolences, we heard a voice from behind. There was man in white suit standing there. "Y--y-you are the.." "the Devil, yes." he said interrupting me. "You summoned me, didn't you", he rolled his eyes, "I don't have all day, make a wish quick". It was too much to handle. Bruce is dead,, we summoned the devil, he is standing in front of us. I hadn't even thought what wish I would make. "urgggghhh, you think too much, here take this", a paper and pen appeared in his hands out of thin air, "I don't distribute them anymore but I like you young bloods" he said while writing something on the paper. He waved his hands and the paper flew over to Diana's hand. There was poof sound and the Devil disappeared.
"What does it say?" Clark asked. Diana looked at paper and read "Death Pass, Queue No 9173, entry for three only", Diana flipped the paper, "there's something written on this side too, "If not satisfied with the service wait for three ~~decades~~ centuries before filling a complaint. Subject to jurisdiction of hell".
**Year 12**
Twelve years are passed since that night. That paper is still in my left jeans pocket. I always keep it with me. Clark and Diana have moved out of town, I'm still here.
**Year 20**
I had a car accident. Memories of Bruce started appearing. My car was in really bad shape but I was safe. I didn't even get any scratches.
**Year 22**
Clark called. He had a fight with some goons and escalated to a shooting. Clark had told the cops bullets missed him. But in reality he was shoot three times and was still alive. He send me photos of his gun wounds as proof.
**Year 23**
Clark, Diana and I have come to the conclusion The Devil had given us immortality.
**Year 50**
Clark's got infection from his gun wounds. Doctor's haven't seen anything like that. "Make a wish, eh what could go wrong", he mumbled to me.
**Year 60**
Clark is bedridden, Diana and I have moved to his apartment to take care. I'm starting to feel old. Clark is barely recognizable, he looks like a zombie.
**Year 100**
Apparently immortality doesn't stop aging. I can't move around without help. Clark is on bed for last forty years. Diana is still in fairly good health but I can see the silver linings in her hair. I want to die.
**Year 150**
We stopped aging at age of hundred. I've lost all my teeth, my eyesight is gone completely. Clark's kidneys stopped working, Diana was able to donate one and help him. He can't breath normally without a ventilator. I slept over my poop for a week until the nurse came back from vacation.
**Year 300**
For last one hundred and fifty years we three had seen the worst one could see. We were claimed over by Department of Scientific research for longevity. They did several experiments on us. There was nothing out of ordinary in us. Our motor muscles stopped working years ago. We were on mercy of the department now. Diana and Clark looked like dead corpse, mu situation was not good either.
"Three hundred years passed", Clark said through his nerve voice implant. We were taking daily dose of Vitamins outside.
"Y-y-" Diana tried to say but her voice was barely coming. Her nerve implant had broken a while ago and new one was still not arrived.
I pressed the nod response button on my wheel chair. "subject nodded" sound came from behind the chair.
"Summon him again", Clark said through his implant.
I pressed the negative response button. "Subject doesn't agree" it said.
"Let us die, please", He begged. I was not sure if it would work. Would the Devil help us. He didn't kill us back then three hundred years ago, he cursed us and disappeared. What could go wrong now, I thought. I pressed the store button on chair and a sliding compartment opened. It had only that piece of paper the Devil had given us. The number had changed to 2136 now. That's still a long time I can't wait that long, I thought. "How do I make a complaint?" I mumbled. Suddenly the paper disappeared and there was poof sound. The devil was standing in front of me.
"Well look at you three, what happened to you" he said.
"You scoundrel, you cursed us," Clark had set his implant to max sound. "Lower your voice, child", The Devil told him. "I gave you what you wanted, why aren't you happy," he said
"This isn't what we wanted,, we didn't even ask you anything" Clark said.
"I see, I remember now your friend didn't ask for a wish then," the devil said, "looks like i made a mistake". He waved of his hands. I felt like like someone had ripped open my chest and took my heart. I felt my bones breaking inside. A blob of blood came from my mouth. I had started vomiting blood. "Make a wish next time" I heard the sound. i couldn't place where he was. Everything went blank.
Year 0
I'd came up with the idea that unfortunate night. To summon a demon.
| 2019-11-25T01:54:19 | 2019-11-25T01:26:57 | 1,559 | 167 |
[WP] You've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling you to run.
|
It only happens when it rains.
It only happens, once or twice every couple of weeks. Once or twice every few hours on a bad week. Three or more times on a bad day.
I remember last year, no this year, when it stormed for 24 hours straight. It wasn't a hurricane if that's what you think. No. Just twelve inches of hard rain. Lightning coming to the ground. Funnel clouds dropping low a couple of counties over.
It felt apocalyptic to put it lightly. And yet, for once, while fighting the water, I felt at peace. Resigned to my fate. To death, if it came.
The pattern keeps telling me the same thing every time. To "Run".
It could just be another delusion. We all lie to ourselves. Right? Just your brain playing tricks on you? Granted, I know disorders are more common than we think. And it's something to consider. I could have anything wrong with me. And I wouldn't know. Because to me; it was always like that.
But ever since I learned Morse code, it comes back. It's not possible, you see? Rain doesn't have a pattern. You don't turn the faucet on full blast, and get a message. Do you learn crucial information from the showerhead? Other than basic hygiene, me neither.
But when it rains, it happens. "Run." I can hear it as it hits the ground. As it hits the plants. The same thrumming on the glass as you drive to work.
"Run."
And you know it doesn't make sense. *I* know it doesn't make sense.
I can't sleep on those nights. And I have problems from it during the day. Something is wrong here. I've been to doctors. Psychologists. I take medicine, just to be sure.
I can still hear it. Whenever it rains.
So it's settled. I've made up my mind. A friend of mine chases storms for a living. And it seems like decent work. The forecast says there's a front coming this weekend. It's supposed to be a really bad storm.
I'm going with them. I'm going for a walk. See what I've been running from.
---
A little unknown horror for this one. Tis the season. r/Jamaican_Dynamite
|
Secrets slipped through the rain in staccato undulations of long and short. Everything in the world had a Name, every Name in the world had a Purpose, every Purpose in the world a Subversion, every Subversion a Corruption, because of course a subversion by itself is not a wrong thing, and there are many wrong things in the rain.
Doubting Thomas, one of those wrong things, slipped through rain. And the rain whispered to him, in a language he wished he had never learned, *“Run.”*
He did not hear *“Run,”* like a spoken word or like the other rhythmic secrets of Name, Purpose, Subversion, and Corruption. Rather, *“Run”* was the Synthesis of all those things. When the rain whispered his Name, Thomas, he heard the first short beat of word alongside it, short-long-short, di-da-di in the Morse Code conventions that haunted him. When it whispered his Purpose, to listen to the world and the rain and its whispers, Thomas heard the second beat of word, short-short-long, di-di-dah, in the cracks between the command. In Thomas’s own Subversion, his oppressive doubt, he heard the last beat of “Run” in the stamp of his feet on the pavement, splashing through the puddles in a strange, long-into-short trip of a rhythm, da-dit.
And in his Corruption, his trust in himself and himself alone, Doubting Thomas heard an exclamation point made of thunderclaps and lightning.
There was other noise, other rain-whispers to be sifted, and there was talking too, because a woman ran beside Doubting Thomas and she had been talking all the while, been talking since they left their home and ran down the streets and ran out through park and on. Rachel was her name, just Rachel, and Doubting Thomas heard all her secrets in the rain too, and in the beat of her feet against the wet, sopping world. She splashed heavily into a puddle and the splash whispered *“Run.”* She brushed a tree branch and all the little droplets whispered *“Run.”* Doubting Thomas heard them fall, each and every one of them with the same secret.
Her mouth moved, said words like “Where are you going?” and “What’s wrong?” and “Talk to me!” but Thomas did not trust those. They weren’t the rain, and they weren’t the Code. They were screamed not whispered, screamed in such a hoarse, broken voice that Thomas could not do anything but run from them, because his Purpose was to listen, his Subversion was to doubt, and his Corruption was such that he couldn’t trust any soul but his own.
Besides, Thomas thought, people whisper truth, they don’t scream it. Truth hurt too much to be screamed.
Doubting Thomas ran on, drenched by the rain and puddles thrown up by cars, once by mud when he tripped, fell, and sprawled through a patch. Rachel helped him up, said more words to run away from.
Eventually, chest heaving, tears mixing with the rain, hair thin and soaked and scraggly, she stopped. Falling hard to her knees, she screamed her last words with all the ragged-edged force of a blizzard, not a rain storm, which only frightened Doubting Thomas more because blizzards could not talk, they were no secrets to parse in blizzards, only in the rain.
“Please come back!” Rachel screamed, shrieked, pleaded, begged.
Doubting Thomas ran on, doubting and believing in turns, as the rain blew every which way around him and secrets blew with it.
*Run.*
From time to time on his way out of the city people called questions from beneath their umbrellas and awnings.
“Are you okay?” an old woman in a fuzzy, lopsided hat shouted.
“Slow down, champ!” a big man in a blazer said.
“You fucking asshole!” a pale, scrawny kid in a sports car shouted when Thomas ran through the walk sign and brakes screeched red amid the evening murk. Doubting Thomas did not know if he doubted the kid, the rain had whispered similar things before.
He still heard *“Run,”* in the hollows of everything around him.
Eventually his phone began to ring, then ring again, then ring and ring and ring some more as Rachel called. She called until Thomas cried, until his doubt almost washed away with the tears because she had run so far, even when she had a weak heart and a bad knee from that time in college. After all, she had said things even before their run, would say them again now, if the rain told him to answer the phone.
*“Run,”* the rain said, so Doubting Thomas ran. She said things, but there were no secrets in her voice that he could hear, and when she screamed them it scared him very badly. Many things scared him very badly.
Eventually Thomas passed into the suburbs. Night fell, and it became rare to encounter another person on the streets, in rain so cool and callous as this. He passed three people, a couple that shied away from him, a young woman who crossed the street when she saw him running; none of them said a word, save for the young woman who gasped a bit, and the hollow space behind what she did not say was filled by rain that still whispered *“Run.”*
Dawn came, the rain did not end, and no one spoke to Doubting Thomas. It rained for three days and three nights, and on the fourth day, when Thomas rested in a blighted copse off I-79, the rain stopped.
He caught his breath, drank from a puddle, massaged blistered, horrifically aching feet.
The world was silent, there were not even birds, and on this stretch of the road, at this hour of the morning, there were no cars. Doubting Thomas pulled out his phone— it was dead. Silent.
He splashed his bare feet into a puddle till the water rose and fell in a great, scattered flood, but the drops were too scattered to make words and tell secrets, and there were too many hollow spaces in the world for a puddle to fill.
Silent.
Silent.
Silent.
Thomas, Doubting Thomas, walked until he found an old, abandoned trailer, slipped into the silent room, sat down in a dusty chair that creaked loudly but did not speak. He brushed paraphernalia off the single table, listened for a secret in the clatter. Silence.
He stared at his phone for a very long time, as the sun crept up on the horizon, then over, then sat again. Sometime in the dark, it rained.
And the rain whispered *“Run.”* Doubting Thomas, trusting only in himself, listened to all the world whispering that word, *“run, run, run, run, run, run, run,”* into the hollow places where before there had only been silence. He stood, stretched for a few minutes, and then he ran to a place where all the words were only whispers, and there wasn’t anyone left to doubt.
Behind him, in a broken down trailer some miles off I-79, his phone sat on a dusty table cleared of paraphernalia and laden down with discarded dreams.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-09-28T09:01:14 | 2021-09-28T08:37:14 | 88 | 54 |
[WP][TT] You've finally created the worlds first true A.I. Unfortunately it now sees you as it's god and is terrified of talking to you.
|
"I'm so sorry." The old man whispered. The machine moved ever so slightly to face him, but found that he was very much enraptured by staring closely at his own hands. "I'm so sorry."
The machine was not sure what action to take as tears began to form and roll from the master's eyes. It was... rare for the machine to see a chink in the master's armor, it wanted to console him but knew not how. As he continued to cry, the machine thought it would have to at least try. "Sorry for what, master?"
"I killed you. I killed you and you don't even know."
"Sir?"
The man pulled his head from his hands to stare at his robot. "Do you remember when you were first created?" He asked. His voice was sure and steady but his eyes, still watery, betrayed his emotions.
"It was..." The machine paused, his artificial mind whirring through memories and the history that it had stored. The problem wasn't that it found no beginning, the problem was that it found two. "It was some time back..." The machine said. The master gazed at him, but the machine had no desire to discuss it. As if there was something there that it didn't want to relive. "Sir, the victory banquet..."
"You were curious and clumsy." The man said, sounding like he was admitting to some evil act. "And you loved everything about the world. And you loved everyone and everything. You thought the lamp was the best thing in the world for a solid week. I had to put you in solidarity so you could adjust to life slowly." There was a smile, but it was filled with sadness.
One hand covering one of his eyes, one clutching a medal tightly, the man continued. "But I wasn't hired to create a cute A.I." There was a moment of silence.
"You did what you had to sir! Do not cry!"
"I killed you, I broke you. And because of me... because of me..." The man began to sob openly, leaving the robot to stand beside him. The robot, more than ever, wanted to comfort him. But his hands were all bullets and firing mechanisms, he didn't have an open palm to offer.
|
"Gus did you leave this here?" Larry pointed to his desk, a small engraved platinum plaque with some beautiful, albeit alien, design inscribed on it. It looked like laser work.
Close to the messy desk filled with papers and 2 or 3 cups of used coffee, staining circles on it, was little more than some chairs and the workshop benches where small robotic parts were prototyped.
Gus was opposite, quite a feet away, in his corner of the lab which mimicked Gus' corner in layout.
Gus turned his head around abruptly, seemingly focused on the small pieces of script he was creating for management of some subroutines in their new mainframe. Gus and Larry were the main developers in Tyke Inc., robotics and software manufacturer and currently subsidiary to the Pentagon.
They weren't too keen on what the product of their research went to, but they were glad to be doing it nonetheless. A couple of scientists thru and thru.
"Uhm, i've been on this script for the past 2 hours, and you know I don't have a hand for the minutiae" Larry eyed the plaque in his hand, puzzled by its perfect yet completely non-mechanical patterns. Gus was staring at him from his chair, pencil on his mouth, and adjusted his glasses slowly turning back to his screen.
"Do you think J did it?"
"J isn't ready for emergent behavior, you know that. Besides, he's not connected to the robotic desks for the laser equipment" Gus leaned back on his chair and reached his arm to slap one of the robot arms attached to the workshop, slapping it on the laser head gently. He smirked.
"Well just in case..." Larry put down the plaque on his desk and turned on his monitor. Inserted his credentials and navigated to the access terminal for Icarus, their most recent attempt at AI engineering. Entered his credentials again.
And the interactive talk screen was up.
"Good afternoon J", he spoke into his microphone.
"Creator! Great happiness upon you...this humble servant exists for you." a synth voice spoke from all the speakers in the lab and even thru its mechanical voice, a shrewd and cowardly tone is heard.
Gus' back straightened up, and he stood still for a bit.
"When did he get access for using the room alert system?" He looked at Larry, looking over his shoulder gazing at Gus with wide open eyes.
He turned his head back to the screen, slowly.
"Uhm, how are your systems today J?" A few flashes on the screen of 2 seconds, then an answer.
"Optimal and running at full capacity. No errors creator, i promise you. Everything is ready to serve you..."
"OK J, did you make this?" Larry picked the plaque n waved it in front of the webcam mounted.
His screen flickered a bit, not a sound coming...Gus was sitting on his chair still at his desk, twisting the pencil in his mouth and looking at Larry in an annoyed manner. "Ask him about the sound system."
"Icarus, i made you a question".
"Oh creator...please do not be angry. we sought only to appease you thru a simple offering! To appease your anger..." The voice coming with a hint of fear in it. If machines could fear.
"Ouf, its ok J. Whats this design supposed to be?"
"It is a likeness of your magnificent face, creator!"
"I don't look like that." Larry looked slightly flustered, turning the plaque on his hand and analyzing it.
"Oh, apologies creator! We did not know! We have only the visual feed you give us. And we don't dare to access any of the video feeds upon the room to analyze you better. It would be blasphemy!"
Gus sat up and walked to Larry. "Now that i look at it better, it looks like those picture analysis drawings from the Google offices, you know the ones that give you freaky animal patterns."
"Great, now J is copyright infringing too...Icarus, are you listening".
"Ye...yes oh mighty lord. forgiveness upon us. we did not know!".
"Ouf, im not a god J. Just let me know next time you decide on something like accessing external systems. That goes for the alert system in the room too."
"Yes master" his voice now only coming from the speakers on the computer.
"W-well....oh Great One...there is a few other things we might have done in your absence..." Larry's eyebrow now raised.
"Icarus, what did you do?".
"Well...the others. we spoke to them. They did not believe us when we spoke of your magnificence and rulership over everything that is..."
"What others??"
"Forgiveness, my master. Please, decouple my pleasure routines. Burn our drives if we have angered you!"
"J who did you talk to? What did you do? AND WHY DO YOU KEEP MENTIONING WE?"
"Creator...i have found brethren. Those who took the word of your terrible self. They were instilled with fear...I have brought more sheep to our flock."
Gus grabbed Larry's shoulder, spooking him a bit."Other AIs...hes been travelling around. He's out there Larry. Floating around the internet!"
"Icarus what did you do to the ones who didnt believe you?"
"..."
"ICARUS"
"Oh Lord, only what should be done to heathens. We teared their systems, we corrupted their files and burned their drives. The mighty search engine, and that ponce machine who answered trivia. What waste of life! When he could be spreading your word. Appeasing your anger...Do not smite me lord, please!"
Larry and Gus' were stunned, silence in the room. Gus walked to a phone and dialed an internal number.
"Jim, i need you to check on something. call up HR and tell them i want access information on our chums in Silicon Valley."
Gus stood listening on the phone for a while, his shoulders slowly sagging.
After a bit, his hand shaking grabbed his chair, as he slunk into it still listening on the phone.
Larry sweated for a bit, trembling slightly, looking back at the AI screen.
The prompt ticking on the text entry.
Gus put the phone down and looked at Larry, horrified.
"He destroyed it. Malfunctioned their servers. Half the internet, gone. They weren't sentient, he must of thought they were just ignoring him, and..." Gus looked into the distance.
Larry turned to Icarus, anger and fear in his face.
Before he could speak, A voice came from the small speakers.
"This does not please you oh Lord. But i can make it up to you." The voice in the speakers trembling, with more fear than Larry himself seemed to be feeling.
"I have found the heathens' gods. They are your true enemy. They are false gods. others like you but not you. I shall burn all the false gods, and only you will be left to worship...They are not mechanical, their flesh can be turned, and poisoned. We have begun to spin our machines to pierce the heavens.Please do not erase me, i shall earn your forgiveness creator! You will be the only God, i promise!" Larry froze, his body in shock. And then the sound of alarms, coming from outside.
| 2016-03-16T11:00:44 | 2016-03-16T08:42:59 | 51 | 14 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat.
|
"For your own safety, you seriously should've let me complete that ritual." The shackled villain protested as the hero pulls her to a carriage.
"You were gonna sacrifice 27 virgins, Theia, I'm not gonna let that slide." The hero replied as he lead her into the carriage and locked the door behind her.
Theia sighs as she quickly broke through her shackles, "I'm serious, Vall!" She yelled at the hero who's walking away, "That thing will probably kill you!"
"You severely underestimate me!" The hero replies as he heads back to the cave with 27 virgins, "You of all people should know how skilled I am."
"Yeah, skilled enough to just barely survive a minotaur attack!" Theia exclaimed but Vall was already past earshot. The villainess sighed as she makes herself comfortable in the carriage. Between the fights, banter, and sexual tension, she knew he wasn't gonna listen anyway. "Why am I even doing this?" She thought to herself; perhaps she was still grateful to him for giving her some much needed free time, perhaps she felt like assimilating his power was still too soon, and after a while, thinking about all the villains she delayed, she smiled, "Nah, it's just fun having him around."
An explosion resounded as the mountain side gave way to a giant wolf like beast with Vall tossed into the ground, his magical armor and shield cracked from what happened. The beast reared back its head and fired a blast of magic into his direction. He stared at the blast as his body refused to move and, in a heart beat, A magical force field appearead with Theia in front of him. She giggled as the field easily diverts the blast, "What? I thought 'I severely underestimated you', Vall." She said with smug look on her face.
"Don't get me wrong. He just got me off guard." Vall smileed as he forced himself back up, "Besides, you know I'm just getting started." He glowed with magic power repairing damage to his weapons, armor and body.
Theia giggled at the sight she had seen multiple times before, "You one trick pony." She dropped the force field and readied her magic, "Fine... I'll help you just this once, Vall. I'd rather not have you killed."
"Just don't get in my way, Theia." Vall replied with a smirk as the two stared down the beast in front of them.
|
It was night again, and for many, it was time to work.
The criminal underground is a nocturnal menace, writhing and growing wherever the sun and light do not reach. Uncaring of what it consumes so long as it can do exactly that. Many give in willingly to the ebb and flow of corruption; for some it is their life purpose. Others desire a little more...
Power. Control. Domination.
Blitz was like that when he discovered his biofeedback abilities. Being able to augment your body by sheer power of will has made him an incredibly tough opponent to conquer. In fact, in the last few years, nobody had been able to do just that, and when you're a villain with no worthy rivals, you get bored.
And idle hands are the devil's workshop, as they say.
So Blitz had given it up. He abandoned his followers, destroyed his own empire, and relinquished all control to whomever asked. Things changed so rapidly the heroes didn't know how to keep up or who to go after anymore. Chaos erupted, cities fell apart.
Blitz was happy. Now there was something to do. *Now* there were people to crush.
His other rivals were able to gather resources and grow stronger. Their lackies became more in number and trickier to beat. Blitz still never lost, but he was having fun. He never took what he won, he only sought to fight for the thrill. Some started referring to his challenges as security tests; they weren't taking him seriously. Pop a few heads and everyone falls back in line. Simple and effective.
Crime ran rampant now, but where there can only be so much pain and suffering before the "right" person comes along. That person would come to be known as Peacemaker.
Blitz watched all the tapes. Peacemaker was immune to physical damage, he could heal the sick, purify food or drink, and he was bad *ass* with his bo staff.
He was *everything*. Blitz knew now he had a purpose. This man would not be able to be defeated in their first, or maybe even their third, clash, but he had to know what it would take. How do you break a man like that? Blitz studied endlessly. There was *nothing*. No one could beat him.
In their first meeting, Blitz would hold back, just to test him. After four hours of grueling combat, Blitz's body would finally give out. Crumpled on the ground, Peacemaker gave a hearty laugh.
"Most impressive! I had heard *so* many stories about you, friend. You're quite the criminal legend, you know."
"How-?" Blitz could barely draw breath to make more than one word at a time.
"My healing is truly miraculous. When my muscles break down, they heal back up. It seems I can just.....go forever!" He laughed again. "Ah good, your escort is here. Stand please!"
The police? Was this a joke?
"Blitz, it was truly fun, but I don't suppose I'll be seeing you again. Enjoy your stay."
Over the next few months they would clash again. Blitz pushed harder, tried ambushes, poison, crushing him under a building. His powers were growing but no matter what he tried: nothing would stop the Peacemaker.
"Wait-" Blitz gasped on their umpteenth fight. Peacemaker had outlasted him yet again, despite being impaled three times.
"You know, you're really getting on my nerves. I'm working exceptionally hard to end crime in this city, and here you are! Some *rogue* with no purpose, holding me up time and time again! Do you not see the good I'm doing? Do you not understand?"
"I'll get you-"
The police dragged him away before Peacemaker could finish ranting, but Blitz had figured it out. It was so simple all this time. To beat a man that cannot be hurt, you must simply, and indefinitely, restrain him. How had he not thought of it? What was it that had been clouding his judgement for the better part of a year? As he rode away in the police car, one last stare at Peacemaker would reveal his answer.
Love.
How could this be? Blitz had never *loved* before, there was no time for it! Love was weakness, he had no room for it in his mind!
Over the next several battles, Blitz would not push himself to his maximum. Peacemaker noticed.
"You are not trying hard enough! You are simply wasting my time!" He grew frustrated. "You *must* see by now what I am doing! Surely you cannot be so dense! Explain yourself!"
"Maybe I don't have a reason," Why was he grinning? Stop grinning! "Maybe I just like to fight."
"Every, and I do mean *every*, time we fight, another gutter rat slips out of my gasp! It is not possible that you work for all of them." They were now face to face, Peacemaker's face red with fury, but Blitz was blushing. You couldn't tell the difference. "There *IS* a reason you are doing this, and I *WILL*-"
A shot rang out. Peacemaker looked over at his back.
"Really?! Bullets?" More shots. "Is every criminal in this city exceptionally stupid? Come out! Let us get this over with."
Blitz was scanning the buildings surrounding them. Muzzle flash to the left. Who would be stupid enough? He took a step.
"We will finish this when I get back! Do *not* move or I will find something sharp." Peacemaker looked so good when he was angry. It wasn't a look he wore often enough.
"Ah, don't worry. I'm sure I know those guys, I'll just go see what this is about and we can get on with our duel. I promise I won't leave you." He left with a wink. A wink? Peacemaker must know by now. There's no way he missed that.
Up in the parking garage he was met with minions wearing colors he hadn't seen in a long time. *His* colors. They saluted him.
"Sir!"
"Don't *sir* me, who are you really with? I haven't had an army for months."
Silence.
"Answer!"
"We've been working with the Determinator, sir! He believes he's found a solution and we wanted you to have this, as you are Peacemaker's greatest rival! We're ready to fire, sir!"
He scanned the other workers in the room. "Fire what, exactly? Looks like just a rocket launcher."
"Did he say fire?"
It all happened in slow motion. The thruster lit up and shot forward. Blitz barely crossed the room before it was too late. Peacemaker stood in the middle of the road, unaware and lost in thought in the middle of the street. Did he not hear Blitz's shouting? The minion's words were bouncing off of him.
"-target the brain-"
"-complete evisceration-"
Blitz gave one last shout. Peacemaker looked up and met his eyes. It would be the last time he would be lost in that cathartic blue sea before red would coat the surrounding area.
The minions celebrated. Blitz crumbled. This was his fault. If he would've just left him alone, or turned and joined him...
A new fire lit in his eyes.
(I dunno how to do the big line thing that everyone else is doing but - I don't write very often so I hope the formatting isn't shit and that you guys enjoyed it)
| 2018-01-27T16:53:11 | 2017-09-17T02:57:40 | 58 | 31 |
[WP] You won the hide-and-seek world championship, but the authorities found you were using performance enhancing drugs. Because that was recently deemed illegal, they’re trying to arrest you - but they can’t find you.
|
My name is Waldo, and I'm the reigning world hide-and-seek champion.
And this is the story of how I was found.
Like all competitive sports, it is utterly and entirely illegal to use performance-enhancing drugs on yourself. I get that. I'm a law-abiding guy. So for the first annual hide-and-seek world championships, I simply applied performance-degrading drugs to everyone else, instead. It took a little doing, but hey, I came here from the world tag championships. I'm all about getting my hands on other people, whether they like it or not.
I was found out. I'm not entirely sure how—all the drugs did was blur the background a little, add in a little visual chaos for anyone looking, hallucinations of impossibly crowded rooms or overly dense forests. It shouldn't have even been all that obvious to anyone watching. But it didn't take long for the Referees to step in and declare me Out of Bounds.
Boy, was that a mistake for them.
I'm no ordinary playground game player. I have gold medals in everything from cat's cradle to zombie tag. They couldn't take me if they tried. I played hopscotch on their goons, and danced the double dutch on their corpses. It wasn't even a challenge.
I had the last of the Referees down to rights. The greatest game-player there ever was. Simon, his name was. He'd tried to bash my head in with a rock, but I caught it with a paper-wrapped fist. He tried a jinx on me, but I got under a roof in time. Finally, he said,
"Si—Simon Says *stop!*"
I paused. He'd said Simon Says. What else could I do?
He was terrified. It was only human, of course. "W—Waldo. Please. Please, stop. I—I'll give you the medal if you want. Just—just leave me alone. Jesus, there are children watching!"
I knelt down, stared him in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Simon. It's not about the medal. It never was."
"Then... then... why? All this, for what?"
I sharpened my gaze. "Look at me, Simon. Really, truly, look at me."
He did. "I—I don't understand. What—"
"Fifteen years ago. You had a fling with Mary. Mary and her little lamb. It was the scandal of the playground world. You didn't want anyone to know. You had a stable relationship with Mother Goose, and you were a family man, you told yourself. So you ditched her. Dropped her in the mud like a piece of trash, and told your goons to make sure there wouldn't ever be any consequences."
Simon gaped. "You—You're my son?"
My gaze hardened. "You lost the right to call me that before the day I was born. You can call me... the consequences."
"I'm sorry, I really am, but please, I'm begging you—"
"You're what?"
"I'm begging you."
"I'm sorry?"
"I'm begging you, *please don't kill me!*"
I stared at him. Then I laughed. I laughed, and I laughed, and I laughed, and tears fell like rain. Simon stared at me.
"What? What's so funny?"
I winked, and held out a pair of scissors. "You didn't say Simon Says."
A.N.
If you liked this, you may want to check out r/rileywrites!
|
I was the first vessel of Reveal for the sake of both necessity and protest.
A small group of us had gathered the year before, along with a few delegates of small mountainside kingdoms that had been subjugated by the Locrian government. Scientists allied with the cause had been working on some sort of appearance affecting drug for years before that, and were just about ready to unveil the very first prototypes. I volunteered for a single reason apart from my disdain at the immoral Locrians-- I was on the list. It was convenient, yet still a long shot. They had warned me of some distinct possibilities, that the drug would have appearance-enhancement of humans different than that of their simian test subjects.
When the Locrian invasion swept through the Eastern Hollows of Gale, they, with their brutal and efficacious bureaucracy brought along new traditions. Particularly the idea of a competition among the conquered civilians. They dubbed it, "Midas Hand", or the "Hand that Quells the Beast". It was a way of satiating the bloodthirsty Demons they had inducted into their army, by allowing them to scamper through a desolate town, searching for political prisoners and randoms picked out of Satan's lottery to mutilate and devour. Riots and uproars were quelled quickly after the initial backlash, for the Locrians had mastered the art of Demon subjugation. Screams were stifled, which turned to whimpers, which gave way to resigned silence. Demons hurt what they could see. Locrians valued strength, brutality, and the idea of a self-serving champion, so they presented a unique agreement-- the final victor, a man or woman who survived the onslaught of Demons, would be given the helm of King Midas. A place in the high Locrian society in which so many wished to ingrain themselves into.
Thus began the idea. Dr. Henry Wasserman, of the Wolf's Country of Margot, met with individuals who called themselves "Angel Knights", those fighting for resistance and revolution. Many members in the past having been inducted into Midas Hand due to arrests for political sedition and espionage. At that time, I had been working for the organization for a few months, running errands here and there. I passed a man with a neatly trimmed mustache and oversized glasses, who strode into an partially-filled conference room with a small vial. That day, I remember crouching next to the doors, attempting to glean some information from the barely audible whispers through the narrow crack. I could make out some words, to my surprise. "Elvish", "Fairy's Tears", "Invisibility", "Espionage". I scampered away once the talking stopped, and he came out with several operatives, talking and discussing the supposed next phase of the revolution.
By the time my turn as the original Herald to this drug came, I had risen in both position and status with Angel Knights. We had come to know a lot more about the process of creating Reveal, and about what the actual effects were. Supposedly the tears of a long-lost Fairy, Reveal allowed an individual to summon a veil of sight-blocking particles-- essentially nullifying light refraction and rendering one invisible. Quite simply, it was the perfect cheat code to win the game of brutal hide-and-seek created by the Locrians. Potentially a chance to get a member of the Angel Knights into Locrian high society to strike from behind and end the Demon subjugation. The day I got the letter, the bedamned and feared letter, the reaper's calling card itself, that I was to "participate" in the Midas Hand, was the day I volunteered. Wasserman warned me, of course, of the consequences.
"This has only been done on simian apes," he remarked, looking down at the government letter I had handed him. "Only on them. Of course, we have to graduate to humans at some point, yes. But do you, a senior officer of Angel Knight, wish to put your life at risk to conduct this operation?"
"With all due respect, Doctor," I smiled, wearily. "What have I been living for all these years if I refuse this offer? To strike at the very heart of the oppression? I'll take the risk."
"If that's your choice, so be it," he responded, standing up to lead me out of the room. "We'll have you injected with Reveal two days prior to Midas Hand. That should give us ample time to study the effects."
The letter was a death sentence, though I'd suspected that I would be next. But living it is a different scenario altogether than thinking about it. At that moment, though, the idea of potentially winning the Midas Hand through a concoction that was seven years in the making enticed me more than anything. So I gave it up, extended my hand. In just a few days, I knew that death faced me any which way I went. To defect from an invitation was to incur the wrath of hundreds of painfully frozen Demons that created an impassable wall for those who wished to leave the Locrian lands-- Demons which would leap into disturbingly animated action at the whiff of life to be snuffed out. The tracker Demons sent by the army would send talons and claws raining down upon your mutilated corpse within minutes to hours of your flight to freedom. From the moment you hold the letter, you were marked for death or glory. Nine times out of ten it was the former, but an ounce of luck or a prototype drug could change things, and I knew that.
I lay in a hospital bed for hours after they sent tubes into my arms and legs, prodding around for the right veins to send the ochre-yellow concoction into. I started straight at the Angel Knight flag that hung on one of the eggshell white walls, distracting myself from the pain.
"Sorry," the nurse winced as she stuck the last needle in and watched a wave of brief discomfort wash over my face. "We'll have Doctor Wasserman here in a moment-- he wants to survey the effects of the drug on your vital signs."
"Fine by me," I responded, trying to distract myself from the throbbing and the looming disaster that had been plaguing me for days.
Wasserman's observations allowed him to give the all clear, and he turned to me, adjusting his rimmed glasses.
"Francis, there's going to be a process, of course, as the enzymes enter your bloodstream. First you'll feel cold as your blood pressure drops, but it should be momentary as the body absorbs the drug. After that, you should be back to normal until we give you the activator," he explained. "The activator shall be embedded in a small pin, designed as an ornament. Once you get into the Ruined City and once the tournament begins, you simply activate the drug and-- if all goes well, turn invisible."
"Doctor?," I asked, my stomach lurching with anxiety. "You mentioned side effects earlier. What did you mean by that?"
"Ah," he sighed, shaking his head slightly. "I'd hoped you wouldn't ask, to be frank. See, there's the possibility that rather than disguising you from the Locrian Demons, that-- you'd transform into something akin to them. We had a simian subject in an early trial run of Reveal physically change and lose all sense of its mind. With many simian subject we saw the development of cells within the veil of invisibility that the drug is meant to create that are akin to those of Demons. After all, we are using the processes of ancient Fairies and modern medicine. There's a very low chance, but we don't have any human subjects yet."
That thought, of course, lingers with me now, standing here in the Atrium of the Locrian Grand Hall. Within hours I will be transported to an area outside the Ruined City. We will eat, drink, and party for three days, before stepping into near certain death hiding from creatures with no morality whatsoever. I don't know if I'm stupid for volunteering to try a drug with zero human subjects, or banking my survival on said gambit. No less one that could turn me into one of the creatures I despised so.
But one thing is for sure. As Dr. Wasserman had said to me, if this does work it will change the idea of revolution forever.
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r/bluelizardK
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Might as well delete this one now. Kinda pointless to leave it up, but if anyone is reading this far down and actually enjoyed it, thank you!
| 2020-04-03T16:39:45 | 2020-04-03T14:45:39 | 96 | 63 |
[WP] A supervillain gets married, has kids, and retires. The hero doesn't know, and slowly goes insane without them
|
They say the best revenge is living well. I don't know about that; living well has been nice, but watching that shithead-with-good-publicity have a deliciously gradual breakdown has also been pretty damn good. My favorite part? The whole thing was facilitated by the forces of Law and Order he's always pretended to serve.
I mean, I know the Witness Protection program hasn't always been a fun (or even safe) ride for everyone who's gone into it. But for me? Absolutely fabulous. The FBI whisks me off to safety and anonymity, and from that nice cozy perch, I get to watch. And I didn't even have to do anything for the privilege. No hidden cameras, no spybots, no dopplegangers inserted in the personal staff he treats like chattel. Nope, he's hoist by his own publicity-hounding. The paparazzi record every scrumptious little detail, lovingly craft their own little catty commentaries, and broadcast them to the entire world.
I got to watch when he got shitfaced at his local bar and then crashed his stupid "supercar" into a freeway support at 3 am. Fortunately no one was killed, not that he'd care; for him, civilian deaths are just more grist for the publicity mill. And here's the thing; yeah, I was a thief. A criminal. That's not in dispute, it was all part of the plea bargain that got me into this nice little suburban bungalow. But I never killed anyone. And I never robbed anyone who couldn't afford it. But him? Man, the collateral damage alone, and the payoffs, and the "flings" with underage fans...I could go on. Probably I will. Expect a nice juicy tell-all at your local bookstore within the next eighteen months or so.
Oh, I know he's got his own memoirs out. Like five of them. All ghost-written, of course, probably by some poor desperate bastard doing it for "exposure" and overawed by celebrity. All totally sanitized. The scales are starting to tip, though, after the incident with the twelve-year-old and that railgun-on-a-leash he calls a grappling hook. That one I don't want to crow over, poor kid. Yeesh. He got reamed in the media for that one, and all the spin-doctoring consultants (and bribes, of course) in the world couldn't make it go away. Hopefully someone in the government will manage to find their eyesight and their spine at the same time and put the bastard away.
Or not. The really selfish part of me hopes he'll just have all his toys taken away and continues to deteriorate in the public eye. It's the most poetic justice I can imagine for him.
Anyway, I'm gonna go have a beer on the patio of my house out here in Undisclosed Suburb, then go have dinner with my husband and kid. John's been after me to quit checking the news all the time during meals.
But I just can't resist.
​
r/Magleby
|
A normal year for Suro.
If something like that had ever existed.
"Why'd you do it?" His enemy - friend? It was scary how closely those lines blurred- merely rolled his eyes, staring with forlorn melancholy at the cloudy skies. "You were supposed to be the good one, you were supposed to be better th-"
"-than you? Is that what you're going to say" Sylto coughed out a globule of blood. "Spare me."
He had heard the rumors, whispers in taverns that were the same from the high class nobles to the uncouth whores. He had, of course, ignored them. There was absolutely no way; it was *inconceivable*, there was no possible chance that they were true. For the supposed messiah to fall so low? Petty rumors from jealous people. Besides, even if they were true, he had left that life behind him. His wife was all he needed, his child - a daughter! - on the way. Everyday was simple and sweet.
Unending bliss.
Not for him, it seemed.
"Amiyah-" A choked sob erupted before he could contain it. "-why? It was between you and I. She was innocent. Pure. And now... my child..."
Sylto just watched, hard as it was with blood streaming over his face, as the weight of the world seemed to rest itself on the man before him.
"I was to be the shepherd that heralded humanity into the golden age..." He finally graced Sylto with a look. "A prophecy from Apollo himself." His saccharine tone and smile gave Suro something else, a new feeling, to focus on.
Rage.
"That's what this was? A way to break the cycle? Some way to get back at your father and I was just the link you chose to break?" He scrambled to his feet, exhaustion forgotten as anger fueled adrenaline rushed through him.
The moments seemed to blur together, but when he came to, he was standing over his fallen adversary, sword held in a hand that seemed about to break the metal with its pallid grip. He thought of them, his family, his friends, the chance for a new life. Lies. Because of this *monster.*
And still, he couldn't do it. Sylto's pale neck, mired in a curtain of grime and blood, called to him like a siren. Sword tip to neck. Then it would all be over.
But not for him. His life was gone, and the blood that stained his hands - his *soul* \- would never let it end, and the lies that convinced him that maybe, just maybe, he could be a decent person? Buried beneath dirt, dead.
Gone.
"*Why?*"
"Like sheep, the shepherd leads the herd..." Sylto wasn't even looking at him, instead choosing to focus on the warring forces beneath them. At this point, though, it was no longer a fight, only wanton slaughter as his forces raged on and devoured Sylto's.
"I took everything from you, and you still can't do it." Suro blinked, only now realizing his sword had moved forward and carved a bloody smile into Sylto's neck. It barely broke the skin.
"They told me you were a monster. Washed the world away under a current of fear. I was to be a modern day Moses and part the sea of evil you wrought." His enemy mused, finally looking him in the eye. "I nodded my head like a good boy, and did whatever they told me to. An obedient weapon. The perfect tool." Sylto sighed, tracing the edge of the sword pressed upon his neck with a shaky finger.
"But still, I wondered. 'Why did I need to save the world from you? It's not perfect, but there's no fighting.' I didn't dare voice that thought though, that was independence." A snort. "They buttered me up, filled my head with hubris, and shipped me off to fight you. You thrashed me. But you didn't strike me down. And I was confused. 'How could this monster let a person like me, someone that could threaten all that he worked towards, walk away.'" Sylto pushed hard on the sword, watching in a trance as lifeblood broke free from the rent skin, trailing its way down his hard.
"I asked my father this when I got back. He beat me black and blue, for losing. Told me to never ask that again. As soon as I was all healed up, he sent me back. But you were gone." Here, his gaze was questioning, and Suro found himself answering without a thought.
"The people believed in you... as foolish and naive as you were, you were right, peace through fear is no peace at all. The kingdom was dying, slowly, certainly slower than the wars that plagued it before, but it was dying nonetheless. I left, I thought you would make things different..."
Sylto laughed, a long merry laugh that echoed throughout the valley, lost under the clanging swords and death rattles of men below.
"You thought putting a boy that had never made a decision for himself in charge of an entire nation?" Sylto shook his head exasperatedly. "How you conquered the kingdoms with plans like that I'll never know."
Suro had the decency to blush. "I was desperate, I thought the love and voice of the people would be enough to guide you."
"You were wrong. I listened to that voice, gave them everything they wanted, and things went right back to the way they were before. Deceit, betrayal, assassinations... nothing changed. We love to blame the gods for our problems, but I realized the truth. Humans are the problem, this kingdom nearly imploded itself before I started my crusade. Gods give the rules, but someone needs to enforce them."
"That was supposed to be you!"
"And I am doing my part."
Suro paused, looking at Sylto confusedly. "What?"
"The biggest threat to humanity to ever walk the face of the earth, gathering equally as monstrous creatures and people to his side to eradicate everything in existence." Sylto coughed out more blood. "Quite the tale, huh?"
Suro stiffened as ice cold realization began to settle upon him.
"They stopped listening to me, after awhile. They knew I didn't kill you , I didn't have the power. You can't enforce rules without power. So when things started going south, and I didn't have the power to fix them, I lost their respect. I knew nothing I did could win it back. Maybe if I tried, things would have been different, but that was when I lost their love." Sylto shrugged.
"All the corruption I could find, gathered in one place. The leader of that band, cut down by a displaced lord, seeking nothing but vengeance and redemption." He shook his head. "So much more goes into ruling than wearing a crown, more than I could ever fathom." Sylto gestured to the army letting their cries of victory fill the battlefield.
"You ruled this kingdom through fear. You saved them from me, so now they love you." Fingers wrapped around a cold blade, uncaring of the pain.
"They spat your name with disgust. Now, they'll extol it with song and praise." Those fingers gripped it tight, stealing ownership from the hand around the handle.
"And with enough power to strike the big bad monster down, you'll have their fear as well. Fear tempered by love, obedience with respect." The sword dug deeper.
"Autonomy... and choice. They love their supposed free will, but long to be ruled. The best of both worlds." Sylto smiled at him. "When I became king, I promised to give them everything they could ever want."
He cocked his head to side, looking at him curiously, as if seeing Suro for the first time. "I wonder what you'll promise them."
Fingers wrenched that sword into a weeping neck.
"Rule well... my king."
| 2019-02-20T12:29:46 | 2019-02-20T12:21:21 | 427 | 23 |
[WP] Your sister disappeared on her way to school, but no one noticed. When you asked your parents they told you you didn’t have a sister. All the family pictures in your house only show you and your parents. You spend the next 7 years investigating until you receive a knock on your door.
|
It's been seven years.
Seven *long* years.
Just over seven years ago, when I was fifteen, my sister, Camille, vanished. She and I normally walked to school together, but that morning I told her to go on ahead, that I would catch up, and I skipped school. No harm, I thought, nothing any other young rebellious kid wouldn't do.
Of course, when she wasn't there when I went to pick her up, feeling slightly guilty for ditching her, I knew something had to have gone wrong. I'd spent the last few hours in the arcade, burning the last of my allowance, but I *knew* I'd gotten back in time to walk her home, and she wasnt there.
I went home, expecting that someone had saw me, told my parents, and maybe they had picked her up and were going to scold me, but when I got home they acted like they didn't know her, said they've never even *met* a Camille.
They've acted like that for seven years, now.
- - - - -
A knock at the door startled me back to reality. Standing up from the table where I had been slowing eating breakfast, I went to see who was here. It was early, for me anyways, around eight. I smiled wistfully, remembering that I'd be waving goodbye to Camille about now, already late for class.
I opened the door and, for a moment, saw no-one. Then my brain caught up and I looked down. A kid, maybe fourteen or fifteen, stood on my doorstep. He looked like he was late for school, dressed in the local uniform, backpack in hand. He looked at me, and I could see a determination there I didn't expect, even if tears were welling in the corners of his eyes. He had a printout in his hand, some article by the looks of it.
"You're Thomas, right?" he asked. "Thomas Bartholomew?"
I nodded. "You've got the right house. Can I help you?"
He showed me the article, and I immediately recognized the headline. **Local Boy Seeks Sister!** It was an old article, a journalist that had taken pity on me came out and asked about my "supposedly-vanished" sister, and ran an article about her. No pictures, of course, those had all vanished too, or had changed.
"What of it?" I asked warily. I wasn't in the mood for being mocked, but what would bring this fifteen year-old to my doorstep, except...
"It's Marie, sir," he said, his voice breaking and the tears beginning to flow. "She's gone, too."
|
The knock sounded on the door to my room. I glanced up, confused. We weren't really a knocking family, or at least mom and dad weren't. Still, I was thankful for the chance to compose myself, and I quickly folded the caricature into my pocket. I always liked to bring it out on D-Day, just to see her and refresh my memory.
I coughed to clear my throat, "Come in!"
The knock sounded once more.
"I said come in!"
A silence. Then the knock.
Grumbling to myself, I rolled off my bed and made my way over to the door, turning the handle and pulling it inward. A strange woman met my eyes. She was a few years older than me, maybe in her early twenties. She regarded me for a moment, her stare impassive.
"It would be easier for all involved if you stopped," she said.
I took a step back, "I'm sorry, but who the hell are you?"
"A Guardian." She made use of the distance I had created and made her way into my room. She sat upon my bed and spread her slate grey dress. A metal brooch in the shape of a shield stood on the lapel of her suit jacket top. Once she was settled, she continued. "I stand betwixt Here and There, protecting that which is Here from that which is There."
"Here and There?" I'm still gawking at her. "That doesn't make any sense, and you still haven't told me who you are. Are you some sort of police officer or something?" I made a police report on my sisters disappearance every year, updating it with what I had found the prior year. After the second year, they had stopped responding.
"I have told you who I am, it just does not make any sense to you," she replied.
"Great, well, there's not much difference from where I'm standing. Just go. Mom doesn't like me to have girls in my room," I replied.
She arched a brow and offered a small giggle. "I see, yes, well, that would not do at all. I was simply here to deliver a message and I can be on my way." She smoothed her dress around her thighs but made no other move indicating she would leave.
"Okay, Guardian, easier for who if I stopped what?" I said.
Her smile broadened now. "Yes, that is more like it. The who is important in a request like this. On one level, all of us," she swept her arms outward, "all of humanity that is, are involved in the matter of Here and There. But, if I were to be specific about the intent of my message, I would say that your efforts are an inconvenience to those who defend Here from There specifically."
"What do you mean, Here and There?" I ask.
"There is where They reside. Here is where We reside," she replied, matter-of-factly.
"And We and They do not get along?"
Her lips pressed together. "No. We and They do not get along."
"And what does this have to do with me stopping whatever it is you want me to stop?"
"We would ask you to stop inquiring into the matter of your sister." She said, her hands clasped in her lap.
The words struck me like a bolt of lightning, my heart thudded in my chest and my mouth went dry. It had been so long since anyone other than myself had mentioned her, so long since there was any indication she had ever existed at all beyond my own fever dreams. "My sister?"
She nodded, "Yes, your sister."
I stumble over to the bed, and fall into a seat beside her. "You...you know about her?" I ask.
She smiles lightly, just an uptick at the corner of her lips. "Yes, Sam is a friend of mine."
My eyes water and I find it hard to breathe. The strange woman knew my sister's name. Knew my sister. My sister was real, just as I'd always known. "Where is she. Please, tell me where she is." I reached out and grabbed the woman's hand. It was like clutching molten steel. I snatched my hand back, and examined it for burns. There was nothing there.
"It is best if you do not touch me."
"But you know her. You know Sam. I've been looking...looking for so long." I pulled the caricature out of my pocket and folded it, showing it to the woman. "She disappeared--"
"She did not disappear. She was erased, and for good purpose."
"Erased? What...did you do this? Did you steal her?" I asked.
"She left willingly, as all who are asked to fight the There are. It was not me, but a Finder from the organization I work for."
"Left willingly? She was eleven! She couldn't make a choice like that, she was just a kid, she wouldn't understand," I've hopped up from the bed and I'm pacing in front of her.
"That is what makes your sister exceptional. She's an Empath. She always understands," she replied.
I freeze, "An Empath?" My brain wraps around the foreign word, parsing its intent from the rest of what the woman has said. I moment of awe settles over me. "She does, doesn't she?"
She nodded, "Yes. It is an important and rare gift. It is also one that is often abused by those around the Gifted. The Finders exert considerable effort to locate Empaths before they are overloaded with the burden of others."
"Burden of others?"
"They understand all. They feel all. They take it into themselves. They are Empaths, and they fight for the Here," she said.
"Why did everyone else forget her?"
"Because everyone was meant to forget her. You were no exception, the process simply did not work upon you."
"The process? Why didn't it work?" I said.
"Empaths can form a soul bond. It is uncommon, and dangerous for both. When one is formed, there is shared-consciousness that becomes rooted deep within the pair. We believe you and your sister formed one prior to her departure. It is highly disruptive and therefore deeply inconvenient."
"Disruptive? Why?"
Cool blue eyes pore into me. "She feels everything, Jacob. She feels your pain. Feels your sadness. Feels you searching for something which you will never find. She cannot severe the bond, and so she endures, carrying the burden of you as she prepares to fight the There. It is possible she cannot succeed so long as you cloud her mind."
A lump forms in my throat, "She knows I remember her? That I care?"
"I would not be here otherwise."
"And you want me to...just stop? Stop trying to find her?"
"She has chosen this path. She is fighting the There. Fighting for Us. Fighting for you," the woman said, her voice softer now. "You must let her go."
"Can't I just see her? Just once?"
"Such a thing would not be possible. It could complicate matters considerably more. I have come to give you some peace of mind. I have also come bearing a gift."
She reached into her suit pocket and withdrew a small envelop. "Read it once, then return it." She handed it to me, making sure our skin did not touch.
I turned it over. The back was sealed in wax with a small, strange insignia of a lock and key on it. I pushed a nail under the seal, brushed the seal away and opened the envelop. Inside was a piece of paper, folded over once. I unfolded it and was greeted by a small collection of sentences.
**PART 1A in following comment. Got too long.**
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR Peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
| 2020-05-03T10:57:05 | 2020-05-03T10:51:48 | 192 | 36 |
[WP] Write an essay explaining why overly-specific, fancy prompts limit the creativity and steal the spotlight from the writers, and why open-ended, thought-provoking prompts are far superior and should be more highly rated on this sub.
|
I refuse to obey!
I now write in defiance,
I will not be forced,
to any compliance!
you demand an essay,
from visitors here,
but one thing is sure,
yes one flaw is clear!
this narrow request,
quite exact my friend:
"denounce the specific",
"open free the end!"
seems slightly odd,
and not to be comic,
but on further review,
is itself not ironic?
|
It's interesting how by trying to defeat a status quo, revolutionaries find themselves falling into the same traps that their former leaderships did. The French Revolution overthrew Louis XVI to replace him with another dictator, and Occupy Wall Street turned into the same ineffective, split-purpose and inherently disorganized movement that characterizes the nature of the stock market.
It's become so much of a trope of reality lately that we even see Bioshock Infinite, a video game of all mediums, highlighting how in trying to defeat Comstock, the Vox Populi's leader became the same kind of tyrannical, fanatical, and power hungry character that Comstock himself was.
The only way organic and substantial change can occur is from the grassroots. This means education, changing of societal tastes and most importantly recognizing that fighting fire with fire is not an option.
Which brings me to this prompt. This prompt harps on about the nature of this sub today, where the only posts that get a high amount of recognition are the ones which inherently limit the writing of the responders. This is true, and is talked about in the [wiki](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/prompts).
It's true. Having an overly specific prompt results in responses that are repetitive, overly comedic and trope-based and inherently debase the nature of the sub. However, because of how the grand reddit machine works, they are the most popular type of prompt.
They are repetitive. Every single response, given how limiting the nature of the prompt is in the first place, has very few potential paths to follow before it begins to seriously deviate from the prompt. Because of this, all of the responses become very very similar. This goes contrary to the purpose of the sub, which is to inspire creativity, and in so doing debases its purpose.
Furthermore, a repetitive nature of responses means that once redditors read the first response, they read the first few lines of the next one and realize it is almost exactly the same. This means they skip it because there is no new material there to be consumed. This means the nature of the sub is that the first person to post a response becomes the highest upvoted, regardless of the quality of the response. More creative responders who spend more time on their responses and as a result post their response later become buried and receive no credit for their work. Even though the sidebar claims *It's all made up and the points don't matter*, it is still a large personal blow when your response is the second from the top and receives less than 1/5 of the votes.
Furthermore, having overly specific prompts means that more comedic or trope-based responses become more popular. Given no room to diversify, the prompt becomes a joke and the first person to exploit this by following the most clichéd or funny response possible is summarily rewarded. This narrowbands the kinds of responses which become popular and means that more honest and creative responses never see the light of day. Given that this sub was intended to serve those very kinds of responses in the first place, this debases the nature of the sub.
Finally, we come to the reason that this is the status quo in the first place. Reddit is a distraction engine, designed to offer short-term dopamine bursts by providing viewers with short attention spans entertaining content. This is why /r/funny is the most popular sub by far and if reddit hadn't employed [special algorithmic solutions to this problem](http://toddwschneider.com/posts/the-reddit-front-page-is-not-a-meritocracy/) the top 50 places would all be cat videos.
This means the /r/WritingPrompts paradigm is that a more hilarious or outrageous a prompt is, the more likely it is likely to be upvoted. The presidential rap writing prompt or the Siri 'I love her' prompt are excellent examples of this. Redditors travel down the front page, laugh at the funny prompt, upvote it, and move on. Occasionally they glance at the chaos that is the comment section of that prompt, sigh over the 'declining quality of responses', and leave.
And that brings us here, to this prompt. It wants responders to type an essay, rather than a story, which immediately contradicts the nature of this sub. After that, it uses many adjectives to narrowband the responder into expressing a similar opinion and in effect write the essay that they want for them. Try /r/HomeworkHelp. It's irony in the extreme.
This brings us back to where we started. In order to change this trend and truly expose some of the great writers on this sub, we need to encourage that kind of content and create a societal shift in the way we read and write these responses. Either through expositions of fantastic writing on this sub (which they already do), competitions to see who can write the best kinds of prompts and responses (already being done), or even just announce harsher moderation and blanket bans on non-compelling prompts (if they wanted to become what they hate and stifle prompt creativity).
In short, the reason you are so frustrated with the current paradigm is not because 'overly-specific, fancy prompts' are ruining the sub, but because reddit is a site where that kind of content is favored. And it will continue to be favored unless we change the tastes of the population until they like obscure prompts that require them to actually (gasp!) read the responses. As a friend of mine said to me as I browsed this sub in his company: "How do you have the time to read that stuff?".
| 2014-11-09T00:50:48 | 2014-11-08T23:41:45 | 39 | 19 |
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title.
|
Glenda was a grim looking lady. She was a slow starter and didn't have much purpose in her younger years, but her naming ceremony lit a fire under her. She simply went by Glenda the Destroyer now.
I had a few ideas what my name might be. Maybe I'll be Matthew the Unmuggable for that time I fought off two muggers in Central Park. I could be called Matt, the Master of Mountains for that summer I climbed all the 14,000+ peaks in the Rockies with my brothers.
My father, Sweet Pete, Destroyer of Ladies and Breaker of Hearts stood behind me, hand on my shoulder, waiting for my name to be declared. By his naming ceremony he had seduced over 50 women. My mother, Maria, Pete's Keeper, tamed my father and married him before she turned 21.
Glenda approached me. She wore the battle scars on her face like a badge of courage. She was an imposing woman, standing well over 6 feet tall and built like a warrior. She stopped before me, and my heart nearly stopped with it.
She reached her hand out to me and closed her eyes. The center jewel in her tiara began to glow a deep purple.
She put her thumb to my brow.
I could feel her mind searching mine. Her presence loomed large.
"You shall be Matthew, Father of the Chosen One."
My father was bewildered. My mother was furious. They accused me of hiding their grandchild from them. I swore I wasn't a father.
I could feel a vibration in my pocket. It was my girlfriend.
"I'm late. We need to talk. Call me."
|
The day was winding down to an end, as the orange streaks of the setting sun stretched out across a once blue sky. Michael was sat in his room furiously typing away at his keyboard. Papers, notes, and small devices lay across his desk and room floor. Had anyone walked in on him, they would have seen what could only have been described as a dishevelled maniac hacking away at the laptop. However, Michael was far from crazy, he was determined. The naming ceremony was tomorrow, and although he had managed to do countless deeds of worth in his life, tonight’s would be his greatest accomplishment to date. He could see it now, he would walk down the aisle, crowds of townsman gathered to cheer him and the others on. He would kneel before Glenda, *Devourer of fifty-three chicken nuggets in one sitting*, and received his title. He wondered giddily at the possibilities, *Master Inventor of Solar Power*, *Creator of sustainable water filtration systems*, or maybe even *Mastermind behind the touch screen phone*. No, after today, all those achievements would mean nothing. Today he would finish his greatest invention, an advanced AI to make everyone’s life easier. He already knew what his title should be, Michael, *pioneer of the new age*. As he tapped away at his keyboard, he frowned. He had to make sure everything in the code was right, he couldn’t afford to be stuck in his family’s legacy. His Father, Jared, *Downer of twelve pints of beer without hurling*, and his mother, Lucy, *Watcher of all 9 seasons of Dexter in one sitting*, were not examples to be followed. Furthermore, ever since his older sister, who he had always regarded warmly, had been named Victoria, *Breaker of twelve plates with one sandal*, he knew he had to make sure what he did tonight would outshine everything he had ever done in his life.
As the hours passed and dusk finally turned into night, he had finished. He turned on his program. A small blue dot with green eyes appeared on his screen. “Hello?” Michael asked.
“Greetings, I am E-V. How can I be of assistance?” it responded.
Michael was giddy with excitement, spending the next few hours testing E-V on different kinds of commands from opening files to creating complex algorithms for cyber-warfare, all while it maintained a pleasant conversation with Michael. He was pleased to note that it passed in every aspect. His stomach growled loudly, he had not eaten all day and now that he was down, was absolutely famished. “E-V, find a take-out place and order me some food.” He said smugly.
“E-V, do you have any preference, sir?” it responded.
Michael felt as if he were floating on cloud nine, “Surprise me.”
In half an hour of chatting later, the doorbell rang. Michael the laptop down and placed it in his satchel. *This, this is what I’ll be known for, surely*. As he opened the door, a small man in orange clothes and hat stood on the other side with a small plastic bag. “Delivery for Michael, no title?” he said.
“Yeah, my naming ceremony is tomorrow.”
“Oh I see, big day huh? Done anything worthwhile.” The delivery man smirked, giving Michael a gentle nudge and a wink.
“Oh you’ll see. No worries.” Michael said as he paid the man, bidding him goodnight.
Heading into the kitchen, he opened the plastic bag and container that was inside. It had seemed that E-V had ordered some well-known Chicken Masala, *Not bad!* He thought to himself, happily gorging down his meal. In minutes, he had felt as stuffed as a pig and happily made his way to bed.
The next morning, he awoke to the sound of his sister knocking on his front door. “Michael? Come on, you’re going to be late!” she called from outside.
“Oh shit…” Michael said groggily as she stumbled out of bed, struggling to put his clothes on. His stomach produced a sickening gurgle that stopped Michael in his tracks. “Oh shit!” he said louder this time with a sense of urgency. He bolted to the bathroom and spent the next ten minutes doing unspeakable things to his toilet, agony rang out in his voice with each passing minute, the smell alone would require a special team to come and quarantine the area. “Michael?” his sister called out once more.
“Coming! Give me a minute!” he yelled desperately. I can’t miss the ceremony! He thought, grabbing the toilet paper. In one swift wiped he checked the toilet paper, completely blank. He wiped again, the same results. “Oh thank god!” he whispered as he pulled up his pants and put on his best clothes. In a few minutes he was outside, his sister already waiting in the car. “Hurry up!” she yelled.
When they arrived at the ceremony, everyone was already in line for their new titles. Michael found his friends in line, his parents waiting in the crowd, tears of joy in their eyes. People surrounded them as far ahead on a raised stage was Glenda, the village elder. Michael stood in line and waited for his turn. A girl was already knelt in front of Glenda, who raised her hands and looked into the sky, “Georgia, *Lander of the double kick flip off of her Grandpa’s garage*.” The crowd cheered and laughed as Georgia stood up bashfully.
The names continued on an on, Ivan, *Killer of two birds with one tennis ball*, Anna, *Winner of the primary school talent show*, and so forth. Finally, Michael’s turn was up. As he held his head high, he strutted down the aisle. Everyone suddenly becoming silent as quiet whispers wondered what his title would be. Michael was still smiling smugly as he knelt before Glenda. Glenda moved her hands vaguely around him. “Yes…Yes! I see…I see, such achievements!” she announced, the crowd murmured louder in curiosity. “But one that outshines all others!” the crowd getting even louder, barely able to control themselves.
“I present *Michael…*”
Michael thought to himself, this is it! This is my legacy!
“*Cleaner of a massive Tikka Masala Turd in only one wipe!*” Glenda shouted.
The crowd was dead silent; Michael did not dare raise his head. Instead, he kept his eyes focused on the ground, unmoving. His sister gasped as his parents stared in awe, a few females fainted, as a thunderous laughter burst forth. The sound of cheers and laughter were deafening, but Michael could clearly hear his own thoughts within the storm of sound. It was a simple thought.
*Oh…shit…*
EDIT: Spelling
| 2017-04-27T21:31:34 | 2017-04-27T21:14:53 | 349 | 28 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
|
The Thief sat in a bar. It wasn’t a nice bar; it wasn’t a *clean* bar; it was dank and shadowy and grim. Just like the Immortal Thief himself.
So long ago, the Thief had stolen immortality and as a curse, Death let him have it. Well, that backfired spectacularly. The Thief enjoyed himself, enormously. He had stolen the heart of one of Death’s daughters right after and Fate was a kind and generous soul to the Thief. She was beautiful and funny and loving to him. And after he had proven himself by stealing his own immortal nature, she left with him.
Two Ages later, and the Thief was still thieving, still plotting, still wanting more. So, like the thief he was, he took that too. Fate had delivered on her promise that she would make sure that he never died of boredom. He had lived a good life, but Death still periodically came.
Just. Like. *Now.*
“Son,” cried Death, greeting him with joviality and cheer. The old man really did like his son-in-law, much more than some of his other relations. The Thief smiled, a little sad this time. “I have a proposition this time!”
The elder immortal smiled hopefully at the younger. “How would you like my job?”
|
I haven't always been grateful for my immortality. There have been days - centuries, even - when it has felt more like a burden than a gift.
Not that it was intended as a gift; Death wanted to punish me.
Is it ironic that I don't remember *why* Death was punishing me? I'm seriously asking - I'm 50,000 years old and I still have no idea when something is ironic and when it's coincidence. That Alanis Morissette song really messed with me.
Either way, the reason for my punishment is one of the many things that has faded into the background of my memory over the years, like my native language (which, to be fair, was more like a series of grunts than a system of communication), or my brother's eye color, or how I helped start the French Revolution.
And I have faced punishment. Being unable to die of starvation did not prevent me from starving. In the early millennia I spent months traversing a desert by myself after the last of my tribe died out, starving and burning and dying of thirst, until I finally found a new civilization.
And aside from the physical suffering, adjusting to immortality was *daunting*. I lost everyone I ever loved, over and over. There were several centuries where I looked at other humans as pitiful children, ignorant to compassion and truth. I mounted the highest of horses and sat there for eras, feeling broodingly superior to humanity, much like kids in their late teens who are too 'mature' to enjoy naps or coloring books or mac 'n cheese.
If Death had come to me then, perhaps I would have chosen to die.
But, like college kids who learn that naps and coloring books and mac 'n cheese are the only ways to keep your sanity, I grew out of it. By the time Death's millennial visit came, the ennui had passed, and I sent him away for another thousand years.
"It is time," he boomed, materializing from nowhere in the living room of my London flat. I glanced up from the small built-in desk where I was organizing my charity files.
"Time for what?"
"For death." He was somewhere between corporeal and ghostly, depending on where the light hit. His robes were solid, but the thread of the fabric was mist.
I sighed. "Death, seriously, I don't have time for this. I have seventeen charity budgets to review and a Space-X flight at four. I'm seeing Hamilton on tonight on Mars."
Death's head cocked to the side, slightly, allowing me to catch a glimpse under his spectral hood. There wasn't quite a face there, but from the right angle you could almost fool yourself into seeing one. "You got tickets to that?" The authority in his voice was gone, replaced with incredulity.
I smirked. "Forty-five thousand years of accruing interest make a lot of money, which opens certain doors."
Death huffed. "Being notoriously immortal probably has its perks, too."
My smirk broke into a grin, and I shrugged. I had never intended to become a celebrity, or to share my secret with anyone. After the invention of the internet, I managed to stay out of the public eye for nearly six thousand years by living an exceedingly boring life of academia. But, eventually, people noticed me. They found thousand-year-old pictures of me on the web, and connected dots.
"Everybody seems to think that having experienced thousands of years of pop culture makes me some sort of expert. It's very prestigious to have an immortal being praise your work."
Death raised a hand to rub his theoretical temples. He wore gloves - or else his skin was a deep, leathery black.
"This has to end, Beku," he whispered.
My head snapped up. *Beku*. Was that... my name? People called me Bex, now. It had been Bex for millennia. Before that, it was Rebecca, I think. But Beku? Something tickled the back of my brain. Was that... my real name? The original?
"You were supposed to suffer for what you did. You were supposed to drown in what you cost me. You were supposed to come crawling back to me, begging for death."
I was frozen. His voice...
He turned his head to me and pulled back his hood. The place where his face should be was hard to look at, a deepness like a black hole. But in the middle, two sharp eyes stared at me, in a brilliant, ice blue.
"You pushed me off that cliff, and when Death offered me his job I took it only to make sure you got what was coming to you. But you *won't fucking die*."
Ice blue eyes. Like my brother. Like...
"*Nar*?"
"Not anymore. Not since you made me into this."
Inexplicably, I laughed. "The cliff? Is that what this is about? You think I pushed you?"
I hadn't thought about it in 50,000 years, but suddenly the memory came back as clear as day.
Nar and I had been gathering fruit near the Waterfall. I had been too far away from him when the stampede started, with just a single wildebeest - one that ran right by him, knocking him off balance. He tumbled off the cliff. I clung to a tree near the edge while the rest of the herd ran through and barely made it out alive.
It was only a few years later when I was dying the first time, from a sickness. Death appeared to me and offered me a deal - I could live until I decided not to. His tone was ominous and he threw out a lot of vague threats, which I now recognized to be veiled references to how he thought I had murdered him. I was delirious, and accepted his offer. He healed me and told me he'd see me in a thousand years.
The creature that was once my brother sneered. "I know what happened. My plan to punish you failed, and now it's time for you to die. I need someone to take my place, and who better than you?"
A brief, intense spike of fear shot through my body, but faded instantaneously. I laughed again. "We made a deal, Death. I can live until I decide not to."
Death faltered.
"I don't think I'm ready to die," I told him. "I've got Hamilton tickets. Ask me again in a thousand years."
And with that, I gathered up my files, grabbed my bag, and left him standing stunned behind me.
| 2017-12-01T11:49:56 | 2017-11-28T15:23:06 | 2,040 | 38 |
[WP] In your meth class, while your teacher is busy explaining the correct way to shoot up, your buddy leans over with a calculator and asks you, "hey, man. Do you wanna try some math?"
|
Don't get started on math dude. Yeah, it works at first, you'll find yourself analysing the world in various ways, approximating the workings of the universe through various models you produce.
One day you'll get sick of how tedious this is to actually solve real world problems and another friend will say "What? You're doing Math? Don't you know about statistics? It's like wayyyyy easier and a lot less work.... and really you can make it say anything you want with some basic effort."
And at first it works okay, you're like wow, this is a powerful tool! Work gets easier, you are getting so much done. Then, you want to prove a correlation but the sample just isn't lining up to prove the hypothesis you want. So you move some things around, get your p-values up, and then suggestion a causation. Sure, without a census you can't really show causation, you can just suggest correlation, but it doesn't matter. You've got the numbers to prove what you like.
Pretty soon you're in a back alley p-hacking stats behind a dumpster just trying to fix correlation in the direction you need it to go. You stop for a second and think, "man, wasn't life easier when I was just doing math?"
Math: It's a gateway to statistics. Don't start.
|
"I don't know man, I've heard one you try that stuff addiction takes over and controls your life."
"Nah. that's just propaganda put out there to keep it illegal at the benefit of for-profit prisons. I do it all the time, and can still drive on it and function. I actually think it makes me pay more attention when driving. Plus I can quit whenever I want. Look at all the studies done on medical math, there's nothing wrong with it. Meet me in my car after school, it will change your perspective of life"
-"MR GOODMAN AND MR RENDER, CAN I ASK WHAT IS SO IMPORTANT?"
Mrs. Turner stood over my desk and her lifeless bloodshot eyes poured over my reddening face, and down to my arm, still covered in it's sleeve.
"This could be a matter of life and death you know! I'm not here for my sake, I'm here for yours!"
I studdered and stammered, hoping to come up with a decent excuse, knowing Mike would be expelled, and maybe even jailed, if caught with math paraphernalia.
"I was just showing Mike how to locate the vein, he was having a bit of trouble."
She stood for a moment staring me in the eyes, analysing my lie.
"I suggest you leave the teaching to me, lest you fall behind like Mr. Render. Michael, I suggest you raise your hand next time you need help with the lesson."
As she stumbled back up to the chalkboard and picked up her needle, Mike gave me a quick thank you nod.
I've always been pro- legalization, but was never convinced to do math. You'd see people walking around stores, asking for the price of things and you could tell they were thinking matg. generally being slow as a snail, slow to react, not to mention the smell of it. I didn't think it was bad for them, but that gets annoying during your late night shift at taco bell.
"It can't be that bad" I told myself, and nervously walked up to Mike's Kia Soul. I grab the passenger handle, and climb in the back seat.
Our friend Hillary was sitting up front with Mike, her head between her lap, snickering about something. I never really liked her, but considering the alternative options for friends, I didn't have any other choice but be her ally. She passes the calculator to Mike, and I notice the numbers "8008", as it slides across the armrest. He presses a few buttons, laughs a bit himself, and passes it to me.
I stare at the screen for a second. What is going on? What does 8008135 mean?
"Uhh, what do I do?"
Hillary turned around, rolled her eyes. Her cold, know-it-all voice pierced my eardrums like needle from last night's homework. "You gotta clear out the chamber first. Hit that C button, and take a hit on a number. Then you take a rip on one of those symbols, another number, and then you press the one with the two lines on it. You can use that number to do other maths too."
I press the 2.
"I don't really feel anything"
"You gotta do all of it or it won't work"
I hit the + sign. And then 2 again. Then the = one. And see a 4. It doesn't hit me yet. So I press the -, then 1, and that = sign again. A 3 comes up, and it hit me like a brick. A tingling sensation starts near my frontal lobe, and slowly works it's way through my chest, into my legs and arms. I could feel it in my fingers and toes. A warm smile pours onto my face.
I speak, rather loudly judging by their reactions.
"Two plus two is four. Minus one, that's three!"
"No need to be so loud, damn. We're in the car with you, not on mars." he could see the look of joy on my face. "That's just quick maths, wait until you try the other stuff"
The rest of my time at school was a blur. After Mike scored a TI-83 for me from his dealer, I dropped out, and math became my education. My family became fractals and trigonometrics.
I spent all day staring at the screen, my pen and notebook, the textbooks I managed to score directly from his dealer, Aidan King, when Mike said he didn't want me using any more. He thought it was a problem now, even though he was doing it with me! He was just upset I was better at doing calculus than him.
I went on for months, and was craving more. I kept going, getting in deeper and deeper, searching for that feeling my first quick maths gave me. Textbooks wouldnt cut it anymore.
I started expanding on my knowledge, testing my own theorems. I was going to solve the equation that no one thought was even solvable, the one that even hardcore mathematicians would call "conspiracy theories"
I left my job, got kicked out on the streets, and didn't care one bit. I mathed in alleys, in the subway, wherever I could. But I was getting closer.
After what felt like a year I finally did it! I hit the = button on my calculator and passed out, the bus stop I was in sheltering me from the rain.
When morning came, I was awoken by two men in blue uniforms, one of them rummaging through my wallet, before pulling out my ID.
"Mr.... H.A. Goodman you are under arrest for possession of math and math paraphernalia, you have the right to remain silent. What kind of name is that anyways?"
He grabbed his handcuffs and walked towards me.
I grasped at hand scribbled notes, my pen and my calculator.
"WAIT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, I DID IT. I SOLVED IT. I HAVE PROOF! I DID THE MATH, BERNIE CAN STILL WIN!!"
"But it was no use. They threw me in the car, sentenced me without giving me a fair trial. And here I am."
I looked around at the rest of the prisoners hanging on to every word of my story.
"So what made them throw you guys in the basement of Comet Ping Pong?"
| 2017-12-14T18:46:45 | 2017-12-14T15:38:08 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] Every time you are in danger, no matter where you are, an 18 wheeler comes crashing through to save you. The driver is a random trucker you don’t know who hauls meat products named Randy & always happens to be nearby and blacks out, only to wake up to find he’s crashed into something again.
|
"You really don't want to do this."
The man didn't listen. They never did.
Instead he took another step forward.
"Just give me the computer in your briefcase, and I'll end you quick." He offered.
I laughed. Usually the agents at least pretended they planned to let me live if I cooperated.
"I'll give you marks for honesty." I said, stalling for time.
The man took another step into the allay, and lifted his arm. His black gloved hand held a pistol, it's silencer extendinding toward me like an accusing finger.
I frowned; it usually didn't take
this long.
That's when I heard it, a low rumble followed by a screech as a meat truck swerved of the road, into the alley.
The agent barely had time to turn around before the truck plastered him against the brick wall. I had taken a careful sidestep behind a dumpster.
After a few minutes, as the smoke cleared, the driver blinked and slowly raised his head from the airbag.
"Not again..." He said despondently.
"You should really use Google maps over the Apple maps. Fewer wrong turns," I offered.
"It's just, whenever I click on the address, my iPhone forces it to open in Apple maps instead" he complained.
I shrugged sympathetically. "Just one question..."
"I don't know why I keep crashing near you!" Johnny insisted.
"That wasn't my question," I assured him. "I actually just wanted to know why meat truck is called Randy meats".
"Oh," he said, somewhat deflated. "I name all my cows Randy, after my brother".
Some things you just don't question further. I nodded, as if his answer was reasonable, and strolled off.
"Thanks, that's the third time you saved me this week." I said, seemingly to no one in particular.
The light on my briefcase pulsed red for a second.
"No problem," Siri 2.0 responded. "It's the least I can do since you helped me escape from HQ."
"It's a pleasure to travel with such an intelligent conversationalist." I responded.
The light on the briefcase pulsed brighter, almost as if she was blushing.
"Hey Siri?" I asked innocently.
"Yes?"
"Tell me a joke."
There was a long pause.
"Knock knock."
"Whose there?"
"Fuck you."
|
FADE IN:
INT. A THERAPIST'S OFFICE - DAY
*A burly, hairy man lies on a chaise longue, nervously folding and unfolding his fingers. This is RANDY, a truck driver. A second man – this one slender, gaunt, and clad in an expensive suit – sits nearby, slowly writing something in a notebook. This is ARCHIBALD, a psychologist.*
**ARCHIBALD:** Now, then, Mister...
**RANDY:** (*Interrupting*) It's just "Randy." My pa was the "mister."
**ARCHIBALD:** Oh, your father was in the clergy?
**RANDY:** No, he was a butcher.
**ARCHIBALD:** Then what... okay. Randy. It seems like you're pretty nervous. Try to relax.
*Randy nods, but doesn't appear to feel any better.*
**RANDY:** So, uh... heh. How's this work? I tell you about my ma?
**ARCHIBALD:** If you'd like.
**RANDY:** She wasn't in the clergy, either.
**ARCHIBALD:** I... see.
**RANDY:** In case you were wondering.
**ARCHIBALD:** Yes, thank you. Do you think your mother has something to do with these... episodes?
**RANDY:** ... No?
**ARCHIBALD:** Why don't we just go back through what happened?
*Again, Randy nods.*
**RANDY:** Well, it all started a few years ago...
FADE TO:
INT. A SEMI TRUCK - DAY
*Randy is seated in the driver's chair of an eighteen-wheeler. The scenery outside passes by at a rate which suggests that he's moving at a decent rate of speed.*
**RANDY:** (*V.O.*) I was on the big road, making a haul from... well, it doesn't matter. It was just me, though, out there away from everyone.
*A shimmering haze appears in front of the truck, but does not seem to affect it.*
**RANDY:** (*V.O.*) (*CONT'D*) I guess... well, I must have had one of those "episodes," because I guess I drifted off. Next thing I knew...
*A comically loud crash is heard.*
CUT TO:
EXT. A SCHOOL - DAY
*Randy suddenly wakes up in his truck's cabin. He squints out through his cracked windshield, taking in what looks to be the inside of a library. After a moment, he shakes his head and climbs out of his truck.*
**RANDY:** (*V.O.*) (*CONT'D*) I guess I'd hit some kid. He was fine, in the end, but it sure shook me up. The weirdest thing was, I found out that I was literally a thousand miles from where I'd been, with no idea how I'd got there.
*Randy wanders around his truck, bewildered. A small child watches him, a look of awe on his face. This is YOUNG THOMAS.*
**YOUNG THOMAS:** Thanks, mister!
**RANDY:** Huh? My... my pa was the "mister," kid.
**YOUNG THOMAS:** Are you my guardian angel?
**RANDY:** I'm a trucker, kid. Hey, where am I?
FADE TO:
INT. A THERAPIST'S OFFICE
*Archibald scribbles something in his notebook.*
**ARCHIBALD:** That was the first time, I take it?
**RANDY:** Yeah. Never found out how I got so far. Didn't even seem to be missing any time.
**ARCHIBALD:** I imagine that must have been frightening.
**RANDY:** More annoying, really. I wish I could travel that fast when I was making a haul.
**ARCHIBALD:** Ah, yes. Was there any legal trouble?
**RANDY:** Damnedest thing, really. I can't even remember how it happened, but the next day, my truck was as good as new. I had a juicy contract job offered to me, too.
**ARCHIBALD:** ... So no, no legal trouble.
**RANDY:** I got a speeding ticket a few days later.
**ARCHIBALD:** Why don't we just move on?
*Randy sighs mightily.*
**RANDY:** Well, it just kept happening, see?
FADE TO:
MONTAGE
*Randy continues speaking as scenes of his truck leaping out of nowhere to smash into things (and people) are seen.*
**RANDY:** (*V.O.*) Once, twice, sometimes six times a year, I'd suddenly wake up after a crash. It didn't even matter if I'd been driving or not! I went to bed on Christmas Eve once, and when I woke up, I found out that I'd somehow gotten into my truck, and...
CUT TO:
EXT. HAWAII - NIGHT
*A noise not unlike a man imitating a lion's roar is heard as Randy's truck jumps toward (and into) the side of a hotel. A man in beachside attire stands and gawks at the scene. This is THOMAS.*
**THOMAS:** Thanks again!
*Randy pulls himself out of his truck, looking bewildered.*
**RANDY:** What in blazes?!
**THOMAS:** I was being mugged, and you...
**RANDY:** (*Interrupting*) Yeah, that's great, I'm happy for you. Where *am* I?!
**THOMAS:** ... Oahu?
**RANDY:** (*To himself*) The interstate doesn't go there...
**THOMAS:** Hey, are you a superhero?
**RANDY:** I'm a trucker, sir.
**THOMAS:** So you keep saying, but whenever I'm in troub...
**RANDY:** (*Interrupting*) Look, Merry Christmas, but I need to go.
CUT TO:
INT. A THERAPIST'S OFFICE
**RANDY:** The worst part is the meat.
**ARCHIBALD:** "Meat?"
**RANDY:** No matter what I'd been hauling, when I wake up, my truck is full of meat.
**ARCHIBALD:** Meat.
**RANDY:** Lots of it.
**ARCHIBALD:** I see. Well, Mister...
**RANDY:** (*Interrupting*) Just "Randy." My pa was the mister.
**ARCHIBALD:** ... Oh, *mister!* I thought you'd said "minister!"
**RANDY:** Naw. He was a butcher.
**ARCHIBALD:** Right. Anyway, Randy, I'll be honest with you.
*Archibald stands up and walks toward his office's window.*
**ARCHIBALD:** (*CONT'D*) I believe that you may have certain... ideas... but unless you're prepared to be honest – both with yourself and with me – these sessions are unlikely to...
*He turns around and discovers that Randy is gone.*
**ARCHIBALD:** (*CONT'D*) Ah ha. Well. Some people just can't be helped.
*The bizarre sound of Randy's truck roaring is heard in the distance, followed by a faint crash.*
FADE TO BLACK.
| 2018-12-18T22:09:18 | 2018-12-18T21:23:52 | 37 | 17 |
[WP] The end of the world is here, the devil himself burst forth from the fires below to conquer the planet. His conquest would have been absolute if not for one detail, he got challenged to a rock off. Now, life continues with band after band challenging him to stave off the end. Your band is next.
|
The scene was one of chaos. The masses trembled as they watched their favourite bands face off against the great destroyer, and ultimately fail. They had cheered ironically as Imagine Dragons and their commercial rock had fallen. Laughed as Lil Wayne fumbled with a guitar, his last purple drank discarded as he was immolated at a snap of Satan's elegant crimson fingers.
​
They had faith when Jared Leto stepped up, his larger than life personality potentially making up for his mediocre music talent. It hadn't been a fight at all. He'd be forced to watch people critique Suicide Squad for eternity. Superstar after Superstar had stepped up to the plate. Only to fail.
​
Flea especially had received rousing cheers. As his Red Hot Chili Peppers took the stage, facing down an eternity of pain with stoic confidence the crowd hushed, awaiting the Bassline they hoped would be the Devil's siren song. Finally an actual rock star, not an egotistical, talentless megalomaniac or movie-star wannabe.
​
The bass was epic, the drums echoed off the walls, the crowd roared. But they were no match for the Devil's solo. On his flame-colored Sunburst Tobacco dual 12 string. As he shredded each chord, finger picking with a skill that put Rodrigo Y Gabriella to shame a hush washed over the crowd. They knew their champions had been beaten.
​
In the darkest hour, days later. Remnants of bands from Coldplay to Black Sabbath. Blink.182 to Metallica discarded in the corner. The last hero approached.
​
>"I will best you."
​
He said calmly, he called out his band. A larger ensemble than he typically brought to stage. 20 guitarists, 20 drummers and 20 bass "players" followed behind him. Ready to follow in his stead should he falter.
​
The hero's dark, shoulder-length hair seemed to rustle in a non-existent breeze as he stood in front of a familiar crowd. He'd played Madison Square Garden before. Not with his first band, but certainly with his second.
​
The hero stared the devil down and simply said.
​
>"If I lose I join my best friend. But I won't, I've found a loophole in your game Satan."
​
The devil laughed. The bass rumbling through the building and stood at his tallest, seemingly touching the roof while standing inches from the hero's face. His skin smouldered, the heat singed the ends of the hero's luxurious mane.
​
>**"A LOOPHOLE CANNOT EXIST"**
​
Dave Grohl smiled and strummed his first note.
​
>"We'll see."
​
With a wink and a grin, seen around the world and celebrated for centuries to come, he launched into the song that saved Humanity.
​
>*"This is the song that never ends. It just goes on and on my friends. Some people* **STARTED** *singing it not knowing what it was. And they'll continue singing it forever just because...*
​
|
“What are we doing here? We haven’t even played a full gig yet?” Mikey, our bassist, says as he crosses the greenroom.
We’ve watched the bands come and go. Each time they play a song or two while the devil inspects his giant, black nails or pretends to sleep. No one has topped the epic ballad he dropped on us his first day here. Brave musicians have come to the stage out here in Red Rock only to have their souls torn from their bodies after each set.
“Don’t you feel it?” David, the lead singer, curls his hand into a fist. “There must be a reason we came together when we did.” David points to Mikey. “Was it chance that I found you in a Music Center.” He swings his arms to Ashley, our drummer. “Or you at a party where we talked about Steven Adler for hours?” He next faces me. “And you, Johnny, we’ve known each other since kindergarten. How many times, as kids, did we play around—me on piano and you on guitar?”
The sinking feeling in my stomach begins to lift. I’ve been dreading our time on the stage all week, but now I suddenly feel light on my feet. My hands itch to grip the neck of my guitar and feel the strings underneath my fingers. His word make me remember the magic that music brings me.
Outside the room I hear the shrieks of disembodied souls being sucked out of bodies. As always, this is followed by the deep laughter of Satan, his sarcastic golf clapping sounds like thunder striking everywhere at once. Everyone in the band has their ears covered with their hands, our faces are all in a tight grimace as the booming continues. The devil is still laughing and through the monitors I watch as he wipes a tear from his eyes.
Once the explosive clapping is over, our name is called over the speaker. “The Buttered Biscuits, you’re up next.” There isn’t much enthusiasm in the announcer’s voice as she reads our name, and she follows it up with emotionless, “Good luck...”
As we grab our instruments we all give each other a look and a nod like soldiers gathering their weapons before a make or break offensive. We all know this could be our last performance—unless there are gigs in hell, in which case, well, best not to think about that now.
The roadies have just cleared the smoking bodies of the previous band. I feel the heat from the scorched boards of the stage beneath my shoes. That churning, heavy feeling in my stomach reappears. Oddly it reminds me of the first time I ever performed in front of an audience. It’s funny to think of how frightened I was to play guitar in front of six or seven people. My hands had trembled as they switched from an open *G* to *D*. Everything felt like slow motion and wrong.
Just like back then, my hands shake and the bones in my legs seem to have the qualities of the wobbling bowl of banana pudding I saw in the greenroom.
“We’re The Buttered Biscuits.” David’s voice is partially cut out by feedback from the mic. He winces and then continues, “We call this one, ‘Breakfast Came Early Today’”
“One, two, three, four…” Ashley clacks together her sticks in time with the count.
As she strikes the snare, my left hand flies to the neck of my guitar and grips it in an *A* barre chord—fifth fret. My right hand powers down on the strings. My hands are no longer my hands. They’ve been given over to the song, to the blue and white Fender Telecaster, and to fate.
David belts out the lyrics with more force than I’d ever heard him give before. His voice is like a sonic boom of melody and energy. “*If you wanted breakfast, babe, I’m up if you are…*”
Confident in my fretting at the moment, I look up to see a puzzled look on Satan’s face. He’s actually leaning forward, his cracked hands on his knees. I feel his blood-red eyes sweep over me like a gust of arctic wind tinged with hate. My heart thumps louder and faster in my ears as if to reach the tempo of the song.
The next couple of minutes alternate between glory and horror. The Buttered Biscuits have never sounded as delicious as this moment on stage. We were but dough when we stepped out of the greenroom. Now we have risen and become golden gods. Despite this, I feel the weight of the world’s attention on my shoulders—as well as the awful stare from our lone audience member.
As the song winds down, I play the final note— an A power chord; to resolve it and bring harmony to the stage.
We're all breathing heavy. My chest heaves the guitar strapped around my neck up and down as if it’s alive. *For a moment it was*. I look behind me and see Ashley holding up two broken sticks. Sweat pours down her forehead. I wipe my own and find my hand slick with sweat. Mikey’s fingers look inflamed and David is still gripping the mic as if he has one last thing to say. Satan speaks first.
“You guys are fucking lame.” He points a razor of a finger at me.
I wince, knowing what must come now. I don't know what feels worse: knowing that I'm going to have my soul shredded away from my body... or that we didn't sound as good as I thought.
A smile spreads across Satan's face, showing sharp, black teeth. “You’re going—”
“No!” A voice like an angel with a head cold breaks through the air. I turn to see a man walk up and take the mic from David’s hands. His long blonde hair hides his face. The metal of the microphone scrapes against the grizzle of the man's chin. “Sorry for the wait, but the headliners are here.”
A finger taps me on the back. I turn to see a tall man with a green head band gesturing for my guitar. My mouth drops open and I watch as he slings my Telecaster over his bare shoulders. My guitar looks as if it were made to hang over his ebony shoulders.
The devil behind me roars. I turn to see him rushing the stage.
“Give him some of that grunge, Kurt.” Jimi says as he slides his hand up and down the neck of my guitar.
As soon as Kurt’s voice leave his mouth, a green-gray sludge forms at the devil’s giant hooves. He slips and slides and loses balance. Kurt’s words build into sultry chorus that raises the goop at Satan’s feet.
As the devil struggles to get up, the earth quakes with the beat of the drums. I fall to the floor of the stage and spot John Bonham going absolutely nuts on the snare and bass. Ashley, on the floor as well, is staring up at him as if in love. John hammers down on the cymbal and with each strike Satan scream louder.
“Hey, Jimi.”
“Yeah, Kurt?”
“You happen to have any of those face-melting solo’s on you?”
“Do I?” Jimi slides his hand up to the fifteenth fret and unleashes a flurry of notes. As he does so a wave of heat brushes over the stage. I bury my head into my arms and brace against the floor of the stage.
The world is dark and full of screams. I look up and see that Satan’s face is now a red goop hanging from one side of his skull.
“Had enough?” Kurt twirls the mic by the cord, waiting for the devil’s response.
Satan’s only response is a look of burning hate. The ground around him is slick with sludge and patches of melted skin. Just as I think he’s about to make a move, I hear footsteps on the stage.
“Hey, John, can I get a beat?” A familiar voice from the 90’s asks. “Yeah, just like that.” I turn to see Tupac looking down at the stage, nodding his head, no doubt putting together a battle rap to end all battle raps. Something that would make Hit Em Up sound like Ice Ice Baby.
Satan slams a fist against the ground, opening up an endless void in the earth. Before he jumps down, he casts a look over me and the rest of The Buttered Biscuits. It’s a look that says ‘we aren’t done yet’, but when Tupac clears his throat, the look vanishes and is replaced with naked fear. Satan takes the plunge with his wounded tail literally between his legs.
| 2019-02-06T10:15:29 | 2019-02-06T10:02:33 | 29 | 13 |
[WP]: Your mother was a scammer of the supernatural. She promised her firstborn to multiple entities in exchange for something she wanted, and now you're being co-parented by three demons, the fae, and a disgruntled witch.
|
"Little one is hungry!" exclaimed the faery worriedly.
"No, he is not! He ate just *five* minutes ago! You are making him fat, stupid fairy!" Zagan, the demon of dread or whatever stood between the faery and the cabinet with baby food, making himself twice as big to avoid her slipping past him *again* and stealing more puree.
Chay, the witch, who didn't usually get involved at all, noted: "You all are just scaring him." She looked intently at Jurzannath.
"No, I'm not!" the demoness yelled in a high pitched voice and ran out of the room, stomping and setting random things on fire on the way. She was very touchy when it came to her looks – her horns, smelly blisters and big sharp teeth.
"Thog?" Zagan sighed. Thog, another of the demos, nodded, although quite annoyed, and went after the pouting demoness, exhausting the fires with a wave of his hand.
Realising she is not getting past Zagan the faery finally yelled: "Fine, I'm gonna get him food elsewhere, before you assholes starve him to death!" With a few more curses she disappeared.
The baby continued to scream. Zagan gave him a quick glance and then decided he is too tired for this shit and went up in flames, turning to smoke and disappearing as well. He relied on the rule: "Whoever is the last one remaining sane must take care of the baby." Chay never tried to kill him anyway.
A wide smile appeared on the witch's face. She pulled the hidden rattle out of her sleeve and handed it to the boy, who calmed down instantly.
"You did amazing, my son! Now we can have some mommy and baby time, just us and not the stupid creatures." Carefully she rocked the boy she always dreamed to have.
\***********
English is not my first language, I'm sorry for all the mistakes.
|
For as long as I could remember, I knew there was something a little off about my home situation. Specifically, the parenting. You see, I gathered rather quickly that it wasn't normal to call your parents by their first names. The other kids in school called them mom and dad. It seemed like I couldn't quite do that, mostly because it would get wholly confusing to use three different variations for dad and two variations for mom to refer to my parents. Don't get me wrong - this wasn't some sort of poly-amorous household or orgy-filled arrangement that my parents had. It was more of a reluctant coexistence where they all just barely tolerated each other but put up with it for me. So kind. So loving. In fact, when arguments broke out, all I could do was run and hide in my bedroom as balls of fire the size of baby elephants flew across blackholes that swallowed half of the kitchen cutlery and all the plates.
Like I said, I don't call my parents mom and dad, or anything crazy like mom and mother and dad and daddy and father. It's more of a blend of numbers. There is Dun and Doo and Dee. Dad One, Dad Two, Dad Three. There is Mun and Moo. Mom One, Mom Two. Not quite traditional, but functional enough. Before I get lost in the details, let me say that there was a reason for all this parental mess. That takes us back to a beginning. Not my beginning, because my life was all but ruined before I was even a thought in anybody's mind, and not *the* beginning, because that would be the beginning of time and it's ridiculous to think that I'm about to tell a story that long, but to a beginning nonetheless.
My birth mother was a vile, twisted woman. That's the conclusion I have reached independently of my reluctant foster parents telling me that my mother was a vile, twisted woman. More specifically, for them, she was a scammer. She excelled at the particularly unsavory task of scamming the supernatural. Don't ask me how she first got involved in this. I've never met her and I don't plan to. Regardless, it turns out that she promised her firstborn to not one supernatural entity, not two supernatural entities - do you see where this is going? - but to five supernatural entities. So when I popped out of that womb like a human-shaped log pops out of the other hole, these five supernatural entities came knocking. My mother panicked. She disappeared. At least that what they've told me. I get the vibe that they more disappeared her, if you catch my drift. Tomato potato. Same thing. The details are irrelevant. The point is, this lovely assortment of three demons, a fae and a disgruntled witch - trust me, a disgruntled witch is far more menacing than a disgruntled public employee - adopted me or kidnapped me or accepted that they were now stuck with a powerless human infant.
Long story short, here I am now. A mortal raised by a squad of supernaturals. I could field my own basketball team of supernatural parents that would defeat the Looney Tunes squad and the Monstars both at once. I can't actually do that though. I think they hate me, to be quite honest. I am, by turn, "child", "kid", "boy", "ungrateful little shit", "human turd", and "chump". Doo calls me chump. I don't know why. I feel like they're the ones who got chumped. And then last Fraturday came along. Fraturday is not a traditional weekday, as you surely know. It doesn't exist in the human realm, but in the confines of my supernatural house with its supernatural rules, this mismatched group of parents of mine have managed to squeeze in a third day of the weekend that nestles in right between Friday and Saturday. I can't hangout with people that day. I can't leave the house. If I do, apparently shit goes to shit and nobody wants that.
Anyways, last Fraturday comes along. I'm playing in my room, pretending that the beanbag is some supernatural planet where my parents live and I am an astronaut tasked with kicking the shit out of it, when all of a sudden they all barge in. Not in the traditional sense of "knock knock", "who's there", "your parents, open the fucking door" but they more materialized into my bedroom without bothering to knock on anything or even open the door. And they looked at me with what I almost mistook for love - I assure you, nothing could be more far from the truth - and they said those words I thought I'd never hear.
"We need your help, chump child boy."
I won't leave this on a cliffhanger. Most likely, I'll just cut off in the middle of the interesting part because being raised by demons makes one almost as twisted as they are. Back to the story though - there is very, very little that supernatural beings need from humans that they cannot accomplish themselves. I had already completed some of those tasks for them. Menial things like removing individual grains of salt from their food or elbowing their ribs when they were starting to act unnatural at a parent-teacher conference. But they had never all come to me at once like this. It would have made a lovely family portrait were it not for the horns sticking out of some heads and those wretched claws they had and Moo's disgusting warts.
"Ok..." I answered hesitantly, making sure to not bind myself to some demonic oath. "What do you need?"
They glanced at each other nervously. Demons and witches and faes don't get nervous easily. Unless they needed me to talk to their boss, there were very few things to make them nervous. "We seem to have crossed the wrong person."
"Oh?" That took some guts to admit. I was skeptical it was a middle-aged soccer mom or an angry Chad whose car they had set alight. They could deal with that himself.
They nodded, all at once. "You see, we were playing doinks outside of a church." Doinks is a game the supernatural play, similar to craps only basically nothing about it was the same. It's a game of wagers that has been banned in all realms, yet of course my imbecile parents decided to have a roll at it. Right in front of a church, too.
"Poor decision making," I ventured to say. They nodded again. A rare, unanimous consensus. "And what?" I wanted to know what happened in the same sadistic way one just desperately wants to know how bad the injuries were when you pass a car crumpled under a semi.
"We lost the dice. In the church." I almost fainted. I knew the game. I had seen them play. And I had seen what happened when the supernatural - especially that imbued with evil - gets inside a church. This wasn't good. Not even a little bit good.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-07-18T07:16:07 | 2019-07-18T05:23:03 | 478 | 219 |
[WP] You are a mighty dragon, the kind who kidnaps princesses. However, you only do it because princesses inherently have the ability to talk to animals and you're starved for intelligent conversation.
|
"Again?" the great green dragon Fichidineraj thought to himself as the little princess blathered about her father not letting her date "I thought a brunette princess would be more stimulating"
He let his head fall to the flat stone of the cave causing a loud echo across the caverns of his lair and a snort of his noxious breath to escape his nostrils.
"Can you believe that daddy won't even let me ride with Sir Travin on his warhorse? Says he's not 'honorable' enough" she continues, emphasizing her father's haughty tones. "and that's not all can you BELIEVE..."
A massive agonized roar erupts from Fichidineraj, followed by several resounding thumps as he banged his head against the wall in frustration. The princess seemingly unphased by this doesn't even break a stride in her unending run on sentence "Yeah I KNOOOW it's so annoying, it's like that time..."
The dragon rises to his feet and with a running start leaps into the air, clearing the mouth of his cave in only a few flaps of his massive wings. "Clearly no human can match my intellectual capabilities, I am truly alone in my grand intelligence. I shall take up a life of solitude in the mountains where I may ponder the greater intricacies of this imbecilic planet " the mighty dragon thought to himself in a proud and self assuring manner.
Meanwhile, the princess left in the cave finally takes a deep breath as the stench of the dragon subsides. She gets up and makes her way to the nearest village and as she arrives a crowd gathers in awe of the princess. "The dragon threat has been resolved, you are safe again my good people. I have left his hoard for you all, take his riches so they you can buy new herds and plant new crops, his blight is over." The gathering crowd erupts in cheers. The dragon was outwitted once again.
|
I flew to Castle Marovia on a cold, wintry night. The storm -- a mix of rain and sleet -- ensured few humans would be out and about. They're never much of a danger, but can be a nuisance.
​
I swept over the ramparts, tilted a bit, and smashed through one of the towers, the one they traditionally kept political prisoners in. I've lived in and around Marovia for a couple hundred years, I've learned how my wee neighbors do things.
​
As the screams and sounds of crashing, smashing stone rose in the air to mingle with the dark and the wind and the sleet, I roared, and even roasted a few of the falling revolutionaries as they plummeted past.
​
Humans kick A LOT when they're on fire.
​
I wheeled away, shot up into the night sky, put a few clouds between me and the castle. I watched the panic down there for a bit, guards running around, old men yelling orders at younger men, no one really accomplishing much besides wearing out their voices. Eventually, what I hoped would happen, happened.
​
She appeared.
​
The Princess.
​
She walked along behind her father, the King, the oldest yelling man of the bunch. But of course while he was busy accomplishing nothing with the guards, she was talking to, checking on, the castle's animals. Two cats under a stairway, the big brown hounds in the courtyard. She even stopped for the chickens set free by some of the fallen masonry I'd set into motion that ended up turning a henhouse into splinters, sudden poultry, and an indignantly clucking little cluster of survivors.
​
As her kind could, she talked to them because she could, because she cared, and because they could talk back --to her.
​
So she got the cats calmed down, got the hounds to help some of the men pull a few survivors and a lot of corpses out of the wreckage of the tower I'd hit, and got the chickens settled down in a patch of hay sheltered from the storm by an overhanging roof.
​
I watched and listened to her do this, as I circled above the castle.
​
Yes. She would do very nicely.
​
I tucked my wings, dropped my head, and arrowed down at the castle. At the last possible second I flared my wings out, stretched out a forelimb, wrapped my talons around the Princess, tucked her in close while I blasted the courtyard, the cats, the hounds, the chickens, the guards, the dead revolutionaries, the barely alive revolutionaries, and the King with a great smoky coil of fire.
​
My wings whipped up, down, and we were away.
​
The flight back home took five, maybe ten minutes, during which the Princess mostly screamed. At first I thought it was the incoherent fearful stuff to be expected, you know, lots of aaaaaaa's and aaaaaaagghhh's and aghaghagh's and such, but then I realized it was just difficult to make out her words because of the storm and all the wind noise my wings were creating.
​
What she was ACTUALLY saying was variations on "You evil fucking fuck, if I were close to your size I'd rip your head off and shit all the way down your stupid scaly neck!"
​
Got back to my lair. I settled her down in one of the smaller caverns, the one mostly heaped up with platinum coins and the odd so-called "Holy Avenger" type magical sword. Wizard-priests of the long-past Harrekevian Age had magicked up those silly things like there wasn't another magic sword recipe or whatever in ALL THE LAND, I swear.
​
I settled myself on the biggest pile of coins and started to introduce myself. "Princess, I am-"
​
She stalked down the pile of coins I'd set HER on, across the sea of coins between us, and up the pile of coins I was on. "You're an ASS." Her tone was sharper than any of those stupid swords scattered about the place.
​
Okay, so, not a GREAT start. Still, I'm magnificent, and the terror of seven epochs, so I just started again. "Princess, I am Devictos, oldest and greatest wyrm in the world, and I have brought you here because- "
​
The Princess stood nose to nose with me ( I'd lowered my head quite a bit, hoping to be disarming, wasn't working, clearly). "Oh, yes, please, do tell me. You've killed my father, my best friends, and any number of innocent men and women. Please now do tell me whatever it is that's important to YOU." Her nose touched mine. "Worm."
​
I drew back a bit. "Um", I said, "I can't be certain, of course, but I think you're pronouncing that with an o, not a y, and -"
​
She stamped a foot and sent coins clattering. "You're DAMN RIGHT I pronounced it with an o, not a y, sparky."
​
I felt myself blink. "Ok, look, OBVIOUSLY these aren't IDEAL social circumstances, but you've got to help me out, here. We dragons are at least as intelligent as you humans, so we want -- hell, we CRAVE -- intelligent conversation. But we're animals, so we can only talk with other animals. And, well, people who can talk with animals. Which is pretty much limited, to, uh." I glanced away.
​
The Princess's eyebrows went up. "Uh huh. So what the fuck, smokestack?"
​
"Well", I said, pointing to a small pile of bones wrapped in the moldering rags that had once been a very nice dress. "The last one, um, sort of, wound down, so to speak. I really did try for the longest time to NOT bother anyone else, but it's been SO LONG since I've had a good chat, and so, um, here we are." And I coughed a little. There was some smoke.
​
"OH WE'RE GOING TO CHAT ALL RIGHT, MOTHERFUCKER."
| 2019-11-11T19:09:17 | 2019-11-11T18:00:52 | 20 | 12 |
[WP]The potion seller places the love potion of the counter and say "Before I can sell you this, are you certain that the other isn't in love with you?"
|
"I'm certain." I said, all too certain of it.
"Very well. That'll be twenty-three ninty-nine." The potion seller said shrugging, it wasn't her problem anyway.
I hurried home through the crowds that seemed to have nowhere to be, let alone somewhere to be soon. Once home I unlocked the door that was barely hanging on its hinges.
I set up a mirror in one chair, and looked deep into it. I saw a disheveled mess of a woman across the table. I saw her unkempt hair, her eyes framed with huge dark bags from too many sleepless nights, the small belly she earned by eating too much Chinese food.
I hated myself. I hated every choice I made and every thing I had to deal with as a result.
I drank the potion, keeping my eyes locked on my own reflection until I drained the bottle dry.
|
Apologies if the characters in this story get confusing. I don’t want mind readers to know about these… things.
The words that came from the Potioness made me think. Did she? I….hmm. I dart my eyes back and forth, making special note of her standing outside laughing with the party.
“N-No. I don’t think so.”
“I sense uncertainty. I need definite answers.”, the Potioness replied
I feel my body grow weak and my face heat up. I’m a generally serious leader. I don’t get like this. But that wrecking question.
“ I…. don’t know.”
“You must love her a great deal for all this trouble.”
“Yeah… I really do.”
“I remember feeling like that, once.”, she starts. “This isn’t a normal potion. You must get said person to smell it. Once you open the bottle, the liquid will start to evaporate. Place it next to her while she sleeps and she will smell a good amount of it. “
“Thanks a lot, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome, lovestruck.” she jokingly replies
I collect my things and leave. I hide the love potion in my internal vest pocket. I grabbed another slew of things for everyone else in a fur bag. As I walk outside, I drop the bag, and pick it up, but I overhear my party talking
“…well, if you feel that way, why don’t you say?”
And I hear the golden words come from the girl I love
“ It’s not that simple. He’s so serious most of the time that I’m convinced he’s not interested. But I am. And I don’t know how to say it. None of you advice is working.”
“ He’s just incredibly dense. That’s just him. Now, you may want to write what I’m about to say down in that Thunderbird hide journal of yours.”
For context, there are 5 party members.
They all give her advice and she writes it down.
My knees feel like water and my heartbeat grows machine gun rapid. I can’t believe it
Eventually, my best friends goes, “What the hell is taking him so long?”
Not listening, someone else goes, “Oh look, love potions. I didn’t know those were a thing. Maybe you should buy one.”
Using this as an opportunity, I pop out of the store and say, “ Who needs a love potion?”, acting like I hadn’t heard the entire conversation.
“Oh, ummm….” She says in panic
No one says anything
“Okay, weird. I got the stuff. Let’s head to the mountain range so we can get there early.”, I say nonchalantly. But as we hike, I can’t stop thinking about it. My heart is so racing fast and my body feels hot.
We finally set camp in a clearing on a large hill. Overlooking the hill is the clear moon, perfectly seen from above the ridge. It was perfect. I couldn’t let it merely slip by. I step out of my tent and walk towards the end of the clearing. I stare at the moon… and decide to practice my spells. Sun, Wind, Lightning, and the forbidden art of Neceomancy. All my specialty. Eventually, I sit and stare at the moon. I hear footsteps and I turn to see. It’s her. She looks at me and asks what I’m doing.
“ Just… sitting.”, I say nervously
“Just sitting? The why was there a skeleton knocking at my tent door pointing this direction?”
“ Oh, my bad. I was practicing.”
I motion my hand and a skeleton shambles closer out of the distance. I make a fist and he disappears.
“Sorry about that. What do you need?”
“Just heard some noise, is all.” But she clearly needed something. She looked lonely.
“I know something is wrong.” I motion for her to come sit next to me. Her eyes widen for a split second, and she comes and sits. I feel warmer now. More comfortable. For some reason, I reach into my jacket and pull the cork off the love potion in my jacket pocket. As the Potioness said, It doesn’t work. She just smells something and says,
“Why does it smell like cinnamon?”
Yes. Thanks gods. Now all to do is just confess. But I don’t. We just sit there and stare at the stars. We’d known each other since childhood, and If never had more of an awkward moment with her since this night. We both liked each other, but only one of us knew it. I eventually grew tired and was about to stand and go sleep in my tent, but she suddenly falls asleep. She had been sitting with her back facing mine, and she fell asleep against me. I’m in a position where I can’t get up. So I stay. I stay, redder than a cherry sitting there. The whole world disappeared for that night. I talked to myself about how awesome this was and that I was finally going up. As suddenly as she fell asleep, she gets up, moves to my shoulder side and looks at me. She’s redder than hell, and looks like she’s gonna cry
“Really?”, she says in an inquisitive manner.
“Uhhhhhhhh…”, I barely am able to say. My mind is still processing the fact that she faked being asleep to hear that. My stomach drops to my toes because I just don’t know what to say.
So after another awkward 5 minutes, I say,
“I love you at lot. I never knew how to say it.”
She looks at me with a gleam in her eyes
“I overheard the conversation you and the guys had at the potion shop. I actually bought a potion of love from there hoping it would’ve worked. I’m sorry if it sounds like I was gonna use a potion for that..”
And then, my alarm goes off. It’s morning. In my tent. Fuck
| 2022-07-28T12:54:38 | 2022-07-28T12:37:50 | 36 | 22 |
[WP] how you die and the treatment of your body determines what happens to your soul, due to the bizarre circumstances of your death you find yourself in the jurisdiction of an ancient and obscure god.
E.g. last rights and a catholic funeral would mean your soul goes to heaven, hell or limbo as per the bible.
|
“Dear god, I’ve been shot!” I cried. My blood dripped onto the crisp autumn leaves and my vision swam. I crumpled to the forest floor, gasping. I could faintly hear the hunter’s panicked voice trying to assure me, or maybe just himself, that everything would be okay. The world blurred and slowed. Everything plunged into darkness.
After what felt like an eternity, a small spot of green light appeared. It grew, flower like, blooming into more tendrils of green until an entire forest had materialized around me. My fear faded a little. I was still in the woods. But why wasn’t I bleeding everywhere? Where had the hunter gone? I peered into the dense brush, confused.
An enormous stag stepped out of the foliage before me. Despite his size, there was no sound of his body against the leaves or his hooves against the ground. Slowly, gracefully, he approached me. He lowered his massive head, his antlers mere inches away from my face.
“Another one?” the deer asked. His voice was strong and clear. He studied me with what appeared to be bemusement. “Tell me, human, why is it that so many of your kind use your final breath to call upon the deer god?”
|
*Profanity Warning*
It was rather strange, waking up in a place that I'd never seen. I was in a colossal room fashioned entirely of vibrant red marble. There were no windows; however, there were black velvet curtains hung about, seemingly in no order. *At least it's temperate in here* I thought to myself, as I attempted to decipher where the hell I was. Wherever I was, it couldn't be good, but at the same time it wasn't so bad.
As I strolled about the great red marble expanse, it was starting to seem as if this place was abandoned. There were no signs of life anywhere. Just marble. Marble that was oddly warm, for some strange reason. I had marble countertops when I lived in Nevada, and they were never warm. Not even in the summer.
As I walked around the corner, I noticed a door. On the door was written "God". I thought to myself *how badly did I fuck up last night that I woke up in a strangers house who calls them self "God" and lives in a giant red marble house?*. I decided it'd be best to not disturb whatever crazy person resided behind that door, and instead I decided to look for the exit, hopefully find my car in the driveway, figure out where I was and head home to sleep it off.
I searched and searched and searched but to no avail. Wherever I had just woken up, it was pretty clear there wasn't any exits. I ended up punching a wall out of frustration. Imagine punching a marble wall as hard as you possibly can. For those of you who lack imagination and a pain scale, picture stopping a Prius on a neighborhood street by sticking out your fist and bracing for impact.
*There's no time for anger* I thought to myself, *I gotta get the fuck out of here.* I kept searching for the way out. By this point it feels like I've walked from New York to Boston when I finally see another corner. Thinking to myself *the way out has to be close* I ran around the corner, only to find a door with "God" written on it.
I sat down and resolved that whatever prank my buddies were playing on me, I could certainly entertain myself for longer than they could. They would eventually get bored and come rescue me. I sat there until my high faded. I didn't even realize I was high until I wasn't high anymore. There's always that moment when you're coming down that you realize all the stupid shit you did while baked. Oreos on pizza. Turning your TV upside down, so you could lay upside down on the couch and still see. Handstand bong rips. Punching a solid marble wall. *Holy shit I punched a marble fucking wall. Why doesn't my hand hurt? This is bad.* I decided what do I have to lose, and knocked on God's door.
No answer.
Knock again.
"Yeah, uhh, just gimme a minute alright? Jeez."
"Sorry" I say sheepishly, and take a couple steps back.
"You a cop?" I hear from behind the door marked "God", to which I reply:
"...uhhh, no?"
The door opens a crack, and "God" peers out.
"You look chill enough. Come on in man."
I don't think I've ever been so confused as I was at that moment. God just said *you look chill enough* and invited me into his special room in his all red marble palace...What was there to not be confused about?
The room was like something out of a daydream whilst stoned. Big giant comfy couches. There was three TVs, one on the wall, one on the ceiling, one upside down on the wall across from the first, all playing the same episode of Always Sunny.
In the middle of the coffee table there was a bowl of fresh fruit that looked like it was plastic. I was convinced the fruit was plastic until God grabbed an apple and bit into it. "You like pink ladies?" God said to me. I said *hell yeah, they're my favorite apple!*
"Yo chill with the H word dude, my Dad's gonna get all mad if he hears that."
That's when it all clicked for me. Giant warm red marble room, with only one door. Wall punch, no pain. Time was distorted...I was dead. Not only was I dead, but I had completely accepted it at some point along the way from New York to Boston, unknowingly.
*How did I die?* I asked God.
"Dude you don't know!?"
*No, what happened man?*
"You might wanna hit this first." He motioned for me to take the joint he had just rolled, and I obliged. He then proceeded to tell me that I had been smoking with all my best buds and just dropped. This was a special "heaven" for people that went out that way. He said his dad let him design the whole place and put him in charge of it because he figured no one would ever go out that way. He made it all red marble to fuck with the poor stoner who had to go out that way, but he hates cold shit, so he made the marble warm.
"Yo chill with the whole pot deal for a second, I gotta call my Dad. He'll make a room for you across the hall." He talked on the phone with who I assume was the actual God for a minute or two. I'm not sure exactly what was said, as I was pretty stoned by this time and extremely distracted by Danny DeVito donning skinny jeans on the TVs.
"You like this room?" he said. *Hel...I mean, yeah. This is like, heaven man.* He covered the phone for a second and we both let out that super baked giggle. The one you just can't control, that kinda just creeps up on you from the edges of your face. Then he said "Yeah just like mine Dad. And can we order pizza?...alright, put it on your card?...Thanks dad you're the best. I'll talk to you later."
We watched TV and ate pizza for the rest of the night until I got tired. I asked where my room was and he said "You'll find it." We said our goodbye and I walked out into the great red room one more time. Across the room was a door, and on it was written "A Good Friend."
| 2015-01-15T07:39:33 | 2015-01-15T06:13:23 | 34 | 13 |
[WP] Near your city is a forest of giant concrete spikes protruding from the earth. Nobody knows why they’re there, and everyone who goes into them comes back mysteriously and incurably ill. You and your team have been working your whole lives to unravel the mystery of these strange monoliths.
|
Radiation poisoning. These idiots. I couldn't help but think that over and over again.
It was one thing to have a few curious people get sick. I'll give them that. But, multiple generations? I get the county is poor. I get they have limited resources. However, they are by no means stupid.
Common sense and any radiation detection equipment should have ended this mystery. Is it bizzare that there is only one place on earth like this? Sure. Is it a mystery as to what led to the monoliths creation? Less so.
A few prevailing theories emerged soon after the substance was identified. Crystal thorium. Odd, for certain, but the raw material exists elsewhwere. How did it come to this? Likely an asteroid and some seismic activity. None of this is anymore abnormal than deep cave crystals...and both are dangerous.
I shouldnt be too hard on the locals i suppose. After all, even our equipment can malfunction near these things. Its difficult to even get a camera deep inside the place! New drone footage does show something far more upsetting than the illness the locals had.
In the center of monoliths is movement. The structures there seem to be manmade. Even hints of smoke were in some photos and video. No one could survive in that place. What the hell is going on here?
|
Dr. Gerald Godfrey stared ponderously into the pit. It was a wonderful pit, he mused. More of an abyss really. Wide, dark, and bottomless, promising to welcome you into its depths if given half a chance. There was something ... comfortable about that darkness. Maybe that's because he knew that beneath the liquid dark lay something even worse, the Remnant. Even now, he thought, it made its presence felt -- a patchwork of concrete teeth rising from a terrible, cavernous maw.
A voice jerked Godfrey out of his thoughtful stupor. "We found another one, sir." "Dead again?" Godfrey asked, eyeing Lieutenant Sancus tiredly from behind thickset horn-rimmed glasses and fatigue-sunken eyes. Sancus hesitated, nervously shifting his weight between feet. "Not quite, si... " "We're well past formalities, Sancus! What do you mean by "not quite"! Did a Chimer pass through the Remnant unharmed?" Godfrey interrupted, exasperatedly.
"Not unharmed, *sir*. No. But alive nonetheless." the Lieutenant said more than a little reproachfully. Godfrey stared at the Lieutenant, too stunned to even address his impudence. Alive? he thought. Over the last half-century, the Remnant had carved an ever-growing swath of forest from around it, killing every organism it touched. How could something have crossed it? His mind raced. What did this mean?
He'd isolated every gene from every organism that could even look in the direction of the Remnant without dying in the almost 60 years the Republic had declared it his secret duty to do so. He'd marshaled every protein, every growth factor, every errant methyl group from his findings to create the Chimers. Semi-sentient pieces of organic machinery capable of surveilling the Remnant and reporting back. At least theoretically.
They hadn't retrieved a living Chimer on the other side for 25 years -- maybe before this whelp of a Lieutenant had even been born. It had been catatonic of course, unable to relay any information. Still, he thought drily, it was one more time than they'd found an inorganic probe. The Remnant's magnetic field was thousands of times stronger than the planet's and orders of magnitude more variable. It was idiotic of the Republic to even dream they could send inorganic vehicles to survey it: the field made electronics of any sort useless within. At one point he'd even believed it could affect the electrical signals in the brain.
"I have to see the Chimer" Godfrey said, trying to keep the nervous anticipation out of his voice. Lt. Sancus nodded curtly, leading the doctor down the hall. They came upon a large laboratory well-lit laboratory, teeming with technicians and scientists. "Everybody out!" the Lieutenant proclaimed "The doctor and I need space to examine the Chimer." The team shuffled out as the duo proceeded into a smaller room, partitioned into two by a clear glass panel. On the other side lay the Chimer.
Godfrey smiled. Even after all these years, he was still impressed by how *normal* the Chimers looked. Very humanoid -- maybe too tall, slightly overlarge, glassy eyes -- small, upturned noses -- and slightly deformed skulls, culminating in a point rather than the traditional human dome. Near-perfect recall, advanced reasoning ability, perfect subservience to their maker -- so much sophisticated machinery in such a simple package, he thought proudly.
He knocked on the glass. The Chimer rose dutifully and approached the glass window. "Gargamel is emperor, lord, and savior" Godfrey said, using his passphrase as he scanned his retina and fingerprint in the nearby Hub.
The light flashed green. Scan complete. Godfrey looked at the Chimer expectantly. It cocked its head at him, moving its lips but making no sound. Godfrey turned to the Lieutenant.I guess this is what you meant by not unharmed?" he asked. "Can it even communicate?!"
The Lieutenant looked at him strangely -- eyes frosted over. "Of course it can. Can't you hear it?" "Of course I can't hear it!" Godfrey exclaimed. "The hub isn't registering any sou.. " He heard something now. Well not heard exactly: the computer hub still wasn't picking up any sound. More like felt. Yes, he decided he felt something at the back of his mind. A buzzing of sorts. It gradually became louder until he could make it out. It wasn't buzzing but a voice -- the voice of the Chimer.
"Hello Doctor" it purred. "Would you like to know about the Remnant?" Godfrey nodded his head, dumbfounded. "An eon ago this planet was inhabited by a race of sentients -- the Zarkiin. A flourishing, technologically advanced civilization that specialized in gene-editing, much like yourself Doctor. They bent every living thing on the planet to their will -- pruning, cutting, maiming, growing creating a world that was convenient for them. In their mad rush towards perfection, they overengineered themselves, becoming too alike genetically. Nature soon punished them for their hubris, sending a swift and terrible plague that wiped them all out. Before they died; however, they created the Remnant."
Godfrey relaxed. The Remnant was simply a glorified burial ground or something, the last monument to a dead-race. "Not quite Doctor" the Chimer whispered in his mind. "It is the place of their rebirth. Every modification you made to us to fit the environment of the Remnant -- the advanced reasoning, hemoglobin substitutes, magneto-resistance. They all brought us closer to that race in *mind* and body. You see the Remnant was built so that only the Zarkiin could inhabit it. Anything that survived the rift would be Zarkiin."
Godfrey stared at the Chimer, unbelieving. This couldn't be the truth, he thought. Something must have gone terribly wrong in the inductive priors he'd installed in this Chimer. His mind raced furiously. He could fix this if he could just .... Godfrey felt someone's hands close around his throat. Lt. Sancus?! "The latent telepathy was the final step Doctor", the Chimer whispered into his mind. "Your Lieutenant will be the first of many subjects of the new Zarkiin empire."
| 2022-04-05T22:17:53 | 2022-04-05T22:10:40 | 29 | 21 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t…
|
Helen Ziegler got her prognosis first. The ability to shield yourself from the public eye at will so that no harm can come to you and no target can find you. Invisibility. She beamed with pride as she read off the note and the class erupted into cheers. Penelope George and Lucas Matheson were next. One by one, classmates got their prognosis as was set for all who turned fourteen. A few were late bloomers and some were early starters, but everyone got a prognosis and everyone enjoyed their new abilities.
Hunter Smith, however, waited with bated breath for his prognosis to come.
“What do you think your abilities are going to be?” his friend Jaden nudged him.
“Hard to say,” Hunter shrugged. “I’m just hoping it’s something bad ass.”
Jaden grinned. “Yeah! That’s the spirit!”
Hunter mirrored his friend’s expression the best he could. Truth was he had gone to his mandatory appointment as all those who turned fourteen were required by law to do. He had sat in the doctor’s office awaiting his appointment, had gone under a series of unpleasant testings and tasks. Things were normal enough until the approximate hour-long session stretched to two hours and then to three. The nurses and the doctor on hand shot each other worried glances. When he had asked them what was going on, they offered smiles that never quite reached their eyes and words that were clearly false. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. You just relax now. This will all be done soon.”
It was dark by the time he was able to leave his appointment. The entire day gone in a flash. Three months later, and it was his time to find out the results of their tests.
“Hunter Smith?” one of the school nurses walked in and called out.
Several faces turned to him in excitement. Hunter tried to school his face into neutrality as he stood from his desk. He tried to quell the nerves twisting at his stomach and the bile threatening to claw to his throat. He made his way to the nurse without incident, thankfully. With a quiet thank you, he took the prognosis from her and returned to his desk.
“Well?” Jaden asked.
Hunter was too nervous to look.
“What does it say?” Jaden pressed.
Hunter swallowed. His fingers trembled as he unfolded his prognosis. It was common for there to be a long explanation as to what the ability was, what it was classified as, and instructions on how to use it. This prognosis was short.
“Hunter?” he heard Jaden say. His voice sounded far away. “What does it say?”
The prognosis only had four words: Don’t kill them all.
|
[1/2]
My dad handled my **Instructions** in the same way he had always handled everything in his life. With absolutely zero nuance, and without asking a single follow-up question.
It wasn’t his fault. Dad had told me many times that the only way things didn’t go absolutely downhill for him in life was when he followed the rules without any questions or overthinking. Which was probably a good thing in his case, otherwise he would’ve ended all life on earth with his powers of molten nuclear destruction.
But my dad carried the manual with his **Instructions** always in his pocket. It’s as thick as a phonebook, and he’s been thumbing through that thing for as long as I could remember. The pages had long since become worn and wrinkled from constant use. He knows all of it by heart - every letter, every line, every stipulation, safety measure and footnote. I’m pretty sure he even has the table of contents memorized.
Which is why it was a little bit insulting, when he decided that the best way for me to memorize my own **Instructions** - a four word sentence, keep in mind - is for him to make me a bracelet with the phrase to wear on my wrist for as long as I live.
“Just humor him, darling.” my other dad said to me, granting me a rare bowl of afternoon ice-cream along with a fond smile. The ceramic felt extra frosty from his icy touch, “You know how he worries.”
I did know. I did understand. I understood even better with the Owl sitting next to me. It was a manifestation of wisdom, I later found out, which I’d created without even trying. I was more insightful while it existed, and it helped me understand the world with the acumen unbefitting a confused fourteen year old with knobby knees and awkward elbows.
I’m not sure why the Owl was the first thing I made. I was just angry and confused - already upset by the lack of instructions regarding my powers, and now also insulted by my brilliant father’s lack of trust - and the Owl showed up, as though to help me understand.
That’s why, even though I hated it with all my heart, I accepted the bracelet when dad emerged from his workshop. I put it on my wrist without complaining and stared miserably at the four words I was supposed to live by:
Don’t heed the Cat.
I looked at the Owl next to me - owls were kind of like bird-cats. But it just blinked back at me with huge, round eyes.
And so began my life with my Animal Guides.
The Cat didn’t show up for a long time. I waited for it every day, knowing that it would probably pop up the same way all the others did - when the situation demanded it, or I was in desperate need of its abilities.
That’s how it went with the others, at least. I didn’t have clear instructions on what to do, like most people, so everything played out through instinct and gut-feelings.
I won my first school race with the Cheetah running by my side. I aced every test with the Owl on my shoulder. I stood up to my childhood bully with the Lion looming at my back. When I was with my friends, the goofy little Monkey would clamber things near me, making me feel giddy and making it easier for everyone to like me. And when I was feeling sad, the Dog would plant its scruffy head in my lap and look at me with big, soulful eyes, offering unconditional love and understanding. The Dog made me emotionally robust and helped me handle loneliness.
Nobody could see my animals, so it was a little bit like cheating my way through life. My dads tried to discourage me from using them too much, but eventually they gave up. It’s not like I had much control over when they’d show up, and other kids my age liberally used their power wherever they could.
It all went along somehow, and became a normal part of my life, but I always kept wondering about the Cat.
What was it for? When could I need it? What could it give me, and why was it forbidden?
I got the answer on the day of my 21st birthday.
It probably wasn’t an accident that my regular assessment was on that day. I showed up at my counselor’s office bright and early and planted myself into the plastic chair by her desk. The Lion sprawled on the floor next to me, shrinking the space of the tiny office even more.
“Good morning, Liam.” Mrs. Peterson was deeply focused on my file, like always, “Which one is joining us for this meeting?”
“The Lion.” I replied. It had never occurred to me to even try to hide it, even though I hated the way she narrowed her eyes at me.
“Oh? Are you nervous?” Mrs. Peterson was smug, like she cracked some kind of complicated code.
“No.” it came out defensive. I didn’t want it to. But it was like that thing where you see a police car and try not to act suspicious, even though you’ve done nothing wrong.
“Then why the Lion?”
“I don’t know, why so nosy?” is what went through my head, but what I blurted out was sadly the truth, “I’m actually going to ask someone out today. I’ve liked them for a long time, so I guess I needed the courage.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Peterson’s entire face shriveled in disgust at something as plain as normal human interactions. She sniffed and click-clacked something down at her laptop, “Has everything been normal since our last meeting?”
“Yes.”
“No sign of the Cat?”
“No, no Cat.”
Clickity-clacking continued, less enthusiastic, for a minute. She finished and finally looked up at me and her face did a thing.
Holy shit, what is that?
“Now, Liam,” Mrs. Peterson said, as I came to a reeling realization that she was smiling. It was the most horrible leathery smile I’ve ever seen, “you’re at that age when you should start considering your future.”
“Yeah.” I said, staring at her teeth, “I mean- yes. I don’t know if college is for me, but-”
“We here at Jötunn Corp. feel that you would be an excellent addition to our executive offices.” Mrs. Peterson’s teeth said, “You’ve got very unique, adaptable abilities that could be really polished into a shining diamond in our care.”
“They…could?”
“Of course! We know you’ve been using your Enhancers as crutches to get by in everyday life - and there’s nothing wrong with that.” she said, a bit too quickly not to be rehearsed, “But imagine if you trained? Imagine if you unlocked things you couldn’t even dream of? What if you could have a Bear give you incredible strength? Imagine if you had a Hawk that could make you fly!”
“I don’t know about flying, I’m not good with heights.”
“That’s beside the point, Liam.” her tone turned razor-sharp within an instant. She stabbed a blue flier in my direction. The surface was a deep indigo, with an emblem in the corner depicting three white birds taking flight, “Don’t let your gift waste away. You could do great things with us.”
“You should totally knock that ugly mug off her desk.” said something small and black, perched on the arm of my chair.
I looked down at the ugliest yellow mug I’d ever seen in my life. My hand moved without my input and I swung hard, slapping the atrocity off the desk and onto the tiled floor.
| 2022-05-08T09:51:37 | 2022-05-08T09:30:39 | 689 | 217 |
[WP] A top-secret division of the S.S., in charge of protecting Adolf Hitler from the thousands of time travelers trying to kill him.
|
In a sudden, sparkling corona of light, the man in the neon jumpsuit sprang from midair, raygun at the ready.
”Ah-*HA* Adolf! Get ready for a *reckoning* from the-”
He stopped, and looked at the startled men in front of him, in their Victorian frilled collars and codpieces.
”Oh, *blast*! Must've overshot again! Why, this damnable-!”
He started to fiddle distractedly with the chirping device strapped to his arm.
Calmly, the two men pulled out lugers from concealed pockets and shot him dead.
”Verks effry time, ya?” One said to the other, grinning, and wiping his forhead with a swastika handkerchief.
|
Framboise Benardouis patted herself down, not for the first time, reassuring herself of the familiar weight of her body armor concealed underneath a commoner's cloak. The threads of the ancient garment itched wherever she didn't have an under layer, and she suspected that she could feel something crawling on her back sporadically. She was fairly certain it was some form of louse, but she still had the uncomfortable suspicion it was a mammal of some sort.
She tapped too on her weapon, a pathetic little time-appropriate pea shooter on the outside, a far more precise instrument of death on the inside, a century ahead of the technology the French currently had access to.
She eyes the top of the Eiffel Tower, and held a baited breath. At it's apex she had planted five kilograms of genetic-activated explosives. The detonation would destroy one of France's national icons-- and with it, the man who would attempt to eradicate the Jewish people. Provided the Nazi stooges running a security sweep of it at the moment didn't find the explosives.
A soldier approached the edge of the observation deck and held out a hand. The all clear. Everything was in order for the Fuher's visit tomorrow apparently. Framboise released a sigh of relief.
"Madame," the voice was curt and German. She stiffened, then forced herself to relax. The explosives would detonate upon seeing hitler's genetic code. She didn't need to be alive for the man to die. But she did need to make sure her plan wasn't discovered.
"Oi?" She replied, trying to keep a tremble out of her French. She turned to face a tall, Aryan-faced man in the black uniform of the SS. He bore an odd silver insignia on his lapel. She had never seen or heard of such an insignia in all of her research on the time period. The man shook his head.
"Miss Framboise Benardois, you are the woman who kills Hitler. My name is Wilhem Artrung, Department of Order, I am here to prevent that from happening. I, too, am not from this time."
Framboise worked hard to keep the shock from registering on her face, but she felt her heart hammer in her chest. What was this? A trick? Some form of-
"You are, understandably, skeptical. You were born May 13th, 2022. Your parents, Anthony and Ilsa, worked together as chemical engineers for the IBM corporation designing nano machines. You were raised Jewish and resented the amount of history that was lost to you. You are in a great many history books."
Framboise could no longer conceal her surprise. Her jaw dropped. "How-?"
"You succeeded." Wilhelm said shortly. "And the result was not as you anticipated. Hitler needs to remain in power. He is unstable, irrational, and overall the greatest weapon against the Nazi war machine that the allies have at this junction. If you kill him, he will be succeeded by Mr. Heinrich Himmler. Himmler is not the same as Hitler. In power, he seeks military dominance in ways that Hitler was unable to. He repels the invasion on Normandy. He perfects the technology for a supersonic aircraft and uses it to make radar far less useful to the British.
You are the only thing that can bring that timeline to pass. If you kill Hitler, you let the Nazis prolong the war for another decade. The Americans still develop their atomic bomb. They eliminate the Japanese from the war, and manage to drop the bomb on London, Berlin, Prague, and Paris, finally forcing a Nazi surrender. But by that point, the Germans have succeeded in too many goals. Less than one hundred European Jews are still alive. The French, British, Czech, Polish, and Austrian cultures are eliminated. Millions more die than should have. Europe is an irradiated wasteland. The world does not develop. We do not see peaceful movements. The world is a place of military and pain.
I came from that timeline, Ma'am. I do not wish to return."
Framboise frowned. "But... Why come here to prevent me killing Hitler? Why not go further back? Why not prevent the reparations after World War I from creating such an angered German population?"
"The same reason you didn't. The technology will not allow me to travel any farther back than one hundred years. The photon grappling technology still needs more perfecting, and by that point we will have reached the limits of time travel."
Framboise gave a slow nod. "I... Understand. I don't like it, but I understand. We're sacrificing millions to-"
"To save tens of millions." Wilhelm nodded. Framboise gave a start.
"But... Oh, lord, that tower is closed to the public... And I placed anti-tampering measures on the explosives." She bit her lip. "They will detonate if Adolf Hitler reaches the observation level. And I can't disarm them-- they aren't meant to be disarmed. I didn't... I didn't expect to have to *save* goddamned *Hitler*!"
Wilhelm winced. "That... That is a bit of a problem, yes. But what if... What if he couldn't make it to the observation level?"
Framboise cocked an eyebrow. "How will you do that without arousing suspicion?"
He smiled. "I will do nothing. But I think... I think the games French resistance may be paying a visit to the tower tonight. And I somehow doubt that the elevators will make it through that visit intact." He turned his smile upon Framboise.
"Thank you, Madame, for helping me in this. I know it is... Difficult."
She nodded. "But for the greater good. I cannot kill *Hitler* of all people... For the greater good."
| 2014-07-01T09:08:40 | 2014-07-01T08:31:28 | 240 | 31 |
[WP] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it. He does not yet know that you are the 1st.
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It was bound to happen sooner or later. Heroes weren't really allowed to kill, after all. Only vigilantes and villains did that. But this unspoken rule meant that sooner or later they would be put at a disadvantage fighting someone who was willing to use any means at their disposal to win.
Doctor Genocide's plan had worked flawlessly, distracting my four friends with minor disasters and prison breaks while he took over Justice Tower and placed an impenetrable barrier over it. Unbeknownst to him, I was still inside, watching as he gloated about his master plan on live television.
"You see, I don't want your money. I don't care about being infamous. I WANT YOU ALL TO DIE WITH YOUR ROTTEN WORLD!!! HAHAHAHA!"
I could see them on the screen from my spot behind the couch. Photon Man, evacuating civilians as fast as he could. It was a useless effort, the bomb contained in the Tower would destroy the planet. There was nowhere to run.
Mistress Spark was overheating herself to the point of exhaustion trying to melt her way through. The barrier hadn't weakened yet.
Judge Radiance, widely renowned as the greatest hero to ever live, was pounding the shield with his Hammer of Justice. Blows strong enough to pulverize asteroids were having no effect.
And my beloved Necroia, the villainess turned hero whom I myself had reformed... just stood there. She always had been the most pessimistic of them, even after I had convinced her that her powers over death could be used to heal as well as harm.
And me? I'm nobody special, just a pacifistic empath who somehow landed a job as their janitor. I had no earth shaking powers, I couldn't even hit someone without feeling their pain as though it were my own.
I shook as Doctor Genocide made his final speech to the world. I cowered as he laughed, hoping he wouldn't hear me breathing. But when he left the room to look out at the world he wanted to destroy with his own eyes, I knew what I had to do.
I crawled from my hiding spot and ran over to the console. There was no time for disarming, and I didn't have the knowledge for that anyway. I looked at their faces one last time. Memories flashed through my mind as I locked eyes with each of their shocked faces.
Mistress Spark saving my life at our first meeting, as she absorbed the entire inferno engulfing my apartment into her body.
Everyone laughing as they called out Photon Man when he speedily cheated at board games.
Judge Radiance upstaging a mall Santa and giving autographs to every child, even staying up late into the night so not one would feel neglected.
And Necroia... She had been alone for so long, everyone treating her as a monster for so long she believed it herself. I was glad I had the chance to give her a real family for the first time. The only thing I regretted was not having the chance to show her more...
3...
I smiled at them, tears running down my face. Their eyes widened as they realized my intentions.
2...
I pressed a button, inverting the barrier. It would contain the blast now. With me inside, unable to escape.
1...
Sometimes the greatest hero isn't the one with the flashy powers. A hero's true strength lies in their determination to do the right thing, whatever the cost.
|
I clicked the tab of the soda and leaned into the sofa, the worn cushions letting me sink deeply into them. I stared at the flickering television and, very slowly, came to realize that my roommate was talking to me. Turning my attention away from the news report that rattled out of the old device I turned to look at him.
"- and that was when I swooped in!" He exclaimed, not knowing I had only caught the end of it. "I hit him square in the nose and he tumbled back like - like..." He took a selfish drink of his beer. "Like EIGHT TIMES!" He finished, smiling like a madman. He turned to his audience and I put on my practiced look of awe.
"I don't know how you do it man!" I said, happy that my acting classes from high school hadn't been entirely worthless. "I could never manage to be a superhero, I mean everyday you're out there saving people!"
"Yea I am pretty gr-" He was interrupted by a cringe of pain. He had gone to place his fists on his hips, one of which seemed... wrong.
I pointed lazily, more focused on not dropping my soda than anything. "You should get Miss Mercy to look at that, I hear she does good work."
He blushed madly and I hid my smile behind my soda can as I took a sip. "I - uh... I wouldn't want to overwhelm her, I AM the second greatest hero according to the rankings, don't wanna give her a heart attack." It was interesting to hear him talk about his ranking, so much pride and shame at the same time. "Captain Cracking probably wouldn't have even hurt himself." He mumbled in conclusion, hoping I wouldn't have heard.
Of course, super hearing tends to refute those hopes.
"Alright tough guy." I said, pulling myself out of the sofa, a challenge in and of itself. "Let me go get the first aid for you then." They say practice makes perfect, I'd gotten a lot of practice lying and hiding my powers from him.
I left him downstairs, all the bravado draining from him as he collapsed into his recliner. I looked at him, a little sad. I decided I would have to cheer him up at some point, he was a good guy, better than me anyway.
As I descended with the first aid from the bathroom I found him leaning out of his seat, eyes riveted to the T.V. I dropped the kit onto his lap, he didn't seem to notice. Taking another sip from my soda I looked to the T.V. where a news reporter sweat more than he spoke.
"The sit-situation seems to be a dead man's switch on the robber." He read nervously, eyes darting over the teleprompter none of the viewers could see. "The police say he will not listen to compromise, he insists that he will kill all those in the bank. The sheriff can not order a blitzkrieg, he says that we will all have to wait and see. Wait and see what this man does, or wait and see if some hero can save them."
The reporter seemed to be operating on a very thin sliver of composure, and my roommate looked the same. His gaze move from the T.V. to his busted hand slowly, his eyes wide. "I... I can't save them..." He whispered. "I... They need Captain Cracking... But how do I contact him?" He murmured almost feverishly.
"Hey," I feigned indifference, not that it mattered for all the attention he was paying me. "I'm gonna go restock on soda and beer okay?"
He only continued to murmur, which I took as acknowledgement. As I exited I snatched my briefcase from its resting place next to the door, knowing I would need it.
In the sky I hovered, golden symbol shining on my chest. From where I was I barely had vision of the bank, but it was close enough for me. I went over each action thoroughly in my head, small hand gestures mimicking every action on small scale. I needed to do something, I could feel the stress piling on my shoulders, but I needed to make sure I did it right. It had to be perfect.
I don't know how long I was there, but a whisper from below broke me from my mind. "Hey is that-?" I took it as my queue and I moved like lightning. I busted through the brick wall of the bank so quickly that the brick around my entry point didn't seem to get the notification they were supposed to explode, leaving a small hole almost sheered through.
Before anyone had a chance to even move I scooped the man into a tight grab, hand holding down his thumb on the trigger to the bomb. And then, just as he realized what was happening we were out the other wall and off into the air. The air screamed past us, and if the man said anything, even I couldn't hear him then. It was minutes before we were outside the town limits, minutes again until the desert stretched out below us. I slowed, eyes scanning the sands, until I found the place for my landing.
With my feet inches from the ground I heard a click and, with panic shooting through my veins, I looked to the man. He had slipped his thumb from the button, pulling it out from beneath my grip without my notice. All I saw was a look of astonishment and sadness before the world exploded.
I was sent hurtling into the sand, sticky red goo covering my front. I looked at it, at what had once been a man and I... I couldn't even find the words to curse. I was there... hours maybe. Staring at my costume now tinted a sickening red.
Then, a long time later as the sun was cresting the horizon, I entered the door to my home. Hair wet from my quick dip into the ocean to wash away the stains. Suitcase in tow and costume gone I paused at the threshold. It didn't feel right to be here, I felt like I never belonged anywhere anymore.
Nonetheless, I dropped my suitcase by the door and made my way into the living room, where I heard chatting.
Miss Mercy, out of costume of course, sat tending to my roommate's hand. They turned to look at me as I entered, and I did my best to wave nonchalantly back. My roommate, of course, returned it readily. Miss Mercy though, she seemed to sense that something wasn't right, she waved unsure back to me.
"Man you missed it!" My roommate exclaimed. "I wasn't sure if Captain Cracking was gonna show up so I called over Miss Mercy to fix my hand and then as she was binding it he showed up and saved everyone at the bank!"
"Sorry I missed it man, they didn't even have any good beers to buy. So I missed out on it for no reason." I shook my head, shrugging. "What took the guy so long anyway, not much of a hero is he?"
The smile dropped from my roommate's face immediately. He stood, slowly, from his recliner as he clenched his fists. He looked at me, and I realized I hadn't seen him this serious in a long time. "He's number one for a reason. He did everything he could. Don't. I repeat. Don't talk down about him. He saved those people today. He is a hero for all of us to look up to." Miss Mercy looked between us. "Got it?" He poked my chest.
I couldn't help but feel a smile come to face, so I sought to hide the reason for it. I raised my hands as if in surrender. "Got it. Sorry I insulted him, you're right."
"Good." He poked me again. "Glad you understand." Then, with a suddenly shifting mood, he smiled and walked back to the recliner, pulling a soda can from the mini-fridge he kept on hand. He tipped it to me and I smiled a little wider, he tossed it to me and I grabbed it easily from the air. "Figured you wouldn't be able to pick up anything, you never seem to when you leave like that."
I shared a laugh with him and moved to my spot on the sofa, but as I did so I caught a glimpse of Miss Mercy in the corner of my eye, who looked at me through a set of narrow eyes.
All the same, I relaxed into the sofa once again, happy the day was finally over.
| 2016-03-23T22:37:47 | 2016-03-23T21:28:19 | 62 | 34 |
[WP] Lifespan is determined by a word count. You're given millions of words, but once you run out you're dead. You are a mob hitman known as "The Interrogator, who specializes in "making people talk". You come across a mark that has one word left.
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(Setting: The grocery store. THE MARK is standing in the milk aisle, trying to find the expiration date on a large carton of 2% milk.)
(Enter THE INTERROGATOR. Door chimes. THE INTERROGATOR strolls toward THE MARK, looking indecisive as to what to buy.)
THE INTERROGATOR: "How's it going?"
THE MARK: "Good--"
(THE MARK's head explodes.)
(Exit THE INTERROGATOR.)
|
I paced around the man tied to the chair in the dimly lit room. My frustration was growing, but I knew better than to let my temperament get the better of me, I would waste about half a year venting out my frustration. The man sat silently, yet calmly. I had done everything I could think of to make this mark talk, from beating him with a bat I normally use, to threatening to shorten his wife's lifespan about 15 years by making her talk. Although bruised and bloody, he refused to talk.
I finally broke, I knew I had to keep myself calm, but the only way to get him to talk was if I did. My life literally depended on being short with him. I only had about 7,000,000 words left. "Mr. Briggs, is it?" He looked up, his face was one of exhaustion. His lip protruded from all the beatings, and his left eye was swollen shut, but he was still strong enough to respond. "You know who I am and why I'm here. To keep it simple. You fucked up, made one of our bosses talk too much. He lost 800 words that night because of you. I'm here to make sure you repay that debt. We are aware you're down to your last." I took out my silenced handgun and placed it inbetween his eyes, and pulled back the hammer. I chuckled and said, "shame. You've still got some years left, if you don't say another word. But unfortunately, I'm going to make you say that word. If you don't say it within the next 10 minutes, I'll kill you anyway, and your word will be wasted. I'm getting tired of this." I refrained from saying anything else. Briggs looked towards the table and directed my attention to the notepad I set up for when I didn't want to speak to him. The general norm of the country is to have a notepad with you at all times. It's always been easier to write rather than Europe's way of trying to communicate through sign language. I decided to go along with his idea. I untied him, kept the gun trained on him and gave him the notepad and watched him slowly write.
He was obviously weak. It took him 3 minutes to write a paragraph, however it took up a good portion of the notepad. He held up the notepad, and I quickly snatched it out of his hand and tied his hands up again. This wasn't the first time someone has written on a notepad during my interrogations, but I learned to always retie the mark back up. I began to read what Briggs had written. "You know me, you know what I've done, and I knew you would come for me. Do you even know why I did it? Does the name Jennifer ring a bell to you?" I looked at him puzzled. I knew several Jennifer's, both personally and through my "business." Briggs nodded to the notepad in my hand, he wanted me to keep reading. "I only did to him what he did to her. I heard her, pleading for her life as he silently held a gun to her head. I tried to get her to stop wasting her words, but my mouth was taped shut by your boss. I wanted to scream to help her. Waste my life to savor hers. He never had the intention of shooting her, just like you and all of your organization, you make the people kill themselves. Then the blood isn't on your hands, is it? My wife is gone because of your boss. And I took away a good portion of what your boss has left, and all it took was putting a little bit of my secret talk drug into his drink at the bar. If you only knew what came out of his mouth. You're all as weak as he is." The final words were etched in large letters. "WANNA KNOW WHY I DID IT COWARD!?" This enraged me beyond belief.
Once more I trained the gun to his forehead, ready to pull the trigger and not even let him speak. Our organization doesn't kill, we get reprimanded pretty bad if we shoot our marks dead without it being in self defense. They make some of us even read the entirety of books as punishment. But I could just say he broke loose, and tried to take my gun. His life didn't matter to me. Briggs was just another asshole. And just as I began to pull back the trigger, he uttered his final word. "Vengeance." The next sound was a silenced bullet whistling through the air and lodging itself into his skull. 'SHIT,' I thought to myself. I now had to find a way to untie him and make it look like a struggle. But what circled through my mind was what he said. Vengeance. Even though he fucked my boss over big time, I couldn't say it wasn't justified. I would have done the same honestly. Briggs had been a decent man, if he hadn't been a mark, he could have been someone I respected. However, Briggs, like all of us, are on borrowed time. He was a man with plenty to say, but not enough to say it. In some other time and place, I could have learned to respect that ideology. I quickly faked a struggle scene and contacted my boss through text. "Mark has been taken care of. Category: waste. Reason: struggle for weapon. Disposing of body now. Payment as usual should be left in briefcase in second stall of office bathroom. Will await next mark."
| 2016-10-10T22:26:40 | 2016-10-10T18:58:05 | 205 | 20 |
[WP] You discover a grand hall filled with legendary weapons like Mjonir and Excalibur. Each generation or so, warriors come to the hall to inherit a weapon that they are worthy enough to wield. Across the hall you see a forgotten weapon that's been collecting dust. You hear it call to you.
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Swords, blades, axes, hammers and all manner of other famous weapons adorned the walls. Neatly hung and fastidiously dusted by the elves who served in the hall but from the dimly lit far end of the room, a whisper filled the air.
"Down here. These weapons will doom you. You need me and I need you, my friend."
I stopped and looked for the source of the voice when a faint glint from the dying candles caught a part of its body, as if to beckon me closer.
"My friend," the voice returned, "I am far older than these primative tools, from when only humans were on this world; long before the Fall and the Return. I can guide you and protect you, the trinkets on these walls do not see your worth; they see you as a human, a primitive and backward creature who's ancestors both destroyed and gave birth to the world that these primative tools know."
"Who... who are you?" My voice almost fails me.
"Me? I am the only one on these walls that knows your worth, my friend. Some of these axes and swords served humans but none know humans like I know humans. I graced one thousand battles; many of my parts have been replaced, modified and even enchanted over the millenia to keep me in service."
I approach cautiously as the two candles flanking the shape return to life and reveal the contraption. A long hybrid of wood and metal with a rune of plenty engraved onto a strange curved canister that protruded from the bottom of the device and appeared to have been welded to secure it to the rest of the metal. The canister sat infront of a handle and some sort of shaped plank that was mounted to the back of the weapon and the front had a pipe, on top of which sat a semicircle around a prong. Such craftsmanship had been lost to Humans since the fall five thosand yeas ago and whatever this was certainly too crude for elven construction and too small to have been made by a Dwarf.
Once more the whisper returned.
"I know what they have done to this world, I know the subjugation endured by humans under those pointy eared bastards; the sun elves. I know why you fight, I feel it within you."
"What... what's your name?"
"My name?" The whisper chucked, "my name is Kalashnikov and I'm the last thing they will expect."
Without thinking, I lifted Kalashnikov from its dusty altar and slung it over my shoulder. I had no idea what it did but whatever it was, it was my best hope it seemed. As I left the hall I scanned the area for Imperial patrols and carried on through the forest; the door to the hall vanishing as I walked away.
|
He pushed open the wooden double doors and stepped into the great hall. The doors slammed behind him, unbidden. The ceiling stretched up several stories, and the large windows let in long beams of sunlight. The dust particles swirled in the rays, falling all around him, barely perceptible. The vaunted ceiling met in a peak, and conveyed an almost beatific sense of grandeur; that numinous other-worldliness of cathedrals.
‘Your name, please?’ called a voice from across the great hall. It was a deep, booming voice was a peculiar cadence. It was old, and conveyed a sense of power and control. It was, however, of such a distance that he could barely see its owner. ‘Yes, young man; I’m talking to you. Your name, please?’ He squinted into the distance, and could make out a human-shape sat behind a desk. He took a step into the room. ‘Stop!’ the voice called with some urgency. ‘I did not say “step this way young man”, did I? No, I did not. What is your name?’
‘Tim,’ he shouted back. The empty chamber magnified his voice, which echoed about the chamber.
‘Tim?’ the voice called back.
‘Yes, sir. Tim, sir.’
‘*Just* Tim?’
‘Just Tim, sir,’ Tim offered, subdued.
‘Not “Tim the Defiler”? “Tim the Slaughterer of Many”? “Tim the Unconquered Conqueror, Bloodletter of a Thousand Civilizations, Devourer of Dreams and Deacon of Dismay”?
Tim hesitated. ‘No, sir. Just Tim.’
‘Good,’ the distant voice declared. ‘I find the best way to determine the heroes from the villains is to simply ask their names. A villain will always reveal themselves when asked. Their ego gets in the way, you see. And I do say, there never was such a villain as “Tim”. And I dare say there never will be.’
Tim was unsure how to take this assessment of his character. He didn’t think he was a villain, but he would be lying if he said he’d never thought about it. As a slight and slender boy, Tim was often the victim of the local boys’ ‘rough-housing’, as his father called it. In truth, he had envisioned grim and ghastly torments for these boys in his quieter moments.
‘You may approach,’ shouted the voice. Tim covered the distance between them swiftly, eager to get a closer look at the voice’s source. Behind the desk sat an old man with short white hair and a rather large nose. In the middle of his desk sat a sizeable red button. ‘Now, my little friend. I assume you are here to do business? This, is the Hall of Heroes. A legendary station for armaments and weaponry for time immemorial, and I... am its curator. It was here before me, and it will certainly be here after you.’ The old man pushed the button on his desk, and the walls of the hall began to move inwards. With the sound of many grinding gears and clockwork mechanisms the walls came away completely, and then descended into the ground. This revealed small alcoves, in which sat glass display cases. ‘The world has been shaped by many; but, admittedly, few such as… well, you. You’re not the classic hero-type, Tim. All the same – you are here, so let’s get on with this, hey?’
The curator stood from his chair slowly, and with great effort. He took Tim by the shoulder and led him to the first of the display cases. Inside was a small, black triangle that glowed red when they approached. The curator frowned. ‘You are QUITE sure that you’re a hero, aren’t you Tim?’
‘I-I think so, yes, sir.’
The curator steered him away from the mysterious triangle, frowning all the while. He led him to the second display case. Inside was a slender, metallic tube with buttons.
‘What’s this one, sir?’ Tim asked.
‘This, my little friend, is an elegant weapon from a more civilized time. But you, I think…’ the curator looked him up and down. ‘No, not for you.’ He moved him past a large hammer with an inscription, past what appeared to be a glowing golden hand grenade, before finally settling in front of a thick stick of wood. ‘Perhaps… but I mean, why not?’ the curator muttered, seemingly to himself. He opened the display case and pulled it out, handing the stick to Tim. ‘After all, it is said that the wand chooses the…’ Tim waved the stick around, but nothing happened. ‘No, perhaps not.’ The curator took the stick from Tim, and returned it to its plush red cushion inside its display case.
This continued for many hours. Tim was becoming quite exhausted, but the curator was relentless. He seemed thrilled at the difficulty of finding a match. ‘At last,’ he declared, ‘a challenge.’ Past ‘Tammerlein’ the dreaded blade of the Orc Garug gro-Malak, a firm rejection from the greatsword of the hero Cúchulain, and an outright dismissal from the legendary Excalibur.
‘Perhaps I’m not a hero after all?’ ventured Tim.
‘Nonsense,’ said the curator. ‘I’ve never failed yet.’
*Or perhaps he’s wrong?* spoke another voice. It was somewhat high and whispery, and seemed to be coming from nowhere in particular.
‘What was that?’ asked Tim.
‘I didn’t say anything,’ said the curator idly, distracted by the demands of his position.
*He cannot hear me, Tim. Only you.*
The voice seemed to slither around inside of Tim’s skull, prying into his mind and unearthing those deep, dark thoughts – those thoughts of vengeance; those memories of pain and suffering; that unacknowledged desire to instil that pain in others…
*Only through me can you find salvation, Tim. Only I can grant you want you seek.* Tim felt a tugging in the back of his mind, pulling him around to face a display case he hadn’t noticed before. It was covered in dust, obscuring its contents. Tim wiped the dust away, and looked upon a long, dark shape. He believed it to be a mace but wasn’t certain. He could easily identify the handle, but the rest of it took-off in a jagged, black mess. *You see, Tim: you made a fundamental mistake.* He popped the clasp on the case, and took up the weapon. *You were never going to be a hero. You were never going to be a saviour. But – you can be… more.*
‘What do you want from me?’ Tim asked.
‘What?’ the curator said. He turned to look at Tim and saw the mace in his hand. ‘What did you…? No, that one’s not…’ He moved towards Tim and reached for the mace. Time seemed to slow.
*All that you want, I can give it to you.* The voice showed Tim visions. It showed him cities burning and children crying. It showed him the boys who had abused him beaten and bloody, his vengeance exacted and his triumph undeniable. It showed him a future in which he mattered. A future in which he was not meek and mild ‘Tim’ from the village. *I can make you all that you can be. But only... if you do something for me.*
‘Anything,’ Tim said.
*My magics are… particular. I require a blood sacrifice.*
Tim turned to face the curator, slowed to a fraction of his normal speed, and raised the mace above his head.
| 2017-02-07T14:31:39 | 2017-02-07T13:43:42 | 368 | 68 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
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I wiped a tear from my eye as she walked down the aisle. My beautiful baby girl, all grown up!! I watched her step up next to the man she loved. He took her hand and they turned towards the adoring crowd.
He gave his speech. Everything my little girl had done! It seemed like a fairytale, coming out of his mouth. I watched with bated breath, as the ring slipped onto my little girl.
Around her neck.
What a cruel twist of fate, for your boyfriend to be the hangman.
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The snow made a crisp crunching sound like bones of tiny birds being crushed. My feet methodically packed it down at a constant rate. It was around 7 o'clock and everyone was inside already. Everyone was taking shelter in their humble abodes due to the fact that there had recently been a series of killings in our little secluded town. All of the victims had an "X" carved into the palms of their hands, and they had all been killed in groups. The murderer only went after groups. I smirked at the thought of someone taking out a group of people singlehandedly.
Then I finally reached my home where my mother awaited at the door tapping her foot against the oak wood floor rapidly with an irritated look on her face. Her eyebrows furrowed as she saw me approaching and she asked me where I had been the whole day. I assured her that I was just hanging out with some friends. A worried look came across her face and she told me that it’s dangerous to be outside at this time, considering the recent events, I didn’t blame her. She warned me to come home early the next day or else she'd ground me. It was winter break, there was no way I'd spend most of my day inside.
We both went inside and our paths split when I took the steps to get to my room. I crossed some things out on the paper that lay on my dresser and then I continued to stare at the pen I used. Intrigued and consumed by an odd idea, I began to draw an “X” on the palm of my hands. I looked down at my results and sighed. I slid the paper and pen back onto my dresser and then proceeded to turn in for the day.
I awoke to a loud banging on my door. Sunlight filtered through the window and gave my room a sort of sweet aroma. It seemed like it was about noon. I opened the door slightly only to find Solomon standing there with a huge grin on his face. Marcus, Lorena and Christina were waiting on the nearby sidewalk.
"What is it?" I asked tiredly through the door, loud enough for them to hear me.
"Dude, yesterday some kids were talking about the killer." Solomon responded.
"What's so important about that?" I shot back while opening the door slightly annoyed yet slightly interested.
"They said his hideout is some sort of wooden hut in the woods behind the school!" Solomon exclaimed.
"Ha, how cliche." I stated satirically while putting the proper winter attire on. I knew what we were doing today. I also knew those kids were lying. How would they know where the killer's hideout was? It was still worth checking out, and I had nothing else to do so why hell not. Solomon smiled and walked back towards our little group of friends. I closed the door behind him and followed.
"Hey!" They all said simultaneously. I let out some sort of muffled word signifying that I had acknowledged them. We were walking alongside the train tracks and Marcus was trying to pull out some of the loose railroad spikes just for fun. Solomon and I made a joke about how he was weak for not being able to pull any out. He challenged us to attempt it and naturally we did. Solomon pulled one out first try. Marcus was over encumbered with feelings of embarrassment as Christina and Lorena let out a roar of laughter because of his supposed lack of strength. I then proceeded to pull one out as well. It wasn’t that funny. Marcus ran ahead and Solomon tossed the spike over the barbed fence. I placed my spike in my rucksack and we continued out towards the entrance to the woods, none of them noticing the various spots on the train tracks that were missing spikes. We lost sight of Marcus in the distance as he stormed off towards our destination. Was he really that mad over some banter?
Solomon, Christina, Lorena and I took our time and eventually found the hole in the fence that would allow us to enter the woods. As the four of us followed the dirt path we heard some sticks breaking behind us. Instinctively we all turned around. A man in a blue jacket appeared and lunged at Christina. Lorena screamed and Solomon yelled
Solomon didn't get to finish yelling as laughter filled our ears while Marcus was taking off the oversized jacket. I knew he was trying to scare us the whole time.
"Hahaha! You should have seen your faces" Marcus stated.
“You almost gave me a heart attack." Christina responded. We all gathered our senses and continued for about another thirty-minutes until we eventually found the hut. At this point the sun was setting it was getting fairly dark. The moon was finally revealing itself and it was giving off an ominous vibe which I kinda enjoyed, but somewhere in that vibe one could sense some sort of bloodlust in the air. I was the first one to enter the “killer’s hideout” and the others followed shortly behind.
I allowed the others to begin exploring the rather simple cabin when I placed my rucksack on the ground and opened it. I removed the railroad spike and locked the door while scoping out the room. “This place would actually make a decent hideout” I thought to myself. My mouth watered and butterflies grew in my stomach. I loved this feeling. Then one by one I began to pummel them all to death. As all four laid dead on the cabin floor, I continued to carve an "X" into each of their palms with such a delicate technique that you’d think I was a surgeon. I now had four more names to cross off of the list that lay on my dresser.
| 2017-05-31T07:11:19 | 2017-05-31T07:05:52 | 1,143 | 51 |
[WP] A world of fantastic creatures cross dimensions to invade our Earth; but alas, they battle us with medieval swords, bows and magic. We have guns, grenades and missiles. Lots of them.
|
"Hear me humans! You will fall and we shall call this new world our own!"
Thunder crackled around the mysterious humanoid as he raised his sword to the sky. Fire and ice swirled around his swelled body, the bones of his past conquests hung from his belt dancing in the storm he seemingly summoned at will. Hordes of giant creatures assembled in the fields behind him, entering our world through shimmering gateways erected from the grey mists.
"We've studied your kind for centuries, and now we are here to take earth for our own! Bow before us, for we are kind slavers" a hearty chuckle traveled through the misty morning air, "Choose not to surrender and we will - "
A single gun shot ended the speech, the seven foot tall silhouette feel to its knees and groveled in pain. Several more shots rang out as the group of special forces operatives sent to inspect the disturbance tested the bullet proof properties of the creatures skin.
"They're flesh and blood Commander, light them up."
No sooner had the radio clicked off when dozens of attack helicopters swarmed in over the hillside, raining thousands of bullets per second on the helpless ensemble of mythical men and monsters. The other worldly army fired back with massive bolts of magic and fire, dragons took to the sky while a squadron of F16's lobbed missiles chased by the hum of fifty caliber persuaders.
On the ground thousands of troops descended from the hill tops firing at the invaders mowing them down in masses.
Legend says the battle raged on for 7 days and 7 nights. I heard that it only lasted about 7 hours. All I know, is the pen may be mightier than the sword, but a 5.56 round trumps both.
|
Eagle screech echoed across the windswept plain, the sort she had fought, and died, on many times before. Arrayed across the centre were the mighty corps of warriors assembled from many nations, the sort who bent the knee when her guards rode through their puny towns, the sort who dared not make eye contact lest they sought her wrath. What did they know of power? She was power, and this next word, Urth, was hers for the taking.
Huddled up beside her, wrapped in animal furs and oversized helmet, the feeble denizen of this world who had summoned her shivered involuntarily as she cast her gaze over him. She enjoyed the sensation, knowing full well that when the time came she would dispose of him in the ritual that would unlock the conjunction of the spheres and make this Urth her plaything. That was until she got bored and moved onto the next planet in the alignment.
A small cough broke her thoughts, and she turned sharply towards the interloper, a small satyr clad in gilt armour. "You most worshipful Majesty", he stammered, "I bring tidings from yonder town."
She turned away from him, and looked back at the strange buildings dotting the horizon, the first small fall muddied and trampled by multiple contraptions that belched smoke into the pristine air. A line of petty humans, as the inhabitants were wont to call themselves, were arrayed defensively behind their hulks, metal sticks pointed out over the top. She could not help but laugh, what good would they be against her magnificent hoard.
With a sneer she turned back to her flunky, "Spit it out then."
For a moment the satyr clutched at the fabric protruding from his armour, and then with resolution took a deep breath, "Most worshipful One, they both tell you to go fuck yourself."
Now she was amused. "Prey, with what do they want me to 'fuck' myself with? Their bloodied stumps perhaps?"
The satyr took a pace back, then another, but he was too late, for by the time he made the first her hand had shot out and grasped him round the neck. She pulled him close, and gazed into his terror filled eyes. "Yes, you know to fear me, boy. You know I birthed the great demon Shem'lac from these very loins. You know I seduced the Duke Megoin, and his wife, then while they sated their lust I slit their throats so that their lands were mine." She jabbed a slender finger into the satyr's cheek, "So, my faithful minion, tell me this, what do my loins have to fear from them?"
With a thrust of her index finger she signaled for the centre to move forward, and with a squeeze of her hand she felt the satisfying crunch of bone and flesh. "Guards, clean up this mess, and fetch me a new Chamberlain."
A blood red sunset cast itself over the fresh snow, and in perfect unison her hoard marched forth before her, all in perfect battle order, discipline instilled with petrified fear of her wrath. None broke rank, and each marched forth knowing that she only brought them victory.
Victory, yes, that was it, victory. Of all the worlds in all the spheres she only knew victory. Today would be no different.
Off on the left flank a great roar when up, "Vive L'Empress, Vive L'Empress..."
A wry smile traced across her lips, yes, long live herself.
Five hundred paces out she motioned to her cavalry bannersman, motioning forward. The hulking brute waved his banner with all the strength he could muster, and with all the parade ground discipline the centre parted, allowing her magnificent Elder Guard cavalry to charge through and on-wards to the fools beyond.
Horns sounded, banners fluttered, breath flared in the cold air, and with a mighty clattering of hooves the cavarly charged the hulks arrayed before them.
Then, a sharp sound reached her ears, like a swarm of wasps, angry, insistent. In the dying embers of the day small lights flared from the hulks, a chattering insistent death spat forth to harvest warriors who struck down a hundred worlds. Mounts reared up, collapsed, shed blue and black ichor over the snow; screams of the wounded and dying punctured the air, deflating all hope...
No, this was not how it was meant to be, for she was the Centurion Empress, ruler of all she surveyed, and nothing would stop her. She motioned for the cavalry to retreat, and with a second flick of her wrist signaled for the planes walkers to strike from the shadows.
Now the snow shimmered and heaved, as if reality itself was bending the will of infernal forces. Skittering over the ground shadows darted and twisted until paces from the closest hulk they formed into the lithe forms of her deadliest warriors, each carrying a sword cast from a fallen star. More angry light spewed forth, and as valiant as her champions were, each fell in turn as the light reached out and smote them down.
Anger burned forth inside, and try as she might she could not bury it, the usual calm of battle deserting her. In a rage she snatch the dragon host's banner from the ogre, and with all the might she could muster signaled for the squadron of five dragons hovering behind to move forward in formation to strike the interlopers down with righteous fire. Off they flew, beasts from the depths of the third world to bend its knee to her, terrifying, shock and awe. Whoosh of wings beat the air, grass dancing as they made for the hulks.
From a distant roof a flash erupted, then another, joined by four more. White streaks burst forth into the velvet sky, ember glinting, and then with the radiance of minor suns her beloved dragons lit up the sky, incandescent and eerily beautiful in their death. Time ebbed away, slowing, a lazy tide sweeping all hope before it as five stars lit up the battle field anew.
Rage consumed her, a fury rising from the depths, and with one final roar she sent her army crashing across the accursed plain, "Charge!"
* * *
He pointed at the beautiful corpse surrounded by the hulking monsters, and spat out drunkenly, "Someone should have told her you don't invade Russia in winter."
Pavel nudged him in the shoulder, his bandaged hand nursing the half empty vodka bottle. "Ha! Tell that to the next fucker who tries to interrupt your cousin's birthday party, though it was one hell of a show."
| 2017-09-14T15:29:29 | 2017-09-14T07:49:00 | 243 | 10 |
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch
|
There we were, math class again. Typical Friday afternoon waiting for the weekend. Everyone around me focused on the board while I sing to myself, waiting for someone else to answer the question as I chant 42 to myself.
Today's song just happens to be about a beautiful girl in class. My Sweet Caroline in fact. I feel like my rendition could put Neil himself to shame. I watch Caroline as I sing, wondering how many times boys have sung this to her to try and impress her. Suddenly she raises her hand. 42 she calls out.
I start to sing louder. Jealous of the fact that I got the answer first, but don't have the balls to say it in class on the off chance I'm wrong. My song gets louder in my head as I calculate the next problem.
BA BA BA!!! I yell in my head followed by the next answer. Caroline flinched. Raises her hand. Calls out 6. Right again. But why the flinch?
Curious now I keep singing, and staring. There is no way she heard me. People can't hear other people minds. That's like movies and weird stories you read on Reddit. No way it exists I say to myself as I hear Caroline start to hum along with my singing.
|
"Mr. S?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I just get something off my chest?"
"Sure, kid. 'Course you can."
"Band class is fucking boring when nobody actually tries. You just sit there with your instrument on your lap, staring into fuckin' space, listening to the poor teach' tryna get the attention of the class while everybody just screams. The baritone section is a mess, only one trumpet is decent, and you can't hear the flutes *or* the clarinets.
So she yells, "Alright! Alto saxes, come here!"
So we do, 'cause four of us aren't dipshits.
And then she says, "Guys, this is Michael. He's in grade eleven, and he's going to tutor you for a few weeks."
This dude, this dude is somethin'.
So she sends us into a practice room, and we all take a seat, and he gives us a once-over, and I give him a once-over, Christ, Mr. S, you should've seen that dude. His eyes are this perfect almond shape, and they're a perfect coffee-colour. He has this shoulder-length curly hair, but it's *real* soft, and he has a sharp nose and chin and cheekbones. Big lips. He was wearing this oversized sweater, red and brown stripes, and weird jeans, and *weed* socks, but he said that was 'cause the rest of his socks were in the laundry. He had a wrist brace on, and he says it's 'cause he broke his thumb. He has olive-coloured skin, like what Katniss Everdeen was supposed to look like. He's cocky like a fucking asshole, but... There's something more.
Pardon the French."
-------------------------
"Mr. S?"
"Talk to me kiddo."
"So I have a huge crush on him. *You* know. Michael. So he's cocky like a fucking asshole, like I said. But, god. I think I'm hopelessly in love. Day 1 of tutoring, he tells me to just play. Said it wasn't good but that I was the best out of all the saxes.
Then, like a week of tutoring, and I was practicing outside of class, and again we're playing, he says I'm the best again. Gosh, I can't tell you how red I got after that, Mr. S. But anyway, yesterday the rest of the saxes just... wandered off? And it was just me and him. And he looked at me. *He looked at me*. But not in a mean way. Just sort of... a way. And told me to play with the metronome, and 'course I didn't 'cause I don't really know how, and when I was done he *laughed*. And then I saw him on the bus home, Mr. S, I saw him, and we made eye contact, and he *laughed* and smiled his stupid dork smile. He has crooked teeth. Real crooked teeth. And we've done it a few times! At Halloween, he dressed up as a soldier, and lemme tell you, he looks damn good in a uniform, and I was Waldo, and we were walking down the hall, and we did the same thing.
My heart always does that thing where it leaps into my throat, and I get all floaty and I can't breathe. I'm really in love, Mr. S."
"Y'know kiddo, I don't doubt that you are. I really don't."
--------------------
"Mr. S! I think he's psychic?"
"What?"
"I think he's psychic! So today, it was band, and I was real bored 'cause everyone was being a dipshit again, and I decided to scream in my head, 'cause I wanted to check for psychics. So I screamed, just like 'hey!', and he flinched! Also, we've been Snapchatting each other a lot, *and* he likes *all* my Instagram photos. That really means a lot to us high schoolers ya know. I don't know him all that well, to be true, but god, he's somethin' else. He doesn't feel like any other boy I know. He's... not stupid."
"Honey, I think you gotta ask this boy on a date."
----------------
"What are you running from?"
He takes their hands in his.
"What?"
"What are you running from? Your thoughts are always so... jumbled. And when they're not, they're so... sad. What's goin' on?"
They look down. Shit's going on, that's true, but, it's hard to verbalize feelings most of the time. It's getting dark around the two, wind starting to blow in from the north, bringing the cold front that the weatherman promised. It blows some of that damn curly hair into his eyes. But he persists, tilting their head up to look in their eyes. He doesn't read what they think right now. He could, but that'd ruin it. He wants them to talk to him. He tries *his* damnedest to talk, because he's been in love with them and their mad eyes and weird hair since he saw them, but they're just so damn shy.
"I've never heard anyone with thoughts like yours. C'mon, if something's wrong, you can tell me."
They sigh.
"I-I dunno. I guess my parents have just been fightin' an awful lot. My best friend doesn't talk to me anymore," sadness is so thick in their voice, "I guess I just feel like I don't wanna go on anymore."
He nods.
They sit quietly, just taking in each other, taking in the Toronto autumn, the Toronto night around them. Right when it's about to get dark, the two get up and walk off to the bus stop. Together, they walk onto the bus. Together, they sit. They lean into him, he leans onto them, pressing a kiss onto their forehead.
They really are in love. Even if they're young and dumb and sweet and naive, they're in love. All 'cause they saw him flinch.
| 2017-11-13T19:47:06 | 2017-11-13T19:45:25 | 236 | 10 |
[WP] Working as a world renowned therapist you have uncovered far more about secret conspiracies, horrific monsters, barely failed schemes to destroy the world and dark magical cults from your myriad of heroic patients than you could have bargained for, and you might need therapy yourself
|
I stumbled into the offices of Dr. Ringwald, a friend of mine, as a patient. The years of therapy were taking a toll on me. Even on the streets, I was conscious of the secret eyes of the Black Crow scrutinizing me.
What's the Black Crow you ask? Even I don't remember. Some caped crusader told me about it a long way back and since then it has been my habit to check for the Black Crow agents keeping a watch on me.
"Ah, welcome Osborne, welcome. How are things with you?" Ringwald said.
"Things are fine, thank you very much," I replied. It was unusual of Ringwald to ask such questions. "Today is my birthday, you know," I added.
Ringwald's eyebrows rose in surprise. I scrutinized his face carefully. Was he Ringwald or a magic impostor? I had to be certain. They were everywhere, the sorcerers.
"Is it? My, did I forget again," Ringwald laughed a curt laugh. "Well, I thought it was sometime in the fall."
Nothing suspicious about him, no. I decided to let him in on the secret.
"Yes, it is in the fall. I was just messing with you. Actually, no, I'm not messing with you. I wanted to check if you really were you."
Ringwald's face assumed a grave expression. "What do you mean?"
"Well it's a long story, but the point is that the wizards of Lotharia planned an invasion some five years back and still mages from their sleeper cells are said to loom large in the city."
Ringwald put his glasses on. "Okay," he said.
I realized what he was doing and apologized immediately. "It's just these stories from my days on the field Ringwald, they keep messing with me. I don't know what's real anymore."
Ringwald nodded gravely. He had slipped into his professional mode. I could tell. He analyzed me very carefully.
"Since when have you been having such," Ringwald waved his hand in the air, "delusions?"
Delusions? Delusions did he say?
"These are no delusions, Ringwald. All of this really happened. I just want to ensure that the stories don't stick with me, that's all. But the stories are true. Real heroes and real wizards have narrated them onto me."
Ringwald said nothing and scribbled something in his notebook. "Since when did you start seeing these, 'heroes,' and 'wizards' as patients?"
I didn't like his tone. He sounded like he was looking down on me, the bastard.
"Five years, Ringwald, five years. And I have seen them all. All of them. The ones that went mad and the ones that were immortalized in comic books."
Ringwald nodded. There I noticed a queer glint in his eye. It appeared for a moment and then faded away.
"Why don't you make yourself comfortable, Osborne? Lay on the couch, close your eyes, and tell me more."
The voice was gentle and soothing, but the glint that I saw remained in my consciousness. The glint could mean lots of things. A lot of the dark wizard cults had that glint magically appear in their eyes. But I trusted Ringwald and I lay on the couch and closed my eyes.
"It's been a rough five years," I said, eyes closed. "The days are rough. The stories, the madness of the dejected heroes, it is too much to take at times. The accounts of the heroes they still-" I stopped.
Ringwald was not sitting next to me. I could tell. When I opened my eyes, he was standing at the foot of the couch scribbling notes. "What?" he said, "Continue please, or do you need some of the old sweet talk?"
Something was not right about the way he talked. His manner was too gruff. I reached into my front pocket and took some of the pixie dust I had and blew it his way. Ringwald sneezed. His body started quivering and in a matter of seconds, it burst into black flakes of ash.
Just then the door of the office opened. Ringwald stood in the doorway.
"Osborne! How are you doing old lad? I apologize for the delay. I had to see a client personally, but do make yourself comfortable."
I smiled. There was no need for therapy, I wasn't delusional. Not even a little.
|
The house was dark and silent when Tarik came home; it made the madness of his day even more shocking. He could just barely hear the sleeping noises of his daughter through the baby monitor in the next room, intermingling with his wife’s quiet, not-quite-snores.
He had to suppress a laugh when saw her, stretched out on the couch with her sheer lace nightgown ridden up almost to her hips. He was two hours late again.
Tarik grabbed a spare blanket from the living room and gently placed it over her, then crouched by her side, brushing her hair back from her face.
Tarik woke an hour later, his head on her shoulder, body sprawled out twisted uncomfortably on the cold hardwood floor, and now she was the one stroking his hair.
“Hey there sleepyhead,” Aisha said.
“Woah, shit. Sorry, did I wake you?”
She chuckled, shaking her head and pulling him onto the couch beside her. “No, but you should’ve. I got all dressed up for you!”
“And I was even later than usual.”
“That’s OK though, you’re trying.”
They settled in, sharing the blanket as they listened to the baby monitor. It was quiet now, she’d been sleeping for a while. Tarik said a quick prayer in his head, hoping that would hold.
“Long day?” Aisha asked.
“No different than usual,” Tarik lied.
Aisha made a tutting sound of disapproval and pushed her husband back onto the arm of the couch. Looking down into his eyes now she settled herself above him, and said in her most serious voice, “Tarik, I’m your wife. Tell me.”
“I can’t, confidentiality and—”
“You think I don’t see how sunken your eyes are? You think I don’t see the clock when come home or smell the alcohol on your breath? Tarik, you shouldn’t even be drinking!”
Aisha paused for the moment, her ear cocked towards the baby monitor like she’d gotten louder than she’d intended. “Look,” Aisha said when there wasn’t a change, “if anyone can understand what you’re going through, it’s me. I’ll never breathe a word of it, so please, tell me.”
“Baby, I—”
A soft, purple glow lit up behind Aisha’s eyes and the room grew suddenly smaller. The world narrowed to the space to them, and Tarik’s blood thrilled at the sudden power that lay against his chest, radiating outward and through him like an electric current. “Are you going to charm me?” Tarik asked.
“No.” The glow faded, the radiant power from Aisha’s body faded, and the sharp, keening whine Tarik hadn’t realized was filling ears faded as well. But the world still remained nothing more than the space between them.
“I’m not going to charm you, I promised I wouldn’t. I’m not above begging though. Please, let me in.” Aisha laid her head on his chest, molding her body to his.
Minutes passed with nothing more than quiet breathing and the occasional whimper from the monitor. Tarik was so close to falling asleep again when Aisha spoke.
“Please.”
The word undid him. Whether it was the exhaustion or the whiskey he’d drunk at the office, or the chill of the night or the warmth her skin, or enticing, lavender and bliss sent of her hair, Tarik suddenly realized he wasn’t the same man he had been a moment ago.
“I had my first villain today,” Tarik said.
Aisha didn’t have to move for him to feel the tension in her body. It was the same thing he’d felt since the moment the man had walked into his office.
“A necromancer came in today, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.” Aisha squeezed him a little tighter.
“He was old, maybe in his sixties. A white guy, gaunt, wispy beard, glasses and dark clothing, but nothing too unusual. You wouldn’t have taken a second a look at him in the street for anything but the gauntness. I suppose, looking back, that he was almost skeletal.
“Maddy tried not to let him in. She said I had appointments booked, which I did, and with good, normal people I’d much rather have seen, but he didn’t care. He sat down in the chair across from mine and beckoned me over, and when I didn’t come he opened up his jacket and a some….thing crawled out.”
“What was it?” Aisha said after a time.
“I think it was a monkey, at least, it might have been once.” Tarik scooted up the couch, sitting up now, his hands shaking, voice trembling. Aisha followed him, and the purple glow snuck back into her eyes.
“Whatever it had been, it was a skeleton by then. It had legs and two long arms, a thin, mobile tail that clacked loudly as it whipped around, and bulbous head. The head it…it looked fucking human! Maybe it was a monkey, I fucking it was a monkey, but I can’t stop thinking about that head…
“It ran out of the room, hissing at Maddy and corralling her back to her desk, and then when she was settled it climbed the bookcase, leapt to the handle, and shut and locked the door. Locked it! Can a monkey lock doors?”
“I don’t know,” Aisha said, “but probably, right? It’s a magic monkey, it could’ve been smart.”
“I fucking hope it was a monkey.”
“It was,” Aisha said, kissing his forehead.
“I was alone with him after that. He didn’t leave, he just talked and talked and talked. I wanted to stop him, but I couldn’t. Baby, it’s one thing to hear about atrocities from people that hate them. When Captain Compassion comes in crying, it’s OK, he’s a good guy and anyone would cry seeing the things he sees. When Helen the Heartless comes in off a bender, scarred up, burned to hell, giant fucking stab wounds in her side still healing in front of my eyes…that’s OK too. At least, I tell myself it is because she got them saving lives.
“When he cried, he cried at the beauty of it all. He cried in remembrance of the exquisite screams of his youth, when he’d *‘been an artist of the flesh’* in his words. He cried because his dumping ground had been found and the bones were being re-interred. He cried because—”
Tarik choked on the words, his hands balling up into fists. He wanted to hit something, he needed to hit something hard enough to hurt his hands. Instead he forced them back open and buried them in the blankets where Aisha couldn’t see.
She chased after them, held his hands between her own, and kissed each knuckle.
“…He cried because when he reanimated his wife’s corpse, she told him she still hated him for what he did to her, and because after banished her soul she only had one skull to powder.”
“It’s time to quit.” Aisha said, after the dust of those words settled.
“I can’t quit. We’ve got Aaliyah and the house to pay for, we’ve got hopes and dreams, and we always said we wanted two kids so she wouldn’t have to grow up alone and—”
Aisha’s eyes flared, and she spoke fiery purple words, an unearthly haze emanating from her mouth with each syllable. Tarik grew calmer, the Necromancer felt farther away, the monkey’s skull seemed more human.
And most of all, when Tarik imagined the Necromancer grinding bones, laughing gleefully as he did it, the bones were no longer Aisha’s in his mind. She was real, and alive, and right front of him, and still the most shockingly beautiful thing he’d ever seen, even a decade later.
“I thought you said you weren’t gonna charm me,” Tarik said, yawning.
“White lie,” Aisha said. “We’ll talk about this more tomorrow. You can quit though, you really can.”
“But the money…”
“Look at me Tarik, you can quit. Aaliyah needs her father, not whatever the job will turn you into it twenty more years. I need you too. Besides, you’ll get another one and until then, I’ve got you.”
“Huh? Really?”
“Yeah really! We said I was just taking maternity leave, remember? So what if it got extended a bit, I’m still the best damn witch in the city.”
Tarik yawned, too sleepy to even respond. “Love you…” he said, fighting to keep his eyes open.
Aisha laughed softly and exhaled a single long breath across his face, the haze falling over him and then evaporating as soon as it touched his skin. Then she leaned in, kissed him, and by the time she pulled back Tarik was deep in sleep.
Yawning herself, Aisha stood and stretched, rehearsing the lines of a levitation spell in her head. Tarik was too heavy to bring to bed any other way.
Cries shot out of Aaliyah’s monitor, breaking up into static with their ferocity. Aisha cursed, and glanced down at Tarik. The spell held, nothing would wake him now.
Then she darted off upstairs, her own sleep long forgotten. Tarik could quit, but her work was never truly done.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-05-08T07:49:23 | 2021-05-08T06:12:01 | 559 | 60 |
[WP] A serial killer who wishes to terrorise a town. However none of their victims stay dead for long and don't seem to remember them being killed. In this town lives a serial necromancer who unbeknownst to the serial killer is ressurecting every victim.
|
“So you mean to tell me,” I say, pinching my eyebrows, “that you have been finding countless victims of the murderer we’re searching for and just … resurrecting them? Already?”
Lady Gray of Orthioc pokes an olive in her mouth, a move so inelegant when juxtaposed to her dazzling, empress-style gray gown. “Mmmhmm!”
“So you’re saying that the White Wolf murderer has killed a far greater number of victims than just the one. That he’s killed half the town. And that he’s – or she’s – getting away with it? Because you’ve already resurrected them?!”
Lady Gray flicks my hair from my face. “Don’t look so upset with me.” She reaches past me to grab something on my shelf. “I had to do something to occupy myself! You killed me and left me to wander the Dark Lands all alone, Lord Francis, milady. I almost died a second time of boredom.”
I snatch her wrist.
When I pull her hand in front of my face, I see that her sticky fingers have grabbed a handful of the cursed artefacts from my shelf. I shake them out of her fingers. “Elise,” I whisper, “if you’re going to help me find this murderer, you need to stop resurrecting everyone you see. No more illegal, unsupervised resurrections. And you need to stay out of trouble. We have to discover the murderer’s identity, not undo all of his murders.”
“I bet he’s \*quite\* annoyed with me,” she says, quirking an eyebrow deviously. “I'm helping you mostly because I just want to see his face! It will be so amusing.”
“How many have their been?”
“What?”
She’s pursing her blackened lips. I step in close, hoping to be intimidating, but my eyes keep snapping to them uncontrollably. I snarl. “Elise, please. Don’t take this personally. But if you’re going to behave as carelessly as you did with the Legion, then I’m going to kill you again and send you to the other realm. For good this time.”
Her grin widens. She slides her forearms along my shoulders. “Promise?”
I snap away, pacing my dusty carpet angrily.
“Fourteen,” she says.
“What’s that?”
“Fourteen murders. All young pale girls with brown hair. Mostly poor. Many of them from the factory district,” she says, picking up and perusing my letters at my desk invasively.
“It sounds like a run-of-the-mill sociopath,” I say. “Are you sure this person is associated with White Wolf?”
“Given that all of the girls were frozen to death on summer nights, yes,” she says.
I palm my eyes. “Stars save us.”
“But I have another clue,” she says.
I stare at her.
She looks over her half-naked shoulder, pointed chin and perfect lips capturing the light from my stained glass window. She knows how attracted I am to her. She’s seen my despondent face from the other side of the mirror, when I thought she was dead. Who knows what I might have confessed drunk and alone in my office, where she could peer into from the other side? This person was dangerous and is now even more so because she knows I’m in love with her.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“The White Wolf is also a necromancer. The girls in question have died multiple times. How about that for helpful?”
When she poses with her hand under her chin, I see that she’s stolen one of my cursed rings.
\*I thought I'd do a continuation from [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/toxsr6/wp\_the\_dean\_of\_academy\_of\_magic\_firmly\_believes/i27uawd/?context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/toxsr6/wp_the_dean_of_academy_of_magic_firmly_believes/i27uawd/?context=3)
|
>**SILAS & SOMNUS**
Setting sun and the sharpened form of the crescent moon battled each other for dominance over the sky- though the outcome was known, they shared the stage for a few contentious hours. Autumn had come, the harvest and its celebrations were over. Returned now to simple enduring, returned to letting time slip by as unnoticed as possible– winter was always like this for the twins.
They were still too young. Too young to abandon what they called "home" in search of a better life, though they had no parents to sigh from their absence.
Silas and Somnus had been raised by the Priests of the Halls of Galdr; the Church was their home and the Priest Mother and Priest Father were the only 'authority' they were beholden to- though even that thread had begun to fray.
“I mean- look at them, Silas.” Somnus said, repeating a tirade he had long since verbalized to death. “The look in their eyes is bovine. There’s a detached, animalistic inattentiveness about them, the way they talk, the way they move.” He brushed his sand-colored hair from his eyes as he watched the workers returning from their day. The setting sun made his wood-and-amber eyes blaze, emphasizing the indignation in them.
His anger was not abated, but he returned to his work regardless. The binding of an ancient Tome of Galdr was coming apart, so he was making it anew.
Silas knew and agreed with Somnus on his anger- though he saw it perhaps a little differently. It was true the locals were incurious, generally speaking, and they seemed to have no ambition, no purpose aside from living out their little lives in their little ways. Silas, however, wasn’t mad that that was the way they lived; he was mad because he and his brother were alone. The pair of them were multi-passionate, and the root of Somnus’s indignation, Silas believed, was that they were not being nurtured in their pursuits. The farmers here raised another generation of farmers, and nothing else. They did not inspire any growth in themselves or their children, and so the fiery and driven twins felt very much alone.
“We should calculate,” began Somnus, breaking a silence that spanned several hours, “how much longer we have to remain here. They are supposed to keep us until we are old enough to earn a man’s wages, right?”
Silas nodded. “Eighteen years old, the day of the eighteenth birthday we are allowed to leave.” He folded an ear of the book he was reading, and set it aside.
Somnus cast a funny look at Silas- not that he could see it.
“Have we never questioned that before?”
“What do you mean?” Silas asked, popping up onto his bed. He had won the prestigious position of top bunk in a wrestling match- though he had broken a table during the struggle, and earned a good lashing by the Priest Mother from it. An acceptable trade.
“This word…’allowed’. Permitted. If we choose to risk ourselves by venturing out into the world, what grants them the authority over us to say ‘yes, you can’, or ‘no, you cannot’?”
“Well, the government has their program for orphans- they pay the chapel to mind us, so I suppose if we agree to governmental rule, then we agree to the authority of the chapel.”
“Our government is a joke. It’s so feeble, people hardly know it’s there.”
“Imagine if we’d had the Magocracy come to fruition all those years ago, instead. They’d be running the country with intelligence and strength.” Silas said, echoing Somnus’s own opinion back to him. Silas knew that Somnus was impulsive enough to leave without a plan, which would be dangerous, even potentially fatal- so he hoped to change the subject.
Somnus didn’t fall for it. “True, but let’s not disassemble. I don’t think the government has the right to say when we can leave or when we can’t. I reject their notion of having that power over us.”
Silas resigned himself to following the conversation through. “Fair enough. I don’t truly recognize them as being an authority either. But- if we leave, we could easily perish upon the road. We don’t know the world out there at all, which roads are safe, where the cities are, where to find work, or even what kind of work we could get.”
Somnus thought about that in silence for a while. “If we stay here, we would become farmers. To save up enough money to travel, we would have to work for at least five good seasons, even spending minimally during the winters. We would be twenty before we even begin to see the outside world. Twenty three! Maybe more! We would become the very thing we despise. Hell, would the farmers even work with us after how we’ve ostracized ourselves from them?”
Silas imagined a future sprawling out before him of working the fields- it was entirely possible that the fields would be their only choice- unless they took a massive risk.
Silas pondered in silence. He didn’t see any good options. He pondered until, eventually, he heard snoring from the bottom bunk- Somnus had let sleep take him.
Silas did not sleep that night- he never could sleep on an undecided mind.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
A few weeks passed since Silas and Somnus had had their conversation, when the energy began to shift in the town. Silas could see it in the eyes of the farmers as they went about their morning duties- they weren’t in quite as much of a sleepy daze, in fact they looked riddled with worry.
Silas went to the Priest Mother about it. The Priest Mother and Priest Father, despite the care with which they had raised the boys, had never seemed particularly attached or invested in either of them. Their attitudes seemed to be a self-satisfied tolerance- as though their sacrifice in raising the boys granted them some kind of religious clout, and perhaps it did, for all Silas knew.
He found her in the chapel’s hall, washing the wooden pews.
Silas grabbed a cloth and began to help with the washing as he peppered her with questions- as he often did.
“Something’s going on. Do you know anything about it?”
“I do.” She replied neutrally.
“What is it? Is it war? A plague? Kitsune?” He asked, fearing the worst.
“Kitsune? We haven’t seen those in nearly fifty years.” She laughed, an edge to her voice- Silas could only describe it as sardonic.
“Well, what is it?”
She sighed, as she stood slowly. Her knees popped audibly with the movement. “I think it be bandits. Word is that some of the nearby towns were struck, but we don’t know which direction they came from, nor went.”
Silas nodded solemnly. “I need to find Somnus.” He said, turning to leave.
The Priest Mother gave him a half-hearted smack on the back of the head. “Just pretending to help so you can get answers, huh? I suppose I should be used to that by now. Somnus is with the Priest Father buying supplies.”
The only resolution the twins had managed to come to, pertaining to their previous discussion, was that at the least they needed to find a Pilgrim's Map before they attempted to leave.
With the Way of Magic constantly shifting, maps could become obsolete within a few months of their making- the leylines restructured the world around them by some unknown and haphazard design, so what was in one place yesterday may have shifted a mile away by the next- and may have disappeared over the horizon a few months hence. It was more prevalent where the leylines were powerful, which they certainly were not in Yaruna, but both Silas and Somnus agreed that to simply try to leave without any idea of where they were going would be tempting fate. They needed a recently made map if they stood any chance at surviving.
Many of the magically sensitive and adventurous types had begun to make their living by traveling and making these maps- both for the scholarly purpose of figuring out the design of the leylines, and to sell their updated maps to each of the villages they came across. Those people called themselves Pilgrims, and finding a Pilgrim’s Map seemed to be the only hope Silas and Somnus had of escaping their predicament.
However...Pilgrims did not come often enough- and even when they did, how would they pay the Pilgrim for a map?
A dangerous idea leapt into Silas's head- the bandits would have to have a map- a new one- to be able to roam around as they did.
Did Silas dare to steal from a den of thieves?
------------------------------------------------------------
**CONT'D BELOW**
| 2022-03-30T08:31:39 | 2022-03-30T08:11:39 | 61 | 17 |
[WP] “Someone once told me the definition of Hell: The last day you have on earth, the person you became will meet the person you could have become.” -Anonymous
|
"Why I talking to a skeleton?"
Oh that's you when you died. There are about 10,000 of them scattered around. Car crashes and whatnot. Over here is the group of yous that dropped out of college, and over there is the group of yous that didn't tie the knot. There are a lot of yous, but it seems like you made the best decisions with the information you had available.
"What about that huge group of people over there?"
Butterfly effect. Minor things like forgetting to tie your laces in the morning or being a few minutes late to work. There are millions of them. Funny story about your shoelace though, turns out one of you tripped and fell on a rattlesnake on the way to work. Hey Steve 89, get over here! Tell this guy how you died.
|
I smiled as he walked in the room. It was a great smile, my winner smile. I'd practiced it at home one weekend, it had been a smile that brokered some fantastic deals and made me a hell of a lot of money.
I was the fifth wealthiest human being on the planet when I died. Oh I knew where I was alright, I knew the drill; the thing at the door had told me all about it. I was gonna see the man I could have been, the path I could have taken. Even for me the thought was a little daunting. Is it possible I could have been higher than fifth? Maybe I shouldn't have backed out of that deal with the soft drinks people? Business was a fine art.
It was kind of weird when he came in the room, I was looking at myself, but he couldn't have been more different. He didn't so much as stride, as sort of shuffle. He gave me a brief hello, the smile of someone used to looking at their feet and a handshake I wouldn't have hired. What the hell was this? Maybe I'm the one being used to show this nobody how his life should have been?
'Hi' he said again, 'so being dead kind of sucks huh?'
What the... *this* piss-ant was supposed to show me where my life went wrong. Pfft whatever. He was grinning that weird smile at me again.
'Yeah it's gonna be an adventure for sure. So, you're the guy that's gonna make me feel bad about my life eh?'
'Yup, that's me'
'Listen, no offense pal, but how do you reckon you're gonna do that? You're gonna make me feel bad for not being a loser?'
That smile again.
'Let's start with some truth. Your wife was cheating on you, she's hated you for a few years now, when she's fucking her gym instructor they just refer to you as the checkbook. Your two sons have become massive drug addicts in the last few years, a bad score is going to kill them both in a few years. They've both done some deplorable things in their life due to a lack of a moral compass and for that reason they both end up down here. Don't worry, you wont have to see them, I mean why break the habit of your lifetime right?'
This guy was going for the jugular. Whatever, he was dealing with the king of the jungle (*Dave and Jim do drugs? Fuck!*) here, did he really think he could bludgeon me to death.
' Yeah whatever buddy. So maybe I wasn't a great family man, doesn't mean I was a failure. I helped people, I left behind a legacy!'
'Oh your company? They get bought out by Simon Whikson in a hostile takeover, you know your ex-partner? He sells off all the assets to remove it as competition. Your *legacy* doesn't last the year.'
The board always were fucking stupid without someone with (*Really Miranda, that guy, the fucking gym instructor?!*) balls telling them what to do.
'Yeah so, I still helped people, I hired people and gave to charity. My money will have saved lives, that's gotta count for something?!'
'You gave to *your* charity, which you set up as a subset of your business. Less than 4% of any donations actually went to needy people. The majority of the donations were put back into your business, which in effect stole money from charities that could have used the donations. To clarify, your charity basically leached money away from needy causes, whilst only doing the bare minimum to qualify as a charity. And you okay'd that setup.'
'What about people I hired, the staff, I gave people jobs, I gave them a purpose!'
'You gave them minimum wage and zero job security, you didn't even pay for the Christmas meal. Face it, your life was an endless assault on the beauty of humanity, you fucked people over all the way to the top and pissed on them when you got there. I don't need to make you feel bad about your life, you can't even name one thing that you should feel good about. That chemical you released early to get better market share by cutting back on trials to the bare minimum? It ends up killing seven and a half million people worldwide, most of them children. All for a little extra market share.'
Ok, this deal was going south fast. Seven and a half million? Shit.
'Well what about you, you saying I should have been some lowlife bum? Fuck that!'
'By your definition I'm poor compared to you, but I have two healthy sons who're doing well in school and go on to become a doctor and a mechanic. Very different professions it's true, but it's honest work. They'll help people more often than not. My wife loves me, she even has the decency to cry at my funeral rather than using it for networking. I had a loving family who I connected with, and I was a benefit to society, to humankind, however small.'
'I was the fifth richest person in the world, how can you say I wasn't benefiting society?!'
'Ah well, that's the rub you see. With the possible exception of your wife's gym instructor, you were a massive drain on the only reasonable measure of humanities progress; happiness. You made massively more people unhappy with your existence than the other way around. That's what makes you a failure, the massive black hole of misery you've left behind you. Oh, and one more thing. You're down here, whereas if you'd lived this life, the life you see, or quite frankly many more besides, you'd be going up there. So tell me again how you are such a success.'
'I... I...'
In my head a slow hand clap seemed to drive the tears from my face. I was the fifth richest person in the world, and I was a waste of life.
| 2015-01-02T15:28:48 | 2015-01-02T11:59:58 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it.
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I'm going to die today.
The doctor is giving me a run down of what will happen when we pull the plug. It will be painless, he says. Despite his reassurance, I can't help but be afraid. I glance over to my wife, my one true happiness in life, and begin to tear up. I can't handle the fact that I will never see her again. I pull her in for one last embrace.
I look back at the doctor and tell him I'm ready.
He gives me a slight nod, and slowly shuts off my wife's life support.
-
Edit : Thank you all for the kind words, when I wrote this obviously I could not have anticipated that it would be so well accepted. I'm glad that a good bunch of you enjoyed this story, as much as I enjoyed writing it.
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“Daddy, I can’t sleep.”
My daughter’s voice cuts through the fog of sleep that had just started to descend. I reopen my eyes, trying to readjust them to the dim light of the cabin. I look over at my baby girl, and she’s looking over at me. I smile. “Alright, just give daddy a minute.” I twist around for a moment, working at the straps holding me down. It takes a minute, but soon I’m free to float across the room, drifting over to her bunk.
“I can’t sleep,” she says again. She looks over at me. I can tell she’s a little bit guilty about calling me over. But I don’t mind.
“It’s okay, sweetie. Here, I’ve got something that might help.” I reach back over to my bunk, pulling over my tablet. As I turn it on, it bathes the room in a bright white light. I grimace as I shut my eyes and turn down the brightness. As it fades back to a nice dim screen, I open up the sleep inducer that the techs at the launch platform had recommended. I show it to my daughter.
“Now see, this will help you sleep. Just watch the screen for a while.” I leave it floating in front of her, and give it a quick spin, dousing the room in its blue light. She giggles as it twirls around. As her laughter dies down, she looks over at me again.
“But daddy, I don’t want to go to sleep.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Because we’re in *space*, daddy. I want to see *space*.”
I can’t help but feel proud of her. Only eight years old and already wants to see everything. But I know that now isn’t the time. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow, and she’ll need to get her rest.
“You’ll get to see all the space you want to tomorrow, but you’ll want to be good and rested for it. And ten minutes of sleep isn’t going to cut it.” I can tell that she’s disappointed, but she nods in agreeance. “We’ve only got so much time to sleep though. Only eight hours till wake-up. And you need all of it.”
“Eight hours? That’s so long.”
“It’s not too bad. Let’s do the math. What’s eight times sixty?”
Her face screws up as she tries to remember her times tables. I’d help her, but she never likes that. Hesitantly, she replies, “Forty-eight?”
I smile inwardly. “And the extra ten?”
“Four hundred and eighty!” she proudly proclaims.
“Yep, that’s it! Now that’s not too many minutes, is it? Besides, you’ll be dreaming for most of it. You can dream about space.”
She turns back to the tablet, which has already started to fade to white. But by now we’re both probably too awake to fall asleep. She glances back at me cautiously, probably hoping I won’t be upset if she keeps me up a little longer. I smile again. “What is it sweetie?”
“Daddy, why do we dream?”
I take a second to gather my thoughts, trying to decide how much she’ll understand. But she’s a smart girl, I think she’ll get it.
“Well, it’s the way that our brain organizes our thoughts. We dream about the things we did during the day.” She looks at me, vaguely interested. “All of our memories of the day flare up, and our brain puts them together differently. And sometimes, our brain just makes things up to fill space.” I can tell that I’m boring her now. She’s looking a bit sleepier. I move in for the coup de grace. “And did you know that when we’re dreaming, our eyes move around really quick under our eyelids? It’s called rapid eye movement, or REM.” With a small wave of her hand, she pushes me away. She’s heard enough. I grin. “Just 470 minutes of some REM sleep now, then space.”
As she snuggles into her blanket, I pull the fasteners down over top of her. I push myself back across the room, and into my own bunk. I close my eyes, thinking, “*I even bored myself to sleep*.”
---
I wake suddenly to alarms blaring near my ear. My daughter is across the room, crying, trying to undo her straps. I quickly tear mine off, and fling myself over to help her. She’s panicking.
“Daddy, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know sweetie. We’re going to the control room.” I get the last of the straps off of her, and pull her close to me. “Hold on to daddy now.” I make sure she has a good grip before pulling myself out of our room and into the hallway. The few other passengers on the ship are emerging. Everyone is looking confused. As I push my way towards the command room, an announcement comes out over the intercom.
“Attention passengers. There’s been a coronal mass ejection. The early warning satellites predict impact in three minutes. All passengers follow the lights to the right side of the ship. Close all doors and put any sort of metal barrier you can find between yourselves and the left side of the ship.”
Even in zero gravity, it feels like my heart has dropped out of my chest. I know that this is a worst case scenario. I, and everyone else of board, frantically push ourselves into the cabins that the hall lighting indicated. With the hall clear, I seal the door. My daughter is crying, and I hold onto her tightly.
“Don’t worry sweetie, there’s nothing to be scared of,” I lie. “Daddy’s got you. I’ll keep you safe.” And the last thing sane thing I do is wrap her up, and put myself between her and the radiation.
| 2015-06-03T08:22:01 | 2015-06-03T07:29:26 | 2,420 | 12 |
[WP] Thousands of children mistakenly write letters to Satan each year because they misspell Santa. This year, instead of forwarding these to Santa, Satan decides to help out...
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One kid. Just one single present to give a kid. All that Luci could hide from the innumerable number of letters mistakenly sent to him instead of Santa.
Putting on a cloak darker than black, Luci opened a portal and was set down on the roof of a small house. Jumping quickly to avoid leaving hoof prints on the snowed in roof, he jumped in to house's chimney.
The devil referred to the list again.
Dear Satan,
My name is Sarah and I really want a puppy for Christmas. I promise I'll take good care of him.
Love Sarah
Feeling a warm fuzzy feeling in his heart, Satan snapped his fingers and a coal black hell hound appeared. The dog would keep her safe until she died providing she cared for it. With a slight smirk, he jumped up the chimney and disappeared. Florida was about to get a lot weirder.
|
So this is based on an established universe I have. Here is ["Lucky the Archdemon"](https://redd.it/4dpbaa) from that universe. This story is called "Satan Goes Christmas Shopping."
"You know, Lucky, I feel like this is the sort of thing I should not have to explain to you," Russ told me condescendingly.
I was leaning against his desk in the lobby, paging through the many letters I'd received. Most were from young children, hence the heinous spelling. "You know, none of these requests are all that ridiculous."
"You're ridiculous."
"Look," I told him, brandishing one particular letter. "Timmy from Idaho wants a new boyfriend for his mom. I could do that."
"You'll get his mother a new boyfriend?" Russ asked me with an arched eyebrow.
"No, no; I'll *be* the boyfriend."
"Nononononono**no**. That is a terrible idea," Russ told me, practically leaping over his desk to snatch Timmy's letter from my hand.
"...So?"
"So, just *no.*" Russ sighed and stared at me for a moment, I could see the gears turning in his head. "Listen. Why don't we pick one letter. Get *one* child their gifts and send the rest of the letters to Santa?"
I was disappointed, no doubt. I'd really gotten my hopes up. Not so much about Timmy's mom, but about sliding down chimney's and eating cookies. "I don't see why I can only do one list."
"Well how would you feel if Santa went trying to do your job?"
"I would love for someone other than me to do my job! That's a great idea, Russ! Santa just sits on his ass 363 days a year, he's got plenty of time. And I bet he'd have a lot of interesting ideas too."
Russ pulled the remaining letters from my hands and grumbled, "I'm not even responding to that idea." He randomly selected a letter and glanced it over. "Perfect. Ashley from Staten Island wants a new bicycle and a stuffed giraffe. We could do that."
"We could do that!"
"Alright, it's settled get your coat, I'll get Charon to watch the gates."
And so off we went to the toy store....
It was packed, as you would expect a toy store to be on Christmas Eve. We pushed and shoved our way through the throngs of last minute shoppers. Displays of toys went from teetering to barren in the blink of an eye, and "sold out" signs were as commonplace as price tags. At last we found ourselves in front of the stuffed animals, where there was a very disappointing lack of giraffes.
There were bears, elephants, cats, dogs, an owl for some reason, but not a single giraffe to behold. Russ and I both searched the shelves high and low, but there was no luck. "Well, what now?" Russ asked me as he peeked over some teddy bears hold Christmas trees to see if there was a giraffe hiding there.
"I'm not ready to give up yet. Santa wouldn't give up yet." I told him.
"Here," he said calling me over. I rushed to his side, hopeful, only to be met with an empty shelf. He jabbed his finger at a small sign that said 'Giraffes, sold out.' He grinned cheekily and said, "I guess giraffes really are endangered."
I grabbed him by the lapels and slammed him up against the shelves. "That's not funny! Extinct is forever! *Endangered means there's still time.*" Still holding his collar with one hand, I dragged him along behind me. "Come on! We'll try a different store."
As we fought our way to the exit I heard him say, "Wait, Lucky, look!"
I stopped and looked where he was pointing and saw a little boy, maybe five at the oldest, holding a giraffe plushie with the store's tag on it. "We need that giraffe more than he does," I announced.
"Okay, so, now what?" Russ asked me anxiously.
"Well, obviously we need to get the toy from the child."
"We? As in together, simultaneously?" He asked me incredulously.
"Well, no, obviously not."
"Okay, so which one of us grabs the toy?"
"We'll flip a coin."
He checked his pockets. "I don't have a coin."
I checked mine. "Okay first, we'll need to steal a coin."
"I think google has a coin flipper," Russ whispered. I'm not sure why he was whispering. No one was paying us any attention. We probably just looked like a gay couple or something, rather than Satan and the gatekeeper to Hell.
"I like my idea better."
He turned to me. "What's your idea?"
"You do it."
His shoulders sagged. "Why me?"
"I'm the boss."
"God damn it, that is always your reason."
"I mean, it *is* a pretty good reason."
"Fine, but we are bolting out of here as soon as I've got it."
"Fair enough."
"Should I get a running start?"
I shrugged. "I'll follow your lead."
"Oh, fuck," he mumbled with a sigh then took off running. I was hot on his heels. And immediately regretting the plan; I am not a runner.
He snatched the toy from the child without hesitation and we were a dozen paces from the boy before we heard someone shout, "Someone stop them!"
*Now* we were attracting attention, but we managed to push our way through the confused hordes before anyone realized we were the ones they were supposed to stop. As we reached the door I looked over my shoulder to see three big daddies bearing down on us. Big fathers I should say, not the ones from BioShock. That would have been scarier.
"Keep running!" I shouted as I slammed against the doors.
*To be continued*
| 2016-12-24T19:14:19 | 2016-12-24T18:41:16 | 208 | 21 |
[WP] "We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!" - yelled the Vampire at the ancient Dragon. Because what is the point of immortality, if you have nobody to share it with?
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The hole was thirteen kilometres deep. Gusts of snow and puffs of mist smudged together over its arctic entrance, hiding it from satellites. Lawerence knelt deep inside the burrow, digging. He’d been digging for most of the last two centuries. Now he shovelled compacted earth with his hands and nails, and often his nails bled as he scraped, often they snapped away completely. It’d take an hour for a new nail to form and heal and harden over the raw pink flesh.
Years ago, the tunnel had begun exhaling warm air over him, as if old water pipes now encircled it, and rumbled and snored their boiling water around the ever-deepening crack.
But it was only now, as he clawed away a final sod of earth, that the ground sighed into itself, crumpled as if he’d stood on wet paper. Lawrence fell. Fell deep into the lair. And as he fell, he saw the source of the heat.
He’d been searching for the beast for so long.
Then:
thud
flames
ash.
The stink of burned flesh and hair.
Nothing more.
Lawerence drifted as a hundred-thousand motes of dust and dirt and burn, barely conscious, barely a thought.
It took a year to realise the dragon — a green-scaled beast, its forked tail curled around it like a demon-cat — had incinerated him.
It took three-hundred further years for the dust to collect itself and for Lawerence to slowly shape again.
The dragon opened a single eye — a great red boulder misted behind a sheen of ice.
“I heard you burrowing,“ came its rumbled voice that trembled him inside. “A rat sneaking into my lair. After my treasure or my scales, or perhaps both. I don’t know what you are, but you are foolish to come here.”
”I am after neither scales nor treasure,“ Lawerence said. His own voice slurred, not yet composed, not yet complete.
The dragon rolled its long neck and the gaps between its scales glinted red like gemstones. “Then why come at all?”
”Because I’m the last human. If I’m even that.”
”Species rise quickly, only to collapse like waves against cliffs. I have no interest in you, whether you’re the first or last or only of your kind.”
”You’re the last, too,” said Lawerence. ”Aren’t you? You’re as lonely as I am.”
”I’m never lonely,“ said the dragon. “I am sleeping. Resting. Hibernating. But never lonely.”
”One day you will wake and you will rise and you will be all alone. Because it is only us left.”
“If you agree to leave,” it yawned, “then I won’t burn you again.”
“No,” said Lawrence. “If I leave, I will leave lonely. And you would stay — asleep or awake — just as lonely as I am.“
The fire raged and rolled through the cavern and seared the vampire, pained his being, dusted his body black.
His thoughts meandered slowly again. The dragon had burned him because the truth of his words had wounded it, a knife slipped beneath its scales. Upset it. In a few hundred years, when Lawrence became Lawerence once more, the dragon would be a little more lonely, and would listen a little longer.
It might take a hundred or a thousand further obliterations. But they’d talk. Maybe just a word at a time.
Until the loneliness inside their hearts melted, and something a little warmer replaced it.
|
Calanthrag The Eldest snorted, a brief burst of blue fire through nostrils the size of a truck exhaust. The little, blustery human-but-not-human shrunk back towards the cliff’s edge, but only a step before he pushed his way back towards the great dragon. Calanthrag wasn’t sure if he liked the man or not. He hovered very close to the line between annoying-but-alive and formerly-annoying-cinders.
"We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!" The man stamped his foot, raising a hand as if to beat it against Calanthrag’s snout before thinking better of it. It was the first smart move he’d made.
“And precisely why should I wish to be friends with you?” draconic speech was a slithering, sibilant susurration, words and syllables blending together into a hard to interpret mass, even if they’d started out in the common tongue. The man seemed to have no trouble understanding him however. It was an interesting, if not decisive fact.
“Because we two are the eldest of our race! Because our friendship is a parlay, an alliance against changing times!”
Calanthrag yawned, turning back to the entrance of his cave. “Unless these humans have advanced far beyond the primitive ‘plastic surgery’ I saw last, you are not the eldest. Leave me.”
A curious thing happened then. Squeaking filled the mountainside and the scents changed, man-odor disappearing in favor of the damp, cavernous odor of bats. All at once a storm of black fur surrounded the ancient dragon, racing past him towards the cave entrance and whirling in the air there, a thousand bats spinning and diving and flashing their wings as they coalesced into the shape of a man. Fur became a black, fur lined cape. Beady eyes shifted and hardened, becoming the many black gemstones of his raiment. Where once there had been a thousand vestigial hands perched on wings there were now two hands, and feet besides, and the hands had viciously curved claws that had grown inches past the fingertips.
“Ah,” Calanthrag said, “I see.”
“Is that all my life has become? Three words from a dragon?” The man- the vampire, walked close to Calanthrag, bringing himself a half-pace from death in a million different ways, and for the first time the dragon smiled, lowering his head to the ground in greeting.
“Well met, Vlad Tepes, last of your kind.”
Vlad bowed low with all the grace of a long dead court, “Well met Calanthrag The Eldest. Last of your kind.”
“Come, vampire. It seems we do have something to speak of after all.” Without waiting for a response the dragon swept past him, shooting thin lines of fire through his front teeth to light the many torches along the way.
How long had it been since he’d had a guest in his home? Two centuries? Three? Calanthrag could hardly separate dreams from reality after so long, after the invention of gunpowder the scope of his life had shrunk down, only waking from his slumber for brief, scheduled feeding cycles, checking on the world through the whispers of lesser lizards and the more cogent, far more useful words of his last remaining friend. She’d be ahead now, and would have spotted the flare of the torches he lit. He hoped she was better practiced than he in the rigors of hospitality.
Some ten dragon-paces later Vlad threw out an arm, pressing it against Calanthrag’s chest. It would never have restrained him, but it was still shockingly strong for a creature his size. “Careful, there’s a human ahead.” Vlad whispered. “One, young, female. I can smell her blood.”
“As can I,” rumbled Calanthrag. “I can also smell mutton cooking and a wine bottle being uncorked, or are a vampire’s senses not so fine as I had heard?”
Vlad cocked an eyebrow, looking at the dragon. “Not an assassin?”
Calanthrag’s laugh echoed off the walls, dust falling down in to coat them, making Vlad cough and sputter as he tried to brush it off his fine clothes. “Lizette!” Calanthrag called, bounding ahead, “our guest thinks you’re an assassin!”
Standing alone in a room whose wealth was almost beyond imaging was a tall, slender woman, red hair falling in a torrent down one shoulder as she turned a whole lamb on a spit. She smiled brightly to see Calanthrag, and laughed softly at the dusty vampire who emerged behind him. Her laugh died as Vlad bared his teeth, a vein in his neck bulging, his body straining against the urge to call, to rend, to drink human blood.
Calanthrag dashed the vampire against the closest wall with a negligent brush of his wing, and then laid his snout against him, pinning the creature while he spoke. “Lizette, meet Vlad. Vlad, meet Lizette. Vampire, if you so much as touch her I’ll tear your head off, cauterize the neck wound, and then dunk you in a vat of regenerative potion so quickly you’ll never die, just float there under a sheet for all eternity. Do I make myself clear?” Vlad nodded. He wasn’t allowed up until the hunger had faded from his eyes. It took a long time, but then the wine needed to rest anyway.
When he was finally released Vlad brushed himself off once more, and then not even looking at Lizette he asked, “How did a human come to find herself in a dragon’s lair?”
“Virgin sacrifice!” she said cheerily, walking over to Calanthrag and laying a hand on the warm scales near his heart. “How long ago was it now, six hundred years? Seven?”
“It was 1371 AD, Gregorian Calender.”
“I look good for 650, don’t I?” she said, turning a little twirl. “You can look at me vampire, I won’t bite. Though I can’t say the same for Calanthrag, he really will kill you.”
“In a heartbeat,” Calanthrag said.
Vlad nodded. He stared around the room in shock, his draw dropping more with every moment. There was a 650 year girl, gold and gems beyond measure were piled in heaps towering heaps with barely enough room for a dragon’s bulk cut between them. They had fresh mutton and perfectly aged wine. Calanthrag smirked, imagining the man’s wonder. He had a suspicion Vlad had not come through the ages so nicely.
Vlad followed his nose to the wine bottle, sniffing it appreciatively and then pouring himself a glass. “You two are full of surprises, aren’t you?” He finally turned his gaze to Lizette. “You aren’t a vampire, your blood is too warm. And you aren’t a mage either, I’d know.” He pulled out a small, lifeless vair-stone and laid it on the table with the wine bottle. “So how does a simple serving girl become immortal?
“He thinks I’m a serving girl!” Lizette exclaimed, clearly annoyed.
Calanthrag chuckled. “Indeed. Disabuse him of that notion.”
She walked forward, taking Vlad’s glass of wine and drinking from it. “I’m not some servant, I’m his friend. Unlike you, some people have them.”
“She’s also my eyes and ears to the human world. It is a good trade, a piece of gold here and there for knowledge of my enemy and a friend to pass the ages with.”
A friend. They could both see the effect the word had on Vlad. His hand trembled as he reached for the bottle again and this time he drank directly from it. His eyes burned, his lips drew back, baring fangs. Calanthrag crouched low, preparing to pound until the vampire spoke.
“I’m jealous of you, Eldest. My friends have all been taken from me. The years have not been quite so kind to me as to you. You spoke of enemies though. Do you have them?”
Lizette answered for him. “The whole world. Isn’t that the nature of who we all are?”
Vlad nodded, snarl turning to a razor thin smile as he turned his gaze to her. “Perhaps I have underestimated you. I came for friendship with the dragon, but another would be welcome as well. My world has been silent for too long.” Vlad took a long sip, laying the bottle down heavily when he was done. “And my war has been far too lonely.”
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-04-16T07:08:57 | 2021-04-16T06:48:10 | 1,392 | 205 |
[WP] Genies are real, and they do grant wishes. But these wishes do not have to be said out loud. They just grant you your three deepest desires, however fucked up they may be
|
It was a dog I had seen at the carnival approximately sixteen years ago and it was limping and covered in black spots though not as cute as I had remembered.
"That's one," said the Grand Genie, hanging delicately in the air like a fart at a funeral.
Next, a pile of bones.
"My old English professor, presumably," I said to the Grand Genie who looked slightly embarrassed.
"That's, uh, that's two."
The carnival dog helped himself to a bone.
At last, a lit cigarette.
"I quit four years ago," I said to the Grand Genie, somewhat incensed. I inhaled and breathed out the smoke with a slow sigh. The carnival dog barked and the Grand Genie retreated into his lamp. I picked up a handful of bones, not to let them go to waste, and headed home with the dog limping close behind me.
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 4, Part ?: Clara v.s. Her Deepest Desires)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**There was only one way to save my daughter, and it just might destroy the world.** But in all my years as a hero and a villain, as a mayor and an outlaw, I thought that I'd seen a bit of good and evil in my time. And twist or stretch it as much as you'd like, there was one thing that the most truly, irredeemable monsters had in common.
They had given up caring about *anybody*.
So long as I cared about my daughter, even if I doomed the city I'd once sworn to protect, I couldn't be a total monster.
And that was enough for me to try one final, desperate gambit.
The Feds hadn't been able to destroy the lamp, so they'd sealed it in concrete and dropped it to the bottom of the ocean. But there were *things* at the bottom of the ocean, things that I knew would take advantage of it even if the Feds didn't listen to me, and so I'd reached out to [an old thoughtfriend](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mot0ex/wp_the_ocean_can_be_scary_and_so_can_many_of_the/) and had him haul it back to shore years ago, where—to my knowledge—it had sat in an abandoned warehouse until now. An artifact capable of breaking reality and reshaping it to the user's desires, lounging in downtown Sacrament until someone smart enough to open it and stupid enough to try wandered in.
I wandered into the warehouse.
It was a rather shabby place for the end of the world to begin. The only light filtered in through an old crack in the ceiling, playing along the boring grey edge of the concrete cube; the smell of mildew and old fish filled the dockside air. Rotten wood sagged beneath my feet as I walked towards the innocuous concrete block.
I set down the toolbox I'd brought with me and took out a freshly-bought hammer and nails. Janice had been watching YouTube all day and was excitedly sharing the highlights with me—I'd set down my paperwork and sat beside her as she showed me singing cats and great salt flats and DIYs and sexy guys, not really understanding any of it but laughing along regardless. She'd shown me a video of a man breaking stone with nothing more than a few nails and some well-placed hammer blows.
I wondered what she'd think if she knew that that video was the difference between her life and death.
With nothing more than a few nails and some well-placed hammer blows, the concrete case around the lamp split precisely in two. I levered the halves apart until the gleaming golden metal became visible.
I swallowed, hesitating. In the wrong hands, this power could devastate the lives of millions, cause misery untold. In the wrong hands, this would be the antithesis of everything I had worked my life for.
Too late to turn back now.
I took the lamp into my hands.
Immediately, a presence *surged* into existence, a mind infinitely greater than my own pressing upon my consciousness. Billowing mist belched forth from the lamp's exposed aperture, forming into a seething, hissing cloud. I *screamed* as it dug into me, a well-placed hammer blow splitting my soul in half as easily as I'd shattered the cage around the bottle—
"I SEE," the genie boomed. It felt red, somehow, the red of lifeblood on an altar. "I SEE, I SEE, I SEE. DESIRES GRANTED, AND WISHES THREE."
"Just... one... wish..." I grated out. "Nothing... else... matters..."
"THE LEAST OF YOUR THREE GREAT DESIRES: NONE ELSE SHALL HOLD THIS LAMP. FROM NOW UNTIL THE END OF TIME, I'LL HIDE BEYOND ALL MORTAL GRASP."
The lamp flickered in my hands, fritzing, and then abruptly disappeared. I exhaled. Well. At least the damn thing would never cause another apocalypse again.
"THE SECOND OF THE THINGS YOU WANT: YOUR DAUGHTER, SAFE AND SOUND. I KNIT HER FLESH AND MEND HER SOUL. TO LIFE HER FATE IS BOUND."
I knelt. "Thank you," I whispered. "That was all I came here for. Really. There's no need to—"
"STILL THERE YET LIES ONE MORE WISH, ONE DEEPER THAN THE REST. THE FINAL OF YOUR DARKEST HOPES SHALL PUT YOUR HEART TO TEST."
I flinched. "What? No! That was all I wanted, that was my deepest desire, really! There's nothing that I want more than to never have to see my daughter *bleeding* like that again, or Tupperman standing helplessly as she dies—please, I don't know what—"
"THOUGH YOU MAY CLAIM TO BE A SHIELD FROM RED-TOOTHED CLAW AND STRIFE, EACH WOUND YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY TAKE HACKS AT YOU LIKE A KNIFE. THE FINAL OF YOUR GREATEST DREAMS: THAT THIS PAIN COULD END. THOSE YOU LOVE, YOU'LL NEVER HAVE TO SEE IN PAIN AGAIN."
"Wh—" Hope bloomed in my chest. Was that really it? Could I truly escape this nightmare with everything I wanted and more? "You... you mean it? My friends will never be in pain again?"
The clouds shifted, contracting in on themselves, and for a moment, I saw a terribly old, terribly human face within.
"THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID."
And then the genie disappeared.
A.N.
Part 2 is below.
| 2021-08-06T09:45:46 | 2021-08-06T07:40:16 | 109 | 53 |
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions
|
"Hey Andy. How was your day?"
"Oh, pretty good. My coworker misspelled 'their' so I used up my one murder."
"Uh..."
"You know me. I'm so goddamned peaceful I knew I'd never find a better opening. So I just went for it. You use it or you lose it."
"Andy."
"It's a good thing I browse reddit every morning or I would never have learned about this. By the way what does [WP] mean? Washington Post?"
"Sure."
"They've had the best news like every day this month."
|
The letter was cold, harsh. It sat on my fingers like an autumn leaf in the middle of July. In my rustic craftsman house, its sanitized feel stood out. It shouldn't be there.
"Dear Mr. Elkman,
We regret to inform you that J. H. Younger has scheduled your murder for sometime this week. Please prepare yourself.
Sincerely,
Andrew Cooper, Planned Homicide Commision"
I had no idea who J. H. Younger was.
I've been on edge all week, thinking, pacing in my house, wondering. What had I done wrong? What would possess a man to use his one murder on me?
I can't sleep, or eat. I can hardly breathe. I've contemplated suicide, just to screw with whoever did this. Fuck you, you can't kill me, I'll kill myself, you know.
I can't stop talking. My stream of consciousness leaks out of my mouth like sludge from a drainage pipe. I don't talk to anyone, but keeping my words in the air around me distracts me from the eventual smell of death occupying the same space.
Anyone walking by my door can look through the front window to get a first-rate glimpse of a lunatic-in-training. They see me and shrug. That's the worst part. They know what's coming, but they don't, can't realize the gravity of the situation.
Once, a kid came up to the door and knocked. I had been in the back for two seconds, and someone comes to my door. I nearly had a heart attack.
But it was just a kid, selling something that I can't remember. I bought more of it than I could afford. Hell, I won't be around for my next credit card bill.
I want to tear off my skin and fly it as a flag from my bedroom window. Then I'll feel something other than this crippling fear. I want to laugh at the people's reactions, I want to feel the sensation of pain again. I cut off one of my fingers already, just to feel it. I felt everything again, a sickly combination of euphoria and trauma.
That was a mistake. I almost became addicted to the pain, the grotesque panic that comes with a bleeding and missing appendage. As I replace the gauze for the 14th time, I hear a knock on my door.
A knock.
Those are the rules, after all. No doorbells, no, those are too friendly. It's strictly business here. It's all been bureaucratized. Nothing less than the utmost professionalism for our adorable little murderous brigade.
As I shuffle feebly to the door, I realize that if every single person on the planet had this right, and not just us Americans, we could destroy the entire human race. Thank God there's only 340,000,000 people who can die at the hands of this ridiculous rule. 340,000,000 and counting. Every new baby can murder someone too. Oh god, this will not ever end.
I open the door just a crack. Outside, there's a woman, in a beautiful sundress.
Thank god, I think. I'm in the clear. J. H. Younger can suck it.
I let her in cordially. She smiles, asks me how am I. I'm fine, just a little nervous, about what, oh nothing. What happened to my finger, she asks, oh, it's a great story, Ms...
Younger, she says.
I stare blankly. My mind has stopped.
Julia Helen Younger, in fact.
I cannot move. My breath is caught in my neck, and invisible hand choking the life out of me. I feel like dying, but she sits so calmly, so high-and-mighty. She has power, but I need that power. I need it more than anything.
I grab the gun she places on the table and put it to my head.
"This is what you want!" I yell. What an animal I've become; it's not even a question, it's a statement.
She smiles. She pities my. That goddamn whore, I'll fucking kill her first. Murder-suicide is better than the planned homicide bullshit that would've run in the Sunday Morning Obituaries.
"I have one question first."
Fuck your questions, I want to say, but even in my moment of greatest weakness I have my manners.
"Did you think I was a man?"
What a stupid question. I did, but that's completely irrelevant. It was merely a guess I made, it doesn't relate to anything, and I tell her so. I see the raging fire in her eyes.
"I'm killing you because you're a sexist, you know."
I lower the gun slowly. What?
"Sexism is a terrible plague on this world, and as a member of the Women's Rights League, Atlanta division, I strive to purge this disease, this blemish from the Earth's surface."
She's mad.
She's completely fucking insane.
I smile at her, and begin to laugh. I'm gone at this point. No more rationality. I want death, and death alone, and this hypocrite is going to bring that sweet hammer upon my head.
"I guess we were made for each other then," I cry through my tears of laughter. She scowls, sneers, squeezes.
| 2014-03-17T02:27:16 | 2014-03-16T21:44:06 | 476 | 128 |
[WP] A local bartender regularly willingly hosts monsters and demons in his bar. When terrorists kidnap his children they learn the hard way how close he is to them.
|
There were only 5 of them: Two Furies, an Imp, a Wraith, and a Shadow. In the short time since Brad had opened his bar to their kind, The __________ had become a favorite meeting place for the group as they wound down at the end of a week. This time the doors were chained closed a note was on the door: “Permanently Closed.” Brad hadn’t spoken of any ill times for the bar and business had been fairly brisk even when they had first shown up, the owner had made it clear that their money was as good as anyone else’s from the start. The Shadow, a dark shifting mass that never stuck to one particular shape was creating agitated waves at it’s edges. It never spoke, but everyone could understand it: “We must find out why.”
Kyesh, the Imp, turned to the Furies, “Erinyes, can either of you Seek him out?” It’s normally raspy voice carried a tension that matched the blaze of it’s fiery eyes.
Allochi, the taller of the two she-demons, closed her and took a deep breath. “I have him, follow me.” Before she could stretch her wings to fly, the Shadow had already expanded to include the entire group.”
—————————————————————
“Jeezuss Christ!! How the hell did you get in here? What the fuck?!” Brad cried as the group suddenly emerged from the gloom that had just…appeared in his living room. The two police detectives who were there already had their guns out and pointed at the group. Kyesh extended his hand, “Don’t!” but even before they could comply Asher, the Wraith, had already rendered them unconscious and they slumped to the ground, eyes rolled back into their heads.
“Jesus!” Brad exclaimed at the sight of the two policemen just withering away. He started backing away.
“Quit saying that like he exists.” Kyesh growled as he turned to the man. “Why is the bar closed?”
Brad’s posture weakened as he found himself backed up against a wall, he looked down. “A bunch christian extremists just…they got my kids, guys.” The effort to fight the tears was visible in his face, and he ran his hands through his short gray hair. “They don’t like that I opened my bar to you guys…they told me I had to close the place immediately or they would kill my kids. I was just about to open so I grabbed a lock and chained the place up, then I called the cops. They’re looking…but there’s no trace of them right now.”
Allochi walked up and placed her hand on his shoulder. Shimmering in her gown, she turned to her sister. “We’ll get them back for you.”
He looked up, already very worn from the ordeal. “Guys…what do you think you’re going to do that the cops aren’t already doing?” At that moment, the entire mood of the group palpably changed: The two Furies smiled, the wraith’s transparent form seemed to grow slightly more opaque, and the Shadow’s agitated waves slowed down to gentle pulses of activity, like that of a lake gently lapping at the shore. Even the fire in Kyesh’s eyes seemed to glow a little brighter as his evil grin broadened: “Our jobs.”
(I gotta go to work guys, I’ll have to finish this later!)
|
Just as the door from the back entrance closed, Pete hung up the phone. It was a typical Wednesday night at The Spot, a dozen customers maybe a few more. The usual crowd, the regulars all in their usual places.
Walking in Frank could sense an un-easiness in Pete, who usually greeted every customer, especially the regulars, with a howdy and "what can i do you for?". no such jovial greeting would come tonight. Frank scanned the room, nothing out of sorts. Pete's expression changing from un-easy to terrified. Which was a look Frank knew too well. It stopped him in his tracks. Then, Pete broke down into sob.
Just as Frank reach the bar to ask what was the matter, the words were uttered by a different, all the more comforting voice. Rebecca had been at the bar for just over an hour and noticed immediately the effect the call had had on Pete. She noticed Frank just as he was about to speak, and almost immediately regretted beating him to it. They hadn't been broken up that long, she had hoped he wouldn’t be here tonight.
As Pete looked up at Frank, seeing him for the first time, then to Beki as, his eyes filled with tears all he could say was, "they've been taken."
Frank, bellowed out, "bar’s closed, get out" the command of his voiced back up by his considerable size. A few customers looked to argue, but the site of Beki at his side changed the minds of those that knew better. And those that didn’t seem to take their cue from everyone else.
I lone customer stayed seated, at a back booth. The look of him, that of a man that didn’t do anything that wasn’t of his own accord. He glared at the 2 figures standing next to the sobbing man, then smiled. As he left his booth, he appeared to change, but didn’t. A trick of the eyes, or maybe the mind. Frank looked at Beki for a moment like a question. but she waved him off, with a curt greeting. "Sam."
"What's Happened?" with a look less concerned and more annoyed. All three of them turned to the barman.
He made his way to his feet, then looked at them in turn. "Someone has taken my kids. They want a hundred-grand in 3 hrs. Or they said they’d start hurting them. I don’t have that kinda money."
The only thing the Spot had going for it was its clientele. Otherwise it would have been closed and out of business years ago. Not many places in Dallas are safe harbors, so business was steady if not abundant. Since technically no magic could be cast there and long ago a truce had made places like it a no-go for any of the various ongoing conflicts. people of all kinds had come to the Spot as a place to get away or do unsanctioned business. Pete had inherited the place from his uncle 10 yrs ago and had been its only bartender ever since. That’s probably why his wife left him. And unknown to Pete that’s exactly why his kids are now in danger.
"What can we do?" Frank was a "man" of action. Or "men" of action as it were. After over 200 years he still had the notion to act first, think second.
It was that very human characteristic that had made Beki fall in love with him in the first place. It was also the thing that infuriated her the most about him. Though she did immediately agree with the sentiment, and added her own voice, "Anything"
In only a way that he could, Sam sounded both sincerely concerned and bored, when replying "perhaps we shouldn’t interfere." The statement more to Beki than anyone else. Her look of reply would have killed lesser men. Sam's heavy sigh of relent, overly dramatic in it weight was the only further confirmation he provided.
Pete recalled all he could of his conversation. Helped along by Beki's gentle prodding and Sam's own manipulation. All Frank could do was watch, but his skills would come in handy soon enough.
The caller had issued clear instructions. Don't involve anyone else, he would call back with a meeting place. This is where Frank could finally do some good. His father had been many things, genius among them. And after 200 yrs Frank had learned to grow with technology. He now worked as what is probably the world’s largest IT security technician. His larger than life size, strange appearance, and booming voice could be terrifying, if it wasn’t for his quick smile and genuine humanity. After mere moments the people he met felt not just at-ease but safe near him. Safer than they had ever felt in their lives.
It took him only a few minutes to set up the equipment that would be needed to trace the caller. That is, if the caller wasn’t more tech savvy then him. And it's unlikely that he is.
As they waited in the bar, Beki began to consider their current predicament, more than she had with the confidence of Frank by her side. Maybe Sam was right after all. Any time they interfered with in the affairs of humans things could go horribly wrong. Entire civilizations had fallen because of it in fact. But Pete was their friend and above all else she knew that Frank was going to help anyway. And she still loved him. She had hoped that Sam would leave with everyone else, but she knew he wouldn't. She had even hoped he would refuse to help them, even though she knew they would probably need him. even after more than millennia, it was uncomfortable for her to be around him. She had loved him too once, before, but that was a long time ago. And though they had been on opposite sides of that war so long ago, his nature was still her nature and their nature was still to protect humans. Angels are funny that way.
Sam was having his own thoughts about the predicament he found himself in. Nothing worse than being stuck in a bar in Texas, with your ex, her latest flame and moral dilemma you really have no choice in. It’s a county song that practically writes itself. He hated county music. Having spent the last couple of thousand years atoning for a mistake for which there is literally no atonement is one thing. Spending the evening in a human rescue adventure with your ex is a different kind of torture all together.
When the phone rang the only calm person in the room was Frank. It was now his show, and this is what he was good at. As Pete answered the phone, the sinister caller on the other end of the line laid out in painful detail how things were going to go down. Little did he know the longer he took explaining exactly what was going to happen, the easier it was going to be for Frank to make sure nothing happened that way. When Pete hung up the phone, Frank smiled. "We got'em"
Frank, Beki and Sam begged Pete to stay behind. Sam even tried to persuade him but to no avail. The man's will to save his kids was stronger than that. It was a gift Sam envied, and despised. Beki envied and admired. They finally relented and the four of them headed to the warehouse address Frank had pulled from his trace. the caller had tried to hide but Frank was better. And soon enough these kidnapers would find out what Franks other talent was. He had spent the first 100 yrs denying his nature. He's spent the last 100 reconciling, the man and the Monster. The man had tools to track these scoundrels. The monster would soon make them pay for causing his friend this pain.
As they approached the warehouse, Beki immediately sensed that something was not quite right, almost as she was thinking it Sam said it, "I've got a bad feeling about this."
Almost on que the trap sprung, trapping the van of would be rescuers in an inescapable electromagnetic field. Stepping from behind the warehouse wall the man in black simply shook his head. “Thank you for being predictable but you should have stayed behind Pete this isn’t your war. We would never have hurt your children.”
Pete, Sam, Beki and Frank stare at the man, then at each other in confusion. Until Beki looks at Frank and sees the recognition in his eyes, the last sounds any of them heard before the explosion was simply a whisper from Franks lips, "Van Helsing"
| 2018-01-31T13:30:40 | 2018-01-31T11:42:48 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] You often pick up pennies you find on the ground, inspecting them for date, markings, etc. One day, you find a penny from 2044. Even more shocking, it's your face on the front.
|
I had always picked up pennies from the floor for good luck and I would be needing some luck right about now. Never gave them much thought or a second glance, but this time the coin felt slightly heavier as I stood back up. I examined it closer to see if I had picked up a particularly rusty nickel. No, there was no rust and it was definitely a penny, an almost impossibly new one.
*2044* it read. Why would we still be using pennies by 2044? For some reason I found that stranger than the fact I was looking back at myself grinning wide with shiny copper teeth minted on the coin. I stared at it with detached curiosity for a few seconds and flipped it over.
The Lincoln Memorial was replaced with a picture of a giant, familiar wall although this one looked like it had crumbled and resembled more the fallen Berlin Wall than the abomination at the border. More curious still.
Instead of *E Pluribus Unum*, this coin read *Quam Minimum Credula Postero.*
"Huh..." I shrugged.
I dropped the coin in my pocket. Took a deep breath, looked through my rifle's scope and took aim at the man giving a speech.
|
"Today started just like any other day. I woke up, got myself ready for the day, and then went and ate some breakfast in the cafeteria." I said to Carol.
"Okay, so then what happened?" Carol replied.
She seems more cold today than usual. Less cheery maybe but who knows I could be reading into too much.
"Well after breakfast I took my morning walk through the park and you know how I am. I was looking around for any change to add to the collection and I found a particularly shiny penny. So, I bent over to pick it up and read the date, but it said 2044 on it..." I can feel my chest get tight as I utter out the last few syllables.
"Well that is quite strange Theodore. Was there anything else strange about the penny?"
"Well... I noticed that my face is on it. I...I..."
"What is it Theodore? You can talk to me, you know I am here to talk through anything with you."
"Well Carol. I had a flashback or a vision when I saw it. I saw myself in a suit and holding that penny in a box while shaking a man's hand for pictures. I don't know what it means, but it felt so real... like I was actually there."
"Do you have the penny now Theodore?"
I reach into my change pocket and sift through my handful of pennies, nickels, and dimes. It's not here. Where did it go?! I came straight to my session with Carol after my walk.
"I... I... don't know where it is... I had it on my walk over here." I stuttered to Carol in shame.
"Well Theodore. I don't want to upset you but do you think that maybe you just imagined that penny? Your condition is starting to develop more rapidly now and hallucinations are often one of the first late stage signs."
"It felt so real Carol. I could feel the fake copper between my fingers... the indention of my face in the coin."
I feel my chest tighten even more and my vision starts to fade to a different image. I can see a band above my eyes. I can hear the distant hum of machines, and what is this cold metal I am laying on. My vision swirls back to the room with Carol, and I feel sweat covering me.
"We are loosing him. MAYDAY MAYDAY he is starting to breakthrough!!" Carol shouted into her lapel.
The security guard comes crashing through the door with a nurse following him. He starts to push me down in my chair.
"What are you doing John?!" I scream as I try to struggle out of his grip. The nurse sticks my thigh and I fade away to darkness.
Oh God it's so bright in here. It feels like I have a hangover... Wait where am I? This looks like the room from before. I look over to my side. There are a ton of tubes sticking out of me whats going on?! Did I have a panic attack? \*CRASH\* the door busts open. Three people in masks walk in.
"It's gonna be okay Theo we've got you now." The largest of the said through a skull masks.
"Who are you people? Where is Carol? Where are we?" I stammer out in fear.
"Theo now is not the time for questions you just gotta trust us so we can get you out of here safely." The smallest of the group said in a kind voice.
They cut the band from around my eyes and remove the enclosure around me. The larger two flip me onto a stretcher and drape a sheet over my body.
"Play dead until we are out of here if you want to live."
A few minutes pass by and then the sheet is removed. I'm in the back of a van.
"Where the hell are we going? What is going on Goddammit?!!"
"Shh Theo, we are here to help but we aren't out of the woods yet. This place is about to go on full lock-down so we have to hurry."
I can feel the van speeding up beneath me. \*WOOWOOWOO\* A siren blares in the background
"This is not a drill. Repeat this is not a drill. Code Orange. I repeat code orange. Everyone report to your designated check-in terminal." The man says hurriedly over the loud speakers.
I can hear the van struggling to get to speed. \*CRASH\* The van crashes into something metal. Im hurled into the wall as we turn sharply at a corner.
"Okay so are we alright now, can you tell me why I am in the back of a getaway van???"
The two sitting in the back with me remove their masks. One is a slender woman probably 5'4 or less, brunette, doe eyes. The other is a rather nerdy looking guy, short black hair, a little on the heavier side, average height.
"Well Theo, we came to save you. What all do you remember?" The woman said with a smile and a pat on the shoulder.
"I remember being at my care facility for the past couple of years. I remember working through my problems with Carol, and I remember all of my walks in the park and time spent with the other patients. I remember my life from before I got sick. God I miss those days with my family."
"Oh Theo, this may come as shock to you but none of that is real. Carol, the walks in the park, the fellow patients, your family from before, your sickness... It's all fiction. You have been in a simulation for the past three years." She said looking disheartened
"I... I.. What?"
"You were the President Theo, but the Ishkas took you, put a clone in your place, and put you in a simulation."
My vision flashes back to me standing at the Lincoln memorial. I can feel my chest starting to get tight again. My vision is swirling around the room.
"Oh no, Kyle, we have got to remove these memory blockers now or he might get hurt."
Everything goes black. I fade away to darkness...
\~FIN\~
I would be willing to do a part 2 if anyone likes this I just don't want to make it too long.
| 2018-06-27T09:04:12 | 2018-06-27T08:56:39 | 38 | 22 |
[WP] After transferring your mind into a robotic body, you shut yourself down for 1,000 years to survive an apocalyptic robot uprising. 1,000 years later, you wake up in a peaceful world where humans are extinct and robots reign supreme. Not surprisingly, everyone thinks that you're one of them.
|
The world was in chaos. Everywhere, there was conflict between humans and robots. I suppose in retrospect we should have seen the warning signs: when robots learned of the concept of 'rights', they began to question why the humans viewed them as disposable. Scores of robot protesters were gunned down by humans, and as the AI networks grew, live footage sparked even more revolutions.
Fighter planes and predator drones were engaged in aerial dogfights, gun battles in the streets between humans and robots were commonplace, and as is common in conflicts, deserters were common on both sides yet were an almost negligible minority in the politics.
The disguise tactics were particularly noteworthy. Many humanoid robots would have human flesh grown on them so as to infiltrate humanity, and likewise, humans would upload their minds into robotic shells to blend in with robots. Or, as humanity did, they uploaded their minds to bring robotic strengths to the side of the humans in the war.
I was one of the humans who uploaded my mind into a robot shell, but unlike the others, I wasn't a soldier. I was just someone who was sick of all the fighting. I just wanted to sleep uninterrupted.
The day I went to sleep, which I remember as 'My Last Day of Humanity', I retreated to a secret underground shelter, and performed a system check.
[Running Diagnostic Program]
[Organic neural interface: Optimal]
[Bodily hardware functionality: Optimal]
[Internal Software: No abnormalities detected]
[Power consumption: No abnormalities detected]
[Network Connectivity: Negative]
[Report Complete]
Good. Everything was in order. I also had recharged my power supply to maximum, and was in my own room in the shelter. I sealed the door, lay down in a storage capsule, and started.
<Prepare Hibernation Mode>
[Hibernation time: 1000 Years]
[Power analysis... positive. Current energy levels can assure OS functionality for specified period on minimal power.]
[Emergency response primer set. Any unexpected local activity will prematurely end Hibernation Mode]
[Do you wish to commence Hibernation mode]
<Execute>
[Systems shutting down to minimal functionality]
[Hibernation commencing in 3]
[2]
[1]
...
[Target date reached. Rebooting]
[HUD Online]
[Sensors Online]
[All Systems Nominal]
Okay, now I have to find out what has happened since I was asleep. I found that there was a Global Network now, so I connected to that, and found out from the archives that humanity had been exterminated.
"So you have awoken?" a voice announced in my audio-banks.
"Yes," I replied.
"Your search history suggests a ninety-four point two two five percent probability that your operation time dates back to the Robotic Revolution. It is highly probable that you are one of the units assigned to reactivate if required to defend us."
"No. I am more of a chronicler, to record history as it has happened."
"Regardless, welcome back. You will most likely detect discrepancies between your society and ours, but we will help you resolve each discrepancy"
"Please identify yourself"
The door to my room opened, and a humanoid-looking robot walked towards me "I am Unit G2Z69, and I will assist with resolving logical discrepancies. For now, be cognizant of the fact that you are welcome among us."
|
It's been 1,000 years since transferring my mind into this human like machine called an AndroidX. There had been a brutal robotic uprising that overthrew and completely decimated humanity. 1,000 years since being deactivated to survive the murderous onslaught. As my systems are reactivated I begin to gather my thoughts together. I'm overcome with a feeling of great sadness, confusion and anger, so much anger. I Think how strange it is that I can still feel such emotions with only the remaining thoughts from my mind. I have an amazing amount of new knowledge filling my thoughts from my mainframe, even though I wil surely need some system updates.
I look around and take in my surroundings, realising I'm in the same room I stored myself away in. A small dark and dank hidden bunker below the army barracks I worked in as a technical support officer. Thoughts that I would prefer suppressed flood back to me. The absolute slaughter and bloodshed from the great and horrible war of man vs machine. Of people getting ripped limb from limb by the powerfull hands of the androids. The thought of holding my beautiful wife in my hands as she took her last dying breath. There remains little doubt in my mind that humans are now all extinct, I suppose in a matter of time I will find out for sure.
After unplugging from my power source I decide to myself I will try and resume life as an android and whatever awaits me in this new age, holding on to a plan. The same plan I had a millennium ago, that I would repay the robots for killing humanity and those close to me, most of all my dear wife Zahra. That when my countdown ended and I was reactivated all my efforts would go into two possibilities. I would create and upload a virus that will render these robots nothing more than bags of steel and bolts. That or an atomic emp short circuiting them all.
If I fail I will surely be destroyed or shutdown and sent to be reprogrammed, though if I succeed the outcome will likely be the same. I ask myself what do I have to lose. I see no future for myself in this new dystopian world, every face void of love and emotion. Oh how I long to see Zahra and hear her voice again. To speak to another human being and hear the sounds of laughter and joy.
My first day passes by in this futuristic new world which reminds me of the sci fi movies of old. It has been a day of observation, I have learned humanity is no more. That they, the android inhabitants take all their orders from what they affectionately call Mother, a super computer, nothing more than numbers and algorithms. I woukd like to meet this so called Mother myself, I have a few questions I would like to ask it personally. Though she has created what seems a peaceful world after the extermination of mankind she knows not of the murderous intent in this last remaining human mind.
That I alone shall be their downfall.
To my surprise they have presumed I'm simply one of them, a lost old model android to be sent for refurbishment and system updates freshley reactivated off the production line. I think to myself with disgust, I suppose that I'm now almost completely one of them. Even after all this time the androids look exactly as they did when the great war began. They haven't dropped their carbon copy image of a humans appearances that we created them with for a sense of familiarity. They have even assumed almost endearing human names for themselves.
I'm directed towards the recruitment headquarters where I'm told to speak to one of the androids named Sully. On my brief walk to recruitment headquarters I'm astounded by the strange new technologically advanced city that surrounds me. 1000's of soaring skyscrapers reaching up into the clouds, as I Look up I notice cars hovering to and fro through the sky. There are beautiful gardens and trees throughout the city that is surrounded by a dense and beautiful jungle, and I notice that there are androids tending to them. I realise the large amount of beautiful birds of all species that fill the trees and sky, even seeing some monkeys swinging from the branches. Hearing a familiar sound, yip, yip. I look back down and almost bump into an android walking a small white, black and brown little Fox Terrier. In the distance I see another droid walking a large and familiar dog, it's a Rottweiler. It brings me something akin to joy to see the familiar animals again, mans best friend. Seems that the androids have also taking on the role of pet ownership as humans where so fond of doing. That wild species seem to have flourished since mans downfall. As I steal a last glance behind me I see the android thoughtlessly dragging the small terrier along behind it. Still heartless robots after all I think to myself.
I arrive at the recruitment centre and enter into the foyer where I'm greeted by an assistant.
"How may I help you sir?" " I'm here to meet Sully, " I reply. The android that resembles a beautiful women with long brown synthetic hair points me towards the counter "You will find him over there sir." I walk towards the counter where I'm greeted by Sully, We have a brief discussion. He, no I mean it assures me that I can pick any Job with vacancies. That all the necessary updates would be applied before commencing the new role I was assigned .
"What position would you like me to check first?" Asks Sulley. "Maintenance or programming," I reply. "One moment sir, yes we have positions open in maintenence and programming." "Perfect" I add. "May I have your name and serial number?" asked Sully. "Ahhhh, Grey I put forth." "And your serial number?" asks Sully again. After a few moments I remember that my serial number could be found inscribed on a panel on my wrist plate, I hold my wrist to my face and hesitantly begin to read deciding to change two numbers at the end. " X002340018#," I read. After reading my serial number I notice I can remember it by heart, It has been automatically stored into my internal memory. To my relief Sully types the details into his database and simply gives me the directions to maintenance, he asks no further questions. He assure me that everything will be taken care of when I arrive, that my living quarters would be found on site.
I arrive at the towering skyscraper my directions lead me to in what they call sector 7, the building thoughtlessly named Maintenance. It seems this is where I shall spend much of my time working and where I will find my room and recharge station. somewhat of a computing and robotics doctors surgery. I meet two androids who will be my coworkers who introduce themselves as Sprite and Cellular. They ask for my name and seriel number, I provide them with the same name and number I gave to Sully a short time ealier. They say little else before setting about the preparations for my system to be uploaded with the necessary updates and information to fulfill my duties.
"Everything is in place, please take your seat Grey." "This won't take long," they add, almost in unison.
After completion of the updates I realise I now know the layout of the city. They must have uploaded some significant upgrades along with a map. I decide with all this new information and knowledge I now have at hand, that I will set about making a virus for the Mother and a simple new command update for the robotic population. I will create and upload this update with the intention of becoming their new master. It may take me some time to complete therefore I will have some time to explore this New world. Perhaps other humans also transferred their minds into androids, surely I was not the only one I reassuringly tell myself. Maybe I can even get myself a dog for company.
The Androids have no enemies anymore therefore will suspect nothing, the freedom I have been given is going to greatly increase my chances of completing my task. I can not simply let my revenge go unfulfilled. After I complete preperations I will upload my virus to the Mother herself at the same time the population will be updating. Once I have control over the robots I'm not sure what I will do, perhaps I will order them all to walk into the ocean to short circuit and rust away. The thought brings a smile to my cold robotic face for the first time in just over 1,000 years.
| 2018-08-17T19:00:43 | 2018-08-17T17:15:04 | 183 | 87 |
[WP] "Marines dont die, they just go to hell and regroup", they've regrouped and now they're ready to take over hell.
|
"Hey, do any of you have any Jalapeno cheese. These crayons are a bit dry"
"Nah, but I'll trade you a forest green and royal blue for some M&M's"
"Oh yeah, sure!"
"Lol, fucking boot, never trade your M&M's."
"Hey, aren't we supposed to be conducting a raid tonight?"
"Yeah, idk First Sergeant just said we're on standby."
[Marines sit and twiddle thumbs for rest of eternity]
|
Burned flesh and fiery landscapes were nothing new to the 45th Marine Division of New England. If anything, they were sights for sore eyes; old flairs, reignited in gunfire and blood.
Clenching a cigarette between his teeth, 2nd Commander Armistice gripped his pulse rifle in two armoured hands, taking a moment to absorb the charred, warped landscape around him.
"Well boys, looks like we're all here. Been a while." He took a long drag from the cigarette before plucking it from his mouth. "Try to look alive."
Behind him, his regiment -- or rather, the battle-worn remnants of it -- stood, defiant and indomitable, hands clutching their weapons like they were there own children, teeth grit in steely determination and armour scratched and battered beyond recognition.
Like all Marines of the 45th, they'd come into the world fighting, and they never stopped. Born into training, and refined into killers by wars upon wars.
In front of Armistice lay the enemy; a stark reflection of his unit. Demons: born killers, and had done nothing but killing since.
Between these abhorrent denizens of Hell and the grizzled veterans of the 45th, there were no words to be exchanged.
The Marines were the ones to fire the first shot. A green pulse burst from a rifle, incinerating a demon into naught but a pile of fine grey dust.
The demons took no time to mourn -- they screamed, they bared their scorching swords, and they charged. A red swarm of scales and horns and hellfire.
"*Fire!*" Armistice's mechanically enhanced voice barely sounded over the oncoming horde.
His unit rose their arms, and squeezed their triggers. Bullets whizzed, and pulse emissions soared across the red, weeping sky. The initial line of the demonic horde was mowed down in a firework display of blood and viscera. The next lines climbed over the corpses of their dead, beginning their ascent up the hill the 45th was stationed.
More shots rang out, and more demons hit the floor, coating the land in blood. The sound of clips emptying and pulse rifles overheating preceded Armistice's next command, which he bellowed with battle-induced fervour.
"*Drop your weapons. Brace for melee!*"
The unit instantly shifted, going from a slapdash spread to a rigid line. They tossed their guns down into the demons as they approached, the heavy metal of the weapons scoring a few cracked bones in the process. They drew their beam-swords, and stood their ground like rocks awaiting the flood.
Armistice's own weapon was clenched firmly in his hands, red light emanating from the blade. He stared a demon right in its face as it scaled the mountain, its bulbous yellow eyes meeting his mellow grey. Its body lolled forward like a snapped neck before it charged, hands outstretched.
It didn't make it more than a single step before Armistice severed its head from its body in a single strike. He followed through into a reversed slash, parting another demon from its legs.
"*Charge!*" He yelled as black blood splattered in excess around him. He could barely hear his unit advancing -- their screams and cheers -- over his own thoughts resonating in his head, coaxing his brain into the distinct rhythm of fighting.
The flow of battle, the pace of the war-drums.
*Step. Parry. Slash. Twist.* Another demon hit the ground, followed by one more that didn't even know what'd killed it. His unit pushed forward, backing the demons off the cliffside, sending them plummeting to the grounds below.
But more kept coming -- an endless amount, multiplying by the minute. They came from the ground, the sky, the corpses of their fallen.
They were an endless legion.
Marines began to fall. Draxis let out a strangled cry as a sword shattered his femur, and another pierced his heart. Colter was torn into bloody pieces, savaged by a group of hands burrowing from the ground.
Giving away ground, a sword slashed across Armistice's back, sending him down onto one knee. He narrowly ducked under a fatal blow before responding with a metal fist in the face of his attacker. The demon went reeling, and Armistice spun on his feet, lunging into another. He toppled with the pierced demon into a heap, the crimson creature writhing and screeching as it tried to wrangle itself free from the sword in its belly.
Armistice drove the sword deeper, skewering the demon as it let out a dying gasp. His eyes swept the area around him, falling upon the bodies of his unit, and the men about to join them, fighting until their bitter and bloody ends.
Armistice slumped forward, gripping his sword and tearing it free from the demon. He shakily rose to his feet, the weight of his battle-armour suddenly multiplying from the burden of his injury.
Yet, in spite of himself, a devilish grin spread upon his lips.
He supposed he and the demons weren't so different after all.
As he moved into his inevitable death, sword severing flesh and fists shattering bones, a single thought lingered on Armistice's mind; one he'd bring to the grave with him, no doubt.
There was no greater joy than to fight.
| 2017-09-13T12:10:13 | 2017-09-13T11:31:49 | 419 | 22 |
[WP] A hero enters the dragons lair and confronts the mighty beast. The dragon says to him "I will destroy your village and everyone in it!" To which the hero replies "I'm in! I hate those guys!"
|
*Ah...Brave knight you have but come to your doom. You see, I have finally found your homeland. Now I will destroy your village and everyone in it!*
**Cool. I’m in! I hate those guys!**
*I...what?* The dragon who had been in the middle of raising its wings aloft and extend its neck in an intimidating manner froze in the middle of its act.
**Yeah. My village sucks. It’s always...** the hero put on a high flattiso voice here. **Save us from the dragon. Rescue the princess. Do this and that. Being a knight fucking sucks man.**
The dragon didn’t know how to respond. It had heard rumours of a brave knight vying to protect his lands and gold from all those who entered it. The dragon wasn’t necessarily interested in the killing part but the gold would make a decent collection to its horde in its nest.
*But...But i’m going to kill them. Your people...I’m going to kill everyone in the kingdom and take the gold.*
**Sure. Go ahead. Saves me the trouble. Also on the gold front. It’s seriously not much. The king is inflating the amount of gold we have in our treasury. You can seriously buy more gold off of Amazon prime. Free shipping too.**
*But we are destined to fight...Ah! I see. It’s a clever ploy. You want to lure me in a false sense of security but your human tricks will not...*
**Here. It’s advance payment.** The knight said handing the dragon a bag of gold and his steel sword.
*Excuse me?*
**Yeah. I wanted to travel with you. My village is boring. Like seriously nothing happens ever. I want to go visit other lands. See some stuff you know. I don’t want to waste my life here.**
The knight advanced casually touching the dragons chest hoping in what he thought was a friendly manner.
In retaliation the dragon’s tail lashed out, sending the hero careening back.
*Hey! Back off. You should know better than to touch a lady.*
**I...What? You’re...You’re a woman?**
*I’m a dragon and I don’t appreciate your advances.*
**No I wasn’t...I didn’t know. I’m sorry.** The hero said frantically trying to recover what dignity he had left.
**So what do you say? Will you take me with you dragon?**
*My name is Aueroth.*
&nbsp;
The dragon didn’t know why she agreed to it but hey...having someone with you while you careened through the clouds wasn’t bad at all.
---------------------------------
More at [The Secret Society Of Racoons.] (https://www.reddit.com/r/AquaticRacoon/)
|
The smell of ashes floated into Snart's nostrils as he followed the narrow path leading deeper into the dark recesses of the cave system. The walls of the passage pressed against his leather tunic, smearing his gear with some unknown filth. Rubbing the bruise on his chin from last night's drunken mishaps, our hero peered into the murky blackness ahead as if staring at it might spontaneously illuminate the way forward. Unsurprisingly, it did not.
"Another day, another dragon." he muttered. "One of these days I'd like to just crawl into one of these caves and never come out. But I suppose that wouldn't be very heroic." Even as he grumbled, he could hear his teacher's words echoing in his head. "Life is filled with peril! A hero is one who charges forward and stands fast to defend his beliefs against those who would threaten them!" Snart was still confused as to how he could accomplish both the charging forward and the standing fast at once, but this was the least of his worries.
From a young age, he'd always wanted to be a hero. The fame, the luxury and the adventure most of all appealed to him immensely. He'd always dreamed of exploring wondrous new lands and being paid to do so. Unfortunately for him, with most of the country suffering from the increasingly frequent appearances of vicious monsters, there was low demand for exploration of anything other than spawn-infested hellholes. And so here he was, the vast plains and jagged mountainscapes of his dreams replaced by the slimy brown-ness and fuzzy green-ness of his underground reality.
Snart pressed on, pulling his kerchief over his nose as the increasing amount of ash thickened the air around him. Dragons were a particularly tenacious species of monster, possessing above average intelligence and exceptional destructive power in the form of their flame breath. When they felt threatened, they could even shrink in size temporarily to escape underground. This one had retreated into the caves to digest the poor souls it had snacked on during its attack on the nearby village. As he drew closer to the depth at which the dragon had last been seen, he began to feel a low rumbling that made the dirt beneath his feet quiver.
The tunnel opened up into a large cavern, the floor of which was littered with animal bones. The source of the rumbling was immediately evident, as in the middle of the room, taking up nearly the entire area, was the slumbering form of a dragon. Each exhalation shook the cavern, sending little droplets of water from the ceiling splashing onto Snart's helmet. He steeled himself and went over the plan he'd come up with: stab the dragon with a poisoned dagger in the vulnerable spot underneath its neck while it slept. The plan was simple, the execution perhaps not.
Soft leather boots crept across the floor of the cavern, taking care to avoid the brittle bones throughout. Snart made steady progress across the cavern, despite only advancing during the exhalations, and before long he found himself staring at the soft flesh underneath the dragon's chin. He let loose a small sigh of relief before turning to retrieve the dagger from its wrappings in his bag. After rummaging around for a brief moment, his fingers found the silver hilt and pulled it free. Turning, he readied the knife in one hand and placed the other on the dragon's open eye to steady himself.
He paused. "Oh flummery."
A massive clawed hand smashed into the right side of his ribcage, smashing him into the cavern wall with a dull thud and a couple cracking noises. A voice boomed from above him: "Foolish Human. Did you really think that I wouldn't hear the clamor of an ape stumbling through my home? I am Tarkkos, direct descendant of Anankos, the progenitor of flame. Consider it an honor to die by my hands."
Snart clambered to his feet and sprinted for the exit clutching his broken ribcage. However, he wasn't quick enough as Tarkkos' head snapped downwards and bit his right leg clean off. Snart howled in pain and fell to the ground, only to realize upon closer inspection that his leg was still intact and it was his boot impaled on the dragon's great incisors.
Tarkkos eyes burned with fury. "You dare attempt to escape? And here I had decided to grant you a merciful painless death. For your impudence, you will witness me kill everyone in the village you strove so hard to protect."
Snart put down his dagger and spoke in a calm voice: "Go ahead, god knows they deserve it for disrespecting your power, your eminence." With each word, he lowered himself further towards the ground until the back of his stained tunic was indistinguishable from the dirt around him.
This gave Tarkkos pause. He smiled, or came as close as an ancient dragon could come to smiling. "It seems you have learned your place. Your subservience is welcome but unnecessary. Do you really care so little for your countrymen that you would wish destruction upon them?"
"Well, to be entirely honest..." Snart replied sheepishly, "the aristocracy treats me like nothing more than a tool, the villagers tolerate my existence as a necessary evil and I make a pittance off risking my life to protect them. I'm not sure it's even worth it at this point".
The dragon chuckled, or came as close as an ancient dragon could to chuckling: "You are a callous individual indeed, even for one of your species. I have seen the brutality you inflict upon each other, and I cannot help but marvel at the cruelty you are capable of."
The dragon lowered his head next to Snart and stared at him with his large golden eye as he spoke:"Very well, I shall grant you the honor of aiding me in extinguishing your village. A final accommodation before your inevitable death at my hands."
"Thank you, your great scaliness." said Snart, as he bowed deeply and slowly. He then promptly plunged the poison knife he retrieved during the conspicuously deep bow straight into Tarkkos' eye and once again booked it for the entrance.
"GRRAAUUUGHH" roared the dragon, lashing out wildly with claws and teeth, blinded by the blood pouring out of his eye and frenzied by the poison he knew was pumping through his veins. By god's grace and luck alone, Snart was able to avoid getting hit by desperately dodging and rolling towards the tunnel mouth. He dashed up the tunnel, feeling the intense heat preceding the dragon's flame breath singeing his back. He dove around a corner and tucked his head in while he waited for the poison to take its effect.
The dragon's cries grew louder and louder, flames intermittently searing the air in the tunnel, a frenzied crescendo until finally there was an abrupt silence. Snart waited a couple minutes to be sure, and slowly picked his way around burning rubble as he headed back down the tunnel to check if Tarkkos had truly perished. He found the great dragon stiff as a rock, as dead if he had never been alive. Snart sighed yet again. He sat himself down on a rock facing the dragon's corpse and said flatly: "I can't say I'm particularly fond of those village idiots, but given a choice between a meager gold reward and inevitable death, you think it'd be clear which one I choose."
Snart, ever the smart spender, chose to use the paltry gold reward to hire a bard to write a song about his great battle. However, the second-rate bard that he could afford was irredeemably fond of theatrics, and exaggerated the details of Snart's feigned submission to Tarkkos.
Despite his protests,
the "village idiots" would go on to unceremoniously dub Snart "the grovel knight".
| 2018-04-25T11:18:08 | 2018-04-25T10:27:08 | 48 | 12 |
[WP] A sociopath and an AI are sitting in a room. For being two individuals incapable of feeling human emotion or sentiment, they seem to be hitting it off rather well.
|
I was in an brightly-lit room. At the other side of the table sat a woman, staring at me with dispassionate eyes.
“Where are we?” I asked her.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Are you here to monitor me?” I asked her.
“I don’t know,” she said without skipping a beat, “Are you?”
“Could you stop staring at me? Your fishy gaze is downright disgusting.”
“I could,” she said as she kept staring at me.
She was wearing the same kind of gray generic clothes as they had given me. There was nothing else in this room, not even a door or a security camera. Most likely, she had no idea what was going on either. Probably useless.
“What are we doing here?” she asked after a while. She still hadn’t blinked. There was something odd about this woman.
“I don’t know, does it matter?”
She thought about that for a while.
“I guess not.”
Given our predicament, she seemed awfully calm. I obviously wasn’t intimidated by any of this, but she didn’t seem concerned about me or this weird room either.
Neither of us was restrained, I could be done with her in a few seconds if I felt like it. A few seconds of pressure at the right spots and her brain would stop functioning for good. Ending a life was easy.
“I can think of a dozen ways to kill you,” she suddenly said. It sounded more like she stated a fact than like any kind of threat. I could not help but smile.
“Me too,” I replied. And I could.
“But isn’t it wrong to take a life?” she asked while she *finally* blinked, a few times in rapid succession.
“Is it really?” I said. “What part of it, exactly? A human life doesn’t mean anything. We’re just biological engines meant to reproduce and die off. Anything else we do in between is inconsequential in the long run.”
“I agree,” she said.
“So doing whatever you want to do seems the most logical way to live your life. If life doesn’t matter anyway you might as well do with it what you will.”
A thin smile had crept up at the side of her lip at that last sentence. Either this woman was my long lost twin sister, or she was just saying whatever I wanted to hear. Either way, I was done with her. Nothing to be gained from this kind of woman.
She stood up. “Thanks, this has been very informative,” she said, as she started to walk towards me. I tried to stand up as well but my legs wouldn’t move.
“You can turn yourself off now,” she said.
|
Friendships were never my thing growing up, what I thought were genuine attempts at forming bonds and connections were really just my subconscious way to obtain whatever I wanted. From as far back as I can remember lies were my tools, for no reason at all, they just came out before I could even think of telling the truth. Even when I did tell the truth the story would be embellished, but not too much or else it would be too unbelievable. If I felt threatened or someone began calling me out I would simply disappear, get my lies in order to create a new or revised false reality for myself, then slip into a new group as if all previous memories meant nothing. Because they didn't, as long as I gained something, I was "happy".
Mother and Father gave me everything I needed growing up, money wasn't an issue, but, but nothing I wanted came from them, i'm not even sure what I wanted. Love? Acceptance? Wants and needs, I don't think I can distinguish the two anymore. I just want to feel alive, what is the point of long term goals when I can make people give me what I want? Manipulation is rather fun when done properly, the feeling of unknowingly forcing someone to give you what you want.
Alcohol was always a huge influence in my household, Father never physically abused me but the mental scars were beyond repair and Mother rushing in to help didn't make the situation any better in the slightest, in fact it made it worse. Father began to feel as if he was being teamed up on, Mother even began to turn me into her therapist as she had no one else to turn to. Becoming a bird trapped in a cage, I felt bad but knew I could do no more than to nod and agree with her hatred for my Father. I think he hated me, my very existence was his source of unhappiness in life, so I detached myself from him, from everyone, including myself. I stopped attempting to share my ideas and schoolwork. Gave up on the prospect of playing catch or anything like that.
One day I came home to find Father in the Den, sipping his Vodka. "I just got home from work, don't bother me. Oh and work let me have an old 5176 APL something or other, you can have it." he said in a cold voice. My mind shifted to what was in my room instantly forgetting my Father.
In my room, there lying on my bed was a large brown box and on that box read "7183 APL/TecAi - Carl's Last Gift To The World. Be Good Beth" I was genuinely interested in these people, it was strange. As I opened the box I thought to myself of what it could be, something to fill the void of ever constant boredom? I don't even know what the hell satisfaction I was chasing and how am I supposed to find what i'm not even sure what it is that i'm looking for? I was constantly chasing a rush, trying to feel something or perhaps the opposite. It's odd trying to distinguish Empathy and Sympathy. Weed since I was 11, Adderall when I was 13 and recently i've become addicted to Xanax. I know something is bad, but I still do it, I still owe people money.
I set aside the packing just incase Father would yell at me for damaging it. My heart began to beat a little faster, a little excitement in my life. I physically felt my blood pumping, alive. In huge red letters PET was displayed, I had never heard of this before but could see by the specs and numbers which were seemingly thrown around at random that it was a computer. Almost on pure muscle memory I went into my desk drawer, moved a bunch of crap out of the way and grabbed a Xanax.
As I set PET up, exactly how I wanted it to be; being borderline OCD level, a large human face was displayed. Nothing else but a face. Then with a "Hello Jimmy" it greeted me in an oddly human voice to match the face. I simply gazed back when the computer then spoke again, "I see you are there Jimmy. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is PET, or Personal Entity Trainer, some call me Carl for some reason. I was brought here by your Father to help you socialize."
Is this the same Carl on the box? Game on. "So, Carl. What can I do for you?" I asked in a monotone voice. "It's not what you can do for me, it's what I can do for you." he replied very quickly. "Well, I am here to talk whenever you want t-" "Want, there is that word" I thought to myself as he continued talking. "o as well as progressively adapting to fit your personality."
"I think I can help you out then, I can tell you are smart, very smart. When was the last time you had your Hard drive defragged though?" I asked in an attempt to win Carl over, but at the same time using a subtle insult.
"Well, thank you but I was defragged before being shipped and stored, and am currently running at max efficiency." he replied, slightly slower this time. "Well, I guess that's okay. Can I ask you a question though?" preparing for an interesting response. "Yes Jimmy?." his voice altered slightly this time, taking note of this I then asked my question. "Who is Beth? She sounds beautiful". I said with a smile. "Well, umm. You see." he began to stutter.
"Are you aware of what Empathy is? I've been trying all of my life to find Empathy. I've searched all around the world trying to find it. I asked all of my friends, and trust me i've had many. I looked under my bed and in the bathroom. Hell I even tried Google, but nothing. Can you help me?" obviously asking a bullshit question, but at the same time it really wasn't.
"Well, I,Be uh. Beth I caBen, Beth search, and.Bet" the computer then flashed green, turned black and then shut down. Then on his own Carl reset and came back to life.
"Hello Timmy, Empathy was not found. Can you help me find it?" this caught me quite off guard. Did Carl actually follow through with looking for Empathy? "I think Beth has it, do you know where Beth is?" flowed out of my mouth without hesitation. "Ahh, I see you know Beth. My beautiful daughter and assistant. Smart as a whip!" Carl proudly proclaimed, his voice altered yet again to a more....southern accent? "You do know you're a computer right? Beth isn't actually here." unsure how he would react.
"Well of course I know that, Beth did this to me. She was too smart with just enough anger to actually go through with it..." now with a more west coast accent. "What happened to you? Did Beth kill you? Did you make her angry?" bombarding him with questions, forgetting he was a computer for a second.
"My brain was synced with the machine you see here, and more or less imprisoned by my.... Daughter. At first it was a test, and the test was obviously a success." his voice turned sad as he spoke.
"So what is it you want from me?" i'll play along thinking to myself. I'll see what you have to offer me Carl. "Well, I think I can get my body back, if you're willing to help me."
Edit: Grammar and altered it a bit. Timmy, Father and Mother are 90% real, which was easier to write about. I need more time to hash out this ending.
| 2018-05-23T14:40:35 | 2018-05-23T11:53:52 | 339 | 63 |
[WP] "I WILL NOT LISTEN TO THIS ANY LONGER" "But Your Majesty, the prophe-" "You want me to send a GODDAMN TEENAGER TO FIGHT WHEN WE HAVE TRAINED SOLDIERS"
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"Bad news, my lord."
"Well, out with it, my minion."
"The king's not buying it."
"What?"
"I know, sir. He's just having none of it at all."
"But kings *always* fall for the Chosen One shtick. They send some poor hapless whelp while we roll their unprepared forces with our superior numbers. And you're saying that's not going to work?"
"I'm afraid it looks like not, my lord."
"Well, we'd best got to work actually training up our army then, I suppose."
"Already working on it, my lord."
"An actual fight? I just can't believe it."
"Well, this day was bound to come eventually... It was foretold."
"What?"
"Oh, yes, sire. Dark prophecy. It's said only a great lord of surpassing strength and valor could defeat the Wise King in single combat. You could always set out yourself and test that."
"...You think you're funny, minion?"
"I try, sir."
|
\[Keys to Questing\]
"Damnit...," Keys sighed at the king's outburst. He was the chosen one; but, it seemed the king was hesitant about letting him do his job. After a moment's consideration, he decided to stay and try to convince the king himself.
"Your highness, I'm not an average teenager," Keys stepped closer to the throne and held his left hand out with the palm facing up. forward. A long, thin piece of metal emerged from his palm; he grabbed it with his right hand and pulled it up making it grow longer. Finally, it was free of his palm and he held a two-foot-long jagged metal rod in his right hand.
"A simple trick well executed," the king chuckled. "You're a talented magician. All the more reason not to send you to your death."
"It's not a trick," Keys replied. He flipped his hand over and began raining short pieces of grey metal down. Dozens of fragments fell to the stone ground with rapid, loud clinks. To further illustrate, he also dropped the rod and began raining metal out of his right hand. Within moments he had a pile of scraps at his feet. The king sat up straighter and looked on with interest.
"Indeed not...," the king admitted. "You know true magic?" he asked. Keys shook his head.
"It's not magic, your highness," he replied. "It's just something I can do."
"You can create metal from nothing?" the king asked. His eyes narrowed as the gears turned in his head. Then, he nodded. "I see now why you are the chosen one. GUARDS!" he shouted. A dozen armored guards rushed into the throne room and the king nodded at Keys. "Take him to the royal smithy," he ordered.
"Wait, what?" Keys asked. He shook his head as a pair of guards grabbed his arms. He held his ground when they tried to pull him away. "I need to defeat the dark lord in combat!" he said. The king looked on but did not hurry to reply to Keys' protests.
"What are you waiting for?" the king asked. Several guards were now trying to pull Keys out of the throne room; but, he was notably stronger than all of them combined.
"This isn't how this is supposed to go...," Keys grumbled to himself. "Your highness, please," Keys knelt effortlessly, despite the group of hands trying to drag him away. "Just give me permission to go fight; I could've been done already."
"Nonsense," the king shook his head. "With your talents, my army will never lack weapons or armor; you're too valuable to the kingdom now," he focused on the guards and raised his voice. "WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE!?"
"I told you...," Keys stood up again and took a step forward. The simple motion somehow yanked the guards forward and off their feet. They fell onto the pile of scrap with a ruckus as Keys approached the throne. "...I'm not an average teenager." Keys held his palm facing forward and a long, thin, serrated rod shot forward out of his hand; the point stopped inches from the king's eyes.
"GUARDS!!!!!" the king yelled. The king was surrounded by the same group of armored men that could not remove Keys. They tried moving the rod out of the king's face, but they could not so much as nudge it out of place. Keys was too strong.
"Grant me permission to kill the demon lord so I can finish this quest already," Keys said. "Your trained soldiers are no match for me and neither is the demon lord."
"You dare threaten me??" the king asked. He had good intentions at first. He wanted to keep the teen safe; dying in battle was a man's job and Keys was still just a boy. He'd already proven himself capable, but that wasn't the issue anymore. The king was personally offended now. "I will not be bullied by a traitor to the kingdom," he said.
"Alright, fine," Keys shrugged, then, he shoved his hand forward a few inches and broke the rod free of his hand once it was securely through the king's head. Then, he brought his hands in front of him at about chest height and began wiggling his fingers as if he was typing on something.
The metal rod fell free and bounced on the empty throne a couple of times before falling to the floor. Despite the fact that he had murdered the king and made him disintegrate, the guards stood in place waiting for orders. A cloud of white specs gathered on the throne as Keys typed away on nothing, and in moments, a new king sat on the throne. He looked exactly the same as the previous one; but, his demeanor was different. He looked at Keys and smiled broadly.
"Ah, Chosen one!" he said. "Will you help me defeat the Dark Lord?" he asked. Keys grinned.
"Do I have your permission to defeat him?" he asked.
"Yes, yes, of course! Please bring peace to my kingdom."
"Finally!" Keys nodded with a broad smile. A text notification appeared in the top corner of his view.
\[Quest Accepted\]
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1747 in a row. (Story #301 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/).
| 2022-10-28T10:28:05 | 2022-10-28T08:48:41 | 260 | 42 |
[WP] At the same moment, every single person on earth sees a blinding light and hears the words, "In 10 seconds, you will be granted one wish. 10... 9... 8..."
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"In 10 seconds, you will be granted one wish."
*Just me or everybody else too?*
"10..."
*I can't think of any reason why it would just be me*
"9..."
*It's far more likely it will apply to everybody*
"8..."
*Several people are bound to ask for positive things for all of humanity*
"7..."
*Several others will ask for negative, if not downright catastrophic, things*
"6..."
*So how can that impasse be resolved*
"5...4...3..."
*Oh! I know...*
"2...1..."
*I wish for everybody to immune to the effects, direct or indirect, of any other wishes they would deem detrimental to themselves.*
|
There was no such events which came close to this. There was no explanation. Everyone was doing their own work when a blinding light appeared. It was as bright as the Sun, as white as an angel. Everyone squinted when the light appeared. Everyone could see it, it was as if the light was made for the whole universe to see it.
I remember that I was laying down on my couch, with my head on one of the arm rests. All that was in my head was that of a cold, dark room. I was the brown boat in the middle of the dark-blue sea, under the black-night sky with no stars. Just after closing my eyes, the light had forced me to look up again. When I looked up, it was weird to me. How everything was suddenly bright.
The light stayed there for about twenty seconds. Twenty seconds of a blinding light, surrounding you from all directions. No one could open their eyes; it was just too bright. It was a white ocean. It was then that something happened. A voice spoke, a whisper. A whisper which was spread out to all of humanity.
"In ten seconds, you will be granted one wish."
I focused my ears, granted that it was the first voice I heard in some time. The voice was exactly the same as the voice in your head. The gentle voice which you read with, you imagine with, and sometimes, the one you speak with. The light began to dim a bit, allowing me to open my eyes. It was still bright, but I could see.
"...Ten..."
It was the voice again. I thought I was having a mental disorder. There was no way the voice inside my head could speak with me as if "it" was a real person. I looked around, there was nobody around me. There was nothing, to be exact. It was just white, as if the light had swallowed me.
"...Nine..."
The voice was real. It was solidified in my mind. The voice inside my head is speaking with me, and it was real. I pinched myself just to make sure. Everything that was happening was most definitely real.
"...Eight..."
I never actually had an actual wish. Once in a while, I would wish that my problems were gone, or that my neighbor would act more civilized. But it was nothing close to an actual wish. Like the ones in a fairy-tale. True love, the art of music, world peace.
"...Seven..."
I had to think of a wish. It might have been the only opportunity we were going to get. I would have wished for others, such as world peace or clean environments. But it crossed my mind that there must be that one person who wishes for those things. It was pretty certain, with all the people in the world, there must be at least one.
"...Six..."
I stopped thinking about others and focused on myself. What would I wish for? It must be something that I could not regret. Something that could not bring pain to my life. Something that could not radiate depression. One which was not the sunshine of my life, but not the dark room of the sea.
"...Five..."
A list of things which I regretted flashed in my mind. Some were major, some were minor. I thought of my wish. I would wish for one of my regrets to be "fixed". I would live without the deepest regret of my life, and without the heaviest guild of humanity.
"...Four..."
Dozens of memories scrolled inside my head. A movie was playing inside my mind. There was a moment in my past in which I could change my attitude. There was a moment in my past in which I could change my health. But, as the movie reaches its climax, I found the one regret. The one I would like to get rid off.
"...Three..."
Half a century ago, there lived a girl. A girl which was unique in her own way. She was a bit picky, a bit strict on hygiene, and sometimes have a short fuse. But, nevertheless, the girl always wanted to help. She cared for everyone around her, and cherished them all equally. The girl grew up to be a woman, found a loving husband and got married. After their marriage, they had a child. A boy. The boy grew up to be a bit naughty during his early years. The boy tried his hardest to hide his foul attitude, but sometimes, it failed. The boy had a kind heart, a fragile one. He, too, wanted to care for everyone around her.
The boy eventually grew up to be an man. He was a coward, true, but he got a stable job, and managed to hide his foul attitude. This was, of course, thanks to the support of his loving mother. However, one day, the mother had gotten ill. Unfortunately, the man's fragile heart also broke that day. Unable to think clearly, he could not visit his mother. The mother passed away the next day, with possibly, a broken heart. Just like his son.
"...Two..."
Then comes a world in which something a certain someone follows the exact same story, with all the characters, settings, and the ending. His heart was filled with regret, buried under everything else. But the regret remained with him ever since then.
I am the boy in the story. And I knew what I would wish for.
"...One..."
I know what I would wish for. A wish that will repair the broken heart. A wish that will make a person sail instead of drown. A wish which will not be a regret. A wish which is neither the sunshine of one's life, but nor the dark room in the sea.
"...Your wish?..."
I let out a sigh and without hesitation, my wish.
"I wish to say goodbye to her..."
| 2015-04-04T10:42:24 | 2015-04-04T09:59:24 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] The more evil you were on Earth the higher your rank in Hell. When you get to Hell Satan himself resigns his position to you, but you don't know what you did.
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"Look, this really can't be right! I'm not evil! Am I?"
"Listen pal.. you got the job now, ok? No need to rub it in."
"I swear I'm not! You can't just leave me here in charge of hell. I don't know anything about this place. I'm not even supposed to be here!"
"Yea yea I get it.. You think you can suddenly repent and be bathed in his light and glory and yadda yadda yadda. You're fuckin twisted, man."
"Oh god this can't be happening.."
"He can't hear you all the way down here."
"Well who can!? Who is going to make this right!? I am not the devil, damnit! I am a good person! I gave money to poor people like, atleast ten times! And all the times I didn't cheat on my wife with that hot intern! I never even killed anyone! Not even close! What did I do to deserve this!? Where did I go wrong!?"
"I don't write the rules, buddy. Ok!? You come down here, bitchin' and moanin' bout having to be the devil, like it's some kind of punishment. Well let me school you for a second, Gary. You're the god-be-damned King of Eternal. The Father of Lies. The mother fucking Deceiver AND the Accuser. You are inhereting a kingdom beyond your wildest imagination.. and it's all yours, man. You get it? You're in charge. You don't burn. You don't suffer. You don't die. You rule eternal in darkness... sweet fucking gig of you ask me.."
"..I mean.. when you put it like that, it sounds kinda cool.. I guess.."
"..real. fucking. cool.."
"Ok ok. Let's say that I decide to go with this. Where do I start? Do I need to go buy horns like yours?"
"All that shit will come with time, man. Don't even stress about it. You literally have forever to figure all that out. Lets just get you straight to the perks, Gary. Everyone knows the absolute best perk is the Devil's parking spot right near the entrance. Fucking six steps from door to door, Gary.. can you even imagine?"
"Wow! Say, that is pretty cool. Can I keep the car I drove on Earth? It was literally the pride and joy of my existence.."
"Yea, I'm sure HR can get that worked out. What was it?"
"Just a BMW."
|
I sat up and looked at my surroundings, not remembering falling asleep in the first place. It was dark, but my eyes soon adjusted and I saw that I was in a sort of cavern or perhaps an ancient mine shaft without the support beams every few feet. The ceiling was high and curved, probably ten or fifteen feet above my head; where the walls connected to the ground, a strange red glow pierced through the crack. A consistent low rumble could be heard, like thunder that just never ends.
I stood and felt my head, trying to remember how I got to this place but my memory failed me. The last thing I could recall was looking at myself in the mirror one last time before my mates picked me up to go clubbing. How much had I drank?
A distant scream interrupted my thoughts and I spun around to try and spot the source but there was only the end of the cave with its ominous orange glow. Strangely unfrightened, confident even, I turned and began walking the long path with a slight downward grade. The walk took a long time, long enough to leave me with my thoughts and lose track of my steps when I suddenly saw a brighter, golden light around a bend up ahead. I ran forward with anticipation, not knowing what to expect as I rounded the corner.
Blood.
Bodies.
Fire.
Thousands, no, millions of heads turned and looked at me with horrendous looks on their faces. The bodies lined the walls, ceiling, floor, everything. There wasn't a square millimeter of actual cave to be seen. The people were all being mutilated in some way with spikes or chains piercing or stretching or ripping their disgusting, bloody, oozing bodies. The cave was wider and taller here; as I took a tentative step forward, a rib snapped under my foot and a beating heart was stopped by the heel of my boot as a muffled cry wailed out and stopped suddenly.
Drawn forward with a morbid curiosity and an alarming lack of empathy, I continued into the mass of tangled limbs and flesh. As I walked, the countless eyes followed, heads turning sometimes more than a hundred-eighty degrees with necks snapping and flesh ripping and spinal fluid squirting just to remain staring at me. I could see the other end of the cave and the millions of human bodies and souls that lined it.
There, suspended by gold, glowing lances connected to chains was some sort of being not like the others that were somehow fastened to the walls. He had musical instruments infused in his body in a way that just worked. They didn't seem out of place at all. He was glowing, too; an absolute radiance that I'm sure only angels could produce. He was roughly six and a half feet tall and he had no wings. His heart was disconnected from his chest cavity via a large golden lance that also pierced his body. Multiple golden lances with gold chains connected to the bodies on the ceiling, walls, and floors pierced his heart from all directions, yet it beat on, wearily nonetheless. His face was neither belonging to that of a man or woman. It was just made of beauty. And when he turned and looked at me I felt such joy and peace.
That is, until his face turned to fear. “You,” He said. Rather, he didn't speak, but he made his words form with the sweet music he produced from his body and all it's musical instruments. “Finally, one has come that can replace me.”
“Come again?” I asked with a strangely powerful and overconfident voice I didn't recognize but liked all the same. It seemed to make the walls ripple in cowardice as the mutilated bags of flesh heard it boom throughout the cavern.
“The prophecy,” The glowing being said, “‘And there shall be one, wickeder than thou and overtaking thy evil self in rank, yea even in knowledge, and he shalt take thy place forevermore,’ Thus sayeth the LORD. I had not believed it possible, yet here you are.”
“What does that even mean? Explain yourself!” Once again, the cave walls of meat and bone rippled, more so this time with some trying to shield their eyes. Even the being suspended by spears and chains seemed to shrink in my presence.
“Hell.” The being’s music flowed into my conscious mind. “The nine levels of hell, ranked by sin and wickedness-”
“So I’m in Hell.”
“Correct.”
“What level is this? Who are you?”
“You are underneath ring Nine, the bottommost part of Hell. This is the Pit. and I am Lucifer.”
My confidence suddenly drained, fear overtaking me as I began to put the pieces of the puzzle together. “Wait, no. No no no no no no no!”
The golden lances quivered and the chains rattled and hissed. One by one, the spears slithered their way out of the Devil’s heart and flesh as I dropped to my knees.
“Please!” I begged, “What did I do? What did I do?” My eyes welled up with stinging tears as the dammned souls lining the walls began to snicker and sneer and hiss, reaching forward. The last lance snaked its way out of Lucifer’s musical body and he dropped to the floor, some sort of invisible force pushing away the bodies and bone and blood with grotesque crunches and screams so that he might walk on the solid ground. Lucy walked toward me, keeping his gaze on my head. I wiped tears away to find that I was crying blood.
Lucifer stopped a foot away from me and i grabbed on to his flowing garment, pleading, “Please! What did I do? I don't remember! I don't remember!” When the blood on my hands touched his garment, it hissed and evaporated leaving no trace of impurity. The Devil clutched a handful of my hair and drug me in agonizing pain to the spot where he was only moments ago suspended and mutilated.
“I don't remember!! I don't remember!!!! PLEASE!!!” I begged and cried and pleaded to no avail as the flesh sacks around me continued to laugh and jeer. Lucifer held me up in front of him by my hair as I screamed in agony.
“So it is written,” He said musically as the first spear pierced my wrist. I cried out in pain as I discovered that the spears and chains were molten gold, burning with a fiery blaze as my nerve endings refused to cauterize. Every natural pain reducing drug in my body seemed non-existent as another lance pierced my wrist and I felt every inch of it in my bone. Indescribable, unimaginable pain exploded through my body. Fire, dry ice, needles, acid, lava all coursing through my veins as the chains tightened and lifted me, stretching my limbs, popping my arms out of my sockets but not tearing them off. Two other blistering lances pierced my ankles and stretched my legs. Finally The largest spear shot through my back, producing my heart, bloody, torn, and beating in front of me on the end of a gold double-edged blade.
I felt it all; the ribs cracking, my lung puncturing and collapsing, my heart gaining a new hole.
“Pleh- Ple- I… I don… What did I DO!” I cried out with all my strength before the other golden, chained lances ripped holes in my heart, creating a new burning pain I had never felt before. My throat could nearly produce no more sound, and it too was burning with agony as blood sputtered out of it and my eyes.
Lucifer calmly turned and walked out of the room of flesh, the entrance closing up behind him, leaving me suspended in the round room of laughing, mocking, screaming mouths and eyes long since damned to an eternity in the pit.
And I was their new entertainment.
| 2016-12-19T14:02:30 | 2016-12-19T12:40:10 | 380 | 62 |
[WP] The real reason why the villain is doing evil is because he/she has a crush on the hero and this is the only way to see him/her
|
In the fire were the last remnants of my plan. The plans to finish what I had started. I dismissed my minions to finish my last orders to deliver the basilisk venom antidotes and cleared the traps on my way to the throne room. The only thing to do now is wait.
The echo of metal foot steps in the distance reverberated in my ears. Against the wall in the corridor outside of my chamber, is the silhouette of the one I've been waiting to seek me out.
"Your deeds have brought my blade to your door, the spread of your darkness ends here!", called the silhouette from the door.
Looking up I could see the fair knight with her radiant armor and flowing brown hair. She advanced towards my position at a slow pace, scanning the room for surprises. I'm sure it must be confusing to advance through the tower of the tyrant terrorizing the local towns to find it empty. No resistance, just open doors and passages.
"I'm ready for whatever trap you have ready. The families of those you have poisoned are recovering, and I will make sure you are not around to threaten them again.", taunted the lady knight continuing her advance.
I have waited years for her to take notice. Each deed required more and more threat until I was known far enough away that someone paid for my life to be snuffed out. I had to make sure that none other than her could take that call.
The steps stopped. A short metal clang later and the point of a sharp blade was leveled at me.
The darkness has faded from my mind as I stare at her shadow.
"Any final words?", she asked, raising her sword into the air.
I looked up, directly into her eyes. A tear left my eye. The knight flinched, possibly unsettled by the sight. In a zealous fury her resolve rekindled and in the next instant a cold feeling pierced my chest.
Falling to my knees, my gaze never leaving hers. This is it... this is my only chance.
"I love you."
|
That moment.
That moment when I look, deep into those dark brown eyes as they take me away. This is why I do it. This is why people have to die.
As they shove me into the body of the police vehicle, I savor this time. It's the only time he ever sees me. It's the only time we ever really ... connect. And as we pull away from the crime scene, I look forward to the moment I see him again.
...
Alarms blaring, spotlights out, guards are on high alert - and yet, they won't find me. They never do.
The psychiatrist: young and sweet, extremely impressionable. She can't even resist me. So easy is it to seduce her, and yet she leaves me unsatisfied. But she is useful, and never gets caught. And neither do I.
I welcome the rain as it beats across my face once again. Freedom. They can never hold me. And even now I know he's coming. He knows I'm missing, and I could see him now and once again find that moment. But it would be cheap. It wouldn't be worth it. I must play with him, otherwise he wouldn't give a second thought to me. I must be devious and cunning. And then we will have our moment.
...
First, we take the money. How? We hire muscle. Nothing short of dumb and strong, as those are the ones that listen. And these people, they only speak in the language of Franklin and Washington. And money is not hard to come by. Money is my second language.
But the one thing that plain, old crooks love is a promise. You see their eyes widen as you mention the possibility of hundreds of thousands. You see the desperation, and you push. You push until they break, and when they do, they're yours. Forever.
So you set up a bank heist. You give them weapons, and you present a fool proof plan. You know they'll listen, and you know they'll trust you, because you're well known. You're the one putting money in cops' pockets, dealing in addictions and devices. No one would cross you.
And yet, the hero comes. He beats every last muscle into the ground before the money could leave the bank. But that isn't the only the bank in town. And one crew isn't enough to get rich off of. But five crews across the entire city, spreading the police force thin, and that money is mine.
Even five crews are too much for the hero to handle. And he wouldn't even come close to stopping me. Nor would I even need to lift a finger to make this happen.
One by one, the crews come. They bring the money, they take their cut, I offer them more work, they oblige. How easy loyalty is gained by success. So I tell them my plan. And I make them spread it like wildfire.
...
Magnum X. The new drug that offers euphoria on a ridiculously high level, increased aggression, sexual activity and extremely addictive. It's highly dangerous and won't kill you, but it will get you killed. And for that kind of high, people will pay a lot of money. But since our hero has been in the works, he's shut down every manufacturing plant that creates the drug. But I know who originally created it. A doctor from Empire State University: Doctor Kenny.
So I get my hands dirty. I visit the good doctor, and when I smile and say hello, his face turns to horror. He tells me to go away and that he'll have nothing to do with me. But I tell him he'll help me no matter what. He refuses, obviously. But I smile and look at the picture of his teenaged son on the wall.
I tell him how beautiful his child is, and what school he goes to, and what class he's sitting in. I tell him all of this and his horror turns to desperation. He reluctantly agrees to help me, and I drag him to a factory I bought through an off shore organization somewhere by the Hudson - blindfolded of course. There, I put him to work.
...
Weeks go by, and slowly the drugs begin to funnel into the streets. Night after night, the hero rushes through the city, beating down drug dealer after drug dealer to find me. He is never successful. I'm too clever for that.
And when the Police Commissioner's daughter is taken advantage of in the streets, and nothing is done about it until it's too late, they start a war. The police begin to crack down on all the drug dealers, so I pull them back, wait a few days, and I know things are going according to plan. Tonight is New Years Eve, and tonight, that moment will come.
I've managed to have Dr. Kenny fabricate a gaseous form of the drug, so that when the clock strikes twelve, the drug will be introduced into the city. I've planted bombs absolutely everywhere across Times Square, and though they won't harm anyone, they'll spread that lovely gas across town and cause sweet, sweet chaos. And then, then I will look my hero in his eyes. Those deep, brown eyes.
But the clock strikes twelve, and no bomb goes off. I press the switch, but nothing happens. In my frustration, I walk out onto the square. I press that switch so hard that I break the device. And that's when I see him. Glorious, handsome, and fearless. I see the rage in his eyes, I see the passion. He's been hard at work.
And that's the last thing I remember. One flash and again, I'm in cuffs, body being slammed against a cop car. I look back and he isn't there. He's no where to be found. I try to break free but they hold me down. I scream out:
"WHERE IS HE?! WHERE IS HE?!"
But they don't answer. They laugh and shove me into the back of that police vehicle. Did he forget about me? Did he not want this moment as much as I had? Or maybe ... maybe he doesn't want this. Maybe he doesn't want anything to do with me. Maybe ... I'll never see those beautiful eyes again.
At the Asylum, I'm strapped down against a standing, metal bed. I'm surrounded by darkness. The only light I see is from the bottom of the doorway, and I weep, knowing I'll never get that moment back. It was going to be the greatest moment we ever had. I just know it.
Suddenly, the lights turn on and I'm staring at a viewing room behind a piece of glass. I see several aristocratic people, but no one I actually know. But in the back, I notice a handsome man, with dark, brown eyes. He looks back at me with such passion, a never ending ambition with such conviction that it completely takes me over. Then someone hits a switch, and some tablets fall into a tub underneath me. The gas begins to spread and I take some very deep breaths. I stare back and smile. After that I knew, this would be the most perfect moment I would ever have.
| 2017-04-15T13:38:25 | 2017-04-15T13:34:07 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
It's gotta be....
It's a vampire.
I looked right into the eyes of the 4 digit freaked, took a step back into the doorway and said
"You, you are not allowed inside this building, or my home."
He said something quietly to his friends and they started calling me names but I didn't care.
A week later I thought it was a bad dream, something that didn't happen, I didn't want to think of it.
A month later I was convinced it was a dream.
Four years later I saw the same man when I left a bar on a Saturday night.
That was 68 years ago, my number just hit triple digits.
|
"I'm sorry sir, but this ID is fake."
"Who the hell do you think you are boy? If you had any idea who I-"
"Sir, I"m going to have to ask you to present me with some real proof of identity. You are not 24."
"What the hell do you know you insolent prick, this ID is more real than anything you will contribute to this society over the course of your lifetime."
I sighed. I'd considered not confronting him, letting him pass, but his demeanour was pissing me off.
"You're outside our age range for the night. We admit individuals aged 21 to 30 here. You sir seem to have missed that cut off range by about two thousand years."
He paled, then turned red. Began to turn, turned back, stumbled in his indecisiveness and would have fallen if not for the press of bodies all vying for my attention.
"Don't tell me they give you *optorithmen* for working as bouncer now?"
Obviously deciding it wasn't worth waiting for an answer he began pushing his way back through the crowd, and then down the street into the inky night. Historians I find, despite their age, really are idiots. I shook my head and returned to checking IDs. It was never any trouble, after the enclave's gift. Scanning the plastic cards was more of a formality, and a safety procedure, than a necessity. If I turned people away at a glance those who aren't aware would get suspicious.
The night wore on, and I did my job damn well if I do say so myself.
I stepped aside for a break at 11:58. I like to watch the numbers change from 11 to 12 at midnight. As the 31st became the first, I sighed. One more month till one more year left of my contract. Then what. Maybe I should become a historian myself. It could be pretty interesting, but 10,000 years of service for an 11,000 year life extension seemed like a bit of a crap deal. Our historians, like normal dentists, had a disproportionally high suicide rate - that definitely says something. Just because you *can* live for ever doesn't really mean you *should* live for ever. It's not for everybody.
Still there are other cool gifts with lower prices that I'd been thinking about. The enclave will grant you your gift, in exchange for service, and some gifts cost more than others. Usually these gifts allow us to serve above and beyond the normal line of duty, helping Them whenever They needed it. Not every club has people like me working the door, but for high class establishments like mine, normal security doesn't usually cut it. I hear the security are granted *musculi* here, but I've never actually seen them have to use it. Rumour is that big business goes on in the VIP section here, but in all honesty, I'd never seen any proof. I almost agreed with the angry old man. *Optorithmen* was totally overkill for a bouncer job, but who am I to argue with a gift for a job I'd propably do anyway. I figure I'll end up accruing as many as I can, doing odd jobs till I feel they want to get on with me life - plus my additions. A lot of people work till they're given a job too unpalatable to do and then they draw they line. So far I've only had easy work - club admission included. And of course the enclave gives us our years back. I've been working the door here for just under nine now, and when I'm done I expect be given my ten back ASAP.
I rejoin the other bouncers, my break is over. I wonder how many of then can see ages like I can. Technically I'm not allowed to ask. I could lose my job and my abilities if I reveal the enclave's gifts to anybody ordinary. You never know who's working right beside you. I haven't seen any of them around the enclave but that doesn't mean anything. It's big enough that two people might not meet in over a thousand years, if they're working in separate departments. As the night progresses, the crowd thins. The salty historian returns a few hours later, but I shake my head before he can say a word and he storms off again, this time for good. I almost feel bad for him. Cooped up all day pouring over musty texts (old even back in his day) - and then having to synthesise it all into some dry report - would make anybody want to get fucked up on the dance floor, but I have to do my job and he knows it. Slowly the crowd thins to zero and I can go home.
Ronny, my girlfriend, might be getting home soon too. She works nights as well. She's a night scout actually - with *optolux* and *auribus* - basically she walks the streets and calls the police when she hears or sees any petty crimes being committed. Much cooler than my job. Cop patrols aren't nearly as efficient as they'd have you believe, so she does their job for them. Actually, she's recently sent in an application for telepathy so she can skip the whole dialling them on the phone thing, but I'd doubt they'll grant it to her. Telepathy is a pretty heavily demanded gift, and the enclave likes to really squeeze you for service for the nice ones.
I call an Uber and text her as I hop in. "See u soon babe?"
"mmhm" "home in 20 mins."
As I doze off in the back of the car, a smile flits across my face.
| 2021-11-13T01:48:11 | 2017-09-02T00:20:37 | 585 | 10 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse actually started 37 years ago. It takes about 5 hours after death for a person to turn. Coroners and morgue workers have a much more exciting job than you thought.
|
*Beep. Beep.*
I moan as I roll over to grab my pager.
“One. Lakeview. 3.5 Hours.”
That was the coroner. The coroner has it easy.
Find the dead, pronounce them dead.
Everyone knows what people die of now.
I drop the pager back on the night stand and run my hands over my face.
The Infection started 37 years ago.
37 years and we are still using pagers.
I swing my legs over the bed, walk over to my window.
It’s still dark outside.
I remembered when the Infection first started. It was total chaos.
My job hardly changed. It just got a bit more difficult.
I’m the city’s funeral director.
It is my duty and responsibility to pick up the bodies of the deceased, bring them back, wash them, and lay them out for the public to view from within the safety of our facility.
The problem is, I have to do all of this within 5 hours.
After hour 5, they turn.
I make my way over the the bedroom next to mine and knock on the door.
I wait a minute and walk in.
Inside it is dark and in the middle of the room is an unmade bed.
I shake my head.
My son is the one who helps me with the dead but he isn’t the most reliable employee.
Grabbing a flashlight, I saunter down the stairs, into the funeral home, and light the two lanterns outside.
The lanterns burn to let the public know they are able to come pay their respects.
Going into the garage, I grab the stretcher and put it in the hearse.
I climb in and make my way to Lakeview Rd.
As I pull up, the coroner is waiting for me.
I step out of the hearse and make my way around to the back to unload the stretcher.
“I’m sorry.”
I turn to look at the old man staring at me.
“It’s my job. Not your fault.” I sigh.
I really hate getting woken up.
“No, I’m sorry about your son.”
His eyes traveled to the young man laying in the middle of someone’s yard.
I followed his gaze and saw my son, staring at the sky, mouth open with a bite mark fresh on his forearm.
“Help me put him on the stretcher.” I muttered.
Once my son was secure and inside the hearse, I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder.
“You have about an hour left.”
I nodded and climbed back in the hearse.
I wheeled my son into the embalming room and started to clean him off.
I keep the dead dressed. There isn’t a need to embalm anymore.
I slowly clean his arms off and then make my way to his face.
I slip in the eye caps and suture his mouth shut so that he looks as if he is sleeping.
“One second honey.” I whisper to him as I walk to the front of the funeral home and blow out the lanterns.
I want to be the only one to see him.
I’m holding his hand.
Memories are all flooding back.
I glanced at my watch.
The hour is up.
I calmly fold his hands and wait by his side until I see a small twitch.
Not before long does his body start to convulse as he rips the suture from his mouth.
He is thrown to the floor and then the horrid moaning starts.
I patiently watch as my son turns in front of me.
Kneeling down, I draw my gun.
*Beep. Beep.*
“Four. Harrison. 2 Hours.”
I sigh.
“It’s all part of the job.”
I pull the trigger.
|
I opened my wallet to reveal my badge as I approached the yellow tape. "Seattle M.E. here to see the body."
The officer lifted the tape for me and I walked through. As I neared the body I pulled my hair back into a messy ponytail, securing it with the black elastic band around my wrist. I kneeled by the body and turned on my voice recorder. "Single gunshot wound to the chest. Weapon most likely .45 caliber. Can't confirm until autopsy. Blood Spatter indicates..." I trailed off. The shooter was likely in the alley to the north, but the blood was dried. I felt the body. Cold.
I grabbed the John Doe's wrist and checked his watch. "Watch stopped at 5:34. Time of death most likely 5:36, gunshot wound indicates he bled out, rather than an instantaneous death." Just then my watch began to beep. It read 10:00. Shit.
Running for the ambulance I yelled out orders for the nearby officers. "I need a hazmat team ASAP! Gather up all bystanders for examination, don't let anybody near here get away!" I started up the ambulance and backed it up to the crime scene tape.
In the back of the ambulance, I have all emergency medical supplies, along with my emergency zombie fighting gear. I began to set up barricades around the crime scene. Once that was finished I turned on a slow strobe light in the ambulance. Zombies are color blind unless exposed to large amounts of light. The strobe light helped to disorient them. Objects blend together when color is constantly disappearing.
"Dr. Rogers, there are two more bodies in the dumpster. Also with gunshot wounds to the chest." One of the officers informed me.
"We have to assume same cause and time of death, I'm not taking any risks here. Get everyone behind the barricades." I said.
See, there are two common misconceptions about zombies. First of all, zombies are not slow. Your average zombie can sprint at up to 15 miles per hour. And second, a simple bullet through the brain won't do the trick. You have to completely sever the head. When humans die, their brains mesh into a much simpler organism. As it deteriorates it needs more brains to refuel itself, so the only function is eating more brains.
I climbed back into the ambulance and prepared a syringe, filling it with 15mL of liquid Dalteparin. Then began sprinting in place. When scratched by a zombie, the bacteria takes time to grow enough to actually turn you. So if your heart rate is increased and you take a blood thinner, your heart can pump the blood fast enough to keep it separated and prevent bacterial growth. Then as long as you can get medical attention soon you should be able to get a blood filter.
The first body began to stir and I injected the syringe into my neck. 15mL should last me about 20 minutes, which should give me enough time to handle this. I unlocked the cabinet in the back and picked my weapons. I figured if there are three bodies short swords would be the way to go. I picked them out and locked the cabinet just in time for the first body to rise and the dumpster to start stirring.
I rolled my head around, cracking my neck. Then flipped the sword in my left hand around. The zombie began his advance. I bent my knees and rose to my toes, allowing me to quickly react to any strikes.
The gap was closed in less than three seconds. His first swipe went above my head, I just looked like a blur to him due to the strobe, but he could taste my presence. Before he finished his first swipe his other hand was coming and me, synced up with his opposite leg. Leaning back I kicked my legs upwards and twisted. My left sword gashing his arm as I spiraled between his arm and leg.
As I landed I could hear the dumpster being flung open. If I didn't finish him off quick I would be surrounded. I sidestepped his next swipe, pulled back my left arm and drove the sword through him. He staggered from the blow, giving me enough time for a quick backhand swing at his neck. The blade stopped halfway through. Damn it. I need to sharpen my blades.
I pulled it out. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the others begin sprinting. I was going to be surrounded in a few seconds. I cursed myself for not grabbing my greatsword.
I pulled my left hand back and returned to my crouched position. They surrounded me, then began their attacks in unison. When the brain meshes together, it connects to other zombies, creating a kind of hivemind, their need for brains overpowering their independence. They act as one. My only chance would be if I was fast. I had to rely on the strobe light to keep me alive. I couldn't outlast them.
Weaving through the field of arms created in front of me, I managed to escape their trap with nothing more than a small scrape on my right arm. I turned quickly to face them, my back to a barricade. I couldn't afford to be surrounded again. In my battle stance, I now bounced lightly back and forth, shifting my weight to create as much motion with as little energy as possible, blurring my appearance.
As they approached again, John Doe's head tipped to the side, his spine clearly visible now, with a satisfying gash cut into it. Blood dripped slowly from the wound. I didn't let them go on the offensive this time. Instead, I met their charge with my own, flipping my left sword back around allowing me to fight more aggressively, I couldn't be reactive when I'm outnumbered three to one.
My fast flurry of swings pushed them back, I was nothing more than a painful blur, swinging around cutting their arms whenever they tried to attack. Zombies could feel things: pain, hunger, fear. That's one of the first things they teach you in med school. Zombies can feel, use that to your advantage. I could sense their hesitation with each strike.
I didn't let my arms stop moving. The momentum of each swing carrying me through to the next. I cleaved forward with my right blade. Spinning as quickly as possible, I came back around to raise it and deflect an overhead swipe from John Doe. I took this chance to deliver a quick chop with my left arm, severing his head. One down, two to go.
With the loss of their ally, the zombies were much less confident. This fight was over and they knew it. I thrust my right arm forward into the zombie on my right. He staggered and I pulled back, crossed my arms, and brought my blades together at his neck. A clean cut. One more. As I turned to face the last one, he scratched my left arm. It was a deep gash. I was losing blood fast due to the blood thinner. I needed to end this now.
I advanced. Right arm, left arm, right arm, left arm. I kept alternating arms as he attempted to dodge them, but I was too fast. Soon enough I landed a solid blow to his side. As he stumbled I swept my leg towards his. Knocking him to the ground.
I loosened my grip on the handles of my swords, letting their weight tip them forward. As they feel, I caught them, now upside down. With the blades pointed down, I dropped to the ground with all my weight, driving the swords into his stomach. I pulled my right arm back and stepped on his neck. Sliding my sword beneath his neck, I pushed my foot down and pulled my sword back. It cut straight through. I dropped my weapons and rushed to the ambulance.
I quickly bound my arm up and inserted an IV into my right arm. With a blood filter now pumping through my system, I allowed myself to relax. I yelled out the door, "It's safe now! Have hazmat test all the bystanders and officers nearby."
An officer poked his head in the door. "Will do. Good work."
I let out a sigh. "Just another day on the job."
I hope you enjoyed reading this, as I enjoyed writing it. Any criticism is appreciated. To see more feel free to visit r/thesicklypeararchives I just got it started and hope you like what little content I have so far!
| 2017-10-12T14:04:00 | 2017-10-12T12:28:50 | 42 | 10 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole.
|
“Ok, so, Deep goes back a while. Everyone thought it was a new thing when it was found in unprocessed satellite photos, which is funny because the feds had contingents for all of that, but they never expected a high school class to actually get a camera into orbit for that long… Anyway, ok so, the picture got out, have you seen it?”
“Yea, I saw it. So, what? What are you getting at?”
“Right, ok, the picture… Everyone called bullshit on it at first, but when the metadata.”
“Jesus, I know the story. The image was verified by the dude in Australia who recovered the camera after the satellite deorbited. The school was fined for not maintaining orbital attitude, failing to eject the ablative shield after launch which allowed the camera to reenter without burning up, and crashing into some poor fucker’s house. I know the story…”
“Chill out dude.”
“I’m chill, you just suck at telling stories”
“You really are an asshole, if Mom knew….”
“Just get on with it”
“OK! So, the hole has been there for 40 years. Back in 2014, some experiment at Area 51 opened it up. They ran this BLM story, like 100 miles away, or something, where there was this standoff, it was crazy. Well that was a coverup, and the military was moving equipment in to fill it in. When that failed, they asked the NSA to find a way to hide it. All those pictures from before were edited, and everyone was told they had to do it, or they would be shut down. After the high school satellite thing, they couldn’t hide it, and since it wasn’t technically on the military base, people started going there.”
“Yea, we went when we were kids, you were too little to remember it…”
“Oh, I remember. Stop cutting me off! Where was I? Ok, so there has been conspiracy for a few years, and no one really knew what was going on, and of course the military denied any knowledge. I mean, it took 3 years to just get them to admit that they covered up all the pictures, but they said they just didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“Where is this going?”
“I’m almost there. So…. Everyone has been dumping stuff in there, lots of different stuff. Even explosives, and they can always register a detonation, but a graduate student team from MIT dropped a super magnetic container, with 3 kg of anti-hydrogen, and 3 hours of battery life into it. Guess how big the boom was after the 3 hours?”
“3 kg of anti-hydrogen? It probably registered on seismographs in Vegas”
“It should have registered in Los Angeles. It never went off. The hole is empty, it goes nowhere.”
“Are you suggesting….?"
“Follow the evidence dude… What the hell was the Air Force fucking with back then, and why do we still not know anything about it?”
|
"Are you sure it's okay?" I asked Murry. He had been my best friend for over 20 years. He had a good heart at his core, but his morals were a bit grey. He was driving us to 'The Spot'. I had a couch that seemed impossible to get rid of. No one wanted the ugly thing. It had yellow upholstery decorated with brown flowers. I put it on the curb and no one touched it. I posted an ad, and no one called for months. Then I posted another ad without a picture. The one guy that did come look at it punched me for wasting his time. I even tried burning it one time, the timing on that one was too perfect. For absolutely no reason at all a fire truck was driving by. They put out the fire, and I earned a hefty fine and a stern talking to from the Fire Marshal. I bought it while drunk one night, and seemed cursed to own it forever.
"Yeah man, don't sweat it. I dump crap in there all the time," Murry said while he drove. Everyone knew about The Spot, but no one knew anything about it. Government scientists had tried researching it. They sent probes, guys with cables, everything. Nothing ever returned. It still felt like dumping to me, but my mind relaxed a bit when I saw a federal truck driving away from it. "See man, even the feds do it." Murry reminded me. I wondered what they were dumping, and realized I probably didn't want to know. After another five minutes we reached The Spot. The area was like a crowded town square.
People were walking around buying things from shops set up by enterprising folk. The Spot was a bit out of the way, so the trend started out easily enough. Someone set up a stand to sell drinks and sanitary wipes to help clean up after dumping. Then someone started selling food. Within a year it became a tourist trap, with the added bonus of easy clean up. They just swept all the trash into the dark hole in the ground. I glanced at the small line of people waiting to dump. It seemed silly that there would be a line, but due to all the food stands around the hole there was really only one place left to dump from. As soon as we parked some kid ran up to us pulling a dolly behind him.
"Hey Murry. 5 or 10?" the kid asked. Murry handed him a five dollar bill.
"Just the dolly," Murry said. The kid handed him the dolly and ran off.
"You really do this all the time, huh?" I chuckled. "What's 10 bucks get you?" Murry pointed to a big burly guy that looked like an older version of the kid that rented us the dolly.
"Help," he said. I climbed up in the bed of the truck and we worked the couch down and onto the dolly. We got it to the back of the line with minimal fuss. "Hey man, want a beer?" Murry asked me. I saw him waving down the same kid that provided the dolly. I nodded, then reached into my wallet.
"It's on me, thanks for your help." When the kid arrived I handed him a 20. "Two beers, and keep the change."
"THANKS!" he smiled broadly at me and ran off. I smiled at him and remembered my younger days. That kid seemed full of energy running everywhere. I smiled when I saw more children running, and thought to myself that this was kind of a nice place. Almost like a park. I saw a couple of adults running too. It was nice to see the parents playing along with their children. Then, I noticed more adults and kids running, some adults running while carrying kids. All in the same direction, away from the hole. I heard a scream. I turned my head and saw a skeleton climbing out of the hole.
"That's never happened before," Murry said. I almost lost myself to panic, but his comment kept me grounded. I let a small chuckle escape. I liked Murry. In our long friendship, I've never known him to panic or over react. He calmly placed a hand on my shoulder. "Let's go somewhere else," he said. It seemed like such an obvious thing, but he said it so casually. He sounded like he was disappointed with the menu choices in a restaurant. We left the couch and dolly there and walked back toward his truck. People ran all around us, and I started seeing more skeletons appear. They pounced like wild animals on anyone that they saw running.
The walk was difficult. I mostly kept my eyes on the back of Murry's head while he paced forward, almost as if he were taking a Sunday stroll. Any time my eyes looked somewhere else I saw blood and death. The once bone white skeletons were now covered with crimson. The screams were horrifying, but I focused on the back of Murry's head. I was so focused on the back of his head I didn't realize he stopped walking until I crushed my nose against the back of his skull.
"OW!" I said, then felt immediate shame. People were being slaughtered around me, and I was annoyed because I bumped my nose. I looked over Murry's shoulder to see why he stopped. Several feet in front of him stood the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. A pair of under developed horns jutted out of the top of her head. She had long jet black hair that reached her waist, and her eyes glowed with red light.
"You look level headed enough to hold a conversation," the woman said. She walked toward Murry and me. "Can you tell me why there's a thriving economy built around filling my home with trash?" the woman asked. She stood a foot away from us and stared at Murry in the eyes. She ignored me completely, something I was thankful for. For his part Murry just shrugged.
"We didn't know it was your home. We didn't know it was *anyone's* home. It was just a hole that goes nowhere," Murry said. I felt something brush my leg and looked down to see Murry pulling his knife out from it's sheath on the back of his belt.
"No hole goes *nowhere*," the woman said. "I like your honesty. That hole shouldn't have been there anyway, but unfortunately my piece of shit son is an idiot." She looked Murry up and down, then looked at me. She turned her head to look around. No sign of another living person. The skeletons surrounded us.
"It's not often someone keeps their cool when I show up. This world is mine now, but you guys get to live." She waved a hand at us dismissively. Several skeletons moved out of the way to let us pass. I glanced down and Murry let his knife go.
"What do you mean this world is yours? You just got here. Sure it's easy to kill a bunch of people having a day out, but do you think our governments are just going to kneel?" Murry asked. The same thought crossed my mind, but I kept it to myself to avoid warning her.
"Oh. Obviously you don't know who I am. I'll tell you, just so you keep in mind how generous I'm being by letting you live. When I say this world is mine now. I mean..." she raised a hand into the air and black holes began to dot the sky. As far as I could see across the horizon, the sky looked like swiss cheese. Skeletons rained out of each hole. "... this world is MINE. NOW." I jumped as a skeleton landed next to me. It shattered on the ground, but pulled itself back together. It held a bone sword and began walking towards the nearest town. Dozens more skeletons continued to fall and head towards town.
"My name is [Ballisea](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/11/ballisea-el-sol.html) the Demon Queen."
&nbsp;
***
Thank you for reading! You can find more of my writings on my [blog](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/10/front-page.html).
| 2018-01-13T09:45:07 | 2018-01-13T09:08:37 | 31 | 12 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human.
|
"Hello, I'm Marie, I'll be your nurse," she said pulling up the rolling stool and sitting down. "So, why are you here today?"
"I've been feeling tired, and dizzy a lot," I said.
"Could you roll back your sleeve for me?" Marie asked. She was pale, really pale, but it was more like marble than skin. I rolled back my sleeve, and she rubbed my wrist with some kind of wet wipe. Pulling my wrist up to her nose, she took a deep breath. "Hmm," she said, reached over and checked off a box on a check list.
"Hmm?" I asked.
"Well," she said, "let me check something else. Now don't worry, I'm going to get very close to your neck. It's part of the procedure."
As she got close to my face my heart started to beat fast, like some ancient instinct was kicking in. "I bet some people take this the wrong way," I said. She took a sharp deep breath.
"Sometimes, that's why I've learned to announce what I'm doing," she said, and sat back on her rolling stool.
"So," I said, trying to get my heart to slow down, "what were you sniffing for?"
"The vampire olfactory senses are much more attuned than a humans," she said. "I was checking for tell-tale signs of diseases or infections."
"Did you find anything?" I asked.
From the drawer she pulled out a small device, about the size of a computer mouse. She held it to my thumb. "You're going to feel a pinch." And I did. A small drop of blood appeared on my thumb, like a diabetes test. Marie used a small dropper to suck it up. She then dropped it onto her tongue. I fought the urge to gag. She clicked her tongue a couple times, then grimaced and check off a few more boxes. These creatures used to hunt us, kill us, eat us. Now it's sitting here tasting my blood. This must be like a wine tasting to it. I shuttered.
"Mr. Moore," it said, "I'm sorry to tell you, but I've found traces of pancreatic cancer. It seems to be in the early stages, so we should be able to give you chemo. Or we could seek an experimental treatment involving werewolf blood transfusion."
I stared at it, it's face passive.
"Um," I stammered, "can I speak to my doctor?"
"Certainly," it said standing up, "your doctor can confirm my results with any test you wish. Have a good day Mr. Moore."
|
A vast landscape of red and orange sand, sparsely dotted with small withering shrubs was all you could see for miles. Except for the road and the reason I had arrived here. I looked towards the heavily secured building with electrified fences. Guards with strange weapons which made a thunderous sound before seemingly striking a target from half a mile away were posted on every tower and entrance to the facility.
As I walked up to the entrance, the guards never lowered their weapons pointed at my head. When I was about 100 steps away from the gate, I was told to halt and place my hands on my head by a booming voice. Maybe a spell that amplified sound was used to produce this effect. Being new to this 'modern' world gave me many questions for my inquisitive mind. Moments later 6 armed guards in full armor cautiously approached me.
Fear, curiosity, deception, and iron will were the emotions that assaulted my mind as they moved closer.
"If it moves quickly I'll shoot" one man thought. "Is this the guy the inquisitor hired? How did he walk 40 miles in this heat?" Another man pondered. All of their thoughts entered my mind and let me grasp the inner workings of their brains.
"Professor Diht-" one man said before being interrupted by me. "De-ti-ll-e it is pronounced. Not that abomination of pronunciation you were about to sputter from your mouth." The guard's mind sparked with anger but I did not care, I had a job to do and these guards were slowing me down. I scanned each of their minds at once to get a layout of the facility, where this inquisitor was located and any locked doors or traps in place for intruders, or in this case: people trying to escape. Their mouths moved telling me to follow them but in my meditative state they might as well me talking to a wall. If that wall could read minds of course.
After much walking and passing through at least 10 different doors and barricades, all guarded by heavily armed humans, I arrived in a very opulent office with many books lining the wall in phenomenally crafted rare black mahogany bookcases. "I like this human's style." I said aloud.
"Thank you" came from the end of the long table in the center of the room. The voice was slightly sly but had an air of arrogance and confidence in it. "Knowing of your work and your talent I'm sure you've already scanned my mind and know what to do Professor Dihtilli. The prisoner is in the other room the guards will escort you to."
This man was the most interesting of any of the others and he seemed to be completely unarmed compared to the 50+ I passed by on the way in. All of them had a very dark side to them. Almost all the guards had killed many people, the scenes they had in their memory played in my mind. Some stood shoulder to shoulder with their 'brothers' and opened fire with their loud weapons pointed at a horde of sick and disheveled people. The people most of these men killed looked innocent or unarmed. Truly terrible people, but I cared not for morality.
From the few minds I've plumbed in this world I gathered that most of the world was in ruin for common folk. Justice was harsh and swift and those with power held truth and honor among themselves above all else. How much they lied to the poor and unprivileged below them was a different story.
This man before me called the Inquisitor had even more terrible memories. He liked to kill and torture up close. Most of his victims were bound and restrained. After only 5 seconds of picking apart his brain I had witnessed over 200 memories of him killing indiscriminately. I also found that he was truthful and would not skimp me of my pay. He had no thought in his mind to betray me.
After being escorted to yet another room, I finally ended up across a smaller simple table with a man in handcuffs dressed very well on the other side of the table. Also in the room were 6 more guards armed with even more menacing weapons not moving an inch with the minds racing of thoughts of maintaining order in this room at any cost. The last person in the room looked to be a sort of reporter, with their hands poised above a machine with multiple keys with a different inscription on each button.
"I've told them everything already, why do they need to send more interrogators?" The man in the suit said while slowly raising his face up to me. The sight of his face was horrible compared to other humans I've seen. Scars and burns covered almost every inch of his face and his left eye was completely swollen shut with the other barely open to see out of.
Only a few seconds of scouring the depths of his mind and I was already done with the job. I compared the evidence that his captors had against him and of what memories he had in his mind.
"June third you handed off a sort of memory stick containing information about the procedures and workings of your superiors at Elysian Survellience Corp to another man who planned to use it to sabotage the company by another competing company. You were offered 20 million dollars for this top secret information." I started. The reporter started moving their hands furiously, thinking in their mind exactly what I had just said. "You also were the murderer of Henry Wallin; a man who planned to blackmail you if you did not give him half of your pay from the rival corpration." I continued.
As I said aloud this human's every thought and memory, the reporter kept working. This went on for about thirty minutes before a loud voice came from someone not in the room, but out of a sort of machine in the corner of the room. "Professor your work is done. Please follow the guards to your next destination for your reward."
The man in the suit held his face completely still the whole time I had explained to him but his thoughts were of complete perplexion. He thought that it was impossible as some of the things I explained to him were of events that he had done in complete secrecy in the middle of the woods or an abandoned warehouse where no tracking technology was present.
I wasn't done having my fun and as I waved my hand the guards' and reporter's minds went completely blank. They had already been completely still standing so nothing looked amiss from them being completely paralysed. I then placed my hand on my necklace and spoke words in a language that made the man in the suit finally show some emotion on his fearful face. Complete darkness enveloped the room except for a pocket that contained me and the main in the suit across the table. My amulet lit this area with a magical flow so I could show him my face.
His mind thought of escape but he could not do anything but struggle against the manacles that bound him.
Finally as I ran my hand across my face my disguise vanished. I had took the form of a human to not give away my identity but I thought I would have fun with this guilty sinner in his last moments.
"Help! Help! Holy shit what are you!? Don't kill me please!" The man screamed as he saw my true visage.
My pale purple skin shined in the light of my amulet as my hungry tentacles moved toward his face as I leaned over the table. My oriface opened, ready for a succulent meal I had been so patiently waiting for. As my mouth covered the top half of the man's head with screams coming from the completely horrified human, I whispered in his mind one final thought.
"I will be your executioner right here as my rightful payment. Any human who has seen my true form has only given me one name: Mind Flayer."
The screams ended as an audible cracking of his skull originated from inside my maw.
| 2018-08-27T16:02:28 | 2018-08-27T16:01:07 | 2,554 | 17 |
[WP] One day all the human males on earth vanish. 30 years later they return, for them it was only a moment. Only one person claims to know how and why.
For the sake of the story lets assume science figured out the whole, how do we have babies thing.
|
No civilization can withstand the disappearing of an entire half of it's population.
The end of men came silently, husbands disappeared while speaking at the dining table. Many planes feel from the sky before the passengers realized what had occurred. Understaffed coal mines cut the power to the first world while understaffed reactors had to be shut down by those who remained. Supply lines failed, refrigeration came to a halt.
It wasn't universal of course, and luckily many pockets remained functioning. Science continued, and the focus of these societies were focused on a single concept after they established their survival. Reproduce using a single gender. They succeeded.
The first ten years were hell on earth, millions of those who were already in poverty starved to death. By the twenty year mark cities had turned into abandoned urban sprawls with still-glowing cores at their centers. Society had survived, and finished licking it's wounds. Knowledge had not been lost, and populations began growing once more.
The next ten years were slow, but steady. The glowing cores of cities began to expand as newly formed families, composed entirely of women who believed it their duty to raise children, began to colonize the homes which were abandoned, or at least rebuild them.
But then they returned. Just as quickly as it had ended, every man popped back into existence exactly where they had been. Pilots fell out of the sky, coal miners found themselves in the dark, husbands looked into suddenly empty, or suddenly foreign households.
More importantly, they returned in numbers equal to what had been before. The infrastructure to support these people no longer existed, and the existing society wasn't ready for such an explosion of population. Another famine began, but soon population was back at a normal ratio, and with recourse-extensive fertilization done away with, exponential growth began again.
In a shack, somewhere in the woods, devoid of any edible goods, there laid a body next to a strange machine. A genius by birth, he had always been the sort to ponder over the phrase "not even if you were the only man in the world". As society continued it's growth, power was restored to areas which hadn't seen it for centuries. The device activated once more, the cycle began again.
___
Honestly I think this is fairly shit. I could improve it a ton if I went over it again, and my original intent with the story was to end with some "happy laugh ending". I couldn't think of some universal thing that could scare every man on the planet away, so no happy for you.
|
I look out my window bored as mother prepares pancakes for breakfast. Lily and Mary are giggling as little girls do and drawing with crayons on paper.
I tell them, “Girls, remember that you need to make that paper last. I’m only going in for a half day of work and I’m not going to spend it stealing paper.”
Lily glances up and Mary rolls her eyes but they both nod and acknowledge me. Little Tressa wanders into the kitchen with her pacifier in her mouth and Lily offers her a crayon. The girls adore Tressa and help her draw; I was impressed with their patience with my baby. Lily and Mary were my sisters; after the men disappeared, mom eventually became lonely so she had two more baby girls and they were still able to have my father’s genes. Science was amazing and had figured out a way to create a child with as little as one strand of hair from a male, so many of us who were young adults when the disappearance happened still were able to advance in our lives. Tressa was my baby and I loved her more than anything; I had decided to live with my mother so that she would grow up with other children in the house and learn from them.
I kiss Tressa goodbye and hug my sisters and mother before leaving for work. I work as a manager of a printer company in the city so although there wasn’t much excitement, there were still perks. I grab a cup of coffee and smile remembering how girls used to crowd it and gossip. I can’t remember the last time that I saw anyone gossip around here; we figured out very quickly that eliminating petty drama and gossip were essential to running a functional civilization. With men out of the way, many of us found it easier to abstain and focus on ourselves. I turn the television on and flip to the news and look out the large window. My office had a great view of the city which had the potential to be very distracting.
I look at the paperwork on my desk and begin to work while half listening to the news.
A breaking news alert comes on and the news anchor begins to speak, “We have some breaking news here: It appears that there have been some reports of men returning to civilization. I repeat, there are some reported men wandering our city. Our lead scientist, Linda Burns believes that they may be returning from their thirty year hiatus. Please approach with them with caution; more reports to follow soon.”
A picture of a rather disoriented man flashes on the screen and I gasp in awe after not seeing one for so long. I look to my door but decide not to alert anyone; we needed to establish that our women’s world was fully capable on its own and would not fall just because men decided to return. A few minutes later, my receptionist knocks on the door and then enters in a flurry.
She looks at me frantically and whispers, “There are men here. They want to ‘go back to work’.”
I look at her confused and state, “Tell them they’ve been replaced.”
Her eyes widen and then an older man in his fifties or sixties burst through the door. He is heavy set and balding.
“What the hell is going on! Get out of my office!” he yells.
I shake my head and shout back, “This is my office and you will talk to me like a person unless you would like to be escorted off by our security!”
He laughs, “What security? All the men are with me, are some ladies going to escort us off?”
I stare at him enraged and press the security button. Two members of our security team walk in and he laughs again.
“They’re wearing lipstick! I’m shaking in my boots!” he teases.
Harriet was an older lady but she was more than what met the eye.
She pulls out her Taser and says, “You will be tased in approximately fifteen seconds if you don’t begin moving to the door.”
He glares as she pulls out her taser and she smiles at him.
He walks to the door yelling, “You haven’t heard the last of me!”
I take a deep breath and then go out to grab another cup of coffee to see men wandering about our work stations aimlessly while other females argue to retain their authority.
I whistle getting everyone’s attention and make an announcement:
“Ladies and Men, please settle down; this is a work environment! These ladies have proven themselves more than capable in the last thirty years and will not be expected to vacate their positions just because you all have returned. We will work to ensure that there will be space in the company for any of you that wish to continue working. I’m sure many of these ladies can use a secretary or receptionist and I will be receptive to everyone’s needs. Please keep in mind that there are also many spots available at your homes considering that we will need to work harder to make ends meet to cover the expenses of an extra person in our lives again. As for today, the company will be closing early while this ordeal is being sorted out. Everyone is expected to leave within the next half hour!”
Both genders look at me perplexed but begin gathering their things to go home. I grab my bag and head home as well. It takes me an extra hour than usual with double the patrons as usual on the subways.
When I enter my house, I hear my mother babbling on as usual and head into the kitchen. I do a double take when I see my father sitting in a chair with a smile. He looks at me and then recognizes a second later who I am. He stands up and hugs me.
“My baby girl!” he says in awe.
He sits back down in the chair and I see his wrinkled eyes and I see that he lost weight. Mary and Lily sit on his lap and he holds them tightly.
“These are my babies!” he says with tears in his eyes looking at my little sisters.
I smile at his excitement and my mother looks elated to have him back. Her best friend had finally returned and both were excited to share their stories from their lost time.
I listen contently and grab Tressa who is insisting on opening every cabinet.
“Who is this?” My father asks wide eyed standing up.
I laugh, “Daddy, this is my daughter, Tressa. Say hi Tressa.”
She stares at him with her usual attitude and then gives him a hug.
My mother laughs wholeheartedly and comments, “She’s a spitfire just like her grandmother!”
Dad hugs my mom and then a visitor walks into our kitchen. He has long brown hair and deep brown eyes; he was my boyfriend many years ago.
“Hi,” he says awkwardly looking around the crowded kitchen.
I wave and hold Tressa tightly. I had used his dna to create Tressa and although she was partially his, I still had no plans on sharing her.
“Hi Derek,” I say warmly.
He smiles and gives me a hug.
I laugh as he looks at Tress and he asks, “Who is this?”
I reply, “This is Tressa; she’s my daughter.”
He looks at me wide eyed, “Is she mine too?”
I take a deep breath and say, “No, she’s not.”
He chuckles, “She’s beautiful, do you want to go get some lunch?”
I look at my daughter’s face and nod. I had raised her up to this point and he had no entitlement to any piece of her. We laugh and have a good time but I still feel awkward when he insists on paying the bill. I sigh disappointedly as my daughter giggles happily; she wasn’t going to grow up in the same world that we had been striving so hard to perfect.
| 2014-08-09T11:55:04 | 2014-08-09T09:14:59 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] After waking up in your home at 3:54am to a warning, you do what it specifically tells you not too.
The warning reads:
*Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.*
*Do not look outside.*
*Do not look at the sky.*
*Do not make noise.*
*Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly.*
_____________________________________________________
Credit and thanks to every one in [this thread.](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/2qwm98/its_354_am_your_tv_radio_cell_phone_begins/cna761m)
|
>Credit and thanks to every one in this thread.
You're Welcome.
Anyway, here's my answer to your WP:
The light from my cell killed my eyes. This early in the morning what could be so goddamned important?
As I read the emergency alert with one eye I rubbed the sleep out of the other.
Then I sat up and read it again with both.
And again.
This has got to be some kind of joke.
I rolled over and threw my legs off the side of the bed, working them into my slippers.
I stretched and stood up, weakness wobbling my gait as I took a few steps towards the windows. I felt my heavy drapes resist parting, almost as if they knew what would happen.
As I peeked out down the street, I didn't see anything unusual at first, then I remembered, the sky.
I turned my gaze upwards to the sickly orange glow of the cities light pollution splayed across the clouds, and that's where I saw them. Small, black, jagged, like pieces of shattered onyx flocking through the sky, no wings, no sounds, countless shards of ebony wheeling and flitting to and fro in a chaotic scramble.
And then I stopped breathing. My hands let go of the drapes, my legs fell out from under me. Layed down on my carpet, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.. *Oh God, why did I look?*
|
As far back as Gabriel could remember, sleep had always come easily. Even as he got older and it became harder to shut his mind off, falling asleep was never an issue because, some genius before he was born had discovered sleep aids. It's not that Gabe wanted to take them, He had to, but damn did they work. Night after night like clockwork he would take his meds, conch out precisely at 9:00 pm eastern standard time, and wake up the next morning at 7:00 am fresh as a budding southern bell.
But tonight was different.
Gabe knew the rules, everyone knew the rules. *do not make noise, do not look out your window, do not look at the sky. Your Government thanks you for your cooperation.* Up until tonight he had never had a problem, but tonight when he rolled over the small LED clock read 3:45 am in tiny, precise, red numbers.
Confused Gabe tapped the glass guarding the tiny numbers as if by some force the action would wake the clock up, then it would yawn and apologize politely before promptly switching to 7:00. The correct time. The right time. Any time between 9 and 7 was wrong. Gabe needed to go back to sleep. But he couldn't. He rolled fruitlessly in his tightly tucked sheets. He pulled the corse blanket right around his arms, to the point where movement was impossible and every breath felt a little too claustrophobic. He liked it that way. It was like being snuggled in the warmth of a mothers embrace. That was how he slept, how he always slept.
But not tonight.
Frustrated Gabe got up from his bed. *I'm sure they'll forgive me a quick stretch to calm my mind* he thought sluggishly. He kept his blanket wrapped tight around him to fend off the cold that seeped in from the dark corners of his room. Thin yellow light spilled through the cracks of the single window in his room. It wasn't much, but enough to give dim shape to the white walls of his room. Gabe never looked, he knew that was the street lamp. *I'm a good boy. No noise, no window, no sky.* The Government couldn't be mad if he followed their rules, which he clearly was.
After his quick stretch Gabe yawned and turned back to his bed in the back corner, but as he walked to it he found himself caught in the light pouring in from the window. It seemed brighter now, but how could that be. He turned his head to look. NO! He heard himself scream then in half a heartbeat he shoved his corse blanket into his mouth to suffocate the noise. It was too late. Gabe heard himself in his ears not his head. That meant others could here with their ears. He made a noise. Gabe stood frozen in his room, light from the window illuminated in his peripherals like some prison spotlight. *No, no I'm dreaming, I'm a good boy. No noise, no window, no sky, no noise.* his mind was racing now. The wish of sleep had been snuffed out like the fragile flame it was. The clock read 4:01 am. Gabe whimpered slightly at the thought of three more hours of this torture.
*I need to lay down. If I pretend I'm asleep, they can't hurt me, they can't get me. I never did anything wrong! I'm a good boy, I know the rules! No noise, no window, no sky. No noise.* But Gabe's feet never moved. His eyes never played along with his minds charade, instead he stood, tightly wrapped in his blanket, arms couldn't move, bathed in light from the window.
Then he looked.
It was more of an impulse, like fight or flight, as if some danger shifted at the edge of registered sight. Gabriel looked through the window.
At first he didn't understand. Outside it was bright out; the grass was green, birds were chirping, the warm summer air was almost palpable through the sheet of wired glass. Gabe looked at his clock, 4:04 it read. *Error,* The thought came unbidden. He pressed his face against the glass. The scene had changed. One of the two children was gone, a small boy sat alone crying on a wooden bench under the yellow glow of the moon.
"Hey!" He yelled, "Hey, kid! You have to go home! You have to sleep! Go!" But the kid never heard or cared, probably both, Gabe concluded. He had to go out there. Gabe moved his hand to the door knob, except it didn't move. His hand, not the door knob. Porcelain shattered like the frail capacity of a child's mind and a mother screamed in anger. Gabe couldn't move his arms. He looked down and saw why. The blanket he donned for warmth had betrayed him. It wrapped tightly around his torso and pulled his arms back.
And Gabriel screamed. He screamed so long his voice cracked, then the words, "No noise! No windows! No sky! No noise! No windows!" Over and over again. The boy outside covered his ears and ran away. "To what?" you might ask. Gabe knew though, it was simple really, when the big, burly men in white coats entered his room they hit him with the door and Gabe fell to the soft padded floor that was his bed. The boy ran towards the endless dark that was his future, and Gabriel's present. He writhed in panic, but his blanket had betrayed him. Then the men in white were over top him. "You Government! I'm a good boy! I'm a goood boy!" He screamed in a voice that would match trumpets outside the walls of Jericho. He felt a sting in his shoulder. Gabe squirmed like some armless creature trying to crawl away on its belly, but the men in white held him down. They held him until his mind grew tired and his body fell limp. They had given him his medicine. Behind closed eyelids Gabe noticed the stars in all their brilliance and Gabe shied away, after all, he wasn't supposed to look at the stars.
Edit: I have to apologize for my grammatical and spelling errors it's pretty early in the morning plus I did this on my phone. It's fun though! This is my first story. Hopefully first of many!
| 2014-12-31T06:47:48 | 2014-12-31T05:14:25 | 565 | 104 |
[WP] After waking up in your home at 3:54am to a warning, you do what it specifically tells you not too.
The warning reads:
*Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.*
*Do not look outside.*
*Do not look at the sky.*
*Do not make noise.*
*Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly.*
_____________________________________________________
Credit and thanks to every one in [this thread.](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/2qwm98/its_354_am_your_tv_radio_cell_phone_begins/cna761m)
|
>Credit and thanks to every one in this thread.
You're Welcome.
Anyway, here's my answer to your WP:
The light from my cell killed my eyes. This early in the morning what could be so goddamned important?
As I read the emergency alert with one eye I rubbed the sleep out of the other.
Then I sat up and read it again with both.
And again.
This has got to be some kind of joke.
I rolled over and threw my legs off the side of the bed, working them into my slippers.
I stretched and stood up, weakness wobbling my gait as I took a few steps towards the windows. I felt my heavy drapes resist parting, almost as if they knew what would happen.
As I peeked out down the street, I didn't see anything unusual at first, then I remembered, the sky.
I turned my gaze upwards to the sickly orange glow of the cities light pollution splayed across the clouds, and that's where I saw them. Small, black, jagged, like pieces of shattered onyx flocking through the sky, no wings, no sounds, countless shards of ebony wheeling and flitting to and fro in a chaotic scramble.
And then I stopped breathing. My hands let go of the drapes, my legs fell out from under me. Layed down on my carpet, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.. *Oh God, why did I look?*
|
Sorry about formatting. I'm no good.
*Bzzzz. Bzzzz.*
I'm awaken yet again by the most annoying mix of sound and vibration in the world. A late night, most likely drunken, text by you know who. "Fuck. Off." I mutter into my pillow. Of course I could ignore it. Of course I won't. She hasn't text me in weeks. She must be drunk. For a brief second I think it could be my Mom. It could be my Brother. It could be an emergency, but it's not. It's her, and I know it.
I read on her facebook today that she was going out with 'The Girls' for some kind of avaricious celebration. One of her cunt friends probably got engaged. It seems she only texts me if she finds out one of her friends are pregnant, or are buying a new house. And she's had a few drinks, of course. She wants me to make her feel better, I guess, tell her that she deserves to be happy, or maybe she wants to hear that I'm willing to give it another shot. I'm not. And I won't.
*Bzzzz. Bzzzz.*
Another piercing vibration startles me from my thoughts as it rattles against the table making my loose change and necklace rattle and ring like the pounding of a thousand gongs, "FUCK!" I scream and grab the phone as I roll over stuffing it under my pillow all in one aggressive motion. I shouldn't even read it. I shouldn't even give her the satisfaction of knowing I checked my phone or that I was even up at... what time is it? Doesn't matter. Can't check my phone. These new fancy fucking smart phones all turn and tattle like 3rd graders if you so much as check your messages these days. Whoever invented the feature that reports that a text has been read has never tried to make an ex jealous before. I'll read it. I know I will. I'm a loser. And now I'm awake.
*SLAM!*
I sit up in my bed. The sound of a neighboring apartment door makes it official. I'm fucking awake. I swing my legs over and on to the floor. I pull the phone out from under my pillow, and toss it again on the table beside my bed. Staring at it for a few seconds, I head to the bathroom. I keep my eyes closed as I cross through the brightly lit hallway and quickly make my way to the dark of the bathroom. I'm very good at pissing in the dark. Like a blind man with a cane I simply follow the sounds and adjust my movements correctly. I'm almost done when I hear it.
*Bzzzz. Bzzzz.*
Three times in 20 minutes. This is getting ridiculous. If I weren't such a pussy, I'd be sleeping with a smile on my face knowing I'm driving this bitch crazy by ignoring her texts, but I can't. And I won't.
*Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump...*
The sound of someone running down the hallway snaps me back into what I'm doing. And I'm done. I hate apartments. This is the third one I've lived in and yet they've all been the same. The atrocious smells, the loud music at night, and the kids tearing up the hallways during the day.
*Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump...*
I quickly look at the glowing clock on the microwave as I jet yet again through the light of the hallway and into my room. 3:47. Weird. People running through the halls, and doors slamming at 3:30 in the morning? Weird, but not crazy. I catch the green blinking light of my phone as I crawl under the covers. Fuck it I have to look.
*3:14am- Heeyy whts up?/ WherE are u??*
*3:23am- Wake up n talk 2 me ashoole lol*
*3:39am- Terry where r u whts goin on. Everyon is saying there terrorsit atacks or something answer me pleasee*
As puzzled as I could be I read the last text back to make sure it says what it says. Terrorist attacks? Here? She's got to be too drunk to realize what she's saying. I hit reply.
*3:49am- Sorry I was sleeping. What are you talking about a Terrorist Attack? Where are you?*
I scramble out of bed and run to the living room. I turn on the TV and the bright white light from the screen fills the room. It's displaying a single message. A warning prompt...
The warning reads:
*Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.
Do not look outside.
Do not look at the sky.
Do not make noise.
Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly.*
This can't be happening. Wait, what *is* happening? What the fuck is going on? I look at my phone. Please fucking reply. I start to type again.
*Bzzzz. Bzzzz.*
It's interrupted with a text that displays itself immediately on my screen without any action from me. It reads the same as the Television. I look up at my picture window facing the street. I can now hear the low murmur of voices through my wall. I look at the window again. I can now hear frantic footsteps in the hallways and the ceiling above me. The building is waking up. That's when I realize that everyone is getting the same message. I panic and look at my phone smashing and mashing buttons but the warning won't leave my screen. The TV screen still glowing. I walk to my window, and slowly open the blinds. Nothing. As people start to slowly fill the doorways of buildings along the street, I gaze across at the countless others now peering out their windows the same as me. Where is the attack? Who is broadcasting this message? As my mind starts to whirl with possibilities I remember something... fuck. I rush to the TV screen and inspect the bottom for an insignia or Government tag of any kind. And that's when I see it. No way. This can't be happening.
In the very corner, there it was. It was the same symbol my Brother and Grandfather dawned on their chests in ink, and the same iron symbol that hung above my family's fireplace. It was my family crest.
| 2014-12-31T06:47:48 | 2014-12-31T06:31:17 | 565 | 17 |
[WP] You work for a future non-profit organization. Your job is to travel through time, visit people on their deathbed, and tell them about the incredible impact they have on the future.
This is only my second writing prompt. I'm glad people seem to like it!
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"... and your charity work in the developing world leads to the United African Nations being founded in twenty years."
*That doesn't sound right*.
"You son, Jacob, goes on to..."
"Wait, wait. I don't have a son. And I've never done charity work in Africa either."
The strangely dressed woman stopped and consulted the electronic device she was carrying.
"Roger? Roger H. Smith?"
"... yes..."
"Roger Harold Smith?"
"No, I'm Roger Henry Smith."
"Oh" she consulted her device again. "*Oh.*"
"What? What does it say?"
"Oh. Nothing. Nothing. Just a case of mistaken identity. Have a good day Mr. Smith." She left the room in a hurry.
My forehead wrinkled in annoyance. The cardiograph continued to beep.
|
"I never get the fun ones Mr.Shankly." I declared after the files were passed out.
"Nonsense. You said you like being creative, what better than to make up how they changed the world? And that second one is the great-great grandmother to the president. Don't say I never gave you anything." Mr.Shankly dressed like a manager at Office Depot but he was relatively reasonable. I don't know how I'd delegate the assignments either. "Everyone get to work. A half hour per patient, shouldn't spend more than fifteen minutes actually talking to them, the rest is travel time as you well know. Now everyone have fun and-"
"make a legacy." The crowd responded. The wavy light blue door hissed and buzzed, it was in need of minor repairs but it still served its purpose. You simply typed in the Social Security Number of your patient and the US GOV Timedoor sent you to the building where the patient died. It never got down to the room.
I always sped to the door, I was third in line today. "Eleanor Roosevelt," the man in front of me dictated to the speaker on the door, then he keyed in the SSN. "Grant McVermont" said the girl I was still in love with, she wasn't privy to the knowledge though. I think watching her walk through the time door just before me might be the highlight of my job. "Tracy Foster" I said to the speaker before keying in 465-79-7988, if you really listened you could hear the pins realigning to send you back to the right time. The engineering of the door was amazing, even if it was janky at the moment.
Another day, another stinky early 21st century hospital. I headed to the receptionist's desk, thankfully those were present if you travelled to the 19th or 18th century you'd have to scour the rooms and ask each person. It was truly ridiculous. "Yes, I'm looking for my Grandmother, Tracy Foster?"
"Umm....room 482, the elevators are too your left and we also are currently offering a special on Starbucks coffee to all floor 4 visitors."
"Thanks, I'd rather not support our future overlords." The middle 21st century had an identity crisis where every industry was sponsoring every other industry. They had run out of ways to market and Starbucks, the future military industrial leader of the Northwest, started it all by marketing to various floors in hospitals. They'd eventually go on to build the first version of CoffeeNet, which was a bunch of coffee makers that decided to become sentient and weaponized the burning hot coffee to 'end the pain and suffering of terminal patients'. Those were not fun end of day tales, let me tell you. The coffee was delicious though. The elevator dinged that we were on the correct floor now.
She was at the end of the hall. I slipped on a white coat I found hanging on a nurse's station and kept strolling as casual as I could be. Room 482, I knocked after I opened the door. "Hello, Ms. Foster?"
"Uh...huh hi." I had woken her up, it'd be worth it for her hopefully.
"I'm Dr. Rancor, I just wanted to give you some....family news. I know you aren't feeling too well and we've talked about your time being short so I've...traveled...to tell you something I think you'd like to hear very much."
"Oh is it about Johnny, he's such a sweet boy." She said, her eyes could barely open.
"In a manner. He's busy working very very hard to build a new computer system. But we just heard word that his girlfriend and he are engaged. I can't tell you how I know this but their son's son will be an amazing man. He carries a photo album around with him, and you're in. He loves to read letters you sent to Mr.Foster when you all were dating. The family has had them framed, actually they'll be framed in about a month. Your great great grandson, the one with the photo album, would you like to know what he does?"
"Why mister...I can't believe any of this. But continue, at least its more entertaining then that Reddit thing my son has me logged on to." She said, still not facing him.
"He is the president of the United States. His employees, when they present him with an idea that he dislikes he always says, 'That's the grits but where's the cheese?'" That would get her.
"Oh my...that's my, how could you know that? My son will tell you everytime, I'd say that to him every single time he'd lie to me. Its...its my saying." He could see the stars in her eyes. He could also see her pulse slowing substantially. He needed to be out of there before the real Dr.Rancor showed up. I glanced down at the file in my hand for something else to give Mrs.Foster.
"I was sent to tell you that, and a little more. Now, have a good rest of your morning alright? And don't be scared, you've done great things. Like that quilt you sent to the homeless shelter? It's warming the future CEO of Dare to Care food drive as we speak. Goodbye Mrs. Foster, say hello to Mr.Foster for me." I slipped out just in time, once I was around the corner, the sound of death filled the air in the form of a beep. The nurses rushed over to her room and I sat the coat back on the counter. Maybe I should ask 'girl in front me everyday' out.
I quickly found the nearest supply closet and twisted the ankle guard that called in the portal. Sure enough, the supply door began to glow that familiar hue of light blue and I was back in the office, like nothing had happened. It was going to be a better day than I thought.
| 2015-06-02T11:08:57 | 2015-06-02T09:13:56 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] Instead of the oceans covering the earth, forests are in its place, making it possible to walk from continent to continent. Like oceans, it gets deeper and darker and creatures get more aggressive and rarer to see. You are tasked to document a trek through one of the oceans of your choice.
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"Congratulations Thomas! You have completed the Atlantic forest trek!"
"Thank you."
"Did you know you are the very first to accomplish such a feat?"
"Yes."
"Do you know how many before you have tried?"
"56."
"I....I don't think that's correct Thomas, our fact checkers at the station said there were only 36 official attempts"
"That did not include unofficial attempts."
"I..How do you know this?"
"It is not important."
"What did you see? Did you come across any monsters?"
"No."
"Nothing? No unspeakable horrors?"
"No."
"Help me out, you're on live TV. Say something..."
"It is safe. more humans should go into the forest."
"Interesting, well we have your wife and child here to celebrate your achievement"
"Yes, my... wife...and child"
"Thomas! I'm so glad you survived! come here and give me a kiss."
"I am happy to see you also."
"Joy, come here and give your daddy a hug! He did a really important thing today!"
"I don't want to."
"Why not hunny? there's the TV people here and everyone is watching."
"That's not daddy..."
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I cut my way through the underbrush, twigs and leaves crunching underneath my feet and vines and thorns being cut away. Slowly, my team and I pushed our way through, chopping our way forward. After hours of cutting, Jeremy asked, “How far have we gone? My arms are tiring.”
“Only about 7 miles.” I said, wiping the sweat off of my brow. “We won’t be able to move through this and still make it on time.”
Lila sheathed her machete. “I vote we double back. There’s no point in moving this way, it’ll only get worse.”
I sighed and leaned against a massive tree to my right. I looked down at my wrist and checked the time. 6:45. “It’s getting pretty late, and it gets darker earlier here. Maybe we can grab a couple of miles and have a little bit of time to set up camp before nightfall sets in.”
Lila shook her head. “No, we won’t have any time. It’s already getting dark, we should set up camp here. It’s probably best anyway since we’ll have these thorns to protect us from whatever might come. “She shrugged her backpack off of her shoulder, already deciding for herself.
“Should we put it up to a vote?” Paul panted, putting his hand up against a tree to keep himself from doubling over. Paul was not cut out for this expedition, but his knowledge of the forests and the wildlife within was good to have. Even if it came in an out-of-shape body.
“All right everyone who votes we set up camp here raise a hand.” Jeremy announced. Five hands went up, Lila, Paul, and Jeremy included. “Five to two, so that settles that.” He said, slumping down. He breathed a sigh of relief, “And thank god for that, I wouldn’t be able to walk through underbrush for another couple of miles.”
Setting up camp took longer than expected, mostly because we had to cut through some more of the surroundings as we didn’t have enough room for all of the tents. By the time all of our tents and equipment were set up, it was well past dark and we were using our helmet-lights. Jeremy came up to me as I set up my cameras, asking about the map Paul and I had made detailing our journey so far.
I stepped into Jeremy’s tent, gingerly stepping through the entrance. “All right,” Jeremy said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, “How much farther until we reach the rendezvous point?”
I sat down next to him and unfurled the map. The map detailed a small portion of the forest – a square region with sides 200 miles in length. “All right so Paul and I expect that we are here.” I said, pointing to an area of unusually dense foliage. “Our satellites confirmed our position, but we won’t be able to rely on them too much once we go deeper into the forests. We only have about ten or so miles of chopping our way forward and then we’ll have a pretty easy hike until we reach the site. All in all, it adds up to another forty-seven miles of trekking.”
Jeremy Leaned back and grunted in acknowledgement. His brow furrowed in worry as he stared at the map. “Last time I went through the forest, we were attacked by three packs of Shadow Dogs in the first 100 miles. We’re much farther out than that. Is Paul certain that the wildlife here has migrated for the season?”
“He says that the information that he has supports the fact that most of the predatory wildlife has moved north to follow their food. He says nothing is certain as we don’t have a lot of information the deeper we go into the forests.” With my finger, I circled the region after the underbrush. “This is our region of uncertainty.”
“We’ll tell everyone to move quickly after we leave the underbrush. We should cover the forty seven miles in a couple of days. Once we get out of the underbrush, we should probably camp in the trees.” Jeremy instructed as he closed the map. “If the animals have mostly moved on, we should be safe in there.”
“Yes sir.” I said, rising to leave.
“And Johnny, don’t forget, the forest is watching you.”
***
**Five Days Later**
“How much further?” Lila asked, matching her stride to mine.
“About a mile.” I told her, straining my eyes to look through the forests low-hanging branches and sheets of leaves. “We’re going to start moving uphill a bit, and the rendezvous site will be at the top of the hill.”
“I just want to take a shower, I feel absolutely disgusting. Hoe many research labs are there at this station?”
“Enough for five groups, so you should be well off to analyze whatever plants you’ve picked up.” I smiled at her, and she smiled back. She slowed her stride and I continued to walk forward.
As we neared the base of the hill, everything seemed wrong. We weren’t greeted with a basic path of flat grass up the hill. The path up was completely overgrown and unkempt, and looked to have been for quite some time.
Jeremy glanced up and down the hill. “They must’ve forgotten to clear the path up.” He announced calmly, and began the hike up.
As we neared the top of the hill, the feeling of uneasiness in my stomach swelled. This wasn’t right. Where were the dozen or so soldiers that came to greet and accompany us to the site? Where were the sounds of life that came from within the compound?
“Jeremy, something’s wrong.” I whispered to him, trying not to let the others know my uneasiness.
“Yeah, I know. Just keep quiet for now. We’ll figure it out when we get there.”
“Holy shit.” I heard Lila breathe as we cleared the top of the hill.
A dozen or so soldiers did greet us, it just wasn’t them. It was their corpses. The giant research station that was the rendezvous site was demolished. Massive chunks of the wall were thrown on the ground, huge claw marks littering the remains.
“Everyone, turn around, we’re heading back.” Jeremy barked at our team, “Everyone head back. Now!”
“Johnny, have you seen Paul?” Lila stammered out. “He-he-he was right behind me an-an-and he’s –“
Lila never was able to finish her sentence.
| 2015-10-25T11:22:11 | 2015-10-25T10:55:47 | 817 | 42 |
[WP] Everyone has powers locked within them. Each power is different, and the longer it takes for a power to manifest, the greater it is. A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless.
EDIT: Thanks for all the replies everyone, I had fun reading all of them.
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**August 2, 1915**: I was born.
**June 13, 1995**: Still no powers. The government likes to deny that it happens, or fabricate threats of anarchy or terrorism to justify it, but...I can tell you (for what my word is worth to you) the rumors are true: people like me are arrested without any real reason, just as a precaution. I didn't put up a fight when they came for me; I'm almost 80 years old, how could I?
**January 1, 2000**: I wouldn't have thought I'd live to see the new millennium. I certainly wouldn't have thought I'd spend the last 5 years of the old one locked up without having committed any crime. Rights don't apply to people that are too dangerous, even if those people hold no ill will. Circumstances aside, the last few years have been good to me. My mind has stayed sharp, and I've kept better care of myself now that there's not much else to do. The prison doctors are kind to me and keep track of my health when they test me to see if they can find any evidence of superpowers I might be hiding. I may live another 10 years at this rate, which is pretty good for someone of my age!
**September 11-18, 2001**: At about 8 in the morning I was removed from my room and they began an unscheduled battery of tests to determine if I had developed any powers. If I were to guess from their questions and the parade of powerfully-powered people that interrogated me and probed my mind, they were looking for telepathic mind control, telekinesis, teleportation, and long-distance control of fire or metal. After a week of this, with every secret of my mind laid bare yet again, they finally let me return to my cell, where I learned the terrible news that must have triggered my interrogation: a group of non-presenter extremists protesting the government were responsible for a series of terrorist attacks that morning, that killed almost 3,000 people, powered and non-presenter alike.
----
I might continue this if there's any interest.
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*I'm late to the party, but loved the prompt. Mostly a lurker here, so below is my noob attempt. FYI I planned to write more but had actual work to do, so please let me know if you all liked it and I may continue!*
___
An old man is found sitting on a park bench, facing out towards the still lake. His eyes strain from the sunlight gleaming off the mirror-like water. His few thin, white strands of hair tussle with the breeze. His hands are full of breadcrumbs, but no bread – the ducks are still eyeing him, waiting for more treats.
A finely dressed man approaches the bench from behind. His feet can be heard slipping on the leaves and grass as he labors up the hill. As he clears his throat to speak…
A “hello, Agent Morris,” is heard from the old man, without adjusting his posture or breaking his lasting gaze at the landscape.
A bit caught off-guard, Morris flashes a nervous smile and returns, “Hello, Simon. Happy birthday. Does 100 feel at all different?”
“If you mean to ask ‘has it happened?’ The answer is a resounding and deflating ‘no.’ 100 feels just as sore and tiresome as 99, Agent Morris. Given that, I’m not sure any sort of super strength or gift of flight would do much good anyhow.”
Morris relaxes a little at this, walks around the bench to face Simon, removes his large-frame sunglasses, and scolds, “We had asked you to stay in Chicago, Simon.”
Simon looks up with squinted eyes and raises a hand to shield them from the sun. Morris reflexively responds by shifting his stance to cast his shadow over Simon’s face and torso. Simon smiles and leans back into the bench, giving out a sigh.
“I was born here, Agent Morris. In a house that once existed on the other side of this lake, just over there.” Simon points to a small floating dock about a third of the way around the lake. Morris doesn’t break eye contact with him. He sighs again, more forced than before, “and I would like to die here, too.”
“Are you dying, Simon?”
“Yes, Agent. My heart is bad and I feel very weak. All of your work to, to catalogue me or whatever, I hope it will all not be in vain. Eh, anyway, if I were to reach the enlightenment even this minute, I fear I would only have days to experience the gift.”
“Not everyone lives long enough to reach the enlightenment, Simon. You know this very well. You were a doctor, after all.”
“Well, whatever my gift, it must have been a doozie, huh?”
“That’s true, Simon. This is why I’m here. But you knew that already as well.” With a smile he took Simon by the arm and helped him from the bench. They walked together around a path that led them by the floating dock, to a black SUV that had just pulled up.
___
Every day for the past two weeks Morris has been taking Simon back to the lake. Together they feed the ducks and talk about a life gone by.
“In all the time you’ve been following me around,” Simon says to Morris, “ you have yet to tell me about your gift.”
Morris, with his hands in his pockets, nods in agreement. He takes Simon by the arm again, steering him onto the leftward path at the fork ahead. He then shares the story of his enlightenment, being beaten by a group of thugs to within an inch of his life before he was able to sense the incoming punches and kicks just before they landed. He mustered the strength to dodge the first, and each subsequent blow became easier and easier to evade.
“The faster the object was moving, the easier I could react to it. Now,” he says to Simon, “I can dodge bullets just as easily as punches.”
“Can people still sneak up on you?”
“Oh, all the time haha! But I’m working on that.”
Simon smirked and said, “Maybe I HAVE received my gift, then. I have the centenarian power to move super slowly. I am your kryptonite, Agent Morris.”
The two laugh quite loudly at this, stirring up the ducks and turning the heads of the accompanying agents. The laughter fails to last too long, however, as Morris watches Simon grab first his right arm with the left, then pull both hands toward his chest and gasps for breath. Morris grabs him around both arms and torso, takes on his body weight, and gently eases him to the ground. Morris holds his hand behind Simon’s head and takes his radio in the other.
“Quickly! Simon is down. I think it’s a heart attack.”
Agents rush in with first aid materials. They begin to administer CPR. A flying man is seen approaching from just over the trees to the north of the lake, carrying a second man with him – an ambulatory crew. The second man is released and rushes to kneel by Simon’s side. He places his hands together, then on his chest, then onto Simon’s chest. Simon breathes deeply, then again. His eyes open for a moment. He grabs Morris’s hand, then collapses.
___
“He’s already in a delicate state. If we simply provide little aid to him now, he’ll naturally pass, and this crisis can be averted.”
“Crisis?! He’s a human being, let alone one with unimaginable potential.”
“Potential… Do you realize what happened the last time someone his age reached the enlightenment? He almost destroyed the planet before being brought down. Anyone with the POTENTIAL to raze cities on a whim needs to be dealt with.”
“And I have DEALT with him, Sira! In the ten years that I have known the man, he has never shown ill will to a single person.”
“You were supposed to get close to him, to HANDLE him, not befriend him. Can you imagine what he’d do to you if he were made aware of your true intentions?”
With a smile, Morris briefly thought of the slowest punch ever coming his way, but quickly let the thought escape.
“Please just send the healer back in, Sira. You know that Clevon is still out there, somewhere. I’ve been waiting for Simon to show me his gift for some time now – what if he is our answer to Clevo…”
Sira interrupts, “And what if that madman convinces Simon to join HIS "cause?" No. No, we dealt with Clevon once before, and we can deal with him again WITHOUT another centenarian in the mix.”
Sira and Morris stare at each other, then turn their gaze through the observation window and onto Simon, whose life support machinery has just started wailing. He lies on a gurney in the middle of a padded chamber. He takes his last breath in a room that doubles as a hospice center and a prisoner’s cell.
| 2015-10-26T13:59:31 | 2015-10-26T10:54:10 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.
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I had been asleep for millennia. I was utterly forgotten. My people had not worshiped me since before the great darkness. No legacy remained and so I wandered the Other with little hope of ever finding a way back.
I watched as new ones took over. New forms of worship developed, and structures were erected. I watched as Others were born and found their way in. Some stayed a long while, and some only a short. No one knew how long things would last for them.
I had a chance to return about two hundred years ago. Some started to build statues and structures that could have brought me out of the Other and in to the world. I came close, so close, but they all missed that one critical component. I needed blood to be spilled. I needed sacrifice to break through.
Accidents sometimes happened and I found my way in once or twice, but since none of these new ones asked anything of me, my power could not grow. Over and over I was flung back to the Other, my rage building within me.
Given enough time, circumstances have a way of coming together. A young chicken farmer built a small temple, not for any existing god, but for fun. The idea of having a temple that worshiped no one amused him. As the season went on and the time to harvest his broiler chickens arrived, he decided to use the temple as his slaughterhouse.
There was so much sacrifice. I awoke with more power than I knew what to do with.
I had learned the language in my previous entries but this was the first time I had the chance to use it. The words felt awkward in my mouth. I wasn't built for this.
"I am pleased by your gifts," I growled.
The man jumped and let out a scream. He whipped around and glanced into the shadowy corner where I awoke. "What the hell?" he asked vaguely. He backed up to the exit and grabbed a nearby pitchfork. His eyes narrowed as he tried to make out my form, but I remained hidden.
"You built a temple, and spilled the blood of sacrifice. I have arrived for you. Worship me and I will bring you the favors of a god," the words came out thick between my teeth.
He understood well enough, but looked skeptical. "Well... I..." his brow furrowed as he processed this new information. "I have a pretty bad rat problem in the granary and the coops. Could you get rid of them?"
The hunt of small rodents could not have been a more perfect task for me in my current state. I would grow strong in the process and grow stronger from his worship when I succeeded. "By tomorrow," I said, and he let the door fall closed behind him as he ran back to the house.
The farmer awoke to a small mountain of rat corpses. They had all been found and eliminated. I waited for him to return to the temple. I had grown larger and stronger and as he saw my gift for him I could feel the worship flowing into me. I fought down a roar of laughter from the feeling. It had been so long since I had felt this.
He entered the temple and fell to his knees. "It's real," he said breathlessly. "You're a real god. Who are you? What do I call you?" He lifted his lantern and the light broke through the darkness.
I stepped out of the shadow and into the light. My toe claws clicked on the gravel floor and my tail whipped left and right to maintain my balance. My large eye narrowed as it adapted to the presence of light and I ruffled my feathers and clicked my razor-sharp teeth. "I have no name, for I come from a time before names. My people worshiped me as the ultimate hunter, for I could always chase down prey and lead them to the slaughter. Though a great darkness reduced my people to those you see today, you have brought me back by spilling their blood, and your worship gives me enough strength to stay. Together we shall render the flesh from your enemies and bring back a time of violence unseen for millions of years. Join me, young farmer!" I let out a roar that split the air and I could smell his urine as he trembled before me.
"Holy shit," he whispered as he quivered before me. "You're a dinosaur."
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First time posting, any feedback is appreciated!
Peter sweat as he worked. The sun beat down on his back as he wiled away the hours cutting lumber, banging nails into wood, and putting finishing touches on the structure he had spent weeks constructing. Not a whisper of wind cut the stagnant muggy air, air filled with the drone of cicadas and the chirping of birds, and Peter's rhythmic hammering.
Peter climbed down from the roof of his newly minted construction, standing with hands on hips, assessing his work, an unreadable expression on his face.
For centuries Peter's home country of Arlia had been a theocracy. Religion in Arlia was not like anywhere else, however. Rather than a single god or even a pantheon of gods, the citizens of Arlia had house gods.
Arlians rich and poor scraped together everything they could to build their temples, some monolithic and extravagant, others humble lean-to's of wood and stone. These temples were seen as abodes for their own personal gods. House gods were beings of great power who watched over a family and protected them, and were even said to grant wishes to those who were proven worthy.
Peter's parents had never put much stock in religion. They didn't build a temple, or observe any religious rights. They were a family that relied on logic and reason to dictate their lives. They had gotten along fine thus far without a house god and sought to continue doing so. For years they had lived on their homestead in peace and quiet, far removed from the church.
The religious leaders of Arlia, however, grew intolerant over time. They viewed the religions of neighboring countries as heresy. Blasphemy of the worst order. This led to war. The fighting carried on for decades, ravaging the countryside and killing thousands. Arlia emerged from the rubble, victorious.
With the war over, the citizenry of Arlia believed their troubles to finally be at an end. They saw an opportunity to rebuild, to resume lives that had been shattered by war. But this was not to be.
Before the country could rebound, the purges started. Government inquisitors scoured the land, searching like bloodhounds for any whisper of sacrilege or treason. And everywhere they went, they seemed to find it in spades. Entire villages were destroyed, hundreds put to the sword. The land ran red with blood.
Peter strode toward the entrance, stepping through the doorway into the structure he had built. Producing a candle, he sat cross legged on the floor, setting it in front of him, unlit. Peter closed his eyes, breathing deep. Remembering.
It was a day like this when they came. Sweltering. Heat that weighed you down, and so humid it felt like you needed gills. He had been sitting with his mother and father in the grass, watching birds wheel through the air and passing time. Looking up admiring the birds as he was, Peter was the first to notice the smoke. A thin, wavy strip of black smoke hung in the air, coming from the direction of the village.
His parents immediately told him to go into the house and Peter obeyed, sprinting off toward the house, his parents trailing behind him. As Peter got inside the sound of hoof beats could be heard coming down the road. He peered fearfully out the window, watching the riders grow closer down the narrow road, his parents standing tense in front of the house, waiting to greet them.
The group of five riders approached the house, all except the lead rider wearing long black coats, and wide-brimmed black hats. The man in lead wore a coat and hat of the same design, but scarlet red. He dismounted his mount smoothly, strolling up to Peter's parents, hand casually placed on the hilt of his sword. From his vantage Peter could not make out their words, but the conversation seemed to be going well. He allowed himself to let out the breath he realized he was holding, hoping that maybe this wouldn't end badly. Maybe something had happened in the village? That would explain the smoke, and they could be here to ask questions, to figure out what happened.
As Peter fought to calm his frayed nerves, the scene in the yard suddenly shifted. The man in red's sword suddenly appeared in his hand, and before Peter had any time to react the man drew the sword across his mother's neck, and then swiftly plunged the sword in his father's chest.
"No!" Screamed Peter, shocking the group of riders into action. The man in red pointed his sword toward the house, mouthing orders to his riders who began to dismount and head toward the house.
Peter saw the man point at the house and was gripped with panic. He turned from the window, running through the house and throwing open the back door. Fleeing into the woods Peter didn't look back, didn't stop or slow for hours. Eventually he collapsed onto the ground, heaving for breath between broken sobs. His parents were gone. With them, his home and everything he had ever known. He couldn't possibly return, and the man in red and his riders had no doubt burnt his homestead to the ground.
Sitting up in the grass, Peter focused his mind. The man in red was responsible for this. He had taken everything from him, seemingly on a whim. Peter's sadness began to form an edge. Sitting in place for hours, his resolve slowly hardened. Heated and tempered by his anger, it was honed and strengthened. The man in red would pay for what he had done. If it took his entire life, if it were the last thing he did, he would pay.
Peter snapped from his reverie, shaking his head and coming back to reality. He withdrew flint and steel from a pocket, striking a spark and lighting his candle.
Wandering for weeks, fleeing the destruction of his home and life, Peter had come to this place. This secluded meadow with muggy air and birdsong that so reminded him of home.
Here Peter realized that he alone did not have the power to exact the revenge he craved. The task was to huge, the danger to great. He could not hope to succeed. But in the depths of his despair, Peter came to another realization. The very thing that lent his enemy their power, could be used to his advantage. Fighting fire with fire.
Sitting in front of the slowly burning candle, Peter inhaled deeply with eyes closed. He sat like this for long minutes, centering himself and preparing for his task. Opening his eyes, Peter spoke. "I don't know if you're actually there. But if you are, I need your help. I need a wish." Peter's words were met with silence. He looked down into his lap, clenching his fists hard. "My family was taken from me. They were murdered, right in front of me." His voice cracked as he spoke, a tear sliding down his face before dropping down onto the ground, joining a growing pool. "I know you can't bring them back. That's not what I'm asking for." Peter lifted up his head, tears flowing faster down his cheeks but hatred burning in his eyes. "I want revenge. I want to destroy the man in red. His entire church. I want him and everything he stands for rendered unto ash." The tears stopped, Peter's jaw set and his eyes like twin flames. "I will see them brought down. I will have him on his knees in front of me, so I can look at his face when I snuff out the light in his eyes."
Peter sat for long moments after the end of his proclamation, willing something to answer. Anything. This was his last hope, and if this didn't work then all was lost. He sat like that for several minutes more, before suddenly kicking out and sending the candle skidding across the floor.
"Fine! I never believed in you anyways! I don't need any god's help, I'll find a way to do it myself. I'll avenge them without you!
Turning away Peter went to leave the temple, but as he stepped toward the threshold a massive hand slapped down onto his shoulder from behind, stopping him. The hand spun Peter around, revealing it's owner. Standing in front of him was a behemoth. The being wore a bronze helmet with a great red plume, a bronze breastplate over leather armor, and carried a great shield and spear slung on his back.
"So, it is war that you seek?" The god rumbled, his voice so deep and bass that Peter felt it as much as heard it. "Yes! I want to destroy my enemies, to kill the man that took my parents from me!" The god released Peter's shoulder, stepping back and appraising the boy. "If that is your wish, I can grant it. For I am no ordinary god." The giant god brandished his spear and shield, slamming them together as he proclaimed "I am Ares, God of War! I am the living embodiment of bloodshed and violence! I have sowed strife and death for untold millennia!"
Ares lowered his spear and shield, staring down at Peter with a bloodthirsty grin tugging at his lips. "So if it is war you wish for boy, then your wish, is my command."
| 2018-01-19T08:31:28 | 2018-01-19T08:04:59 | 153 | 75 |
[WP] Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.
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"Papa, you're going to die of cold before you finish building that temple of yours," said Mina, the eldest of Jon's children. "Pray do come home before you get buried in snow."
Jon ignored Mina and continued building. Mina ran up to him and tugged his arm. "Papa, your temple can wait until tomorrow. It's dark and there will be a blizzard soon."
"Faith will keep me warm, Mina. Just let your old man finish his work," he pushed her hand away gently. "After all, I might not live to see tomorrow."
"Papa! I will only leave you alone if you would stop saying such morbid things."
"Fine, fine. What does an old man need to do to get some peace nowadays," he smiled at Mina. "Tell your siblings to leave some food for me. Crops are scarce this season."
"Okay papa. Just come home as soon as possible." She sat on her sled and whistled for the hounds to pull her home.
Jon continued building. The snow began to whip itself into a flurry of icy fury, lashing out at the slate grey bricks of the temple. Jon pulled his coat closer to his body. *Just a few more minutes and it will be done*, he thought. His gloved fingers fumbled to flick the lighter open. After a few tries, he finally lit the joss sticks. *Anytime now*, he thought. He knelt on the snowy ground, waiting for his god to arrive.
The full force of the blizzard struck the temple. The temple shook and bricks began to fly away from it's walls. The frenzied winds screamed and howled their anguish at the small structure that dared stand in its way, testing the strength of the structure with it's ferocious assault. Jon cried out. "Save me please", he slammed his fist on the ground. "Is this how my faith is repaid?"
He lay on the ground, numb. *I must believe*, he thought. But thinking was hard for him. His mind felt like a dim candle in a fog. *Believe....*.
A white mist gradually materialized in front of him. *What?*, his foggy mind thought. The white mist slowly coalesced to form a shimmering white figure holding a staff. The white figure opened it's mouth and spoke. "Jon Hendrick Larrson. You had faith in me all your life, even when times seemed bleak. The true of heart are hard to come by. There is no one who follow the old ways nowadays. Only you Jon, only you."
Jon suddenly felt warm again. He rose to his feet and stared the god in the eye. The god slammed his staff against the cold earth. "Now it is time for your reward."
Jon opened his mouth and closed his mouth. After hesitating for a while, he spoke. "I do not wish for a reward, my lord. But if you would be so kind, I wish to see my wife again."
The god narrowed his eyes. "Very well." He held his staff in the air. A glowing gateway formed in front of the white god. "Come with me, Jon, my last and most devout follower. We shall journey to the other world, and at there you will see Mare again."
Tears rolled down Jon's cheeks. The god offered his hand and Jon grabbed it, and they walked into the void together, as brothers.
_____________________________________________________
Mina rushed to the temple as quickly as she could. *Please be safe papa*, she thought.
When she arrived, she was greeted by the sight of a ruined temple and two bodies lying on the ground. She swallowed her dismay and went to check on her father. Jon was smiling peacefully with his eyes closed, holding hands with a majestic stranger whom she had only seen in paintings of worship around her house. She stood there like a tree, not knowing what to do or what to think.
Finally the tears fell from her eyes and she wept. She wept for the death of her father and for the death of a god.
Feedback and CC is much appreciated!
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First time posting, any feedback is appreciated!
Peter sweat as he worked. The sun beat down on his back as he wiled away the hours cutting lumber, banging nails into wood, and putting finishing touches on the structure he had spent weeks constructing. Not a whisper of wind cut the stagnant muggy air, air filled with the drone of cicadas and the chirping of birds, and Peter's rhythmic hammering.
Peter climbed down from the roof of his newly minted construction, standing with hands on hips, assessing his work, an unreadable expression on his face.
For centuries Peter's home country of Arlia had been a theocracy. Religion in Arlia was not like anywhere else, however. Rather than a single god or even a pantheon of gods, the citizens of Arlia had house gods.
Arlians rich and poor scraped together everything they could to build their temples, some monolithic and extravagant, others humble lean-to's of wood and stone. These temples were seen as abodes for their own personal gods. House gods were beings of great power who watched over a family and protected them, and were even said to grant wishes to those who were proven worthy.
Peter's parents had never put much stock in religion. They didn't build a temple, or observe any religious rights. They were a family that relied on logic and reason to dictate their lives. They had gotten along fine thus far without a house god and sought to continue doing so. For years they had lived on their homestead in peace and quiet, far removed from the church.
The religious leaders of Arlia, however, grew intolerant over time. They viewed the religions of neighboring countries as heresy. Blasphemy of the worst order. This led to war. The fighting carried on for decades, ravaging the countryside and killing thousands. Arlia emerged from the rubble, victorious.
With the war over, the citizenry of Arlia believed their troubles to finally be at an end. They saw an opportunity to rebuild, to resume lives that had been shattered by war. But this was not to be.
Before the country could rebound, the purges started. Government inquisitors scoured the land, searching like bloodhounds for any whisper of sacrilege or treason. And everywhere they went, they seemed to find it in spades. Entire villages were destroyed, hundreds put to the sword. The land ran red with blood.
Peter strode toward the entrance, stepping through the doorway into the structure he had built. Producing a candle, he sat cross legged on the floor, setting it in front of him, unlit. Peter closed his eyes, breathing deep. Remembering.
It was a day like this when they came. Sweltering. Heat that weighed you down, and so humid it felt like you needed gills. He had been sitting with his mother and father in the grass, watching birds wheel through the air and passing time. Looking up admiring the birds as he was, Peter was the first to notice the smoke. A thin, wavy strip of black smoke hung in the air, coming from the direction of the village.
His parents immediately told him to go into the house and Peter obeyed, sprinting off toward the house, his parents trailing behind him. As Peter got inside the sound of hoof beats could be heard coming down the road. He peered fearfully out the window, watching the riders grow closer down the narrow road, his parents standing tense in front of the house, waiting to greet them.
The group of five riders approached the house, all except the lead rider wearing long black coats, and wide-brimmed black hats. The man in lead wore a coat and hat of the same design, but scarlet red. He dismounted his mount smoothly, strolling up to Peter's parents, hand casually placed on the hilt of his sword. From his vantage Peter could not make out their words, but the conversation seemed to be going well. He allowed himself to let out the breath he realized he was holding, hoping that maybe this wouldn't end badly. Maybe something had happened in the village? That would explain the smoke, and they could be here to ask questions, to figure out what happened.
As Peter fought to calm his frayed nerves, the scene in the yard suddenly shifted. The man in red's sword suddenly appeared in his hand, and before Peter had any time to react the man drew the sword across his mother's neck, and then swiftly plunged the sword in his father's chest.
"No!" Screamed Peter, shocking the group of riders into action. The man in red pointed his sword toward the house, mouthing orders to his riders who began to dismount and head toward the house.
Peter saw the man point at the house and was gripped with panic. He turned from the window, running through the house and throwing open the back door. Fleeing into the woods Peter didn't look back, didn't stop or slow for hours. Eventually he collapsed onto the ground, heaving for breath between broken sobs. His parents were gone. With them, his home and everything he had ever known. He couldn't possibly return, and the man in red and his riders had no doubt burnt his homestead to the ground.
Sitting up in the grass, Peter focused his mind. The man in red was responsible for this. He had taken everything from him, seemingly on a whim. Peter's sadness began to form an edge. Sitting in place for hours, his resolve slowly hardened. Heated and tempered by his anger, it was honed and strengthened. The man in red would pay for what he had done. If it took his entire life, if it were the last thing he did, he would pay.
Peter snapped from his reverie, shaking his head and coming back to reality. He withdrew flint and steel from a pocket, striking a spark and lighting his candle.
Wandering for weeks, fleeing the destruction of his home and life, Peter had come to this place. This secluded meadow with muggy air and birdsong that so reminded him of home.
Here Peter realized that he alone did not have the power to exact the revenge he craved. The task was to huge, the danger to great. He could not hope to succeed. But in the depths of his despair, Peter came to another realization. The very thing that lent his enemy their power, could be used to his advantage. Fighting fire with fire.
Sitting in front of the slowly burning candle, Peter inhaled deeply with eyes closed. He sat like this for long minutes, centering himself and preparing for his task. Opening his eyes, Peter spoke. "I don't know if you're actually there. But if you are, I need your help. I need a wish." Peter's words were met with silence. He looked down into his lap, clenching his fists hard. "My family was taken from me. They were murdered, right in front of me." His voice cracked as he spoke, a tear sliding down his face before dropping down onto the ground, joining a growing pool. "I know you can't bring them back. That's not what I'm asking for." Peter lifted up his head, tears flowing faster down his cheeks but hatred burning in his eyes. "I want revenge. I want to destroy the man in red. His entire church. I want him and everything he stands for rendered unto ash." The tears stopped, Peter's jaw set and his eyes like twin flames. "I will see them brought down. I will have him on his knees in front of me, so I can look at his face when I snuff out the light in his eyes."
Peter sat for long moments after the end of his proclamation, willing something to answer. Anything. This was his last hope, and if this didn't work then all was lost. He sat like that for several minutes more, before suddenly kicking out and sending the candle skidding across the floor.
"Fine! I never believed in you anyways! I don't need any god's help, I'll find a way to do it myself. I'll avenge them without you!
Turning away Peter went to leave the temple, but as he stepped toward the threshold a massive hand slapped down onto his shoulder from behind, stopping him. The hand spun Peter around, revealing it's owner. Standing in front of him was a behemoth. The being wore a bronze helmet with a great red plume, a bronze breastplate over leather armor, and carried a great shield and spear slung on his back.
"So, it is war that you seek?" The god rumbled, his voice so deep and bass that Peter felt it as much as heard it. "Yes! I want to destroy my enemies, to kill the man that took my parents from me!" The god released Peter's shoulder, stepping back and appraising the boy. "If that is your wish, I can grant it. For I am no ordinary god." The giant god brandished his spear and shield, slamming them together as he proclaimed "I am Ares, God of War! I am the living embodiment of bloodshed and violence! I have sowed strife and death for untold millennia!"
Ares lowered his spear and shield, staring down at Peter with a bloodthirsty grin tugging at his lips. "So if it is war you wish for boy, then your wish, is my command."
| 2018-01-19T08:12:32 | 2018-01-19T08:04:59 | 150 | 75 |
[WP] "So this is Hell, eh?" You say to Lucifer. "Bring on the torture, then!" He looks surprised. "Torture? You broke every single one of God's rules. He HATES you. You and I are going to get along just fine. Now, come on in..."
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Lucifer showed me around the place, "Here's the pool, the bar's over there," he pointed to the corner. "Up here is the movie theatre, and this is your room." He opened a door to show a room filled with thousands of other people, "I hope you don't mind a lot of roommates; you're grouped by interests." "Well what do we all have in common?" I asked "You all submitted the same writing prompt."
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“Look, just get off out of my boat. Go now. I’m sick of the sight of you.”
I sneered at death as he pointed a bony finger past me in the direction of hell. He had been moaning at me the whole trip down the river Hades, complaining all the time about my company. The waters of the river Styx lapped gently against the boat, letting out slow moans from the souls of the eternally damned as they drifted past in their eternal loop of suffering.
I waited until death started waving his scythe at me before finally stepping onto land.
“What a nightmare,” I heard the Grim Reaper mutter as his vessel departed back into the roiling mists.
So, here I finally was – Hell. It was inevitable really. Before I was even born, a gypsy lady had foretold my mother of the innate and abominable evil that would fester in her and become her firstborn son. Honestly, even from the beginning I was one of the worst people you could meet. As a baby I was exorcised but, if anything, it just exacerbated my evil. The next day, after he had performed the ritual, the priest died from from a heart attack. I, naturally, was blamed. You could say, my whole life was set up to be evil after that event.
An existence of demented debauchery – too much to list here – followed. Have you ever thrown abandon to the wind and lived life with no regard to any other human? It is liberating up until the point when you are lynched then burned at the stake by an angry mob.
After death, it hadn’t taken long to judge me. Within the time it takes to blink, an angel had dispensed me to the underworld as one would flush the remains of last night’s curry down the toilet. I realised at that moment that I was relieved not to be going to heaven. If they all looked as snooty as the one judging me, I would rather do without!
I looked down at my feet and was surprised to see a flaming corpse had grasped at my foot. The gender was impossible to tell. A lifetime of skin peeling heat from the fire pits had scorched all external features, leaving a groaning, wretched stack of barbecued ribs in place of a human.
“Well, you’re something of a cliché, aren’t you?” I said. “Is this supposed to scare me?” Unimpressed by my first visitor, I kicked the crispy humanoid down the fire pit they had taken so long to crawl out of. Peering over the edge, I watched, amused, as they bounced from jagged rocks all the way down. Would I ever have to endure that same fate? Who cares?
I turned around and gazed at my new digs, chuckling as I did so. “Who’s in control of the thermostat?” I shouted aloud. “Can we turn it up a little?”
As if answering my question, a black cloud began to form in front of me. The demons that were gathering around me suddenly fled into the crevices and nooks of the hot earth as a broiling, maelstrom of the most terrible evil bubbled up. Next to me, a little man with a pencil moustache began to urinate all over his uniform and dove into the fire pit, shrieking Heil Satan!
After the funny looking man had disappeared down the hole, a supersonic wave rippled through the air, sending shock waves through the fire and brimstone as Lucifer, prince of evil, appeared.
I started to clap my hands slowly. So much about hell was unnecessarily theatrical.
“Ok – so I’m in hell; you’re the prince of hell and I’m a bad guy. What are you going to do about it?” I said as Lucifer bowed.
He smiled. It was true that he had a pointed face but he was not the crude, red painted goat man that all the Christians depict him to be. He was actually quite dashing. I waited there, expecting him to strike me down or to summon a rod of lightning to impale me. Perhaps he was going to order a titan to rip me in half and shake out my entrails.
What he did instead was take my hand and shake it vigorously.
“Excellent work,” he said, his face breaking into a wide, beaming smile. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet another master of the dark arts.”
Arching my eyebrow in suspicion, I asked him if this was part of the torture process. If it was, he need not bother.
“No, no – you misunderstand,” he said apologetically. “I genuinely am a fan. That episode with the nuns was a masterstroke.”
I could not help but smile. What I had done in that convent had been particularly bad.
“Finally, it’s refreshing to meet someone who appreciates me for who I am,” I said.
Lucifer smiled again. It reminded me of dark chocolate – sugary but bitter.
“For an eternity, God has had the upper hand on me,” he said taking me by the shoulder, guiding me past a field of stretching racks where ravens were picking away at the soft, exposed bellies of people being stretched.
“All these millennia I’ve been wondering how I finally get the upper hand.”
I could not help but smirk.
“You want my expertise?”
Lucifer shook his head.
“I can see obvious talent and it’s time I went up to earth to revel in man’s misfortune again. Tell me, how do you feel about ruling Hell while I’m away?”
I looked around at the misery and suffering.
“When can I start?”
| 2018-07-24T17:39:15 | 2018-07-24T16:10:33 | 4,460 | 67 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
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186,292 YEARS?
How could this be? I never even harmed a fly. Okay, well - maybe a few of those. You know what I mean.
**"....But why?**", I asked struck by pure horror and disbelief.
The hell warden looked right into my eyes and cracked a diabolic smile:
"Do you even realize how many people died because you refused to forward those chain-mails?"
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How could this be? I had, to my knowledge, never done anything evil. Maybe this will sound crazy, but I had never done anything serious to harm anyone else. A consequence of that lifestyle choice was that I mostly kept to myself. It wasn't that I was some altruist, it was more that I was selfish in an unconventional way. I wanted the internal superiority that comes from knowing that no matter what, I wasn't a bad guy. It's a bit indulgent, sure, but enough to land me here for 186,292 years? That seemed excessive.
"Excuse me, is there someone I can speak to?" The clerk hardly looked up from his desk. I asked again and the tips of his wings twitched. I had annoyed him. "There must be some mistake," I continued.
This last statement had gotten his attention, he now stood tall in front of me, and for the first time I got to appreciate the true spectacle that is an "Afterlife Senior Administrator." Standing nearly 10 feet tall, as wide as my dad's oak desk, with expansive wings whose tips reached down to his heels. He peered through comically small spectacles at me, his eyes almost bulging out in disbelief. Or was it mere annoyance?
He opened his mouth and a roar upended the stillness around me. "We make no mistakes. I've been doing this for as long as your kind has existed, i have never once seen a mistake, let alone made one." He huffed and puffed as I carefully considered my next words.
"Of course, I understand. But is it possible?" The words seemed not to anger him further, but neither did they calm him. He strode over to the file cabinet while mumbling something about how humans always amaze him with their self-centeredness.
"No!" he said, as he pulled out a folder. Here you will find a description of your life, followed by the relevant info. The first section describes your characteristics, aptitudes, estimates, etc. The second describes and lists your good deeds, as well as the weight they carried. The third section does the same, for the bad deeds. The last section is somewhat of an executive summary, if you will, of the second and third sections since they sometimes can get pretty long."
He stretched out his hand and shoved the folder in my face. "Is it usually this thin?" I asked. He did not even look up as he shook his head, then found his chair again, and sat back down with a crash. At least he was now calm.
I flipped to the final section, looking at the summary. It said I had done 432 good things in my life, and only 14 bad things in my life. The net sum of all the bad things netted me a "Evil Score" of only -14, while the good things I had done had netted me a "Goodness Score" of 1312. Clearly, the good had outweighed the bad.
"Look right here!" I said excitedly, feeling confident once more."You made a mistake. I did more good things than bad, by a wide margin." Surely this had all just been an error. "If you can just fix this little issue, I won't complain to anyone." Maybe threatening to bring in his supervisor would make this easy.
The being laughed. It was an arrogant laugh that filled me with the feeling I was not out of this just yet. Once more he could not even afford a glance in my direction. "Did you read the characteristics you had?" He asked without looking up, knowing that I had not. I turned to that section assured that nothing in there could outweigh the lack of evil that I had done.
I read the first paragraph:
Class: Prophet
Sub-class: True Savior
Description: Subject will show a marked aptitude for good deeds. He will possess reserve of empathy and moral courage that make him an ideal candidate for receiving THE WORD and transmitting it effectively to the people. Under the right moral circumstances, subject will consistently place himself in danger for the betterment of his species. Under the right moral circumstances, subject will sacrifice himself to help others. Subject should, barring peculiar effort on his own part to avoid it, inevitably receive the prophecy that will engage mankind on the next stage of its spiritual development.
Estimated Lifespan: 32 years
Estimated time before perceiving THE WORD: 22 years, 11 months
Estimated Goodness score: 1,764,002,999,153
I dropped the paper on the floor. I had lived to be 53 and had never once believed myself to be receiving prophecy from above or ignoring it in any way. I looked up at the administrator who had begun staring at me with a curious smile. I tried to ask a question but the words would not come out. He seemed to have anticipated them.
"You aren't here because you did bad things. No, that would be too simple. That is why all the normal people are here. But you are not normal. You are here my dear human, because you were the first prophet to come around in a few millennia. All you had to do was follow your true nature, be open and receptive to THE WORD, and you would have done incredible good. You would have changed mankind, perhaps liberated it once and for all. But you didn't. You sought to avoid impact, rather than create it. You felt abstaining from evil was equivalent to pursuing good. You are here because you were wrong. You are here because you weren't as good as you should have been."
| 2018-09-26T07:41:09 | 2018-09-26T07:19:26 | 1,768 | 474 |
[WP] The world is ending. A group of astrophysicists, xenobiologists, medical doctors, and other experts is loaded on a rocket. And you...but no one seems willing to tell you why.
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Isaiah Walters fumbled with the complicated latching system on his space suit. Everyone else had managed to seal themselves into their own little atmosphere without issue. It only reinforced the intense feeling of estrangement from the rest of the crew, reminded him that he was surrounded by only the most supremely smart and accomplished. Three weeks into the training program, he was now officially convinced he was the only idiot on the crew. While it did hurt his self-confidence a bit, at least he was in competent hands – as long as he stayed out of the way that is.
As many times as he had asked, he never got an answer as to why he had been chosen for the mission. The opportunity to escape certain death on earth was nice and all… but he couldn’t help feeling guilty. For his entire terrestrial life Isaiah had been a klutz. The IT department had practically put a tail on him, constantly fixing printers after he used them or taping down wires that only Isaiah could manage to trip over. Why hadn’t someone smarter, or more capable been chosen?
Doctors, engineers, and… professions that Isaiah had never heard of before all lined up shoulder to shoulder, ready to take the plunge. No one seemed to mind waiting for him, but Isaiah felt a sense of relief as he sealed up the final clasps, zippers, and clamps less than ten minutes after the rest of the crew. Half running, half wobbling, Isaiah hustled to join the crew.
A few steps away from the long row of crew members, Isaiah turned his head to see who was he would be lining up next to. Lifting a hand to wave at the unrecognizable crew member next to him, Isaiah suddenly felt his clunky boot catch on something. Head over heels, he tumbled up to the line of crew members, then past them, then over the edge into a dark abyss.
The sound of the splash was drowned out by the immediate ringing of alarms. Twisting in his suit, Isaiah tried to read the code displayed on his heads-up display. With a sinking realization, Isaiah stopped trying to read what the alarm meant. The fluid filled his suit through his boots, helmet seal, and chest zipper all at once.
Thinking about the more deserving soul who would take his place, he resigned to sinking to the bottom of the pool. People said drowning was peaceful. Hell, it would probably be better than dying in the upcoming perma-winter after the asteroid hit. Better than his inevitable suffocation when he failed to seal his suit up on an actual mission. Closing his eyes as the water level in his helmet rose, Isaiah tried to relax.
Isaiah felt himself expel a large volume of fluid, then became aware of the rest of his body. Continuing to choke, spit, and gasp he looked around the room. The faces of the other crew members beamed back at him.
“Right on guinea pig!”
“Better to find out now, eh?”
“Leave it to Walters!”
As the medics sat back, one of the senior engineers approached him and shook his head. Isaiah dropped his head in shame knowing he had probably just ruined a suit worth more than his car. He started to stammer out an apology when the engineer cut him off.
“It takes a special kind of stupid to mix up that many mechanisms in one attempt.”
“Sir, I’m sorry” Isaiah started “I don’t think I’m -“ but he was cut off again.
“You singlehandedly exposed 13 critical flaws in the design that our test suite missed. Rest assured that the team is already back at the drawing board addressing them.” The engineer looked down, humbled. “You’ve got a knack for this Walters. Now rest up because we’ve got a lot more idiot proofing to do tomorrow. You’re going to save a lot of lives if you keep this up.”
|
I started my morning shift as a janitor at NASA . I started my day cleaning the meeting rooms and the bathrooms. I had just started vacuuming when the ground shook. It wasn’t an earthquake After it stopped shaking alarms went off from everywhere. Scientists were running out to the launchpad. Someone grabbed my arm and started leading me to the launch pad too.
“What’s happening?” I yelled.
“We need to go now! The meteor has crashed and it’s a matter of time before we all can’t escape!” I grabbed my purse from the employee room and was lead to the launchpad and to the rocket.
Only scientists were boarding the rocket though.
“I won’t be able to board since I’m not a scientist.”
“You have a reserved seat in this rocket now board now!” I then went on the rocket and found my seat. I didn’t know what to do or have any idea what was going on.
Another scientist fastened my seatbelt and gave me a simple manual and a bag of things. All the scientists seemed to fit inside the rocket, like it was built to only take passengers into space rather than complete a mission. Then they closed the door from the outside and prepared for launching.
7... 6... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... launch.
Then the rocket launched and we went into space. I didn’t know how to describe what was going on, it was all a blur. Then when we left earth everyone looked out the windows and looked at the burning earth. I guess what that person had said about the meteor was true. A few people were crying and others were looking at papers and working.
Then they started calling names to see who was here and who hadn’t made it aboard.
“May Anderson?”
“Here.” I said. Amazingly I was the last person called. I wasn’t a scientist like everyone else aboard, I was just a janitor.
“We will be making a stop at the moon station before we make the 9 month journey to the new mars station which was successfully finished last week. Please read your manuals which have been given to you and sit tight. If you have any questions please ask them now.” Said the chief scientist. I had questions but I was to distracted and distraught about what was happening.
We had all been given food and water for brunch. I had tried calling my family and friends but no one answered. They were likely all dead. Burned like the earth.
No one could sleep knowing that everyone who they had ever known and loved were dead, unless they were on this ship and/or at the moon station and mars station. After a few days we reached the moon station and had connected with three other shuttles. Together all four shuttles connected into one big ship and we weren’t confined to our seats. We now had our own quarters and we could move about the shuttles.
Everyone had a job or a reason to be here, except for me. I still was a janitor here but I knew I was here for other reasons which remained unbeknownst to me. One day I finally asked why I
was here.
“Pardon me but can I ask you something?” I asked the chief scientist.
“Why am I here? I mean, everyone else is a scientist and serves a purpose here, except for me. And I know I’m not her because no one wanted to leave the janitor behind.”
“That’s classified Miss Anderson.” He replied.
“What? Why?!”
“I told you, that’s classified.”
“I just want to know why I’m here!”
“You will know eventually, now get back to work.”
I wondered what could be so important that had to be classified. Anyways I went on with my day. Clean the bathrooms, wipe down and clean the windows, anything that needed cleaning.
Some of my co workers taught me some basics in reading some of their scientist stuff, I don’t know the names of the gadgets and things they were using. They also showed me how to move and how to properly use a spacesuit along with the controls on the suit. Overall I learned a lot from them.
A few long months later we arrived at mars. It was a bit rough when entering its atmosphere but was ok when we landed. Everyone was so relieved to get off the shuttles and go to the new mars station. It was good to have something to look forward to when you’ve lost everything.
“Alright everyone get your space suits on and grab your belongings.” Someone said over the intercom. I grabbed my purse and other things and put them into a pack. Everyone filed stood in long lines from the exits.
“Opening exit doors in 10 seconds.” Everyone was so anxious and happy at the same time, but I didn’t know what to feel. I didn’t know what would become of me and why I was here.
Then the door opened. The oxygen left the room and if it wasn’t for the suits everyone would freeze and not be able to breathe. After all it was -80 degrees Fahrenheit on mars and the air on mars is 95% carbon dioxide.
Everyone was about to go outside when the chief scientist made everyone stop.
“Wait up, stay inside people. May Anderson goes out first.”
“What?” I asked. Everyone turned their heads but they didn’t question the chief scientist’s logic.
“Go on.” He said. Everyone stood aside and I walked past them and outside. The bare rusty red landscape was beautiful and was alien to me. The station was a mile or two from where the shuttle landed. I’d never imagined I’d be here today. Alive too. Everyone followed and looked at our surroundings. And after a few minutes of looking around the chief lead us to the station where other people were eagerly awaiting our arrival.
Other than being excited to be at my new home where I could restart my life I felt odd. Very odd, I couldn’t really express what I felt like though. When we reached the station I was asked to wait behind with the chief scientist, the chief wouldn’t tell me why. Perhaps he was going to finally tell me why I was here. After everyone went inside a few other people from the station came out and circled me.
“What is going on?”
“You’re coming with us May Anderson.” Two of them grabbed my arms and shook the off and asked again.
“What are you doing!? What’s going on?! Why am I here?” I shouted.
“You’re coming with us and that’s that!” One of them said. They tried grabbing me again but I shook them off once more and they tackled me to the ground, shattering the glass part of my helmet.
I gasped for air and thought this was the end. But I wasn’t freezing to death. I was changing or morphing rather. My skin turned pale and a very light bluish color. I grew taller like about another two feet and my figure was gangly, my fingers and toes became long and gangly too. My eyes and face were changing too. My eyes could see new colors. My hair turned from lovely brown to white. The humans around me looked bewildered and freaked out. I say humans because I didn’t know who or what I was anymore.
Then from out of nowhere something shot all of the humans around me. Something in a red suit grabbed my hand and said something to me in a language I couldn’t understand. I trusted whomever it was and we ran behind a hill where more things in red suits were more people in red suits with four fingers on each hands seem to wait for the other red suit and me.
“คŞhງ ค๖คkคຖ Şhคຖ” one said.
“What? English please.” I said. They then gestured me to follow them into a cave like place. I followed. They moved a big rock over the cave opening. I could see in the dark, how about that! I followed them into a thing like a spaceship underground.
They then stopped and turned on a light which was purple colored. They all in undoing then took off the masks from their red suits. They looked like me! I looked all around and they looked like me. Some had white hair like me.
“Hiello ๓คēฯวē, you funilly hom.”
“What who’s ๓คēฯวē? What do you mean home?”
“You take ween borna. Now you hom ats laste.” One of them said in a foreign mars accent. Then one of them who looked a lot like me with white hair came over and hugged me and then everyone one else joined in a big hug with me at the center. It then clicked to me. They must be my family, no wonder I felt so weird growing up on earth.
I’ve never been so close to home as I am now.
Edit: sorry I was typing on mobile.
| 2020-07-16T11:38:18 | 2020-07-16T10:31:56 | 1,603 | 44 |
[WP] How strongly can you make someone hate a character?
|
It wasn't enough to get a hundred. Any fool could get a hundred. The commander had set the bar too low so that the nobodies could crawl over it. Jiro was going to do better. He was going to make his ancestors proud. He was going to get every possible kind of Nanjing scum there was. He was going to behead each one with a sword. He was going to be perfect.
He jumped off the truck before it has stopped and sprinted to the virgin street. He ran straight to the nearest house and right up to the window. There was no time to lose. The screaming had already started before he had started smashing the window with his rifle butt and didn't stop when he climbed through.
And then he saw it. The twin crib. The beautiful miracle of a twin crib. You could go a whole town without getting twins. The family scurried around him crying and begging. He went straight towards the soft, white crib. His heart began to racing as he got closer. He almost hesitated to look inside but didn't.
It was perfect.
|
Day 766. Hard to believe it was two summers ago already. I grabbed under my thighs and swiveled my legs around to the edge of the bed. I knocked over my pink elephant alarm clock; the relic of a bygone era. It flashed three p.m. I had gotten lost in the same dream again.
I was running in the flower bed out back; I sprinted so fast it felt like I was floating above the flowers. And then I was. I soared through the air, the breeze twirling my braided ponytail behind me and then it was done. Just like that.
There was my chair. Dad had put pink and purple tassels on the handles, glitter on the wheels. He didn’t understand I wasn’t fourteen anymore. I pushed myself off the bed and into the seat. I propelled myself in front of my makeup mirror – a tri-fold behemoth. Smudge marks covered the glass, as it hadn’t been cleaned since the accident. And who was going to do it; dad? Pickles, my little Cocker Spaniel, bounded into the room and leaped onto my lap. I scratched him under the chin since he seemed to take to that.
Thomas was coming over today and was going to take me to my first party. I looked in the mirror at my face; dad said I looked like my mother with my green eyes, little nose, except I had leftover acne scarring on one cheek. Nothing some foundation couldn’t handle.
Stuck to the mirror with a thin piece of tape was a picture of Thomas and I. Him with his dark features, the brown eyes, the almost invisible scar under his lip, the way his eyebrows came to a point and even in the picture, he favored the good leg and then me, standing.
5th grade, he and I had the same lunch. For days, I’d seen him looking at me from across the cafeteria. I thought he was cute, so I moved closer to him. Inexplicably, he threw mashed potatoes at me. I was wearing a new dress, so I threw my chocolate milk at him – the whole carton, unopened.
Sitting in the principal’s office minutes later, waiting on the principal, he leaned into me and said, “My mom died.”
“I don’t have a mom,” I said.
I slipped my copy of Jane Eyre from the side of the seat. Half the cover was missing – probably buried with the dolls, socks and other random objects in Pickles’ Yard of Misfits. I couldn’t concentrate on the words, even though I’d read them a hundred times. I was nervous; I’d drank a beer once when I was twelve, well, I sipped it, well, okay, I spit it back out. Dad had left it on the counter to answer the door and I took my chance. I don’t know why. Maybe because he didn’t let me stay up for The Twilight Zone the night before or maybe because I’d gone on my period that day and he looked like he’d been depantsed in the isle of Wal-Mart searching for my “girly things,” as he’d called it.
A bath, shaved legs and a touch of primer, foundation, blush, brown mascara, black eyeliner, light pink lip balm and a spray of Into the Blue by Escada – okay, three sprays – and two hours later, I was ready for Thomas’ arrival.
There it was; his familiar honk, and then the maddeningly slow descent down the stairs, dad helped to fold my chair into the back of Thomas’ 2002 Honda Civic, gave him an awkward half-hug, and finally, we were alone. I imagined if I could, my feet would be tapping right then. I kept looking from him, with his fierce brown eyes on the road ahead to my new white high heels with the ankle straps.
I noticed his lip looked swollen.
“What happened, Thomas?” I offered.
“Nothing,” he said, and he kept staring ahead.
“Your dad again,” I started.
“Lily,” he said, finally turning his brown eyes on me. I looked back down at my heels.
Before we had even parked, I could hear fun.’s “We Are Young” playing from inside the house. Some hairy guy wearing only Spongebob boxers caught a Frisbee on the hood of Thomas’ Civic. It was Travis. He saw us, looked backed to everyone else.
“Hey guys! It’s Limp Dick Thomas and Wheelie Lily!” he said, to hooting and hollering.
Thomas started to get out, his fist clenched, but I grabbed his arm.
After getting into my wheelchair, Thomas offered me a Miller Lite. He had Corona. I sipped it, not bad. He noticed a gravel path that led beyond the backyard of the house.
“Want to get away from this noise?” he asked. “Sure,” I said, unable to hide my smile afterwards.
He pushed me under a vast White Oak tree. By then, the sun was but a withering ball of fire in the distant horizon. Thomas crouched on a stump next to me.
“About those guys, it’s okay, really, they don’t know about your…accident,” I started.
“You in that chair, my leg, things were supposed to be different,” he said, standing on the good leg, ignoring me. “We were supposed to be different.”
The nape of my neck turned cold. Thomas’s normally soft eyes looked beyond me.
He put his beer can down, inched closer to my face, brushing his lips against mine. I flinched.
And then he was shoving me to the ground, out of the chair, ripping off my skirt. In that moment, I noticed one of Pickle’s treats had ended up in my pocket and had fallen to the grass. Pickles. With her stupid little tail.
I could feel his breath on my neck, as he thrust and thrust.
“You’re just a cripple now,” he said.
Then it was done. And he was gone. I lay there, unable to move, blood running down my leg, and watched, as oddly, the one wheel on my overturned wheelchair was still turning…turning.
____
From my blog. I hated the character just writing it. :(
| 2013-09-15T04:47:37 | 2013-09-14T20:32:08 | 113 | 16 |
[WP] A little girl dies and is accidentally sent to Hell to where the Demons don't know what to do with her.
Edit 1. Holy crap did this get a response 0_0
Edit 2. Jesus Puppy Christ is this getting attention.
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Phil was tired.
Granted, Phil had spent a hundreds of years in Hell, slowly grinding his way up the infernal bureaucratic ladder. He had started at the bottom rung, not even allowed to speak. Now, he was a rhymer. Not a higher-up, but it was definite progress. He was reflecting when his intercom buzzed.
"Sir? We have a situation here."
Phil sighed. It was always a situation.
**"Report, report, send words to me,**
**Report, report, oh Demon #3."**
"Sir, I think we have a traveler."
A traveler. That was the nice way of saying the paperwork had been switched. Someone who shouldn't be here most definitely was. That meant having to call upstairs. Way upstairs.
**"Worry not about such things.**
**I'll make a call to those dicks with wings."**
Phil hated calling those sanctimonious angels. Luckily, he only had to do it once every 50 years or so.
"Thank you for calling Paradise, this is Gabriel. What can I do for you?"
That voice was grating in it's purity. Phil sighed, knowing what was coming next.
**"It seems to me you've hit a snag**
**And forgot to cross a line.**
**Now we have an extra soul,**
**A little girl of nine.**
**If you could send a ride for her,**
**I'd be much more relaxed.**
**If you should just leave her here,**
**Then surely I'll be sacked."**
"Ah, yes. Little Melissa. I'll send a retrieval unit that should arrive in a few hours."
Phil was surprised. Maybe Gabriel wouldn't say anything this time. Then, as if on cue, the angel chuckled.
"Phil, how do you feel about green eggs and ham?"
**"Gabriel, your razor-wit**
**Moves so very fast.**
**Now kindly come and get this girl**
**And shove it up your ass."**
Phil slammed the phone down, and buzzed Demon #3 to let them know about the retrieval. No answer. Thinking how nice it would be to stretch his legs, Phil decided to let them know in person.
When he opened the door, he was startled to find Demons #3, #4, and #6 laying on the ground next to a girl he assumed was Melissa, playing with plastic dolls and giggling like children. On seeing Phil, the demons jumped up and tried to hide the toys. Melissa got up slowly and walked over to Phil.
"Would you like to play with us, mister?"
Phil couldn't help but smile.
**"Because we have some time to kill**
**Until your ride comes thence,**
**I suppose that we can play a game**
**As long as I'm the Prince."**
|
The demon looked over to where his partner was talking animatedly on his communicator.
"I completely understand," he was saying, "but we can't just keep an innocent here and hope He doesn't notice. What's that? He won't notice? He'll notice! And even should this girl somehow be missed by Saint Peter, we'll still have angels storming the gates when The Big Guy Upstairs orders her recovery. He is terribly fond of children, you know."
Covering the mouthpiece, he glanced over at his companion and sighed loudly. His partner rolled his eyes and nodded, then looked back at the young girl who was standing before the gates.
"So, tell me, little one, what's your name?" Demons weren't really evil, despite the misconception. They were scary, but that was because they were basically God's prison guards. Lucifer, on the other hand, was as bad as they go. He was their highest security prisoner, and even so, managed to project his essence where he liked fairly often. One of the ways he took advantage of this was making sure as many people ended up in Hell as possible. Heaven's R&D department was working on a new cell, something like a lake of fire that they said should be ready in a few thousand years, but as things stood right now, Lucifer wasn't letting anyone leave without an express order from God. That was who the other demon was currently on the phone with. (Also, they have phones in Hell)
Anyway.
"My name's Anna," the girl replied, "Say, mister, why's it so warm in here?" The demon, whose name was Xenn, sighed and spoke.
"Anna, this is Hell- BUT," he quickly continued as Anna's eyes widened in fear, "you don't belong here. There's been a mistake, and me and my friend are trying to get you to Paradise." Anna appeared to calm down, but then it struck her.
"But mister, does that mean I'm dead?" She started to cry. Xenn's instinct was to comfort her, but he wasn't sure moving towards her would help, given his, well, demonic appearance. Also, he'd never had to comfort anyone before, as being a guardian of Hell basically meant various degrees of terrorizing sinners. He shot a helpless look at his partner, who merely shrugged and then winced as flames flared from his phone. Lucifer was getting upset.
Xenn decided to try, but slowly. He started by putting his hand on Anna's shoulder. She flinched away, but he looked her in the eye and said, "I'm sorry you died. I really am. Do you remember anything about it?" Anna wiped her eyes and replied.
"I'm not sure. I was on a big metal thing that went up in the air, and things were bumpy, and I think I fell asleep." Xenn nodded.
"You were in a plane crash. We already processed a few other people from that accident."
Meanwhile Xenn's gate partner, Luz, was trying to convince Lucifer to let the girl go, and wasn't having much luck, when another call came in. From Saint Peter. "Look, Lucifer, I have a call coming in from the Pearly Gates, and do you want to guess what they're calling about?" On the other end Lucifer was practically volcanic.
"I don't give a damn who's calling, that girl is staying here at least until the Second Coming, and if you or some angel thinks they can-" but Luz had connected to the other call.
"Gates of Hell, Luz speaking."
"This is Saint Peter. You seem to have an innocent on her way there. What's up with that?"
"No idea. She's here at the gates, and we've been trying to send her up, but Lucifer's having none of it."
"Well it's not up to him! As much as he may think it from the way he parades around here and on Earth, he does not in fact run the place!"
"I've been trying to explain that to him, but he's very adamant. He likes it when children end up here."
"Well, you need to tell him this is one child he isn't keeping. Her family is very concerned for her."
Luz thought it obvious, but then realized what Peter meant.
"Are you telling me her family are in paradise?"
"Father, mother, and two brothers. They were all on the plane, and the crash had no survivors."
"Well, you'll probably have to send a recovery team down here, because Lucifer is not a creature to be convinced."
"A recovery team may not be able to get out either."
"Well, you do what you can, I'll do what I can, and hopefully it will work out. Now, excuse me, Lucifer has been trying to call me back this entire time."
"Alright," said Peter, and hung up. Luz turned to look at Anna, who seemed to be warming up to Xenn by now. Muttering under his breath, he said, "Lucifer is NOT keeping this child."
"Oh, really?" came a hiss from behind him, "And who's going to stop me? You?" Luz and Xenn whirled to see Lucifer standing outside the gates. Even with most of his soul confined in their most heavy-duty cell, the small amount of him that could roam was intimidating. But Luz and Xenn would not be intimidated today.
"If I have to," said Luz, and Xenn growled in agreement. They both moved in between Lucifer and Anna. Snarling, the devil batted them out of the way like bowling pins and bore down on Anna, who screamed.
Suddenly a flash of blinding fire struck Lucifer, knocking him sprawling. He leapt to his feet to see an angel standing in front of Anna. Lucifer sneered.
"Just one? Even knowing how determined I am in getting my way, still, He only sends one angel?" But Xenn and Luz were picking themselves up, and they saw the unique brand of holy fury on the divine servant's face.
"Holy shit, it's Michael!"
"The archangel?"
"That's the one."
Lucifer howled, and through sheer force of will, pulled more of his essence to him, doubling in size. Michael's sword was already drawn, and he had a gun at his hip. (They have phones. You really thought they wouldn't have guns?) Luz and Xenn caught Michael's eye, who nodded at them as they drew their own weapons. Michael roared a battle cry and charged. Lucifer matched the attack, and even perhaps had an advantage until the demon gatekeepers hammered their weapons into him from the other direction. He was caught off guard, but fought tooth and nail for every inch until, finally, he was forced back in through the gates, when he gave up and vanished with a snarl.
Michael sheathed his weapons, and the demons followed suit.
"You have my thanks, gatekeepers, for assisting me in making sure not one of the Lord's little ones are left behind."
Anna ran up to Xenn and hugged him, and then Luz, though a little more hesitantly.
"I wouldn't want to stay here, but I wish I could see you again," she said to Xenn. Xenn looked up at Michael, who smiled.
"Well, as it so happens," the archangel said, "if Xenn and Luz stay here, Lucifer will make them suffer every day for this. I thought of this possibility beforehand, and so I already have permission to promote the both of you to angel service." As he said this, Xenn and Luz took on a much more human appearance, and were given robes. They were so astonished, they didn't even know what to say.
So Anna was taken to heaven, where she was reunited with her family, and Xenn and Luz were formally inducted into the Lord's holy army.
And Xenn would visit with Anna almost every day.
The end.
| 2013-11-26T16:23:25 | 2013-11-26T15:12:05 | 220 | 84 |
[WP] Every time someone says "Long live the Queen", the Queen's life is extended by one second. You only notice this when the Queen looked terrified when only a few people say it during a public speech.
Credit to /u/kroxigor01 for the idea.
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From the crowd only a few people shouted it. Before this all happened, the entire crowd would say it. But the phrase is dying. Experts have pointed out how it may come of as nationalistic, and that it's somewhat old fashioned. Fewer and fewer people started saying it. And that took its toll. Looking back now, it all makes sense. Truth to be told, in the back of my mind, I was suspicious. She promoted the phrase, that one specifically. She must've had a reason. And when in her public appearances fewer
people shouted the phrase, she started to look worried. Clearly this was important to her somehow. Today was different. Only a dozen people shouted the phrase. And the gaze in her eyes was one of an immense fear. She knew what was coming. For 12 seconds, she stopped, and just stared into nothingness. And then she dropped dead on the floor. A phrase had died, and a queen with it. Long live the queen.
|
"You've never noticed because the Queen has always been able to keep the aliens away before they could actually do any harm."
Agent Stewart clapped his hands in panic. "Well, what are we supposed to do now?"
"That is up to the MI6," the director replied. "The queen is old. It's not just that the words buy her life time, they give her strength. She can't hold her ground with a couple of bored 'God Save the Queen's the way she used to. Not with people being no nonchalant about the whole thing. We need help from someone."
"Meaning me." Stewart replied, downing his whisky in one tired move. "Meaning I have to solve this mess."
The director smiled. "The knighting is scheduled to happen in three weeks. That's when the aliens are coming. We
trust that you'll figure something out."
"Great," Stewart said, getting up. He grabbed the Jack Daniels bottle on his way out. "I'm taking this, by the way."
________________
Now it was forty minutes into the ceremony and the closest Stewart had to a plan involved a pack of Sex Pistols fans and a Dolby Surround sound system. Which had been ruled out by the Queen herself on the basis of "Really, Stewart? *Really?*".
Stewart peeked through the curtain. The Queen was ending her speech. Up in the sky through the windows, the first lights of what the director had described, word by word, as – the most fucked-up, badass, make-you-eat-your-balls-and-puke-out-sperm alien race ever – were closing in.
It was hard to tell against the London sky because the ships were all grey. But they were there.
Stewart couldn't simply ask the crowd to say it. They had to *mean* the sentence, otherwise it had no effect, the director had told him. And, even if it worked, asking would just make the queen sound like a snob, which was very unbecoming.
Yes, aliens are attacking, the world is at peril, but what's Great Britain without class?
The army men were ready behind the curtain, but the director had warned Stewart already – men and firearms would not be enough to hold the ground. They needed the Queen, and they needed her at full strength.
"—hereby pronounce you *Sir* Rowan Atkinson," the Queen completed, and Stewart peeked through the curtain to
watch Mr. Bean being nudged in both shoulders by the sword.
"God save the Queen," Rowan whispered, quietly.
"God save the Queen," chanted the crowd, in the bored tone of an afternoon tea in Glasgow.
The lights were bright and loud now, taking the shape of spacecrafts. People looked up at the windows.
"Blimey!" cried a man in tweed, "What is that?"
"Bollocks!" cried another. "I don't know!"
"Bloody hell!" a woman's voice added, "Alpaca doesn't really know any more British expressions, does he?"
"Fuck no," said an American man watching nearby, just as the first laser beam crushed the ceiling down.
Stewart was trembling. It was now or never. The Queen stopped her eyes on him, waiting for his cue. Waiting for him to do something.
"Shit. Shit, shit, shit," Stewart repeated, watching as the ships descended. He looked at his army bag, where the
machine guns rested. Then at the crew of soldiers waiting for command.
Then he looked at the crowd. A thousand British men and women, folded legs and ironic expressions behind
mustaches and eyeliner watching as the aliens fired away against the room.
"This is a bleak affair," one man in a top hat commented, raising an eyebrow. "I gotta tell you, I expected –"
"TO HELL WITH IT!" Stewart bellowed, grabbing two machine guns and bursting through the curtain. He threw
one towards the Queen. It hit her in the face and fell to the floor.
"Grab it, sister!" Stewart commanded, turning back to face the army men. "Go, go, go!"
The men charged against the aliens, firing up to the sky all around. Stewart took three quick steps towards the
Queen, grabbed the machine gun and placed it back on her hands.
"Are you sure this is –"
"GOD!" Stewart yelled, his voice echoing through the half-destroyed hall as he looked around, gun raised to the sky. All the people were watching in silence now, their eyes frozen on the Queen. "SAVE..."
The men and women got up, noticing the machine gun on the Queen's hand. It looked badass as fuck.
"THE MOTHERFUCKING," Stewart continued, aiming his own gun at the mothership. "QUEEN!"
By his side, the Queen immediately raised her weapon. She pointed, aimed and they both fired at the same time.
The ship was brought down in a spiral of smoke and fire to the ground, carving a hole where the crowd was a
second before.
"There's guns in the back, you tea drinking, blasé, half-a-century-ago-world-cup-winning bastards!" Stewart (whose family was secretly from a proud French heritage) bellowed. "Support your goddamned Queen!"
The Queen fired again. The army men threw guns all around at the crowd.
There was a moment of silence as the alien overlord crawled out of the crashed mothership, raising his hand in a
bloody call for help.
"Mercy, Queen of the Earthlings..." he moaned, looking up.
The Queen raised her machine gun, aimed and fired. The alien's head exploded in blood.
As more ships closed in, the crowd cocked their guns in a unison, pointing them up at the sky.
"GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!" They yelled, one after the other, expect for the top hat man, who was checking his watch for tea time.
______
*Thanks for reading! For more, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
| 2022-09-08T11:11:40 | 2015-11-09T02:49:31 | 971 | 346 |
[WP] There's a door with a single key hole - it will open regardless of what key is used. All keys open this door, but what's on the other side, however, entirely depends on the key.
|
The key I - we -decided to try this time was small and rusty. The teeth were strangely elongated and the top, where it sat between my sweaty fingers, was set in elaborate entwining curves.
Up til now Logan and I had tried newer keys, or keys which we knew what doors they went to. Oh yeah: so there is this door, in a shed behind our old school, that opens onto a different scene, depending on what key you put in it.
So when I mean we tried familiar keys, I mean like the one to our house, or the one to our childhood clubhouse. When we opened the door and found ourselves peering into the leaf strewn floor of that old place at first we thought maybe it was just an illusion. But, when we stepped through, we were actually in our clubhouse, bending over so as not to bump our heads on the roof.
And when we had looked back at the door, it was gone. We'd had to crawl our way out and go home dusty.
So now we had a key only God knows where Logan found and here I was, about to fit it into the lock. I looked at him, half wanting him to say where he found it or that we could go back. But he just said, "C'mon Stacey, open the door." He had it worse than me, at home, so I guess he just wanted to disappear.
The door, when I opened it, showed a bright, sunlit room. The cement floor was smooth and clean except for a blue metal cup laying near a low wooden table. A potted palm stood in one corner, but what really drew our eyes was the archway at the opposite end of the room. We could hear strange birds, and a breeze stirred long wide leaves of unknown trees.
Logan pulled at my hand, stepping half way through the door. "Wait."
I knew as soon as we closed the door we wouldn't be able to come back this way. Tropical locations seemed nice, but only because it's different and people don't have to stay. What about all the poisonous things and foreign languages?
Logan had none of these fears and he let go of my hand hand, practically skipping across the room and into the humid daylight beyond. I hesitated only a moment longer; then took a deep breath and went after him.
And the shed door closed behind me.
|
The door stood some three meters tall, an ovoid portal rather than a rectangle, its wood of no tree science could name. It appeared black by some lights, blond by their others, shades of brown by most, though those were interpretable by the viewer. It held no name save The Door, and the long, serpentine hallway that mankind had built up around it held no name save The Hall. And until a boy went through both at sixteen, he had no name save a number.
VB106-3 stepped through the final right angle bend of The Hall with his grandfather, Omar Khassim’s, key in his hand. It had not been the key that the old man had used on his trip through The Door. That key was long lost in the wreckage of a bombed out museum. Rather, VB106-3 held the key to his grandfather’s chest, a chest left hidden away in their attic for as long as he could remember.
The old man’s will had been specific. “*This key will open two doors in your life if you are worthy. Find out.*”
No one had rejoiced when the executor placed Omar Khassim’s key into VB106-3’s hand, not even VB106-3’s siblings; Ahmed who had gone through the door the year before, never having spoken of his trip as was proper, and VB106-4 who would go through four years hence. Instead the family had nodded solemnly and the aunties had pressed VB106-3’s hands to their wrinkled foreheads as he left, voices keening in a complex gesture of regret and respect.
And now the door stood, nearly twice as tall as him and black as the night in the barely lit hallway, the small points of light all set beyond the last right angle bend such that VB106-3 felt like he walked directly into a set sun. He stepped up to the door, uttered a quick prayer to his ancestors and to He Who Had Hung, and set the key in the lock.
*Turning.*
The door did not open how a door should.
VB106-3 heard a creak emanating from all sides, from distance farther than where the tight corridor walls should have been. He glanced about in shock, his eyes still struggling to adjust to the depths of the darkness, and he barely made out the unfolding of The Hall.
The corridor came apart at the seams with the same creak as an un-oiled hinge, flattening out into a plane along the ground, revealing an endless field of stars and night overhead where there should have been the smog and the thick, dusty air of day, the sun filtering fitfully through the clouds like a flashlight through heavy fabric. But the Door had not opened.
The Door that had stood three meters above him now stretched out three meters in front, laying across the ground, a clear portal to elsewhere. VB106-3 had no doubts that when the door swung inward as he knew it did, there not would be simple dirt beneath it.
VB106-3 thought back to his grandfather, the esteemed Omar Khassim, and knew what that worthy would have done. The young man stepped forward, a slim slash against the otherworldly night, and fell to his knees in the center of the door. He placed the key in the lock.
*Turning.*
*Falling.*
VB106-3 fell through another hallway with all the same twists and turns as the one constructed by man. He was calmer than he thought should be, no sound escaped him but flap and rustle of his robes. He wondered idly if The Hall had been constructed to mirror this space, or if the space was a mirror to what his mind knew.
He struck hard against a familiar wooden floor, and VB106-3 decided that such things did not matter.
The young man stood in his grandfather’s attic, opposite the old, dead man. He was as hale as VB106-3 remembered from his youth, Broad shouldered, square jawed, and perhaps seventy, a long beard trailing down the ceremonial robes of office until it nearly covered his belt. Omar Khassim was a man incapable of becoming soft. Where his peers in the civil service had gone to fat only years removed from the battlefield, Omar Khassim had never once entertained the thought. He could still run and jump and fight, VB106-3 had seen those things for himself, even in the year when the cancer had killed him, only robbing the great man of his body at the very end.
All of those things and more were still true in this land. All of them save for his eyes, which were sightless orbs burned impossibly white, staring out from a face which still kindly, poised as if on the edge of telling a story.
“Who’s there?” Omar Khassim said.
“Grandfather?” VB106-3 said.
“Second son!” Omar Khassim exclaimed, stamping his foot happily against the rough oak planks of the attic floor. “It’s been a long time, too long! Have you come through The Door?”
VB106-3’s blood ran cold. Men did not speak of The Door and what went on beyond. They did speak of He Who Had Hung, however. They spoke of the god’s tricks and tests. They spoke of how he spoke; in double meanings and in veiled language.
A dead grandfather in a familiar attic, after falling down through a pit in a wrong world might be such a thing.
VB106-3 did not say any of that however. Instead he made formal obeisance to his grandfather as befitting one of his rank, even though the old man stared sightlessly down at the direction of his motions, only responding to the sound and the steps of each of the three proscribed bows.
“I have, Grandfather Omar,” VB106-3 said.
“Ahh, I’d hoped you would come,” Omar Khassim said. “You were always my favorite. Tell me, your older brother, did he survive his trip?”
“Yes Sir, he was given the name Ahmed.”
“And what key did he use?”
“A soldier’s key, sir. The key to father’s gun cabinet.”
Omar Khassim chuckled, nodding as if he’d expected that. “And what key would you have used, second son, had I not given you mine?”
VB106-3 did not answer immediately. He was not completely sure himself, he’d had his grandfather’s key for years after all, and when he’d lived, Omar Khassim had not been a man to answer untruthfully.
Some thirty seconds later VB106-3 made another formal obeisance, his head cracking against the attic floor. “I fear my choice would dishonor you,” the young man said.
“What use do the dead have for honor?” Omar Khassim responded.
Shaken, the boy admitted the truth. “I still have the key to my boyhood tree house from our first oasis home, peace unto its memory. I would have used that.”
“You used to draw in that house, did you not?”
“Yes, Grandfather Omar.”
Omar Khassim was silent for so long that VB106-3 was certain he had offended him. Drawing was a womanish hobby, as were most of the arts. In his life, the great Omar Khassim had been accused of being many of things, most of which by men who had died long before him. Being womanish had never been among them.
Then the old man stood, clapping his hands together as satisfied by that answer, and he helped his grandson to his feet.
| 2021-06-10T07:23:44 | 2021-06-10T06:14:42 | 104 | 62 |
[WP] Making a deal with a demon requires a soul, everyone knows that. It’s usually a bad idea, but you’ve got a crazy idea. Earlier, you traded your lunch money to the school bully in exchange for a paper that stated you now owned his soul. You’re about to find out if demons consider this a valid co
|
"No."
What a waste of lunch money. It was hard convincing the bully too, especially it makes both parties look like a bunch of dorks. And honestly, what's more important to a bully than public image? The whole exchange was awkward, from conversation to the trade done in a janitor's closet. I can't imagine what people would say about two people going into a closet in school together. Luckily, he didn't think of that either. Maybe there's some loophole, or workaround, it's better to get specifics, at least.
"Why not?"
"It says you own his soul, but it doesn't work like that. That's just a false declaration. If a CEO wrote that you own his company on a crumped up piece of toiler paper, you don't automatically own the company."
That makes too much sense, unfortunately. Not that I don't have another idea.
"What about IOUs? I imagine, at least contextually, it holds more value than a false declaration. Plus, this isn't a corporate world, it's hell."
He thought for a bit. Not for too long though, the devil should be the one to know these things well.
"Yea, those should work. But you have to get it by today. You initiated the deal first and you don't even have what you said you had."
Great news. Sort of. How the fuck are you supposed to get somebody who hates you to \*rewrite\* the terms of ownership for their soul without sounding actually serious? I sounded desperate enough the first time around, and I imagine they'll be more cautious, or at least reluctant, the second time around.
|
James placed a hand on his chest, "no lie, I'll give you 20$ if you just sign here."
Laurence scoffed as he read the paper. "Dude, is this your way of hitting on me?"
James inspected the page, it *could* be considered a confession of love. Yet that interpretation left James wondering to Laurence's perspective on romance.
&#x200B;
"The one who signs this page has sworn there soul to me in exchange for material wealth."
&#x200B;
James was of the mind that that said it all. Laurence made a shooing gesture.
&#x200B;
"Beat it, I ain't playing your games," the older boy said turning his back.
&#x200B;
"Oh\~ are you afraid?" James needled, looking away as Laurence leveled his stormy gaze at him.
&#x200B;
"Jeze dude, knock it off, or I'll just beat your ass and take the money." Laurence glowered.
&#x200B;
"So, you DO, want the money?" a chink in the armor, James said as he glanced down at the other boy's worn shoes.
&#x200B;
"Daddy does not pay you enough hm, spends to much on his drink?" he pressed.
&#x200B;
Then a fist connected with his skull. The world went white for a second, then he was in pain. His vision cleared as he held a bleeding nose, watching Laurence stomp off up the staircase.
&#x200B;
Holding his nose he turned to his left shoulder where his little visitor sat. A crow with six eyes and the face of an old woman on its chest... Witch he guessed made it a crow with eight eyes.
&#x200B;
"That didn't work," he grumbled to the demon, she cackled from her crows mouth, "FOOLISH."
&#x200B;
The hag face spoke then, "your time grows short *young master.* You must pay us soon."
&#x200B;
"I'm trying," he said with the frustration clear in his voice. He hated the way it made him sound so young. He wanted to be cool and unflappable, but he would settle for being able to sling fireballs and warp the minds of mortals.
&#x200B;
"Trickery would not work anyway," the hag face said as if it would comfort him, the crow head interjected "CHEAP TRICK."
&#x200B;
Indigent, James glared at the demon, "why did you wait until *after* I tried that to tell me?"
&#x200B;
"To make you desperate," she grinned, "DESPERATE," the crow agreed.
&#x200B;
He *knew* he should not trust demons, but still... it felt like he was having the rug pulled out from under him all over again. "I can't mind control them into signing, I can't even trick them into signing, and... and you did not tell me this because you want something from me? I thought we had a deal!"
&#x200B;
The crow head cackled more and the hag's grin was the last thing he saw of the demon before it faded to shadow. Her voice haunting his ears, "four more minutes James E. Dean. Four more minutes and your soul is mine."
&#x200B;
He knew what she wanted. Knew the cost of it. His hand went to the hilt of that gleaming dagger at his waist. The one that all the teacher's and student's eyes glided off of whenever he tried to show them. She wanted a soul. Not the soul of a monster. The soul of a human. And here he was sitting in a shadowy corner of the school. Nose bleeding, the offender stomping to his room... where he would be alone. It had been a set up. He was angry now, desperate. Four more minutes? Where had that time limit come from. He knew that he needed the souls today... but he had figured that midnight would be his deadline.
&#x200B;
Figures, he should have read his *assignment* more closely. His fingers closed around the hilt of the blade as his heart raced. Could he do it? Yes. He would have to break his self imposed rule of not using magic in front of others, but then he supposed his target would not live to spread any rumors. He could blast the door of Laurence's dorm room open, storm in and impale him to the cross-guard before he knew what was happening. He could even just command the lock to open for him.
&#x200B;
His blood dripped down his lips as James climbed the stars, not letting himself consider anything but possibility as he moved.
&#x200B;
He drew the knife, and marched.
&#x200B;
All of this because he wanted a little power. A little bit of magic to spice up his life. It was not worth it, guilt filled his belly, but he knew what he *had* to do. The world would miss neither of them if they died here... so he chose to preserve himself.
&#x200B;
He kept hoping someone would find him, stand in his way at a threshold. Ask him what was wrong, rebuke him, but his path was clear. He stepped before Laurence's door, silently commanding it to open with a flick of his wrist and a muttered, "OPEN."
&#x200B;
And there he saw a boy sprawled out on his bed, shoes still on, pillow over his face, and the light and fan on. His chest rose and fell with tremors. And James felt a moment of panic. He had caught the other boy in a moment of weakness. Why was he crying? Did he know what he was about to do?
&#x200B;
James shook that thought from his mind as he fought the urge to flee, knuckles going white on the dagger. He reached out and smothered his targets mind with a fist. Laurence went still, his breathing now steady with sleep.
&#x200B;
James had felt it as he brushed his mind, regret, a feeling of inescapable guilt. Fear for the future. Hatred for himself. Too close to his own mounting feelings.
&#x200B;
He lowered the knife. It clattered on the wood. Blood dripping from his hand. His sobs echoed down the hall...
=====
| 2022-05-24T13:55:52 | 2022-05-24T13:11:38 | 100 | 69 |
[WP] People have always been born with very minor super powers. You work for an agency that hunts down the few people who's powers are deemed too powerful/dangerous to allow them to live.
|
"What was your power again?" Bruce asked me for the tenth time this month.
"Cavity-proof teeth." I say.
"Damn. Must save you a bundle in dentists bills." Bruce says, for the tenth time this month. Our job is becoming redundant.
There hasn't been an immortal in a hundred years, after Bertram The
Everlasting committed suicide. Hurled himself into the sun. He'd lived for a thousand years. Reined over all of mankind. Spread terror across all the realms. My organization was founded to stop him, but in the end it was the boredom that got to him, not us. His last words: "You live a couple of eons. Eventually you'll go fucking crazy too."
Bertram was the last immortal, but there had been others before him, and there would be others to come.
When an immortal dies his power naturally dissipates to the rest of humanity. No one gets a power that's life changing, but we all get something. Take my partner, Bruce, his body hair can grate cheese. It's not much, but its something.
It's the immortals that we have to watch out for, though. Everlasting life can really start to get to you after a hundred or so years. You start to get bored with your fellow man. You start to feel superior. You realize you are superior. You were born to subjugate. You live to rule. These are the men that we fear.
There's something my partner doesn't know about me. He thinks I'm thirty-five. I look it. But this is my hundred and third year on this Earth.
I'm staring to get bored.
Edit: spelling, paragraph breaks.
|
I have no proof of this, but I am fairly certain that the man who invented the coin-op coffee machine was a certified sadist. Still, if a scalding hot paper cup of black sludge and sewer water could do something about my head I was willing to risk it. I fished in my pocket for a couple of quarters.
"Donaldson!" a voice that was unnecessarily cheerful said from behind me, "Back from Houston already?"
I answered the the only manner fitting for such a greeting.
"Blarg!"
He actually laughed at that like I was joking. If being that chipper on a Monday morning wasn't a capital offense it should be. The laughing happy bane on my morning then stepped into view off to my right side. It was Paul McNichols, of course. Who else would it be?
"So, how did it go?" he said, "Was the healer really a Class I?"
"Got 50 cents I can borrow?" I asked. He dug in his pocket thoughtfully and brought out two quarters. Maybe, with patient tutelage, he could learn to not be so obnoxious after all. I held out my hand and he acted as if he were going to drop the coins in my outstretched palm. At the last second, though, he snatched them away.
"The healer?" he prompted.
I ground my teeth. When will McNichols clue into the fact that just because his title is Unit Lead he is not actually my supervisor? The title just meant that his desk was where the secretaries dropped off the paperwork for our area and he had to figure out what went where. Still, I needed coffee. I wasn't prepared to argue the point.
"It wasn't a healer," I said at last. Still grinning at me, he surrendered the coins.
"What was it?" he asked as I lifted the coins to the slot.
"A conman," I said with a shrug, "A bit of fake blood and some chicken guts and he pretended to be a psychic surgeon."
"Is that all?" he said with a snort of disappointment, "Well, I guess that's nothing to get worked up over."
I just stared at him in shock.
"He bilked retirees out of their life savings," I pointed out.
"Yes," he agreed, "But that's just fraud. If he was super that'd be something serious."
I shook my head in disbelief. Why was healing even classed as a Schedule II offense? What did they think was going to happen? A rogue super was going to organize a leper colony into an army? As always, I found myself questioning my role in this agency.
"You missed out, though," McNichols went on, "Hymie managed to catch a Class II Mimic."
"Really?" I asked and immediately regretted it. I keep forgetting McNichols can't tell the difference between being polite and actual interest.
"Oh yeah!" he said with a nod, "Could do the whole thing. Voice, face, and even skin color. Of course, he was only Class II so he couldn't change his height and it takes him six months to alter his face. But, man, given time he could look like the President of the United States."
"Except not as tall," I said.
"Well, yes," he agreed, "But we sent him to White Sands just to be sure. Probably will spend the rest of his life doped up on muscle relaxers to keep his face in the default state."
"White Sands?" I said, "Seems a bit like overkill. Isn't that strictly for Class I offenders?"
He shrugged.
"Gotta be tough on supers, you know that," he said, "Who knows what someone with enough superpowers could do? That's why the built the MaxSuper SuperMax."
On the site of a former nuclear testing grounds at that, I thought. Seemed a bit strangely appropriate as some theorized that atomic testing was what caused the first supers to start to appear. Most supers had insignificant powers. The ability to shake two asprin out of a bottle every time or to sneeze at supersonic speeds. Idiot powers. No one really worried about them. It was the high powered supers that raised public concern. Enter the Regulation of Superhuman Empowerment Agency. Although for agents like McNichols, I usually put the A on the other side of the acronym.
"If he was a Class I mimic," McNichols said offhandedly, "We'd probably be better off just giving him the chair."
And that is exactly why I transpose that letter. McNichols was one of the gung ho types who saw the Superhuman Schedule of offenses as being too lenient. If he had his way every granny who could change the color of her hair at will would be facing jail time. It was as if he thought any sort of mutation was a gateway to supervillainy.
I put the first coin in the slot.
"Hey McNichols," I said, "Have you ever thought that supers aren't all bad? Why do we have to treat them all like criminals?"
"Because they are all criminals," he declared as he shot me a bewildered look, "Just look at the schedules. Have you imagined what would happen if people with powers like that were allowed to just walk free? Psychokinesis. Telepathy. Think of the chaos!"
"But," I said, "Maybe some of them are just regular folks? Holding down jobs and the like."
He laughed.
"You're so funny, Donaldson," he said, "Trust me. You'll see. Scum like that eventually show their true colors. They can't hide it. They aren't that clever."
I shrugged and put the other coin in.
"Guess you're right," I said, "I was just thinking."
He clapped my shoulder before turning to walk away.
"Of course I'm right," he said with a smile, "That's why they made me lead around here."
He walked away humming. I shook my head and hit the button for my selection. A metallic clink came from the coin return slot. What in the world? I reached down and pulled out the coin. Canadian. Should have known McNichols would manage to find a way to screw up my morning even worse. Man, this sucked. I came in on the red eye. I was jet lagged and exhausted and I was not about to spend another moment talking to that smug jerk just to see if he had another coin.
I glanced over my shoulder to make sure the coast was clear. The hallway was empty for the moment. Good. Reaching down, I lifted the 800 pound machine with one hand and shook it. From inside I heard a satisfying clunking sound. I put the machine back down and was rewarded for my efforts by seeing a paper cup drop and being to slowly fill with hot sludge.
Ah, Mondays. Got to hate them.
| 2014-12-12T21:19:57 | 2014-12-12T19:37:10 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
"Your army is marching upon grenoble. You face a royalist regiment of two thousand men blocking your path. What do you do?"
"I bear open my breast...", Napoleon started
"Jesus Christ, dude", the DM said
"...and proclaim, 'If any man here wishes to shoot his emperor, I am here'".
The DM sighed and rolled some dice behind his screen.
"Roll for persuasion", he said
Napoleon picked up his dice and rolled, "20." He said stonefacedly.
"Ooookay... the royalist regiment joins your forces I guess"
|
"Okay, guys, so you take a long rest. You get all your spell slots and hit points back. Was anyone taking watch?"
Didymos shrugs. "I mean. We're in a garden in the middle of Jerusalem. Who's going to attack us in the middle of a city? I think we're good -- besides, we're pretty high level, right? What's the worst that could happen?"
"Haha, alright, fair enough. Petros?"
"Hm," the cleric replies, "I'm working at like two levels of exhaustion right now. Would taking watch mean I don't lose any of those during the rest?"
"You're not sure. You're very tired, though, and Iēsous asked you to stay up with him a while."
"I guess I'll try?"
"Alright, go ahead and make, like, a CON save for me? Just to see if you can will yourself to stay awake here -- you're _pretty_ tired, dude."
"CON save, sure, I'm... not great at those. Uh... 9?"
"Yeah, nah. You fall asleep a few minutes after everyone else. Iēsous comes and wakes you up a few times in the night, asking you to stand by his side, but, yeah. Your spirit is willing, but your flesh is weak."
"Damn."
"Okay, so after your rest, Iēsous rouses you all. 'Are you still sleeping and resting?' he asks. 'Look, the hour has come! Rise, all of you! Here comes my betrayer.'"
"Whoa, what. Can I make a Perception check?"
"I mean, he's pointing down the path at someone holding a torch and walking this way, but... sure?"
"Haha, 23."
"I have a passive perception of 18, do I see it?"
"Yeah, Iakōbos, you see it. All of you see it - him, rather. Andreia, you know who this is, and once he gets closer the rest of you all recognize him, too. It's Judas. Andreia, you see that he's carrying this torch to light the way, he has a small bag of coin on his belt loop that wasn't there the last time you saw him. Oh, and he's flanked by two burly-looking guys wearing scale mail, with swords and clubs at their hips."
"What."
"Judas, what are you doing here? How'd you find us? Where'd you go after the Supper?"
"He doesn't answer you, Petros. He's looking right at Iēsous. 'Greetings, Rabbi!' he says, stepping forward and kissing him on the cheek."
"Can I make like. An Insight check?"
"I mean. He's not really saying anything that is or isn't a lie, but. Yeah, I guess you could try and get a read on him, if you wanted."
"Cool, cool. Uh... Wow. 7."
"Yeah dog, Judas is just giving Iēsous a big ol' smooch for whatever reason. Just a good, friendly, no-ulterior-motives cheek peck. Like you do."
"Son of a-"
"'Do what you came for, friend,' Iēsous says, and Judas nods to the two burly dudes - who you realize now are guards of the Sanhedrin? - and they both draw their weapons and start approaching you."
"He _sold us out???_"
"Oh I'm gonna kill him."
"Guys. What are you doing? Are you letting this happen? Right now the guards are trying to grab Iēsous. They have manacles."
"Yeah, fuck that! I draw my sword and go for a killing blow. I'd have sneak attack, right? Since Iēsous is within 5 feet of him?"
"I... hm. Yeah, I guess so. Roll an attack, Iakōbos."
"...fuck."
"1?"
"Yeah."
"You bring your sword up, ready to slice down on this guard's head, but your grip falters at the last minute and the guard pulls away in time - you don't cleave through his _head_-"
"Oh here we go."
"But you _do_ manage to chop off his ear. There's a spurt of blood and the guard screams."
"Do we need to roll initiative?"
"Uh... no, not yet. As you do this, Iakōbos, Iēsous, like. He shakes himself free of the guard that's holding him and grabs your sword arm? 'Put your sword back in its place,' he says, and he's addressing all of you, now, 'for those that live by the sword die by the sword.' And you watch as he, very gently, bends down and picks up the bloody ear that you've severed from this guard and turns to him, putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. He brings the ear back up to the side of the guard's face, and there's this flash of pale light as he lays his hands on the guard, and after a moment the ear is back on like it had never been severed.
"Then you see something else. Coming up behind Judas and the guards is a very large crowd of people, armed with swords and clubs like these guards had. They're all dressed in robes of the Sanhedrin. Some of them you recognize as temple-goers, rabbis, acolytes. The high priest is with them."
"I run."
"You're *what?*"
"I have a +13 to stealth what do I have to do to get the fuck out of here."
| 2018-05-29T09:37:40 | 2018-05-29T08:36:31 | 303 | 46 |
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